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Aberdeen. University Library (p. Messrs. Wyllie 

and Son). 
Ainger, Rev. Alfred, M.A., London. 
Angus. Professor, Regent's Park College, I^ndon. 
Bailey. John E., Esq., Stretford. Manchester. 
Bailey. Henry F., Esq., London. 
Bain, James. Esq.. Haymarket, London. 
Balliol College Library, Oxford (p. Rev. T. K. 

Chejme, M.A., Librarian). 
Berlin, Royal Library (p. Messrs. Asher and Co.) 
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(p. Mr. David Geddes, Librarian). 
Blackman, Frederick, Esq.. London. 
Bodleian Library, Oxford (p. Rev. H. O. Coxe, M.A.) 
Boston, Public Library (p. Messrs. Low, Son, and Co.) 
Bonser, Rev. John, Park Gate, Rotherham (gift, 

p. Thomas Cooper, Est]. ) 
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Brown, Rev. John T., The Elms, Northampton. 
Buckley, Rev. W. E., M.A., Middleton Cheney, Banbury. 
Bute, The Most Honble. the Marquis of, London 

(p. J. G. Godwin, Esq.) 
Cambridge, University Library (p. Henry Bradshaw, 

Esq., M.A.) 
Chamberlain, J. H., Ei-q., Small Heath, Birmingham. 
Chatto. Andrew, Esq., I^ndon. 
Chetham Library. Manchester. 
Chorlton, Thomas, Esq.. Manchester. 
CoKAYNE, G. E.. Esq., London. 
Coleridge, The Lord, London. 
Cook, J. W., Elsq., London. 
CoSENS, F. W., Esq., London. 
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Dublin, Royal Dublin Society, Kildare Street. 
Dublin, Trinity College Library. 
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Esq., M.A.) 
Falconer, His Honour, Judge, Usk, Monmouthshire. 
Fish, A. J., Esq., Philadelphia, U.S.A. 
FURNESS. H. H., Esq., PhiLidelphia, U.S.A. 
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GOODFORD, Rev. Dr., Eton College. 
Gould, Rev. George. Norwich. 
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near Preston. 
Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass. 
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50. Ireland. Alexander, Esq., Manchester. 

51. Jenkins, E., Esq.. M.P.. London. 

52 and 53. Johnson, Richard, Esq.. Derby. 

54. Ker, R. D., Esq., St. Leonard's House, Edinburgh. 

55. Kershaw. John, Esq., Audenshaw. 

56. Kershaw, John, Esq., London. 

57. Leathes, F. M. de, Esq., London. 

58. Lemcke. Professor, Giessen. 

59. Macdonald, James, Esq., F.S.A. (Scot.), 17 Russell 

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60. Mackenzie, J. M., Esq., Edinburgh. 

61. Manchester, Free Library, Old Town Hall, Man- 

63. Masson, Professor David, Edinburgh. 

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64. MoRLEY, Professor, University College, Ix>ndon. 

65. MoRLEY, Samuel, Esq., M.P., London. 

66. Napier, G. W., Esq., Manchester. 

67. Newton, Rev. Horace, M.A., Driffield. 

68. Nichols, G. W., Esq., Rotherhithe. 

69. Nicholson, Brinsley, Esq., M.D., London. 
70 and 71. Paine, Cornelius, Esq., Brighton. 

72. Palgrave, Francis Turner, Esq., London. 

73. Plymouth, Public Library (p. A. Haldane, Esq.) 

74. Porter, Rev. James, M.A., Peter House, Cambridge. 

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77. Saintsbury, George, Esq., London. 

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80. SiON College Library, I^ndon (p. Rev. Dr. W. H. 


81. Snelgrove, a. G., Esq. London. 

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83 and 84. Stevens and Haynes, Messrs., London. 

85. Stonyhurst, College Library (p. Very Rev. Father 

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86. Swinburne, Algernon C, Esq., Henley-on-Thames. 

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88. Thomas, C. J., Esq., Drayton Lodge, Bristol. 

89. Thompson, Frederick, Esq., South Parade, Wakefield. 

90. Vere, Aubrey de, Esq., Curragh, Adare, Ireland. 

91. Ward, Professor, Owens College, Manchester. 
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93. Watts, James, Jan., Esq., Manchester. 

94. White, George H., Esq., Glenthome, Torquay. 

95. White, Rev. C, M.A., Whitchurch, Salop. 

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%* Exclmive of a limited number of gift and semi-gift copies and separate Author^— agreeably to the Prospectus. 


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• • • 

• • . :. V 






SONNET-DEDICATORY TO Edmund W., Esq., .... vii 


I. — Biographical, ix 

II. — Critical, xl 

Appendix A, Ixxv 

Appendix B Ixxv 




1. FACSIMILE OF A PAGE, in <?, * Soule's Immortal Crowne." 

2. FACSIMILE OF HANDWRITING, in r. 'Invective aKainst Trcascm.' 














OUR present Worthy is careful to de- 
scribe himself in various of his title- 
pages and epistles-dedicatory, and other- 
wise, as 

Nicholas Breton, Gentleman 

(abbreviated *Gent' in a number).* There 
is touch of pathos in the continuance of 
the claim to the end and through long years 
of sorest straits and consequent humilia- 
tions. It seems to have been the mode of 
the Elizabethan period {e^. Churchyard, 
Howell) ; but in his case it was warranted. 
For however he sunk to the level of the 
lowliest commonalty, he was of 'gentle 

Bretons are found in Leicestershire and 
Warwickshire, Wilts and elsewhere, in Eng- 
land; but their chief seat was in Essex.^ 
Turning accordingly to Morant's * History and 
Antiquities of the County of Essex,' we find 
— ^besides incidental occurrences of the 
name — a somewhat full account of both 
themselves and their possessions. It is un- 
accoimtable that Biographers and Biblio- 
graphers alike, seem never to have consulted 
Morant; and so have needlessly perplexed 

1 In 'Will of Wit' title-fMge, and epistle-dedicatoiy and 
feneiml epistle, and in the after-epistle and at the dote, and in 
the ' Looginjc of a Blessed Heart' and ' Wit's Trenchmottr,' it is 
* Gentleman * in fall : in ' Floorish of Fancy,* ' Courtier and 
Countryman,' 'a Dialogue/ etc etc., it is 'Gent' 

s In Appendix A will be found genealogical facts from the 
' Visitation of Leicestershire,' 1619, which Colonel Chester 
was good enough to forward me. 


themselves and confounded our Nicholas 
Breton with another contemporary Captain 
Nicholas Breton. Even Mr. J. Payne Collier 
and the late Rev. Thomas Corser, M.A., of 
Stand, missed the right biographic lines — as 
will appear in the sequel. 

It will prepare the way for more direct 
details to give at this point the notices from 
Morant, as follows : — 

"Layer-Breton is east of Layer-Mamey. 
In records it is written Layer Braeton, or 
Britton, and also Layer Barley cUias Breton ; 
which names it received from its ancient 
possessors. The owner of the lands in this 
parish, in Edward the Confessor's reign, was 
Ailmar; Ralph Piperell, and his under- 
tenant Turold, held them at the time of the 
Survey.* Here is only one Maner, and 
the mansion-house stands at a little distance 
west from the Church. 

" The name of Breton occurs in the List 
of those that came over with William the 
Conqueror:^ and the adventurer so called 
might be one of those who attended Alan 
Fargent, Earl of Bretagne, at the Battle of 
Hastings, where he then commanded the 
rear of William's army. 

"However, the surname of Breton, le 
Breton, and Brito, is of great antiquity in 
this County. 

1 Those demesnes were about aao acres. 
« Lib. Domesd. foL 73. b. Tit. 34 


" Lewis Brito granted to the Church and 
Monks of St. John's in Colchester, his 
messuage, with appertances, in Herchestede. 
His son, Ralph Brito, confirmed the 
same; and moreover, granted to them two 
parts of the tithes of all his demesnes in 
Leyre- Breton,^ to hold by the service of 8d. 
a year. His widow Adeliza granted them 
IDS. 8d. a year in Legra, in perpetual alms, for 
the good of her husband's soul. Their son, 
Robert le Bretun, gave to the same 
Monks 1 1 acres in Legra, for the souls of his 
father and mother, who were buried in that 

"In the reign of K. Richard i. Robert 
DE Bretton held lands in and about Ardley, 
and was a benefactor to St. Botolph's Priory 
in Colchester.^ In the reign of K. John 
and K. Henry in., William le Bretun 
held two knights fees in Lehere in Elssex ; 
and Sir John le Bretoune was a Knight 
banneret in this County in the time of K. 
Edward i.* 

" In 1325, a Fine passed between William 
Bretounn, plaintiff, and John Breton, 

Parson of and Robert, son of Hamon 

de Bryche, deforc* of the maner of Layer- 
Breton and the Church, by which they were 
settled on William for life, and after his 
death on Nicolas his son, and Isabell his 
wife, and the heirs of the said Nicolas.* 
William le Bretton presented to the 
Living in 13 29.* Nicolas Britton suc- 
ceeded his father, and presented to the 

1 There having been great disputes about these Tithes, be- 
tween the Abbey and the Rector of Layer-Breton, Simon 
BUhop of London, 13 November 1364, decreed, that the rector 
and his successors should receive these tithes, paying the Abbot 
and Convent the yearly sum of two marks, at two terms, viz., 
November x, and February a. Minus Reg. Abb. D. Johit. foL 

147. 170. 
> Registr. Abbatie D. Johfn. Cole. fol. 93, 94. penes Com. de 


S Monast. Angl., vol. il p. 45. 

4 Nomina Nobil. sub Edw. i. militantium. 

» Fine 19 Edw. 11. 

8 Thomas Sampson presented to the Living from 1365 to 1373 
by the title of Domicellus, %.*. inferior lord of the maner, 
Newcourt, vol. ii. pp. 374. 375- 

Church in 1395, and 1397. Alice his wife, 
dyed 6 May 1392, and was buried in this 
Church, with an epitaph. Richard de 
Bretton held half a knight's fee in Leyr 
Breton, near Colchester, and was taxed los. 
for his reasonable relief for the marrying of 
Blanch, the eldest daughter of K. Henry 
IV. with Lewis, aften^-ards Duke of Bavaria, 
in 1402." The further account we have of 
this family, is : That William Bretton mar- 
ried daughter of Haynes, Gent. 

And had by her William, and Grace, wife 

of Ratcliff. William married Anne, 

daughter of Denham, by whom he had 

Henry, Francis, William, John, and Thomas ; 
which two last dyed without issue. We 
hear no more of this family here : They 
removed to Monckton-Farley in Wiltshire, 
and seem to have had no concern here after 
the year 1420.^ 

Further : — "In 1 242, a fine passed between 
William le Bretton, plaintiflf, and Mat- 
thew DE Leyham, and Nesta his wife, 
tenants, for the maner of Bellamont, in 
Essex, which Rohesia de Cockfield, mother 
of Nesta, held for her life, remainder to the 
said William after her decease. "^ 

There was also a Maner of Bretton or 
Barton Hall in Essex, which took its name 
from " Hugh Brito, that held a fourth part 
of a knight's fee of the House of Henry de 
Essex of his Honor of Raley."* 

Again in Lexden Hundred the estate of 
Rivers Hall (also in Essex) was held by 
successive Bretons. Morant thus gives an 
account of them : — '.Robert de Hastinges was 
owner of it in the reign of K. Henry in. 
(Carta 49 Hen. in.). Under him it was 
holden by a family sumamed le Breton, 
or DE Bretton. William de Bretton, 
who dyed in the 45® of K. Henry in. held 

1 The History and Antiquities of the County of Essex . . . 
By Philip Morant, M. A., 1768, 3 vols, folio : vol. i. pp. 409-10. 
s Ihid. p. 485 : Fine 27. Hen. iii. 
' Ibid, p. 319 : Liber ruber. 



of Robert de Hastinges a capital messuage, 
I carucate of land, and 40s. yearly rent in 
Boxted for a pair of gilt spurs every year, 
and by the 5 th part of a knight's fee ; and 
of Walter de Horkeley, a water mill, and a 
parts of one carucate, and 20s. per annum 
by the 4th part of a fee : and of Hugh de 
Nevyll, 7 acres of land, for the yearly rent 
of i8d. John de Breton was his son 
(Inquis. 45 Hen. in.). John, son of this 
latter, dyed 4 Edw. 11. 13 10 or 13 11, and 
held them of the heirs of Roger de Tany a 
capital messuage, with a close and a fishery, 
and 49 acres of arable, a pasture, and 10 
acres of wood : and of William de Horkesley, 
by the same service as above, a water mill, 
90 acres of arable, 42 acres of mowable 
meadow, 2 acres of pasture, 13 acres of 
wood, 16 acres of alder, and 52s. rent of 
assize: and of Hugh de Nevill, 3 acres of 
arable (Inquis. 4£d. 11.). Maud, his daughter, 
then aged 2 1 years and a half, was the wife 
of Sir Richard de la Rivere (Inquis. 4 Edw. 
il) a family of note in this county, that were 
lords of Stamford-Rivers, and other con- 
siderable estates. He had by her 

Thomas, who dyed without issue ; and 
Margaret, married to Sir Roger Sellers; 
idio had by her Margaret, that became the 
wife of Robert Swillington. He dyed 
nth July 1 391, holding in right of the said 
Margaret then surviving him, the maner of 
Boxted, called Ryvershall, of the King as of 
the Hundred of Lexden. Roger, his son, was 
aged upwards of 22 years (Inquis. 15 Ric. 
il). John Swillington, Esq., succeeded. 
Then it came by purchase to Thomas 
Morsted, Esq.*'^ 

There are names and things in these ac- 
counts that will fall to be noticed hereafter — 
recurring as they do in our Breton's books ; 
but a glance reveals that the family was an 
ancient one, and entitled to rank among the 

'blue blood ' of England. Researches among 
the Visitationsand Wills of the 14th, 15 th, and 
1 6th centuries confirm the data of the His- 
torian, albeit it needeth not that our Memoir 
should be encumbered with such merely 
antiquarian lore. Two John Bretons' Wills 
prior to 1499 and several recorded in the 
Calendars of the Archdeaconry Courts of Col- 
chester and of Essex and Herts, are unhappily 
not to be found. The volumes containing 
them have long since disappeared. They 
should probably have helped us to link on the 
several names to each other. The * Visitation 
of Wilts, 1565 ' (College of Arms, G. 8. fo. 50), 
enables us to connect our Breton with the 
Layer Breton family of Morant, as thus : — 

Arms : Quarterly or and gules, a bordure 


William Breton of Layer Breton in the 
countie of Essex Esquire maried the doughter 
of [blank] in the countie of Essex gent, and 
by her had yssue Willim Breton his eldeste 
Sonne [and] Grace, maried to [blank] Rat- 
clyffe of [blank] in Coun. f^sex gent. 

William Breton of Layer Breton in the 
saide countie Esquire eldeste sonne and 
heire to William Breton aforesaide maryed 
Anne doughter of Denham of the Northe and 
by her had yssue Henry^e Breton, his eldeste 
Sonne and heire : John seconde sonne dyed 
sanz yssue: Fraunces, thirde sonne : Thomas, 
fourthe sonne, dyed sanz yssue and Willim 
Breton fiite sonne. 

Henrye Breton of Moncton farley in coun. 
Wiltes Esquire, eldeste sonne and heire to 
Willim Breton aforesaide maried Anne 
doughter to George Cowlte of Candish in 
coun. Suflf. Esquire, and by her had yssue 
George Breton his eldeste sonne and heire 
aparant : William Breton, seconde sonne : 
Margarett, maried to [blank] Hamonde of 
Naylond in Com. Suflf. gent Elizabeth 
vnmaried.^ I note that in the copies of this 

1 Ibid. vx)l. u. pp. 340-1. 

I 1 From Colonel Chester, as before ; and so throughout, except 

when otherwise notified. 



Visitation by Philpot and Vincent in the 
College of Arms, the blank for the name of 
the first William Breton's wife is filled in 
with the name of Haynes, and as will im- 
mediately emerge, her Christian name was 
Isabell or Isabella. 

The Will of the above first William 
Breton, introduces a number of the fiimily 
names. I therefore give an abstract of it 
He is designated William Breton of Col- 
chester CO. Essex, Gentleman (14th August 
1499). He was to be buried in the monastery 
of St. John beside Colchester 'near the 
pillar where the body of my father lieth 
buried.' Besides the usual religious bequests 
he leaves the following : — * to high altar of 
parish church of St Giles where I was late 
parishioner 3/4' : to the Master of Higham 
Ferrers co. Northampton * to pray for me, 5 
marks': to churches of Great Birch and 
Lower de la Haye 6/8 : * my wife Isabell to 
have for life my tenement called Fyncher in 
Layer de la Hay, and after her death, same 
to William my son and heirs of his body, 
with remainder to Grace my daughter : my 
lands in Wyvenhoe called Marthill *to be 
feoffed and the profits thereof to go to the 
church of St Giles aforesaid for a yearly 
anniversary for my grandfather Nicholas 
Breton, my father John Breton, Joane my 
mother, my aunt Alice Bodford [and] David 
Mortymer, and for me and my wife the day 
of my decease ' : to my daughter Grace when 
a I or married * my lands etc. in Fyngringhoe 
CO. Essex, and if she die, same to William 
my son, when 21, and if both die before 21, 
then same to my brother John Breton': 
all residue to Isabell my wife, * and appoint 
her executrix': proved at Lambeth 27" 
November 1499 by the relict Isabell exec. 
(39 Home). 

This William Breton was father of William 
Breton, father of our Nicholas Breton. It is 
therefore with no common satisfaction that I 
am enabled to print for the first time^ the long 

and extremely noticeable Will of our Worthy's 
father, which opens up various points of 
interest. His provision of * prayers ' for him- 
self and others (notwithstanding hb Protes- 
tant reliance on the Lord Jesus done) reveals 
a leaven of the old religion. It runs thus, 
verbatim et literatim^ : — 

In the most holy and blyssed name of the Eternal! 
eQl]rring and lasting god the &ther the sonne and 
the holly goost thre psonnes and one god the zij^ 
day of ffebruary in the yere of our Salvadon by the 
deathe and passion of our most blissed Saviour and 
Redemer JhQ Christ a thousaund fyve hunderthe Ivij^, 
and in the fourthe and fyveth yeres of the reignes of 
our soQaign Lord and Lady Philip and Mary by the 
giace of god King and Queue of England Spayne 
firaunce bothe Cicilles Jrl A and Ireland defendors of the 
faithe Archdukes of Austrige (sic) Dukes of Burgundy 
Myllayn and Brabant Counties of Haspurge fflaunders 
and Tiroll I Willm Breton of London of the panyshe 
of saynt Gyles w^)ut creplegate of London gentilman 
being of hole mynd and pfitt remembraunce, and 
thankes be vnto god, of good and pfitt healthe of 
body remembring and thinking I shall dye as from 
this world and therw^ Trusting and beleving 
assuredly to ryse agayne in this fflesshe vnto Etemall 
and ppetuall lif, and herew^ also calling and most 
hartdy desyring and praying thaide helpe grace and 
Assistence of Almightie god do ordeyn and make 
this my last will and Testament in mafi and fourme 
following, ffirst I comytt and bequeth and ydd my 
soule to the inestimable and Incomprehensible heape 
and Abundance of Christes infinite ficy most hartely 

1 Joseph Hunter, in his Chorus Vatum mss. in the British 
Museum, mentions u, Post-mortem inquisition in 1568-9. It was 
on ayth October 1567. William Breton, of London, Esq., had 
died so far back as 12th January 1558-9, and the Inquisition 
ought to have been taken immediately after, but was not, and so 
a mandamus was directed to Sir Christopher Draper, then 
Escheator for London, and he took it on the day mentioiwd. 
It is in the usual form, and is of no consequence, seeing that, 
Mt>m, I am able to give the Will itself, which the Inquisition 
merely recites. Parts of it are quite gone, and others illegible. 
Mr. Hunter's mistake led both Colonel Chester and myself into 
much fruitless searching. My experience of the Ckortu Vaium 
is, that whilst these mss. contain a vast amount of rough materials 
for the biography of our English Poets, everything needs to be 
verified. Colonel Chester has also followed up his statements, 
and he writes me : — ' Never trust Joseph Hunter for either dates 
or facts. Although a capable general antiquary in matters 
purely genealogical, his statements are not to be accepted with- 
out verification.' From one so judicial in his verdicts, this will 
carry warning to every conscientious consulter of the Hunter 
MSS. Nevertheless it were ingrate not to acknowledge hu 
untiring research and seal 



beseching hym to sett his deathe and passion betwene 
my 83mnes and his iust iudgement. And as con- 
cernjrng my body my soules contynnall EUiemye I 
comytt the same to the Earthe from whence yt came 
to be bniyed in sache place as shall Seme most mete 
and convenjrent to myn executors. Item I give and 
bequethe vnto Elizabethe my wif my chieff capitall 
mansion house in Redcrostrete in the foresaid 
parrysshe of sajmt Gyles w^ut Creplegate of London 
Wherein I nowe inhabitt and dwell together w^ the 
gardeyn Tentes and all other thappurtennces to the 
saied capitall mansion belonging or other w* vsed or 
occupied. And also all my Te&tes and heriditamentes 
wyth Thappurtennces in Barbycan and Redcrosse 
strete in the saied parrjrshe of saynt Giles w^ I had 
and purchased to me and myn hdres of Willffi Dixe 
gent. Item I further give and bequeth vnto the 
same Elizabeth my wif all that my key and wharffe 
called dyse key w^ all the Te&tes and other thappur- 
teSlnces thervppon buylded or thereunto belonging 
sttuat nere billinges gate and in the panyshe of sajmt 
Dunstayne in the est wHn the Citie of London w^ I 
lately purchased of Thomas Bacon and nowe by me 
lettyfi vnto the same Thorns and to James Bacon his 
brother, To haue and to hold all and singuler the 
^misses to the saied Elizabethe my wif during her 
naturall lif, The remaynder therof after her deceasse 
to Richard Breton myn eldest sonne and heire and to 
the heires of his body laufully begottjm, And for 
lacke of suche yssue to Nicholas Breton my secunde 
Sonne and to the heires of his body laufully begottyn. 
And for lacke of suche yssue to my doughters Thamar 
Anne and Mary and to the heires of their bodies 
laufully begottyn, And for lacke of suche ]rssue to my 
right heires for efi. Item I give and bequethe vnto 
the saied Elizabeth my wif one hunderth poundes in 
money and thone half of all my playt howshold stuf 
and ymplementes hereafter nott bequethed and all 
her apparrell and all such Jewelles as she hath in 
her custody or vsed to ware and Tenne Kyen nowe 
remayning and being at Walcomstowe in the countie 
of Essex. Item I give and bequeth vnto the saied 
Richard Breton myn eldest sonne and to his heires 
for efi all my other Te&tes in London or in the 
suburbes of the same w^ all and singuler their appur- 
te&noes aboue not bequethed to my saied wif amount- 
ing togither to the yerely value of xxxix^^ or their 
aboutes that is to saye one Te&te in Eastcheape called 
the bell in the Tenure of Nicholas Wyatt Bochier of 
the yerely value of ix** xx<*, Two Tenements in Towre- 
strete in the panyshe of saynt Dunstayne in the east 
in the holding of the wif of Willm Austed wax 
chaundler deceassed, one Shopp in newe ffisshestrete 
in the holding of Willni Davys ffisshmonger, one 

Te&te in the panyshe of saynt John Walbroke in the 
holding of Thomas Hewes Skynner, one tenement in 
ffynck^ lane nere the pultrey in tholding of Thomas 
Sares, one Tenement in the panyshe of saynt Androwe 
next Bajmardes Castell in the houlding of Sir flfraunces 
Jobson Knight, one Tenement in the parrishe of 
saynt James at Garlike hithe in the holding of the 
wif of Xpofer Macham Tayllo' deceassed, one vaulte 
or Seller in the same parryshe of Saynt James at Gar- 
lickhith in tholding of the wydow Gardyfi and the 
Te&te brewe howse and Inne called the Oeorge in 
Aldersgate strete in the parrishe of saynt butulphe 
w^>ut Aldersgate and all the Te&tes thereunto belong- 
ing in tholding of Cuthebert Hope, And one Tene- 
ment in the parryshe of saynt Butulphe in the holding 
of Chrofer Teringtfi carpenter. To haue and to hold 
vnto my saied sonne Richard and to his heires for efi. 
Item I give and bequeth vnto my sonne Richard 
threscore poundes in money and thother half of my 
plate and houshold stuf hereafter not bequethed to 
be delyfied vnto hym at his age of xxij'* yeres. The 
Rentes and Revenewes of w<>^ saied Tenementes and 
the saied threscore poundes plate and houshold stuf 
so bequethed to my saied sonne Richard I will my 
saied wif shall haue the recept order Rule and custody 
of vntill my saied sonne shall Accomplyshe his saied 
age of xxij yeres yf my saied wif do ly ve so longe, for 
and towardes the mayntenaimce fiynding and bringing 
vpp of my childem and for the rea^^ons of the 
same Te&tes, So that and vppon condicion that my 
saied wif kepe her self sole and do not marye after 
my deceasse. And if she shall happyn to marry or dye 
before the saied age of my saied sonne. Then I will 
and ordeyn that my father in Lawe John Bacon and 
lawrence Eresbye gentilman or the longer lyver of 
the3rm shall then ymedeatly haue the recept and order 
of the rentes of the saied Te&tes aboue bequethed to 
my saied sonne vntill my saied sonne shall accom- 
plishe the saied age of xxij yeres. To be Imployed 
and bestowed vppon the bringing vp of my saied 
sonne and the rest of my childem. And the remaynder 
thereof to be bestowed yerely vppon the rea^^acions 
of suche of the same Tenementes as I am charged to 
beare. And vppon the Reapacions of the saied Tene- 
ment called the George in Aldersgate strete, And yf 
yt shall happyn the saied John Bacon and Lawrence 
Eresbie and either of theym to dye before the saied 
age of my saied sonne, and after the death or manage 
of my saied wif^ then I will and ordeyn that the 
chamber of London shalhaue the recept order Rule 
of all suche Rentes and revenewes of the saied Te&tes 
in the saied Citie as bene aboue bequethed or 
appo3mted in possession or reQsion to my saied 
sonne, vntill the same my sonne shall Accomplishe 



the saied age of xxij^ yeres, of the profittes and 
rentes whereof I will the saied chamber of London 
shalhaue fyve poundes yerely vntill the saied age 
of my said sonne. And the rest of the same Rentes 
and profittes to be ymployed and bestowed to thuse 
fynding and bringing vpp of my saied sonne and of 
the rest of my childem. And to be kept to their vses, 
3ff any shall remayn to be equally distributed emonges 
thejrm at their foresaied ages, And also I will and 
ordeyn that my saied wif ymedeatly vppon her 
manage and her executors ymedeatly after her death 
ji she do not marye shall delyQ into thandes and 
custody of my saied father in lawe John Bacon and 
lawrence Eresbie or to the longer lyver of theym the 
saied threscore poundes plate and houshold stuf 
aboue bequethed to my saied sonne to be kept and 
Saifly delyQed to my saied sonne at his saied age of 
xxij yeres. Item I give and bequeth vnto Nicholas 
Breton my sonne all that my mafi of Burgh in the 
Marshe w* thappurlerinces in the Countie of Lyncoln, 
And all the landes Tentes ReOsions s''uyces and 
hereditamentes to the same belonging or in any wise 
ap^erteyning. And all those my landes and Te&tes 
in Wykes in the Countie of Essex called nelmes w^^^ I 
purchased of Henry Breton my brother. Item I give 
and bequeth to my saied sonne Nicholas Breton fortye 
pounds in money one salte all gilte w^ a cover and 
fiked w^ W E and vj siluer Spones and the gilte 
bedsted and bedd that I lye in at London w^ the 
Tester and curteyns of blewe and yellowe sarcenett 
and all other thapparrell of the same bedd to be 
deljrfied vnto hym when he shall Accomplishe thage 
of xxiiij yeres, Thissuys and profittes of w«** saied 
mafi Landes and Tentes so bequethed to my saied 
sonne Nicholas I will my saied wif shalhaue for the 
maytenaunce and fynding of my saied sonne Nicholas 
vntill he shall Accomplishe his saied age of xxiiij^ 
yeres, yf she so long shall lyve. And also that my 
saied wif shalhaue the custody of the saied fortie 
poundes salte and spones bedding and other thinges 
aboue bequethed to my saied sonne Nicholas vntill 
the same Nicholas shall accomplishe his saied age of 
xxiiij** yeres yf she so long do lyve, prouyded alwayes 
and vppon condicion that my saied wif do not mary 
after my deceasse, and yf she shall happjm to mary 
or dy before the saied age of my saied sonne Nicholas, 
Than I will and ordeyn that the saied John Bacon 
and Lawrence Eresbie or the longer lyver of theym, 
shall then ymedeatlv vppon her saied manage or 
death haue the recept and order of thissues Rentes 
and pfittes of the saied mafi of Burghes to be ymploed 
and bestowed vppon the fynding and bringing vp of 
the saied Nicholas and to his vse. And also I will 
that my saied vrif jrmedeatly vppon suche her saied 

manage or her executors vppon her death shall delyQ 
into thandes and custody of the saied John Bacon 
and lawrence Erisbie or the longer lyver of theym, 
the saied fortie poundes in money and the saied Salt 
Spones bedding and other thinges aboue gyen and 
bequethed vnto my saied son Nicholas to be by theym 
or the longer lyver of the3rm kept and sa£fely ^s'ued 
to thuse of the same Nicholas vntill he shall accom- 
plishe his saied age of xxiiij yeres and to be then 
saifly delyQed vnto hym. Item I give and bequeth 
vnto Thamar Breton my doughter the Sume of two 
hunderth fikes in money to be delyuered vnto her at 
the day of her fiiage yf she shal happyn to marye 
before she shall accomplishe the age of xxij yeres. 
And if she the same Thamar be not maried before 
that age, Than I will that the said C C fikes shal- 
be paied and delyGed vnto the saied Thamar at suche 
tyme as she shall accomplishe the saied age of xxij 
yeres. Item I give and bequethe vnto my saied 
doughter Thamar my gilt salt w^out a cover w^ was 
Mr. Doctor Capons and vj siluer Spones. Item I 
give and bequethe vnto the same Thamar a bedsted 
w* a Tester of waynescott a fetherbed a boulster two 
pillowes two blankettes a paier of shetes a cofilett 
curtejms and all other thinges apparteyning to a bedd. 
Item I give and bequeth vnto Anne Breton my dough- 
ter two hundeithe markes in money to be deljrfied 
and paied vnto her at the day of her mariage, jrf she 
the same Anne shall happyn to be maryed before 
she shall Accomplishe the age of xxij yeres. And yf 
she be not maryed before that age than I will that 
the same two hunderthe markes in money shalbe 
paied and delyQed vnto the same Anne at suche tjrme 
as she shall accomplishe her saied age of xxij 3reres, 
Item I give and bequethe vnto the saied Anne my 
doughter one Round salt all gilt w* a cover w^ my 
Suster Gray did give at the Christnyng of Mary my 
fjrrst daughter. Item I give and bequethe vnto the 
same Anne my daughter S3rx silQ spones a bedsted 
w* a Testo*^ of waynscote a fetherbed a boulster two 
pylloughes two blankettes a payer of Shetes a coQlett 
curteyns and all thinges belonging to the bedd. Item 
I give and bequethe vnto Mary my daughter two 
hundred markes in money to be deliuered and payed 
vnto her at the daye of her mariage if she the same 
Mary shall happen to mary before she shall accom- 
plyshe the age of xxij^ yeres and if she be not maryed 
before that age then I will the same two hundred 
markes shalbe payed and deliQed vnto her the same 
Mary at suche tyme as she shall accomplyshe the 
saied age of xxij yeres. Item I give and bequethe 
vnto the saied Mary my daughter my silQ salte 
pounced that is dayly occupied and vj silQ spones a 
bedsted w* a Testor of waynscote a fetherbed a boul- 



Iter two pyUooghes two blankettes a payer of Shetes 
a ooQlett cQtens of Saye and all thinges perte3ming 
to a bedd. All w^ saied money plate bedsteds bed- 
ding and all other thinges aboue bequethed to my 
taied daughters Thamar Anne and Mary or to any 
of diem I will my saied wif shall haue the costodye 
order and rule of vntill the foresaied mariages or ages 
of my saied daughters if my saied wif shall so long 
live So that and vppon condicon that my saied wife 
do kepe herself sole and do not mary after my decease 
or dye before the saied mariages or i^es of my saied 
daughters. And if my saied wif shall happen to 
maiye or dye before the saied ages or mariages of my 
saied daughters, Then I will and ordeyne that the 
taied John Bacon and Lawrence Eresbie or the longer 
liver of them shall then Immediatly vppon her saied 
manage or deathe haue the Custody order and Rule of 
the saied money plate bedding and other thinges 
aboae given and bequethed vnto my saied daughters 
and efiy of them vntill the foresaied mariages or ages 
And also I will that my saied wif Immediatly vppon 
sache her saied manage and her executors imme- 
diatly after her deathe shall deliQ into thands and 
Cnstodie of my saied ffather in lawe John Bacon and 
Lanrence Eresbie or the lenger liver of them the 
saied syz hundred markes of money plate bedding 
and all other thinges aboue given and bequethed vnto 
my taied daughters or any of them to be by the same 
John and Lawrence or the lenger liver of them kepte 
and saffly pfermed to the vse of my saied daughters 
vntill their foresaied mariages or ages and to be then 
aaffly deliOed vnto them and the profyttes thereof in 
the meane tjrme to be Imployed towardes ther fynding 
if any profytt shalbe made therof, Morouer I will 
and ordeyne that if my saied children or any of them 
shaU happen to dye before foresaied mariages or ages 
by reason wherof they or any of them shall not haue 
nor inyoy his her or their foresaied legacies aboue 
bequethed, Than I will and ordeine that the money 
plate and stuff aboue bequethed to hjrme or her that 
shall so happen to dye shall remayne and be equally 
dystribated amongest the Rest of my saied Children 
w** shall then survive and be livinge, And so lyck- 
wise to remajme wholly to the Survivo'' of them 
although it shall happen but one of them to survive. 
Also I further will and ordeine by this my Last will 
and Testament that the saied Elizabethe my wife 
wHn the space of thre monethes next after my deathe 
shall stand and be bounde to the rest of myfi Exe- 
ciiton in the some of two Thousand fikes for the 
trewe pa3rment and delivery of the foresaied severall 
tomes of money plate and stuff aboue bequethed to 
my nied Children and appoynted to remayn in her 
ofder and Costodie in forme aforesaied, And also for 

the trewe performaunce of this my ^sent Last will and 
Testament and if my said wif shall refuce to be so 
bounde or be not so bounde then I will and ordeine 
that my saied father in Lawe John bacon and Lau- 
rence Eresbie or the longer liver of them shall haue 
and take into their handes custody and order all the 
saied money plate Stuff and other thinges aboue 
bequethed to my saied Children or to any of them and 
shall haue the order and rule therof vntill the saied 
ages or mariages of my saied children, provided 
alwayes and I will and ordeyne that then my saied 
father in Lawe John bacon and the saied Laurence 
Eresbie or the longer liver of them shall then stand 
and be bounde to my saied wife in the some of two 
Thousand markes of LaufuU money for the trewe 
pa3rment and performaunce of the foresaied Legacies 
made and bequethed to my foresaied Children or any 
of them provided lykwise and I further will and 
ordeine that my saied daughters or eOy of them shal- 
be ordred and Ruled in their mariages by my saied 
wif ther mother during the lyf of my saied wife And 
after her deathe by my saied Executo" and the longer 
liver of them, And If it shall happen any of my saied 
daughters to mary wV>ut the consent and agrement 
of my saied wif ther mother during her lyf and before 
suche my daughter shall accomplishe thage of xxx^* 
yeres Then I will and ordeyne that suche of my saied 
daughters as shall so fortune to marye w^out thassent 
of my saied wif shall forfeit and lose the some 
of money and Legacies a boue by this my ^sent 
Testament to her given and bequethed. And that 
than my foresaied legacies and bequestes a1x>ue 
made to suche of my saied doughters as shall so 
marry w^)ut tassent of my saied wife shalbe vtterlye 
voyde and of none effecte. And that the same 
Legade shalbe then given and equally parted and 
distributed amongest the rest of my saied daughters 
then lyvinge or the reste of my Children if all my 
saied daughters be then deade. Item I give and 
bequethe to Henry Berton {^sic) my Brother fortie 
poundes in money and to cOy of his daughters Agret 
& Elizabethe twentie poundes a pece towardes 
their mariages. Item I give and bequethe vnto 
Willffi breton my saied brothers sonne twenti poundes 
in money to helpe to fynd hyme to Skoole all w<* 
saied somes of money so given and bequethed to my 
saied brother Henry Breton and his saied children I 
will shalbe payed and delivered into thandes of my 
saied brother to his and their vses withe in the space 
of syx monethes next after my decease. Item I give 
and bequethe vnto ffraunces Breton my brother all 
that my parte and moitie of the lease for terme of 
yeres that I haue or ought to haue in the psonage of 
Hotoste in the Countie of Lyncoln being vj" yerly 



Qere a boue the rent or there a boute And all that 
my enterest parte and moytie of the Lease w*^ I 
haae or ought to haue in the fiyshe ground in the 
saied countie of Lyncoln being xx* yerly a boue the 
rent or ther a boutes. Item I give and bequethe 
vnto the said ffraunces my brother syx pounds in 
money oQ and besydes the iiij** w<* I owe vnto hym 
for the Legade of the foresaied Willm Capon. 
Item I give and bequethe vnto John Reynold my 
i^ont thre pounds vi« viij** To thorns beamont my 
i^tont iijw vj« viijd to Richard Dobby fortie shillinges 
to Maigret my s'unt twenti Shillinges to mergery 
my s'unt twentie shillinges, to Lame Jone fortie 
shillinges, to King the gardner and his wif x*, to 
Wilson the hosyer and his wif Tenne Shillinges To 
the widowe Bruett tenn shillinges and to the Widowe 
Sparrowe and other thre of the poorest creatures in 
beche laynes x*. Item I giue and bequethe to one 
hnndrethe of the most Impotent and porest persones 
in the foresaied par3rshe of saint gyles wk>ut Cripell- 
gate of London fyve poundes in money that is to 
nye to eQy of them xij<^ a pece Item I will and 
ordeyn that my Executo" shall bye and provyde in 
the somer yerly during iiij yeres next after my deathe 
fyve lods of Cooles and also shall provyd an house to 
laye them in in the Somer to begiven and dystributed 
in the wynter amongest the poorest inhabitauntes of 
the saied paryshe of Saint Gyles Item I give and 
bequethe to and- amongest twentie of the moste 
poorest and impotent prsones in Walthamstowe xx* 
that is to saye xij<^ a pece to eQy of them. Item I 
give and bequethe vnto Audre my dayrye woman xx* 
Item I give and bequethe to Alice chaundler that 
was my s'unt fortie shillinges Item I give and 
bequethe vnto Thospitall of saint Bathilmewes in 
smithefield in London twentie poundes in money 
tppon condicon that aswell the poo^ in the same 
hospitall as the Children in bothe the Skooles there 
do praye eQy morning and eQy evening vnto allmightie 
god for M' Willm Capon and me as benefactors of 
the saied hospitall that his mightifuU and incom- 
phensible mercy maye stand betwne {sic) his iust 
Judgement and o' synnes And that we w^ them and 
they w^ us maye aryse at the Later daye vnto Etemall 
lyfe. Item I will and ordeyn that therbe given and 
dystributed to and amongest the poorest people in 
the towne of Salcote in the Countie of Essex wher 
the foresaied Willm Capon was borne fyve poundes 
to praye for the saied Willm Capon. Item I will 
and ordeine that ther be bestowed vppon the re- 
pAyringe the hyghe wayes brydges and other most 
nedfiiU and necessary thinges in and about the said 
towne of Salcote and Lyer Breton in Essex for the 
saied Willm Capon and in the Remembraunce of me 

twentie poundes And also I will and ordeyne that 
ther be dystributed and given for the saied WiUm 
Capon to and amongest the poo*" of his Late paryshe 
and benefyce in Southam in the countie of Southe- 
hampton fyve pounds and to and amongest the poo*^ 
of the paryshe of saint maryes in Southampton fyve 
pounds and to and emongest the poo' of his Late 
benefyce and paryshe of Symond broughton in the 
countie of Dorsett fyve pounds and to and emongest 
the poo"" of his Late benefyce and paryse {sic) of 
Borkdey herons in the Countie of Glou8 fyve pounds 
and to and emongest the poo^ of his Late benefyce 
and paryshe of Duxford in the Countie of Cambrydge 
fyve pounds And to and emonges the poo*" of his 
Late p'bend of Lanvere in wales fyve pounds And 
to and emogest the poo*" of His Late pbend of 
Torleton in the Countie of Gloucester belonging to 
the Chorche of Sarum fyve pounds And to and 
emongest the poo*" of the Towike of Barkewaye in the 
Countie of Cambrydge fyve poundes And to and 
emonges the poo^" of the Citie of Sarum tenne pounds 
And to and emonges the poo' Lame and impotent 
people of the Towne of Cambrydge fyve pounds 
And to and emongest the poorest SkooUers of the 
▼niOsitie of Cambrydge tenn pounds And to and 
emongest the poorest of the paryse of Saint Gyles 
in Colchester Fortie Shillinges And to mystres 
CaQley dwelling w^ Mystres Toye in powles churche 
yard xx* And to and emongest the pore of thospitall 
in Southwerk Fortie Shillinges to thintent that all 
thafforsaied poo*" people shall praye for the sayed M' 
docto^ Capon All w<^ somes of money so bequethed 
and appoynted to be dystributed for the saied Master 
doct' Capon I will shalbe performed and donne 
withe all possible sped Immediatly after my deathe. 
Item I will and ordeyn that fore and in full per- 
formaunce and dyschardge of all and singler Legacies 
made by the saied Willm Capon to Henry Knighte 
that The same Henry shall haue teime pounds yerly 
to Studye the Lawe for the Space and tenne of vij 
yeres so that he continew study at the Lawe or vse 
any other honest exercyse of L3rvinge. Item I give 
and bequethe vnto Thomas Sackford of Grayes lime 
my beste Gowne of Clothe furred w^ Skywrrell and 
faced w^ martens Item I give and bequethe vnto 
the same Thorns Sackford my dublet of Crynsen {sic) 
Satten. Item I give and bequethe vnto Laurence 
Eresbye of Louthe to take pajmes in thexecucon of 
this my ^sent Testament tenn pounds in money 
Item I give and bequethe vnto my Father in Lawe 
John Bacon my Spanyshe Cappe of Clothe and so 
muche Fyne clothe as shall msdce hyme a Cote to the 
same Item I give and bequethe vnto my brother 
Henry Berton {sic) my damask e gowne welted w^ 



▼elvet and £Eiced w^ budge (= lamb*s fur) . Item I give 
and bequethe vnto Mr. Edward Waldegrave my 
Shorte gowne of Satt3m. Item I give and bequethe 
vnto ffraunces Berton {sic J) my brother my gowne 
of clothe Furred w^ Budge and my night Gowne 
of Sackdothe my beste blacke cote of clothe and 
my crynsyn {jsk) Tafiata dublett and my Russett 
dublet and my satten Jackett. Item I give and 
bequethe vnto Richard my Sonne my best damaske 
gowne w^ the Imbroderd garde and my two velvet 
Jackettes Imbrodered and a dublett of Crynsen satten 
that is vnmade and my dublet of purple satten my 
two best Shurtes and my best velvet hose my ringe 
of gold that I vsc to weare w*^* Thonyde [qu. — 
Th' onjTx?] and my scale of sylO Item I give and 
bequethe vnto my sonne Nicholas my dublett of 
black Satten styched and my dublett of black satten 
w^ whypped Lace my whit Hanger and my Sword 
and my buckler And to my sonne Richard my 
gylte Skayne my Corselett and my preuy cote 
All w^ apparell and other thinges a boue be- 
quethed to my saied Sonnes or either of them I 
will my saied wif shall haue the custody and order 
of vntill they shall accomplyshe the foresaied ages 
of zxiiij^ [j*r] And then to be deljrvered vnto them 
and if either of them do dye before their saied ages 
then I will that the su^uivo' of them shall haue and 
enioye the parte of the other that shall so happen to 
dye before his saied age Provided allwaye that if my 
saied wif shall happen to marry or dye before the 
saied ages of my saied sonnes That then my saied 
&ther in Lawe and Laurence Eresbye or the longer 
lyver of them shall immediatly after her deathe or 
manage haue the custodye of all the pmisses bequethed 
to my saied sonnes or e3rther of them vntill their fore- 
saied ages The Residue of all my goodes not be- 
quethed my funeralles and debtes being dyschardged 
and payed I give and bequethe vnto the saied 
Ellzabethe my wif Item I ordeyn constitute and make 
Executo" of this my ^sent will and Testament my 
saied father in Law John Bacon the saied Elixabethe 
my wyfe And the sayed Laurence Eresbye And also 
I orde]m and make Supervisors of the same my will 
and testament the saied Edward Waldegram {sic) 
and the saied Thorns Sacford All w«^ my saied Exe- 
cutor and superuisors I most intirely and most hartely 
desyre and beseche in the Bowelles and bytter deathe 
and passion of Christe Jesus our only savio' and 
redemer not to neglecte this my present will and 
Testament as comonly Executors done But ffrendly 
and faythefully to regarde the same and so se yt per- 
formed fulUylJed and accomplyshed in every behalf 
as my assured and faythfull tniste is left in them 
desiring them also to Rememb[e]r and r^arde the 

Releffe of the poo^ the bringing vpp of my Children 
in Leming and vertue and the ayde and helpe of my 
poo' brother ffraimces Breton for the maynt^nce and 
continuance of his lyvinge. Thus frome and w^ my 
whole herte desiring and beseching mercy and for- 
givenese of allmightie god and of my bretheren in 
xpiste whom I haue offended. And derely forgiving 
all persones frome the botom of my harte and be- 
s[ee]ching them all to praye for me I bydd all fare- 
well in our Lord Jesus Christe And so my soule to 
heaven and my body to the yerthe w«^ I trust and 
beleave shall ryse agayne at the later daye and ly ve 
w^ my soule ppetually w^ I comitt and coSend into 
thandes of [my] allmightie creato' Redemer and only 
sauio' therof to whome w^ the holly goste be all 
bono' glory and prayse eOlastingly world wk>ut end 

Quod Redemptor mens viuit et quod in nonissimo 
die de terra surrecsurus sum et in ea Came mea videbo 
deum saluatorem meum In manus tuas Domine 
comendo spiritum meu ac animam meam viventem 
in sempitema secula Dne Jesu Christe acdpe spurn 
metl Laus deo pax viuis et requies etema defimctis, 
per me Wilfm Bretonn manu et voce proprijs. Pub- 
lished and declared in the presens of me Raufe 
Waddington and John Reynolds being wittnetses of 
all thinges menconed and spoken of in this will and 

Probatum fuit limoi Testamenttl coram Magro 
Waltero Haddon Legum doctore Curie Prerogative 
venerabitm virora Decani et Capitt Ecctie xftt Cant 
Sede Archiepali Can{ earn vacan oomissario xiij® die 
mensP marcij anno d&i milhno quigen® Iviijo Jura- 
mento Thome Vpton procuratoris Elizabethe Breton 
et Johis Bacon Executora in hmoi Testamento 
noiatora Ac probata &c. Et commissa fuit adminis- 
traco pfat^ executoribj &c de bene ad sancta del 
Eungtia in psona (id procuratoris iurat^ Rea^tiata 
ptate Laurentio Eresby Executori etiam in Iim6i 
Testo noiato ca venerit : — Prerog. Court of CaatF 
Somerset House (51 Welles.) 

Before passing on, there are certain things 
in this Will, that call for brief notice in 
their order : — 

[a) Unfortunately the Parish Registers of 
St Giles, Cnpplegate, do not commence until 
a6th March 1561, or more than two years 
too late for William Breton's burial; and 
Stowe gives no monument for him. But 



there can be little doubt that he was buried 
there, as it was his parish church. 

(^) * Redcross Street,' wherein his * capitall 
mansion house ' was situated, was the direct 
road from the North to St Giles's church, 
and thus was an important one. Until 
recent years the famous Dr. Williams' Library 
was located in this street ; which is another 
indication that even far onward it retained 
its respectable character. 

(r) *Dyse' quay — ^another property — ^is 
not named in Aggas's map of London, nor 
in any topographical account of the neigh- 
bourhood that I have consulted. It was 
probably one of the smaller quays near 

[d) *Walcomstowe ' — tlie seat of other 
tenements and property, was = Waltham- 


{€) The ' Bell ' in Eastcheap, I do not find 
in any work on the subject It may have 
been a small tradesman's sign. 

(/) With reference to the * George,* on 
May 15th, 1634, Richard Lawley, innkeeper, 
at the George without Aldersgate, was buried 
(Richard Smith's Obituary : Camden Societ}% 
p. 9). John Mynn, citizen and grocer of 
London, appears to have occupied it later. 
He issued a token circa 1660-70 bearing St 
George and the Dragon. This inn was in 
Aldersgate Street, without the Gate. 

(£) * Burgh-on-the-Maish,' is a small but 
very old market-town in Lincolnshire, near 
Wainfleet The following extract from Old- 
field's History of Wainfleet connects a Breton 
(spelled Brittayne) very early with Burgh-on- 
the-Marsh :— • His [Sir William Braytoffs] 
ton and heir Henry married Nichola, daugh- 
ter of Sir Ralph Rochford, Knight, by whom 
he had issue William, who at his death in 
1306 possessed an estate in this parish 
[Bratoft] held of the manor of Steeping. 
His wife was Grissell or Cecily, daughter to 
Wiliam Arden of Theddlethorpe, by whom 
be had a son William, who succeeded him. 

and a daughter married to William Brtt- 


{h) ' Nelmes ' was certainly not one of the 
four manors in the parish of Wickes. It is 
not mentioned in any history of the parish. 
It was doubtless a local name for some small 
lands, with house property. 

(/) *Hotoste' or Hotoft is the modem 
Huttoft, a parish ^\ miles east of Alford in 
Lincolnshire. Breton may have bought half 
the advowson, or with some one else lent 
money on it He nowhere appears as the 

(/) 'Salcott' is a well-known parish in 

From these unchallengeable authorities, it 
is found that William Breton, father of our 
Nicholas, was the fifth son of another William 
(by Anne Denham), who was son of another 
William, whose wife was Isabell or Isabella 
Haynes. This William must have been 
living in the latter part of the fifteenth 
century ; which seems a respectable antiquity 
for Nicholas to boast of. Nor was it antiquity 
alone. For with the official testimony that 
his grandfather and great-grandfather were 
certainly of Layer Breton (expressly named 
in his father's will as well), he is seen to 
descend directly from the Bretons of that 
place recounted by Morant; and so he 
partakes of their lustre. There are com- 
paratively few English families who can so 
certamly trace their descent from the year 
1450, and beyond. 

It is evident that William Breton, father 
of Nicholas, being the youngest son, did as 
most younger sons of the gentry did — came 
up to London and engaged in trade, becom- 
ing very much the architect of his own 

I suppose we cannot greatly err if we 
assume that for birthplace, our Nicholas 

1 Commaiucatcd by my bookiah and excellent fKend Mr. 
Robert Roberts of Botton. Eheu I that hut printtag-prets w 
BOW dosed. 



had the 'capitall mansion' in Red-cross 
Street with its ' garden ' — so extensive that a 
^gardener' was kept He was the second 
son— ^-Richard having been the eldest — and 
probably the addition of two years to his age 
over his elder brother (xxrv. for xxii.) ere 
he was to inherit, denotes the interval between 
their respective births. Richard must have 
been a number of years short of twenty-two 
at the date of his father's will and death in 
IS53-9 ; for his ' mayntenaunce f3mding and 
bringing vpp' are appointed as for a boy. 
So too with the ' preuy cote ' left him. He 
was still too young to wear either it or 
the ^gylte skayne' or 'corselett' We can 
scarcely suppose him older than fifteen. 
Nicholas accordingly in 1558-9 would be 
thirteen. This carries us back approdmately 
to 1543-3 as his birth-date. 

The numerous properties and moneys be- 
queathed — even each of the three daughters 
receiving 200 marks s;;^ 133, 6s. 8d.=to-day 
;^7So at least — and the retinue of house- 
hold servants' remembered, with the mention 
of family-plate, and jewels, and velvet and 
satten dresses, and gilt bed-steads, warrant us 
in thinking that the widow and her two sons 
and three daughters (Thamar, Anne, and 
Mary) were well provided for.^ It is also 
pleasant to find that it was a special charge 
that all the children were to be carefully 
educated in ' learning and virtue.' It speaks 
loudly in favour of the widow, that if any 

1 A aurli was » 13s. 4d., two-tkirds of a pound, as a noble 
wit oao-tkinl or 6b. 8d. Two hoiidred marks therofon was 
;£i33, 6s. 8d. as nt/ra. But oioney was seven or eight times as 
mnch value then as h is now. 

> With Richard Breton, the eldest son, we have 00 great 
concern; but it may be stated that he was living on aTth 
October 1567, the date of his father's Inquisition, p.m. On die 
4th May 1579 he had a license as a 'gentleman' from the 
Bishop of London, to marry Katherine Geste, spinster, of 
Waith ams t o w, Essex, where they were to marry. His death- 
date does not appear ; but on 6th May 1585 his relict Catharine 
(then wife of Richard Wright of Sutton, near Broughton Astley 
in Lekoster, 3reoman), administered to die estate of his mother, 
Elisabeth Gascoine (of whom more onward). They appear to 
have had only one son, Robert, who was living 19th June 1596^ 
of full age. Of the sisters of NicholM I know nothing. 

one of her daughters married without her 
consent, her legacies were to be absolutely 
void Equally does it argue utmost goodwill 
and confidence, that the children were not 
to come to their 'fortune' until they were 
respectively 2a and 24. This was a not 
uncommon thing. There are even con- 
temporary instances of extension of the age 
to 30. The intention was apparently that 
the widow should thus have a longer interest 
in the revenues. 

We are therefore free to picture a home of 
comfort and refinement for these fatherless 
children, and so for our Nicholas Breton. 
I like to think of them as housed — like young 
Andrew Marvell later — ^within a garden- 
enclosed town residence, and pajdng visits to 
Essex and Lincolnshire, where the family- 
possessions lay. The * Kyen ' (Kine) left 
Mrs. Breton away down in Essex, suggest 
the coming up to town of all rural plenty. I 
can picture Master Nicholas eager-eyed when 
a hamper was being opened, and its butter 
and cheese, eggs and honey, and perchance 
^hSx flowers' and some handfuls of milky 
nuts, displayed. 

Of the father-in-law — ^father of Mrs. William 
Breton, fUe Elizabeth Bacon — ^John Bacon, 
Esquire, I am unable to tell anything worth 

It may, however, be well to recall that in 
after-years our Nicholas Breton dedicated his 
'Characters vpon Essaies' (161 5) to Lord 
Bacon. Perchance there was in that a tacit 
claim to kinship through his mother, just as 
in the like dedication to Sir Mark Ive of 
* Fantasticks ' (1626), there was the link of 
the Ives holding ' possessions ' of or from the 

At this late day, in the absence of docu- 
ments, it were idle to conjecture what edu- 
cational advantages Master Nicholas enjoyed. 
I suspect that he went little beyond the 
alderman's famous three R's — reading, 'riting, 
and 'rithmetic for as will elsewhere appear, 


he disavowed all claim to be a Scholar. No 
doubt this is so fiar to be placed to his modest 
self-estimate; still, throughout his Writings 
there is a notable absence of classical quotar 
tion and allusion. 

The only academic glimpse that we get of 
him is a casual notice in the Diary of the 
Rev. Richard Madox (Sloane ms. 5008) 
under 14th March 1582 : — *I dyned w* M'. 
Carlil at his brother Hudson's who is gover- 
nowr of An[t]werp. He offered me x^ to 
take a boy w^ me [cipher]. 

*Ther was M^ Brytten, once of Oriel 
Colledge, w^ made wyts wyL He speaketh 
the Italian wel [cipher].' 

This entry yields three facts : — 

{a.) That our Nicholas Breton was * once 
of Oriel College,* Oxford. 

{b,) That he was now [1582] abroad, 
though the context of the diary does 
not show where [qu. — Antwerp ?]. 

(r.) That the 'Will of Wit' was familiarly 
known so early as 1582. 

It is deeply to be regretted that the 
Registers of renowned Oriel give no trace 
of Breton — as alas ! similarly with others, and 
as in all too many Colleges, we have no 
record of other celebrities known to have 
been in attendance at them. Of the other 
two points I shall have after-occasion to 

How long or how short he was at the 
University we cannot now tell; neither, 
which of the learned professions he had 
set before himself on going thither. 

Our next noticeable point is a somewhat 
sorrowful one. For it tells that the confidence 
which William Breton had in his wife, was 
falsified, or at least, that the interests of the 
children had to be guarded legally. It will 
be remembered that in the Will the widow 
is again and again reminded that her 
bequests and interest in her husband's pro- 
perty and moneys were almost wholly con- 
tingent on her remaining ' sole. ' If she married 

('happened to marry'), her father and his 
co-executor Eresbie, were to take possession 
of everything in the interests of the family. 
She did marry; and the inquisition and 
mandamus of 1568-69 inform us, that her 
second husband was no other than George 
Gascoigne, the once celebrated Poet How 
soon after the death of William Breton his 
widow remarried does not appear; but it 
was prior to the mandamus (OcXohtt 12th, 
1568). What became of the * suit ' — if it is 
to be so called — we are uninformed ; but all 
the likelihoods are that matters were com- 
promised and arranged privately. Gascoigne 
enjoyed to the last the * property 'of William 
Breton at Walthamstow. He died on 
October 7th, 1577. His widow survived 
until 1585 ; in which year (as ante) the 
widow of her eldest son Richard is found 
administering to her estate. ^ Two little 
facts I am willing to interpret as indicative of 
restoration of good feeling between Nicholas 
at any-rate and his step-father. The first is 
— as I shall show onward (II. Critical) — ^that 
Breton copies after Gascoigne in several 
places of his poems. The second is — that 
in his * Packet of Mad Letters,' he dates 
one from 'Gawthorpe.' I am inclined to 
think that it was — ^like others — a mere fancy 
date-place. Still even if it were so, it 
showed kindly regard for the deceased old 
poet, inasmuch as Sir William Gascoigne (ob. 
1 41 3), founder of the family, was of Gaw- 
thorpe, county York. I for one am pleased 
to meet with such a personal trait, just as I 
prize Bewick's introduction of dates and life- 
memories into his charming wood-cuts. 

Another epochal event in our Worthy's 
life was his own marriage. The following 
entry in the Register of St. Giles, Cripple- 
gate, London, in all probability refers to our 
Worthy : — 
1592/3, Jan. 14. Nicholas Biytten and Ann Sutton. 

1 QL Hailitt's GMCoigM, vol. L pp. xvL xviiL-xix. 



If this be our Nicholas Breton, then these 
further entries are baptisms of his chil- 
dren: — 

1603, May 14. Henry, son of Nicholas Brytten, 

1605/6, Mch. 16. Edward, son of Nicholas Brit- 

taine, Gent 
1607, May 7, Matilda, daa of Nicholas Brittaine, 


There come also these burials : — 

1603, July 15. a servant of Nicholas Britten, 

1603, Oct. 2. Mary, dau. of Nicholas Brittaine, 

1625, July 27. Matilda, dau. of NichoUs Brit- 
taine, Gent 

Seeing that (i) St Giles, Cripplegate, is 
shown by our Poet's father's Will to have 
been the family parish and church ; that (2) 
these spellings of * Brytten ' and * Brittaine ' 
and ' Britten ' are found contemporarily, and 
in one instance in one of his own books, e,g,^ 
'Brytten' is Madox*s spelling in his Diary 
(as quoted ante) ; * Britten ' rhymes with 

* written ' in verses Ad Authorem by W. D., 
prefixed to * Characters vpon Essaies ' ( 1 6 1 5) ; 

* Britten' is the spelling at end of 1598 edn. 
of * A Solemne Passion,' and * Brittaine ' is 
frequent; that (3) the spelling may be set 
down to the Scribe, while * Gent ' was his own 
studiously-used designation, and hence most 
probably was dictated to the Scribe; that 
(4) the dates fit in with others, and as we 
shall find the last entry answers to the time 
of his disappearance as an author, and there- 
for his death-date ; and that (5) there is little 
probability in two contemporaries of the 
same name in the same parish — I cannot 
doubt that this was our Nicholas Breton. 
I would add that the whole tone and allusions 
of our Worthy's books go to witness that he 
was a married man with a family.^ 

1 For tlMse entries I am again indebted to my good friend 
Colonel Chester (as before). Mr. J. P. Collier (UibL Account, 
ToL L p. 83) first gave the marriage entry, but incorrectly 
' Brittaine' for * Brytten.' 

The publication of his numerous books 
are the chief remaining way-marks in his life. 

For various reasons it is important to 
take heed to their dates. This, the Sta- 
tioners' Register — so inestimably and 
admirably transcribed and published by Mr. 
Eklward Arber, and only waiting vol. v. to 
make the work useable — enables us to do for 
the great majority of them. Accordingly I 
shall here extract the successive entries, 
arranged chronologically : — 

Secando Die Aprilis 1577. 

Receaued of him for his licence to printe a booke (^) p;^h«f ^j^^«^- 
intituled afflorishe vponfancie as gallanU a glose of 
suche a triflinge a Texte as euer was written com- 
piled by N. B. gent to which are annexed manU 
pretie pamphletes for pieasaunte heades to pasu 
awaU idell time withaU compiled by the same 
aucthor, ..... iiij<^ and a copie. 
(Vol. ii. p. 310.) 

Primo Die Junij 1577. 

Receaued of him for his licence to printe a booke ^^v faster Wau 
intituled the woorkes of a yonge witte truste vp with kins. Memoran- 
afardell of pretie fantasies profitable to yonge poetes cS5e*^«MS^ied 
compiled by N. B. gent, . . iiij^ and a copie. ouer to Thomas 
{ibid, p. 312). ^^"^ 

Nono die Septembris [1578]. 

Item Lycenced vnto him a booke intitled the payne {p^ Rice Tooes. 
of pleasuf^el compiled by N. Brittsn, . viij*. 

(i^. p. 337). 

Septimo die Septembris [1580]. 

Tollerated vnto him but not vnder the wardens u) William 
handes a booke intitule<l, William Witte, wrii^te. 
wittes will J or wills witt Chuseyou whether ^ . x*. 
{ibid. p. 377). 

Vicesimo secundo die Januarij [1584]. 

Licenced vnto him vnder th[e hjandes of bothe the /,) Henrye Den. 
wardens, A booke intituled, A handfull ofhoUsome ***ib. 
hearbes. By Bretton [or ? Dretton], . , yj^, 
{ibid. p. 430). 

280. Novembris [1586]. 

Receaued of him for printinge Sir Philip Svdnsys, (/)G«org Robin- 
Epytaphe that was of late Lord Govenwur of 
Fflushynge, aucthorised and allowed vnder the 
Lord Archbishop of Canterburye and bothe the 

wardens hands, ^d. 

{ibid. p. 460). [See onward, quotation from epistle 
to • Pilgrimage to Paradise ']. 



Or) John Wolf. 

(A) Rk. Jooeft. 

23 Jannarij [1591]. 
Entred for his copie, vnder tb[e h]andes of master 
Hartwell and the wardens Tht Pilgrimagito Para- 
dise, . yjd. 

{iHd, p. 573). 

3 Maij [I59IJ 

Entred for his Copie in full Court, Brytons Bawrs 
of DdighUs beinge vnder th[e h]and of Master 

Mathew Heiton, vj*. 

(fM/. p. 581). 

j dies Octobris [1591]. 
Entred for his copie, the honorable entertaynement 
gyven to the quenes wtaiistU in progrtsse at Elvet' 
ham in Hampshire by the ri^hte honorable the ErU 

of Hertford, yj*. 

{ibid. p. 596). 

vijo Januarij [1594]- 
(»Richard Joncju Entred for his Copie vnder th[e hjandes of Master 

Warden Woodcock, The Arbour of Amorus 

(f) John Wolf. 

ddighUs, by N. B, Gent, 
{ibid. p. 643). 




xx9 die Septembris [1595]. 
Entred for his Copie vnder th[e hjandes of Master 
Jackson and both the wardens a booke entituled 
a solempne passion of the soules hue, 
(Vol iii. p. 48). 


x® die Octobris [or rather Novembris 1597]. 
(/) Nicolas Lyog. Entred for his Copie vnder master Warden mans 

hande a booke called the figure offfoure^ . yj<^. 
{ibid, p. 96). [Again under 19 Nov. 1607 ' VoL 
iii p. 365]. 


20 Marchij [1600]. 
Entred for his copie vnder the hand of master 
Harsenet and master man the warden. A booke 
called Pasquill^j Madcap and his message^ yj<^. 
{^id. p. 158). [Again under 29"* July 1605 : Vol. 
iii. p. 297]. 

10 Maij [1600]. 

Entred for his copie vnder the handes of master 
Sonnybank and ye wardens The second part of 
Pasquill/j madcap. Intituled, the fooUs Cappe, 
begunne by him and finished by Maphorius vj<^. 
KiJbid. p. 161). 

29 Maij [1600]. 

{fi) John Smithick. Entred for his copie vnder the handes of the wardens, 

a booke called Pasquili^j passe and passe not. 

(»; Ric. Jones. 

sett downe in Threed p p p., 
{Ufid. p. 161). 



22 Augufti [1600]. 
Entred for his copie vnder the handes of master ^) John S 
Jackson and master White warden. A booke *<^^ 

called Pasquill^j, Swullen humours, 
{ibid. p. 170). 



II Septembris [1601]. 

Entred for their Copyes vnder the handes of master (^) John Bi 
Zachariah Pasfield and the wardens A booke J'>^»I>« 
called the Rat/ished soule. A Devine poeme 
Devided into Twoo partes • The Ravished soule ' 
and ' the blessed weeper.' 

Item Another booke Called ' Brytaynes longinge ' an (r) Jbid. 
excellent poeme xfppon the longinge of a blessed harte 
which lothinge the world doth longe to be with 

Christ, xij<». 

(YoL iii. p. 191). 

16 Septembris [1601]. 

Entred for their copye vnder the handes of master (x) Tohn Ri 
Zachariah Pasfcild and the wardens. A booke *^^Jo*»° ^ 
Called no whippinge nor trippinge but a kind 

frendly njrppinge yj*. 

{ibid. p. 192). 

xviijo Maij [1602]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder th[e h]andes of master (/) John 
Pasfeild and master Seton warden. A booke Smythicke 
called A poste with a mad packet of letters, . yj<>. 
{^bid. p. 206). 

4*0 Junij [1602]. 

Entred for his copie vnder th[e hjandes of master («}Richarc 
Pasfeild : and master Seton Warden : Olde Mad- 

CAPj newe Gallitnawfrye : by Ni. Breton, 
(ibid. p. 206). 



21 August! [1602]. 
Entred for his copie vnder th[e h]andes of master {v) Randal 
Pasfeild and the wardens A booke called the ""*"" 
soules Harmony wrytten by Nye. Breton, . yj* 
{ibid.)^. 215. 

vltimo Septembris [1602]. 

Entred for his copie vnder th[e hjandes of master iw) Willia: 
Harsnett and the wardens A booke called Betweene ^^^^ 
Ethftihe philosophers Anthonio Msandro and 
DiNAJiESCO vppon the eguitie or indiguitie of man, 

etc, vjd, 

{ibid. p. 218). 

xxvij*** of October [1602]. 

Entred for his copie vnder th[e hjandes, as before, A (jr) James 
booke called A merry Dialouge betwixte Twoo 
TrauelUrs Lorenzo and Dorindo by Nicholas 

Britton, vj*. 

{ibid. p. 219). 



la Tap. 

20 Novembris [1602]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder th[e h]andes, as before, a 
booke called wonders or nrwis worth the hearinge 
wherein [are] Discoursed the rarest wonders that 

emer was heard of^ TJ^. 

{Mnd^ p. 222). 

2Jo martij [1604]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder th[e h]andes, as before, A 
book Called I prate be not angrie^ . . yj<^. 
(iHd, p. 255). 

lojunij [1604]. 

>lui Tappe. Entred for his copy vnder th[e h]andes, as before, A 
book called the passionate shepherd^ • . t^\ 
{ibid. p. 264). 

vltimo Augusti [1604]. 

Im Browne. Entred for hb copie vnder th[e h]andes as before, 
A booke called varietie of inventions in presidents 
for Letters. Or the second packett of madd 

letters, . yj*. 

{ibid. p. 269). 

7 novembris [1604]. 

Entred for his copy vnder th[e h]andes, as before, A 
Booke Called An old mans lesson and A young mans 

d White. 







{iHd. p. 274). 

8 Julij [or rather IroA) 1605]. 

Entred for their copy vnder th[e h]andes, as before, 
A booke called. A Poeme vppon the praise of 
vertui. Alias, 7%e soules Immortall erowne Con* 
sistingeofvij glorious graces. !• Vertue. 2. Wis* 
dom. 3. love. 4. Constancy. 5. Patience. 6. 
humility. 7. infinitenes, .... yj'. 
{Und. p. 292). 

16 Januarij [1606]. 

Im Tappe. Entred for his copy vnder the handes of master Pas- 
feild and master Feild Warden A booke called 
IVyttes priueUe wealthy stored with the Chiefest eom- 
modyties that may be Deuised either to content the 
mynd or Uautijie the body^ .... vj*^. 
{Und. p. 1^). 

6 Martij [1607]. 
Jib Wright. Entred for his copye vnder th[e h]andes of master 
Wylson, and the wardens. A booke. Called A 

Murmurer^ vj*. 

{ibid. p. 343). 

4 octobris [1608]. 
Entred for thehr eopie vnder the hand of Master 
Scgar, Deputy of Sir George Bucke and the 
wardens handes also beinge to yt A Booke called 
A Mad World {my Afaysters), . . yj<*. 

{ibid, p. 391). 

r Edgar. 

28oJunij 1614. 

Entred for his coppie vnder the handes of master (M) John Wright 
Tavemoor and master Warden Ffeild a booke 
caXLed / would and / would not, . . vj^. 

{ibid. p. 548). 

23* Julij 1614. 

Entred for his Coppie vnder the handes of master (^•) jo^n Wright 
Doctor Nidd and both the wardens a booke called 
the figure of foure the second parte, . vj*. 

{ibid. p. 551). 

^ Maij 161 5. 

Entred for his Copie vnder the handes of Master hfO. John 
Tavemour and bothe the wardens Caracters morall ^^'^"*""*- 
and devine by Nicholas Breton, . . vj^. 

{iHd. p. 567). 

29® Octobris 1 61 5. 

Entred for his Copie vnder the handes of Master [kh) John Budge. 
Tavemour and master Lownes senior warden a 
booke called The worthies and vnworthies of this 

«^ vj*. 

{ibid. p. 574). 

20^ Julij 1616. 
Entred for his Copie vnder the handes of master /^loim 
Tavemour and both the wardens a little booke called wnght 
Crosse and pile or the Crossing the proverbes, vj<*. 
{ibid. p. 593). [Again 9«» August i6i6, * The (mm) /but, 
first and seconde part of Crossinge the proverbes 
by B. N. ; Vol, iii. p. 594]. 

70 Januarij 1616 [1.^. 161 7]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder the handes of master (m) Richard 
Tavemor and both the wardens a booke caled A Higgenbotham. 
dialogue betwixt a Courtier and a Country man, vj^. 
{ibid. p. 600). 

150 Januarij 1617 [1.^. i6i8]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder the hands of Master Uo) Samuel 
Tauemor and master Swinhowe. A booke Called, R*"<*«- 
Conceited letters newlie laid open, written by 

Nicholas Breton, yj^. 

{ibid. p. 618). 

I3» Aprilis [1622]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder the hands of Master ip/) George 
Lothrop, and Master Knight warden, A booke Fa»fl>ea'<l- 
called Strange newes out of diuerse contries, neuer 
discouered till of Late, by a strange Pilgrim in 

those parts, vjd. 

(VoL iv. p. 67). 

50 Julij [1622]. 

Entred for his Copie vnder the handes of master (dy) Cutbcrt 
Worall and master Knight A thinge Called //ay bright 
then by Nicholas Bretton, .... vjd. 
{ibid. p. 73). 




90 August! [1622]. 
£ntred for his Copie, vnder the handes of Master 
Wilson, and both the wardens, A Booke Called, 
Oddes: or ail the world to Nothing, by N. B. , vj*. 
{ibid, p. 77). [Entered 5 July 1622 as *Nothinge' 
by Nicholas Bretton : Vol. iv. p. 73]. 

Besides these books from the Stationers' 
Registers, there are the following, which 
unaccountably do not appear therein : — 

(xr) Wits Trenchmour in a conference had betwixt 
a Scholler and an Angler. Written by 
Nich. Breton, Gentleman, 1597. [See Vol 
II. h,\ 

{tt) Auspicante lehoua. Marie's Exercise, 1597. 
[See Vol. II. a.] 

{uu) Melancholike Humours, in verses of diverse 
natures, set down by Nich. Breton, Gent, 
1600. [See Vol. I. k,\ 

{w) PasquiVs Mistresse, or the worthie and vn- 
worthie woman ; with his description and 
passion of that Furie, Jealousie, 1600. 
The dedicatory Epistle is signed Salvochin 
Treboun = Nicholas Breton. 4® pp. 48. 

{ww) The Mother's Blessing, 1602. [See Vol. I. m.] 

(jTjr) A True Description of Unthankfulnes or 
an enemy to Ingratitude. Compiled by 
Nicholas Breton, Gent, 1602. [See Vol I. 


{yy) Grimello's Fortunes, etc, 1604. [See Vol. 
II. i.] 

(ft) The Honour of Valour. By Nicholas Breton, 
1605. [See Vol. I. q,\ 

{aaa) Honest Counsaile. A Merrie Fitte of a 
poeticall Furie : Good to read, better to 
follow, 1605, 40. 

{bbb) Divine Considerations of the Soule, etc., 
1608. [See Vol. II. o.\ 

{ccc) The Hate of Treason, etc, 161 6. See Vol, 
I. r.] 

{ddd ) Fantasticks, etc, 1626. [See Vol II. /.] 

{eee) The Countesse of Penbrook's Passion. [See 
Vol. I. <*], with minor pieces in Daffodills 
and Primroses, etc., etc. 

Turning back on this surely very remark- 
able list of books by one man — declarative 
of fecundity and swifl variation of faculty — 
I would wish to accentuate certain things 
about them, in so far as these belong to the 

Memoir. Elsewhere (II. Critical) I shall 
bring out their characteristics. 

The first in the roll (a) is * A fflorishe vpon 
fancie' (Vol. I. a). It is dated 2d April 
1577 in the entry in the Stationers' Register, 
and in the original epistle-dedicatory *From 
his Chamber in Holboume, the xx of Feb- 
ruary.' To the same year belongs (b) * The 
workes of a yonge witte truste up,' etc. 
According to our approximate birth-date 
he was then in his 34th year. So that the 
all hail to his ^ young mates' in the epistle- 
dedicatory of the * Flourish of Fancy' and the 
title of the other * Workes of a yonge witte,' 
suggest that the Poems in both, though not 
published until 1577, had been composed 
long before. Of the latter I have not been 
fortunate enough to see an exemplar.* 

The * Payne of Pleasure ' (c) entered 9th 
September 1578, has not survived in a solitary 
copy, if ever it was published. 

The 'Will of Wit' {d\ under 7th September 
1580, was — as we have seen — familiar to the 
Rev. Richard Madox in 1582. The earliest 
known edition is dated 1597, of which Mr. 
W. C. Hazlitt states in his Collections and 
Notes (s, «.) an imperfect copy was sold 
among Lord Charlemont's books in 1865. I 
am inclined to think that the several portions 
that form the complete work in 1599, were 
issued separately. The entry of * Will of Wit ' 
as in other instances, proves that the Author 
or Publisher did not always adhere to the 
registered title. 

' A handfull of holesome hea^^s,' under 
2 2d January 1584, Mr. Arber queries *or 
Dretton.' If thiswere=*A smale handfull 
of firagrant Flowers, selected and gathered 
out of the louely garden of sacred Scriptures ; 
& fit for any honorable or worshippfuU gentle- 
woman to smell unto. By N. B., 1575 ' he 
might rather have asked 4s it [Nathanael] 
Baxter's?' Certes no one who knows Breton 

1 One— without title-page— is at Britwell. No other leems 



MTill hesitate in rejecting it as his work. I have 
included it in the entries from the Stationers' 
Register, simply because of the apparent illeg- 
ible name that Mr. Arber reads doubtfully as 
Breton or Dretton. I have similarly entered 
(b) * Sir Philip Sydney's Epytaphe,' etc., as 
it mayhave been Breton's ' Amoris Lachrimae,' 
though not likely. 

In regard to {g\ *The Pilgrimage to 
Paradise,' I would note that the entry is 23d 
January 1 591, while the first edition is dated 
1592 ; and not only so, but the publisher who 
enters it (John WolQ nowhere appears in it. 
It is possible therefore that a prose tract, with 
the same title, that was published in 1591, 
was that entered by Wolf. The author's 
name is Leonard Wright. I learn this from 
Offor's Introduction to the 'Pilgrim's Pro- 
gress.' Not having seen the book I cannot tell 
its Publisher. Curiously enough, OfTor was 
ignorant of Breton's * Pilgrimage to Paradise.' 

In an Epistle * To the Gentlemen studients 
and Scholers of Oxforde,' dated 12th April 
1592, in the 'Pilgrimage,' is this notice: — 
• Gentlemen there hath beene of late printed 
in London by one Richarde loanes, a printer, 
a booke of english verses, entituled Bretons 
bower of delights : I protest it was donne 
altogether without my consent or knowledge, 
and many things of other mens mingled with 
a few of mine, for except Amoris Lachrimae : 
an epitaphe vpon Sir Phillip Sydney, and 
one or two other toies, which I know not 
how he vnhappily came by, I have no part of 
any of th^j^nd so I beseech yee assuredly 
beleeue.' The * Bower of Delights' it has 
not been my good hap to see. I regret this, 
as I also poignantly regret the inaccessi- 
bility of the exemplars at Britwell of such of 
Breton's books as are nowhere else preserved.* 

i These two are at Britwell (a) * Pasquils Mistresw/ tee list, 
amU : (^) 'Old Mad-Cappes new Gallimawfry/ etc. : see list, ante. 
I shall indulge the hope that some day Mr. J. Christie Miller 
win allow these to be reprinted. Meantime I have gratefully to 
acknowledge his kindness in sending me information on these 
and othets of tha oaiquas of his magnificent library. 

But in regard to the * Bower of Delights ' it 
is manifest that only a small portion of it was 
really by Breton. The * Amoris Lachrimse ' 
named, we have been able to give from the 
CosENs and Dr. Farmer Chetham mss.; 
and among the ' Daflfodills and Primroses ' 
from the Cosens ms. probably all other 

* toies ' in the * Bower * that were his. It 
lies on the surface that here was an Author 
and Publisher's * Quarrel,' though not in- 
cluded in D'Israeli's delightful volumes. It 
must have been healed : for Mr. Collier is in 
error in stating that Richard Jones published 
nothing after 1591 — the year of the * Quarrel ' 
— by Breton.^ In 1594 he published the 
'Arbor of Amorus Delightes' (/) : in 1600, 
'Pasquilles Madcap' (w),and in 1602 *01de 
Madcaps Newe Gallimawfrye ' (»). 

Breton's disclaimer of the * Bower of 
Delights ' was perhaps made more earnest by 
Nash's drastic allusion to it and him, in his 
Preface to Astrophel and Stella (1591) as 
' Pan sitting in his bower of delights and a 
number of Midases to admire his miserable 
hornpipes.' * 

I have chronicled under ist October 1591 

* The honorable entertaynement gyven to the 
quenes maistie in progresse at Elvetham in 
Hampshire,' etc. (/), because in it first ap- 
peared the bright little song of * Phillidon and 
Coridoa' From this circumstance the whole 
'Entertainment ' has been assigned to Breton. 
But there is also in it a song which in 
England's Helicon is assigned to Thomas 
Watson. Consequently there can be no pre- 
sumption that either Breton or Watson wrote 
the rest of the * Entertainment' Internally 
there is no trace whatever of Breton's hand 
{meo judicio), • 

The * Arbor of Amorus Delightes ' of 7 th 

i Bibl. Account, vol. i. p. 83. 

* See my editions of Sir Philip Sidney's Poems, (a) Fuller 
Worthies' Library, 3 vols., {b) Chatto and Windus's 'Early 
English Poets,' 3 vols., 'Astrophel and Stella.' 

S The ' Entertainment' will be found in its order in Nichols' 
Progi esies of Queen Elizabeth. 




January 1594 (y) , shows our Poet singing 
spontaneously and cheerily as the piping 
shepherd of Sidney's 'Arcadia.' It is an 
immense advance in lyrical richness and work- 
manship on his * Fflorishe vpon Fancie ' {fl). 
The vein of melancholy in the * Fflorishe ' — 
hinted at in the Epistle — has pinched (to 
use a technical term) in the * Arbor.' ^ 

His next book — a tiny one — ^presents him 
in a new light altogether. Thus far he had 
played with the Muses rather than uttered 
out his thought and emotion. But now he 
has passed through a momentous spiritual 
experience. He is at white-heat of religious 
passion. Whether it was the outcome of 
penitence over sin, or of the rapture of Chris- 
tian conviction on finding rest in Him who 
is the goal of every human life, we can only 
surmise. But henceforward through all his 
books, even the lightest and slightest, there 
runs a golden thread of religious faith and 
hope and consolation. His * Solempne passion 
of the soule's loue' {kf are so many *red 
leaves ' out of the * confused book of a human 
heart* It glistens with tears ; but the tears 
lie in white light. 

The • Figure of Ffoure ' {If and ' Wit's 
Trenchmour' (w)* tell of 'sportive wit' and 
(I think) pleasant days in the country — ^per- 
chance away down in Lincolnshire where 
his small patrimony lay. It is odd that Mr. 
Collier should have [mis]wamed us that the 

* Angler ' of ' Wit's Trenchmour ' is not a 

* Fisher.'* He is indeed, and just such an 
one as Izaak Walton had shaken hands with 
right cordially. 

Again his Christian convictions and * faith ' 
come to the front in the same year (1597) 
with the publication of the two books last 
named. In 1597 appeared ' Auspicante 
lehoua. Marie's Exercise.' (//).« The'Mary' 
was, as everybody knows. 

' Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother * 

of the great epitaph of William Browne. 
He had in 1593 dedicated his 'Pilgrimage 
to Paradise * to her, and * ioyned ' to it * The 
Countesse of Pembrookes Loue.'^ The 
whole tone of Epistle-dedicatory and poem 
indicates that Breton was in kindly relation 
to this illustrious lady, and his 'Amoris 
Lachrimse ' and other Sidneian things declare 
personal knowledge — at least — of Sidney. 
If we are to interpret literally certain phrases 
in the Epistle to the * Pilgrimage ' the Coun- 
tess of Pembroke must have stepped in to 

* deliver * him in some crisis of misfortune. 
His words are pathetically definite — *your 
poore vnworthy named poet, who by the in- 
discretion of his youth, the malice of enuy, 
and the disgrace of ingratitude, had utterly 
perished, had not the hand of your honor re- 
uiued the hart of humility.' And he repeats 
'your Ladiship's vnworthy named Poet.'* 
I had in my thought this confession of the 

* indiscretion of his youth ' when I said that 
we could only ' surmise ' what that experience 
was that led to his change to passionate sacred 
verse and prose. Probably it was out of 
contrition transformed into aspiration. As 
with Thomas Howell of Dunster — that 

* Sweet Singer' recently revived* — Breton 
appears to have been in the * humble service ' 
of first, Sir Philip Sidney, and on his death, 
of the Countess of Pembroke. Nor was the 
'indiscretion of youth,' already noticed, the 
only one that his illustrious Mistress had to 
forgive. He further forfeited ^^ehow her 
fjatvour, in such a way as shaped and coloured 
his life and works for years. This falls now 
to be told in so far as we can. 

In my Notes and Illustrations to * Wit's 
Trenchmour' (Vol. II. ^, p. 21, on col. i, I 9) 
I call attention to a passage that has an 
autobiographic look. The gist of it is that 
he had lost and continued to lose the favour 

1 Sec our Vol. I. d. 

« Se«our Vol. 11./ 

B Bibl. Account vol. i. S8. 

9 Ibid. 1. 
4 Ibid. b. 
< See our VoL IL 

1 See VoL I. b, p. 4- 

s In my Occasional Issues* as befora. 


of a noble lady, second only to the Queen 
(Elizabeth) in excellence. Who could this 
be but the Countess of Pembroltel The 
Reader will judge for himself whether I am 
right in my interpretation of the incident in 
'Wifs Trenchmour' on this specific point 
and on its autobiographic character. It is 
thus told :' — 

Sir, jou iball vnderstond quQth the Scholler, tbat Id 
Uw time of m^ tnuaile, comming (by occasions) u weU 
into Ihe Pallaces of Princes, as the cottages of poore 
people, it wai my hap, yea I tnay well uy, that vnder 
beuiea it wu my greatest happjnej thai of Ihis worlde 
I merfounde, to Ughl into Ihe counlike house of a right 
worthy honoumble Lady, the desert □ f whose commenda- 
doiu, far ciceeding the s(ile of tny study, I must Icaae 
lo better wits to dilate of, while I poorlie ipeake of the 
Utile world of my wonder. For in her eye was Ihe scale 
of pittie, ID her han the honour of venue, and in her 
hand the bounty of discretion : lo see her countenance 
the comfortlesse, argued a diuine spirit, lo heare her 
Veak. which was neuer Idle, prooued an oracle of wit, 
to bebolde her presence, might speake of a miracle in 
nature : to bee short, eicepi Plato, I knew no such 
philosopher : eicepi the excepted, I meane the Lady of 
Ladies in this world, the honour of women, and wonder 
of men. the teacher of witt, and the amaier of Ihe wise, 
the tenilier of the prnude, and the comforter of the 
oppressed, the beautie of Nature, the wonder of Reason, 
and the ioy of honour : the hand-maid of God. ihe 
beanenly creature of the E^rth, and the most worthie 
Qoecue in the world, the princely Godesse, or diuine 
Princesse. the gradous soueraigne of the blessed Iland 
of England : except I say this sun of the earths side. I 
knowe not a sture of that slate that can compare light 
whh thys Lady : while her thoughts keepe the square of 
mch discretion, ihai no idle humour dare enier the list 
of her conceil. What praise can be giuen lo that spirit, 
that hath lo ordered Ihe carefull course of her sences 'i 
dw doth alt things as shee did them not. and vseih the 
world as she esteemed It not : Honour is her seruani. 
Venue is her loue. Truth is her studie, and Meditation 
b her eierclM : yet Is she aflable. vrilh such curtesle, 
ai winnei honor in humilille : to make an abridgment 
of tw ptayses. in a few words of her woorthines, let this 
(office, that Nature and Wil, Venue and Honour. Pilty 
and Bounty. Care and Kindnesse, haue so wrought to- 
gether in the perfecting of a pecrelesse creature, that I 
may bite my tongue, and bume my penne. lay vp my 

the concdt of her desen , ere I further shew my weak- 
nMae, to speake of the wonder of her commendation. 
Bu among many good parts, whereof her praise is top 
fall. I wil tell you one action, and not the least, thai fell 
oat in my time of allendonce on her fauour : Her house | 

■ Va II. », p. It, col a I 

beeing in a mann a kind of little Court, her Lorde in 
plaee of no meane commaund, her person no lesse then 
worthily and honourabiie attended, as well with Gentle- 
women of excellent spirits, as diuets Gentlemen of fine 
eariage. besides all other seniants, each of such respect 
in her place, as well might giue praise to iheGoaenion, 
where honor setteth rules of such discretion. It might 
ptrhaps seeme teadious, to set downe the truth of sach 
particulars as desoued a generall cdmendation. where 
firat. God daily serued. religion Irulie preached, all 
quarrels auoyded, peace carefully prescrued, swearing 
not heard of, where truth was easilie beteeued. a table 
Fully furnished, a house richly garnished, honor kindly 
entertained, verlue highly esteemed, serulce well re- 
warded, and Ihe poore blessedly relieucd. might make 
much for the truth of my discourse, while Enuie can but 
fret at her confession : but least in blowing at a coal! I 
doo but put out Ihe Rre, and obscure her praise, that 
may be pend by a better spirit, let this suffice for the 
sum of my speech, that where Ihe eye of honour, did set 
the rule of gouenmient, kindnesse was a companion in 
eooy comer of the house : now, lo Ihis liule Earths kind 
of Paradise, among many sundry kinde of people, came 
by chaunce a poor Gentleman in the ruine of his for- 
tune, by the deuise of a close conueyancc of an imagined 
friend brought in, bauing more wil ihen descreiion, in 
the nature of a good foole, to giue this Lady cause of 
laughter : who no sooner sounded the substance of his 
wit, hut with the deepe eye of her rare iudgemeni, 
perdng into the humble vertue of his spirit, pitiying hii 
fortune, and perceiuing his want, made vie of his ser- 
uicc in a better sence, and in Ihe diuine nature of her 
blened ipiril, determined Ihe mean of his aduancement. 
With hercounlenaunce she graced him, with good words 
she fauoured him, with her bountie. shee relieued him, 
and would suffer no man to hurt him \ for seeing houestie 
want mainlenaunce, and vertue oppressed with malice, 
■he did not like a helping hand to fill vp a h.-ilfe penny 
pnrse with a poore reckoning, bul like herselfe in the 
absolute power of her honourable spirit, shee comforted 
the affllcled minde, reuiued Ihe hart balle dead, and as 
it were diawne out of Ihe dilch of misery, setle the 
spirite in the warme sunne of Gods blessing. Thus did 
this Princesse enlenaine thys poore Genllennan, till by 
the faction of the malicious. Ihe deceitful working of 
the enuious, A Ihe de&an of h' 


luing ol 

.right s 

Ing of his too happy fauour. supping vp his sorrowt 
himselfe, taking leaue for a lime, lo irauaile about a 
Itlile idle basines, in a cold snowy [lay passing ouer an 
vnknowne plaine, not looking well lo his way, or beeing 
ordnined to the misery of such misfonune, fell so deepe 
dowue into a Saw.pitie. thai he shall repent the fall while 
he liuei : for neuer since daring to presume, tnit in 
pmyoi lo thinke on his fair Princesse, and lining in 
poore Cottages, lolooke towards that Coim-like pallace. 
he hath gone vp and downe like n shadowe without sub- 
Mance, a purse without money, and a body without a 



For euer since, as be hath often told me, if he haue 
come among men, it hath beene like a Faire of rude people, 
compared to the sweet company of that house, if in the 
company of women, like a meeting of Gossips, in respect 
of the gracious spirits of the sweete creatures of that 
little paradice : and if it chaunce in his weary passage, 
hee hath had any priuate conference, with some espetiall 
bird of the Countrey, yet for all the best notes that euer 
he heard, they were all Sparrowes to his Nightingale. 
For according to the dispositions of their minds, hee 
might see the weakenes of their spirits : as some would 
talke of nothing, but the new fashion, pinning of ruffes, 
starching rebaters, the Outlandish tire, and the long 
bodies : the fine stuffe and the prettie pinke, the Lawne 
shadow, and the cutworke Lace : other of the pyed Cow. 
the bay Horse, the black Sheep, and the branded Pig : 
another? her Malt in the Kill, her Oates in the scuttle, 
and her Rye in the sheafe, her Cheese in the presse, and 
her Butter in the cheme. Now with this galimawfrey of 
such good matter, as filled his eares with more sound 
then good sence. must he satisfie his sorrowfull hart, 
that, when it got him alone by him selfe, with calling to 
minde the excellent matter, that in variety of methode 
he had often heard from the mouth of his Minerua, would 
so fall into a sighing, that had not the heauens the better 
blest it, it would surely haue burst asunder. For. say 
quoth he. that though some few I found of extraordi- 
nary good spirits, yet among a number of these Countrey 
daunces. I did light on such a Graliard, as had a trick 
aboue Trenchmour, and could speake more to the pur- 
pose, then many of the wiues of the Parish, who hauing 
red many English books, could tell pretty tales of idle 
people, yet compare this Christall with my Diamond, 
she would quickly shew her dimnes : and among all other 
things, if by the reuenue of a pretty Dairy, she could 
priuily put vp three pence to spend at a blind bridaile, 
if perhaps in a good humour, she had a minde to 
pleasure a poore friend ; it would come so dropping 
out of her fingers, as though it hoong at her heart 
blood : and then perhaps with such a lesson to it, to 
take heede of vnthriftiness, with a shrug of the shoulders 
at the hardnes of the world, that it would breake the 
hart of a good minde, to thinke on the misery of such 

To goe from Hiues that giue the golden honey. 
To shilling Spirits, that will tell their money. 

And then calling to mind the golden showres of his 
Ladies fauours, bled inwardly in the hart, with such 
drops of vnseene teares, as makes him Uke Adam out of 
Paradice. hope of no happines, till hee come at heauen : 
Or like the Phenix, Hue in ashes, till he may get life by 
the vertue of his bright Sunne againe : and now this is 
only his worldly comfort, that she liueth, whom his hart 
honoureth, and his soule prayeth for, though his vn- 
worthy eye. be abandoned the blessing of his sences ad- 
miration : Who though he Hue in the dungeon of sor- 
rowes darknes. will neuer cease prayer to the heauens 
for his bright Sunnes eternall blessednes: and that as 

her name doth hue onely in the high Meridianis, so her 
soule may be blessed in the highest Coelis. 

The Angler seeks to comfort his despon- 
dent friend thus:*— 

Alas poore wretch, quoth the Angler, why doe your 
eyes water your cheekes, at the shutting vp of this dis- 
course? If it be your selfe, be not dismaide. Princes 
haue gracious spirits, and great powers, who at the 
time of their pleasure will comfort patience in misery : 
and after the woe of a long Winter, giue the fruite of a 
little Spring, howsoeuer hope hit on a good Sommer : 
and therefore continue thy constancie, in thy prayers to 
remember the happines of thy harts honour, and feare 
not, but vertue will one day haue a glaunce of fauour : 
and therefore if I may aduise thee, let not mal-content 
breede a madnes. to driue thee from thy selfe to a worse 
companion. Seme God, and care not for the world : 
for I am perswaded, that shee that is made of so many 
exceedings, cannot but at her good time make thee 
happy in her comfort, who though a while shee shut vp 
the hand of her bounty : yet wiU send thee a Uttle of 
that Quintescence, that will saue thee from a deadly 
swound, whosoeuer sorrow possesse thee. And there- 
fore be her bead-man in thy prayers, till she make ira- 
ployment of thy further seruice. 

It is in accord with all this being actual 
fact, not imagination, that 'melancholy' is 
M^ characteristic of Breton's works that came 
forth in the immediately succeeding years ; 
and also I find here the secret of the non- 
publication, though then composed, of * The 
Countesse of Pembroke's Passion.' ^ Ap- 
parently under the new offence the Countess 
resented repetition of the former liberty of 
calling his *Auspicante lehoua' * Marie's 
Exercise.' But it is every way consolatory to 
have pleasant proof that his Mistress did not 
nurse her wrath or continue her * vnworthy 
named poet ' in absolute forfeiture of her friend- 
ship. This is found in the delightful little 
Epistle-dedicatory of *The Rauish't Soule 
and Blessed Weeper.' This was in 1601, Le. 
four years after the * Pilgrim' and 'Wit's 
Trenchmour.' I suspect the * falling into a 
sawe-pit on a snowy day' was a euphemistical 
phrase for over-indulgence in wine, and per- 
chance free speech under its influence. Be 

> See Vol. 11. b. pp. x8-2o. 

s A change of the title would not have sufficed. 



this as it may, he was self-evidently restored 
to his former favour, and henceforward a deep 
religious element mingles with all his writ- 
ings — a quiet, simple, gentle, unclamorous 
piety. En passant^ he was out-and-out a 
Protestant Hence ' Mary Magdelen's Love,' 
pver-hastily ascribed to him by the late Rev. 
Thomas Corser of Stand (Anglo-Poetica, 
s.n.), could not possibly be his. Witness 
this reference to a * damnable deed' — *In 
an other Country quoth the Scholler, I saw 
one yeere such bloodshed, that there hath 
been warres there euer since. Alas quoth the 
Angler, the massacre in Paris can be your 
witnesse for that truth : where the deuill and 
the Pope made the Duke of Guise the chief e 
mufiherer' (Wit*s Trenchmour, p. i6, col. 2). 
I add that no Roman Catholic could have 
thus written of Priests and their services 
(R, Catholic): — * their deuotion is full of 
darknesse : for they cannot see in the day- 
time without a candle' (Vol. II. s, Strange 
News, p. 5/1, 1. 25). Or thus of Indulgences 
— * Buls of Rome breed too many calues in 
Britanie' (Vol. II. «, A Murmurer), p. 5/2, 
IL 5, 31); and again — *Cruell Cookes that 
were the rosters of men* (Vol. II. v, p. 5/2, 


Dr. Brinslev Nicholson further, writes 
as follows : — 

*In the second part of the "Poste," etc., in a 
letter **To a Young Man going to Travel beyond the 
Sea," thus : — **Good cousin ... as first for your 
religion, haue a great care that your eies lead not 
your heart after the horror of Idolatry.'* In Th€ 
Court and Country (1618), where the Courtier and 
Coantr3rman each praise their place, we find passages 
like the following :— ** Courtier ... the courtesy of 
the Gentlemen, the divine service of the Morning 
and Evening [the scene throughout is England]. 
** Countryman . . . learned Churchmen . . . and 
so when God is praysed and the people pleased. 
Courtier, Oh cousin, to heare a King or a Prince 
fpeake like a Prophet ... A Preacher like an 
Apostle, and a Courtier like a Preacher. Country- 
man ... we go to school, first, to read Common 
Prayers at Church ... I hear our Parson in our 
Church." It is not to be thought that a Roman 

Catholic would lug in such matters against his con- 
science, when he had so many other things to say 
and dwell upon. As here also, so in ^ Mad World 
my Masters (1603), we have passages referring to, 
and showing acquaintance with, the daily service of 
the Church of England, and worded as though spoken 
by a member of that Church. Then in the Dialogue 
between Three Philosophers (1603) are the following 
words, in a pan^yric on Elizabeth : — ** Bazilethea 
. . . whose magnanimitie in daungers and constancy 
in religion. " But the fullest passage is found in The 
Murmurer^ a tract written in 1607 against State- 
murmurers, and dedicated by Breton to the Privy 
Council. After praising England and its state, he 
continues to the malcontents : — ** Hast thou not with 
all this the richest jewel in the world ; yea, and more 
worthy than the whole world ? wliich is the heavenly 
word of God ... In the time of blindnes, when the 
booke of life was shut from thy reading, when thy 
learned preachers and zealous people were put vnto 
the fire . . . doest thou murmure at Religion ? is it 
not better to seme God then Man ? and to believe the 
Truth, then follow Error? to worship God in the 
Heauens, then make a kind of God on the Earth ? 
and to begge pardon of thy God at home, then to 
buy it of a man abroad : dost thou murmure that the 
Saints are not worshipped ? and wilt thou forget to 
worship God alone . . . wouldest thou rather hear 
the word ? and understand it not, then imderstand it 
and beleeue it? or trust rather to the word of a 
Priest for thy cofort, then to thine own faith for thy 
salvation.'* And he then says be not ungrateful, lest 
** God cast thee into vtter darknes [1.^. of Romanism] ; 
while the Buls of Rome shal breed too many calues 

More cannot be required. 

On 20th March 1600 was entered * Pas- 
quilles Madcap and his message '(w) ; 2 on loth 
May 1600, *Pasquille*s Madcap, the second 
part, intituled, The Foole's Cappe, begunne 
by him and finished by Marphorius* (n) ; 
on 29th May, * Pasquille's Passe and Passe 
not,* etc. (o) \^ and on 2 2d August 1600 was 
entered * Pasquille's Swullen Humoures' (s). 
The last was possibly the same with * Old 
Madcappe's new Gallymawfry made into a 
merrie Messe of Mingle-Mangle out of three 

1 Notes and Queries. 5th Series, vol. i., pp. 501 -a— the 
whole article will reward perusal Mr. Corser's copy of ' Mary 
Magdalen's Love ' is now at Britwell. 

« See Vol I. /. » Ibid. g. 



idle conceited Humours following; i. I will 
not. 2. Oh the merrie time. 3. Out of 
Moneys, 1602 (4°) — one of the inaccessible 
treasures preserved at Britwell. The other 
three were all issued anonymously. 

Elsewhere (II. Critical) I shall return upon 
this remarkable *Pasquir series, perhaps the 
most quick and firmly-touched of all Breton's 
Verse. Biographically, I had counted on 
needing to give * full proof of their belonging 
to our Breton and of another in the same 
kind, though deteriorated, called * Cornu- 
copias, Pasquils Night Cap, or Antidot for 
the Headache' (161 2) not belonging to hint 
But I am relieved from this task by two dis- 
coveries, viz. : — 

(a,) That in *No Whippinge,' etc (1601), 
and related books, Breton as = Pasquil, is 

(b,) That in the Stationers' Register I came 
upon the following decisive entry on the 
associated poem with * Cornucopise' of * Pas- 
quil's Palinodia, and his progresse to the 
Taveme, Where after the survey of the Sellar, 
you are presented with a pleasant pynte of 
Poeticall Sherry ' ( 1 6 1 9) : — 

tfi April 1619. 

Master Snodham. Entred for his Copie vnder the handes of Master 

Tauemor, and Master Gylmin warden, A booke 
Called Pasquilles Palynodie^ or his pinte of Poetry 

written by William F yj<*. 

(Arber, vol. iii. p. 644.) [Cf. iv. p. 154.] 

I shall in the sequel give full quotations 
from *No Whippinge' — inclusive of the 
'Pasquils' avowed — and meantime I make 
three remarks : i. That no one who knows 
Breton could for a moment hesitate as to 
his being the author of the three Pasquil 
books named. 2. That no one — apart from 
chronology — who knows Thomas Nash ever 
could assign them to him, though he did 
take the name of * Pasquil.' 3. That it is no 
ordinary satisfaction to have *Comucopiae' 
and * Palinodia' removed authoritatively from 
Breton. I had long before my discovery of 

above entry pronounced these as impossibly 
Breton's as any gross book could have been 
Richard Baxter's. But the * William F.' 
— whoever he were — of the Stationers' Re- 
gisters settles the matter conclusively.^ 

Nicholas Breton had not enough of 
gall in his nature to make a Satirist proper 
in the classical sense. I imagine he flung 
off his first * Pasquille's Madcap' in a revul- 
sion from his despondency, and in a hilarity 
that was artificial. Its success drew him 
on to the others. 

He soon returned to his *• melancholy' and 
gravity and inevitable religiousness. In 
1 60 1 was entered 'The Rauished Soule. 
A Devine poeme devided into Two partes, 
"The Ravished Soule" and "The Blessed 
Weeper'" (q)^ and contemporaneously 'Bry- 
taynes longinge,an excellent f>oeme vpponthe 
longinge of A blessed harte which lothinge 
the world doth longe to be with Christ' (r).» 
These were all avowed; and self-evidently 
the Poet — as Sidney was charged to do— 
* looked into his own heart,' when he wrote 
these sweet, soft, tender, melodious, and 
inestimable poems. They, like others, ren- 
der the uncritical ascription of * Cornucopia' 
and * Palinodia' to him by the late Rev. 
Thomas Corser, Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, and 
others, at once an offence and grotesquerie. 

To this same time (1601) belongs *No 
Whippinge.' By the kindness of Sir Charles 
IsHAM, Bart, of Lamport Hall, I am so good- 
fortuned as to have had the leisurely use of 
Mr. Charles Edmonds* 'find' of one among 
many priceless volumes, containing ' No 
Whippinge' and other two connected with 

1 Having reproduced both ' Comucopue ' and ' Palinodia ' in 
my Occasional Issues of Unique or Extremely Rare Books, 1 
venture to refer the student-reader desirous to follow up the 
inquiry to my Introduction, wherein I shew (i) that the two 
poems belong to the same author ; (a) that he was a native 
of Leeds. The entry of ' William F.' ought to stimulate York- 
shire antiquaries to a discovery of his personality, and so to 
determine the matter of the authorship of two poems that, spite 
of their grossness, are living and valuable records of the manners 
of the period. 

» See Vol. L/ ^ thid. k. 



it The whole are to be reproduced and 
published under the trustworthy editorship 
of Mr. Edmonds ; so that I could not (eheu !) 
include *No Whippinge' in my edition of 
Breton's Works. But I have been allowed 
to utilise it so far as I might deem necessary. 
I now proceed to do so. 
The following is the title-page : — 


Whippinge, nor 

irippinge: but a 

kinde friendly 


Imprinted at London 

for lobn Browne, 

& lohn Deane. 


The Epistle immediately follows, and 
must also have a place here. Besides 
other things, the somewhat odd close of it, 
*Your friend, as I finde cause,' recalls the 
like ending of Breton's avowed *A Mur- 
murer' (1607), as thus, *I rest as I finde 
cause. Your louing friend :' so too in * Good 
and Badde' (16 16), *At your command if 
worthy;' and * Wit's Private Wealth (1612),' 
* I rest your friend as I may.' 

T To all Gratio\'s, Vertuous, Courteous, Honest, 
Learned^ and gentle spirits, that are truely poeti- 
call, and not too fantasticall : that will patiently 
read, indifferently censure, and honestly speake 
of the labotirs 0/ those wits that meane nothing 
but well, the writer hereof wisheth all contentment, 
that a good conditio may desire. 

My Kood friendes, if such yee be ; if not, God blesse 
me from yee : for the world is so full of wickednesse, 
that a man can meete with little goodnesse : Maye it 
pleue you to vnderstand. that it was my happe of late. 
rawing through Paules Church yarde, to looke vpon 
oertaine pieces of Poetrye, where I found (that it greeues 
me to speake of) one writer so strangely inueigh against 
another, that many shallow wits stoode and laught at 
their follies. Now, findinge their labours so toucht With 
ill teanns, as befitted not the learned to lay open ; I 
tbought good, hauing little to doe, to write vnto all such 
writers, as take pleasure to see their wits plaie with the 
worid, that they will henceforth, before they fall to 
worke, haue in minde this good prouerbe : Play with 
mee ; but hurt me not : and iest with me ; but disgrace 

me not ; Least that the world this iest do kindly 
smother. Why should one foole be angry with an other ? 
Now for my selfe, I proteste that humor of Charitie, 
that I wish to finde at all their handes that see and will 
reprooue my folly : for I am none of the seauen ^ise 
men, and for the eight, I knowe not where to seeke him. 
Beare with me then, if out of the principles of a painted 
cloth I haue pickt out matter to mooue impatience. 
And if there be any thing out of that poore library, that 
may take place in any of your good likings, I will hon- 
our your good spirits for your kinde acceptations. But, 
in any wise, what ere you think, giue me no word of 
cdmendation : least, too glad of such a mischaunce, I 
trust the better to my euill fortune. Well, in earnest, I 
will entreat all good schollers to beare with my lacke of 
learning, and wise men with my lacke of witte, and my 
creditors with my lacke of raony. Which, though it 
haue nothing to doe in this Treatise, yet entreaty some- 
time doeth well with honest mindes : which I wish, and 
hope of in them, yea. and all the world that I shall haue 
to doe withall. Leaning therefore the patient to their 
Paradice, and the displeased to their better patience, in 
my loue to all schollers (but chiefly to those, that in the 
ioy of their studies, make vertue their heauen) I Rest 

Your friend, as I finde cause. 

The opening of the poem has several 
allusions that go to decide Breton's Author- 
ship. From St. 1 2 onward, there are pathetic 
revelations of his poverty and enforced 
literary labours. I would now quote in full 
the first sixteen stanzas : — 

* No whippe. 

Tis Strang^ to see the hiunors of these daies : 
How first the Satyre bites at imperfections : 
The Epigrammist in his quips displaies 
A wicked course in shadowes of corrections : 
The Humorist hee strictly makes collections 
Of loth'd behauiours both in youthe and age : 
And makes them plaie their parts vpon a stage. 

An other Madcappe in a merry fit. 

For lacke of witte did cast his cappe at sinne : 

And for his labour was well tould of it. 

For too much playing on that merry pinne : 

For that all fishes arc not of one finne : 
And they that are of cholerick complections, 
Loue not too plain to reade their imperfection[s]. 

Now comes another with a new founde vaine : 
And onely falls to reprehensions : 
Who in a kind of scoffing chiding straine, 
Bringes out I knowe not what in his inuentions : 
But I will ghesse the best of his intencions : 
Hee would that all were well, and so would I : 
Fooles shuld not too much shew their foolery. 



And would to God it had been so in deed. 
The Satyres teeth had neuer bitten so : 
The Epigrammist had not had a seede 
Of wicked weedes, among his herbes to sowe. 
Nor one mans humor did not others showe. 
Nor Madcap had not showen his madness such, 
And that the whipper had not ierkt so much. 

For they whose eyes into the world doe looke. 
And canuasse euery crotchet of conceite, 
Whose wary wittes can hardly be mistooke. 
Who neuer feede their fancies with deceite, 
Finde this the fruict of euery idle sleight : 
To shew how enuy doeth her venom spit. 
Or lacke of wealth doeth sell a little wit. 

And while they tumble in their tubbes of coine. 
Laugh at their wittes that runne so far awry : 
In learning how to giue the foole the foine, 
Mistake the warde and wound them selues thereby : 
While only wealth doth laugh at beggery. 
For rowling stones will neuer gather mosse, 
And raunging wittes doe often Hue by losse. 

The Preachers charge is but to chide for sinne, 
While Poets steppes are short of such a state : 
And who an others office enters in, 
May hope of loue, but shalbe sure of hate. 
'Tis not a time offences to relate. 
Contentions sooner will begin then end : 
And one may sooner lose, then keepe a friend. 

And he that writes, vnwary of his wordes. 
May haue an ill construction of the sense. 
For fortune euer not the right affordes. 
Where will doeth goueme ouer patience. 
Who doeth not finde it by experience, 
That points and letters often times misread, 
Endaunger oft the harmelesse writers head ? 

Good writers then, if any such yee be, 
In verse or prose, take well that I doe write : 
I wish yee all what ere yee heare or see. 
Haste not your wits to bring it vnto light : 
Lest ere you weet you doe repent your spight. 
Your friendes ill courses neuer doe disclose, 
And make your pens no swords to hurt your foes. 

Spend not your thoughts in spilling of your wits : 
Nor spoile your eies, in spying of oflFences. 
For howsoeuer you accuse your fittes, 
They carry shreud suspect of ill pretences : 
And when you seeke to make your best defences. 
How euer priuate friends will poorly purse ye. 
If one doe blesse yee, fiue to one will curse 3re. 

Some one will say, you are too busie pated. 
An other sales the foole is idle headed : 
An other saies such rakehells would be rated : 
An other, sec, how will to wit is wedded : 
An other, sure the man is poorely stedded : 

Hec writ for coine, he knew, nor car'd not what : 
But yet take heede, we must not like of that. 

Meane while perhaps he sits within his Cell, 
And sighes to heare how many descant on him : 
And for a little must his labour sell, 
While such as haue the pence, doe praie vpon him : 
And be poore soule, in want thus wo b^on him, 

Curseth the time, that euer he was borne. 

To vse his will to make his wit a scome. 

For let him bragge, and braue it as he list, 
The Poets is a poore profession : 
And often times doeth fall on had I wist. 
When conscience makes of inwarde crimes confession : 
And sorrow makes the spirites intercession. 
For mercies pardon, to that time misspent. 
Which was the soule for better seruice lent. 

Yet will I say that some, oh all too fewe. 
Doe bend their humors to diuine desires : 
Those I confesse, doe in their verses shew. 
What vertue, Grace into those soules inspires. 
That are inflamed with the hcauenly fires : 
Such a good Poet, good if any bee, 
Onely in End, — would God that I were hee. 

As for those fansies, fictions, or such fables, 

That show in losse of time abuse of wit : 

That neuer look't into those holy Tables. 

Where doeth the grace of reasons glory sit : 

And wisedome findes what is for vertue fit, 
What ere they figure in their dark constructions, 
They doe but little good in their instructions. 

No, poets, no : I write to yee in loue, 
Let not the world haue cause to laugh at vs : 
Let vs our mindes from such ill meanes remoue, 
As makes good spirits for to fall out thus : 
Let vs our causes with more care discusse : 
Not bite, nor claw, nor scoffe, nor check, nor chide : 
But eche mend one, and ware the fall of pride.' 

These give a good taste of the quality of 

* No whippinge,' as well as reveal at once to 
the student-reader, our Poet's inevitable 
words and turns; and so throughout. He 
then counsels that if a * foole ' or a * knaue,' 
a *villaine' or a 'wicked quean/ a 'drunke- 
ard ' or a * wencher/ a * Miser ' or a * spend- 
thrift/ a * Gamester ' or a ' Plotter/ a * Swag- 
gerer ' or a * Great one/ come before the 
Poet, he shall not write of or against them, 
to his own loss. 

The * foole ' is thus drastically advised to 
be let alone : — 

• Know'st thou a foole? then let him leaue his folly. 
Or be so still, and with his humour passe. 



What hath thy wit to do with trolly lolly ? 

Must euery wise man ride vpon an Asse ? 

Take heede thou mak'st not him a looking glasse, 
Wherein the world may too apparent see, 
By blazing him. to finde the foole in thee. * 

Similarly of the * villained hitting per- 
chance at Marston's * Scourge of Villainy ' : — 

* Know you a villaine ? let him finde his matche : 
And show not you a Matche a villaines skill : 
A foolish dogge at euery Curre doth snatch. 
Wordes haue no grace in eloquence of ill : 
Tho'e is no wrestling with a wicked will : 

Let passe the villaine with his villany. 

Make thou thy match with better company.' 

Of the * quean ' he thus gently speaks : — 

Haue you acquaintance with some wicked quean, 
Giue her good words, and do not blaze her faults : 
Looke in thy soule if it be not vncleane : 
And knowe that Sathan all the world assaultes : 
laoob himself before the Aungell haultes : 
Sighe for her sinne. but doe not call her whore : 
But leame of Christ, to bidde her sinne no more.' 

So too of the * drunkard ' and the 

* Know you a drunkard ? loath his drunkennesse : 

But doe not laie it open to his foes : 

Least in describing his vngodlinesse, 

You take your selfe too soundly by the nose : 

Who hurts himselfe doth giue vnkindely blowes : 

Winke at each faulte, and wish it were amended, 

And thinke it well that's with repentance ended. ' 

' Knowe you a Miser ? let him be so still, 

And let his spirites with his metall melt : 

Let him alone to die in his owne ill. 

And feede not you on that which he hath felt : 

Be not you girded in so vile a belt : 
Rather praie for him, then so raile vpon him. 
That all the world may lay their curses on him. ' 

Of the * great one ' he with all loyal rever- 
ence says : — 

' If that a great one haue a great defect, 

Let not your thought once touch at such a thing. 

Vnto Superiors euer haue respect : 

A Begger must not looke vpon a King. 

Take heede, I say, is a most blessed thing : 
Least if you run to[o] farre in such a fit, 
A foole may happe to hang for lacke of wit. 

English Prouerbs, haue them wel by heart, 
And count them often on your fingers ends : 
Doe not your secrets to the world impart : 
Beware your foes, doe not abuse your friends : 
Take heed of flatterers as of hellish fiends : 
Eate vp your meat, and make cleane all your platters. 
And meddle not with any princes matten.' 


Then follow practical advices as to the 
conduct of daily life, commencing obscurely, 
but passing into * good words ' : — 

' Reade what is written on the painted cloth ; 

Doe no man wrong, be good vnto the poore : 

Beware the Mouse, the Maggot, and the Moth ; 

And euer haue an eye vnto the doore : 

Trust not a foole, a villaine, nor a whore. 
Goe neat, not gaie, and spend but as you spare : 
And tume the Colte to pasture with the Mare. 

Be not a churle. nor yet exceed in cheere. 
Hold £ast thine owne. pay truely what thou owcst : 
Sell not too cheape. and doe not buy to[o] deare : 
Tell but to few, what secret ere thou knowest. 
And take good heed to whom, and what thou shewest. 
Loue God, thy self, thy wife, thy children, friend. 
Neighbour, and seruant, and so make an end. 

Beleeue no newes, till they be nine dayes old 
Nor thS too much, although the print approue the : 
Mistake not drosse for perfect Indian gold ; 
Nor make friends gods ; but as you finde them, loue 
And as you know them, keepe thS, or remooue th&. 
Beware of beauty, and affect no slutte : 
And 'ware the worme before ye cracke the nut. 

Be neither proude, nor enuious, nor vnchaste ; 
Least al too late, repentance ouer-take you : 
And take good heede howe you your wealth doe waste. 
Least fooles doe scofie you, and your friends forsake 
And the the begger by the shulders shake you. 
Giue vnto all that aske ; nor askers, all : 
And take heed how you clime, for fear you fall. 

Doe well, be true, backe-bite no man, be iust ; 
The Ducke, the Drake, the Owle, do teach you so : 
Speake what you thinke ; but no more then you must 
Least vnawares you make your friend your fo. 
Be warie, sayes the Crane ; bee wise, the Crowe ; 
Be gentle, humble, courteous, meeke, and milde, 
And you shall be your mothers blessed childe. 

Haue all the weeke a penne behinde your earc, 
And weare your sword on Sundayes, tis enough : 
Be not too venturous, nor too full of feare : 
Nor stand too much vpon a double ruffe ; 
For feare a falling band giue you the cuffe. 
Know well your horse before you fall to ride : 
And bid God blesse the Bride-groom and his bride. ' 

Beasts and Birds are made counsellors, in 
quaint and ironical characterisation (* Popin- 
gay/ misprinted Popingeare among the 
latter), their opposites being ascribed to each, 
e,g. * gentle, the waspe, swift, sayes the Tor- 
toise ? ' More fully thus (as a specimen) :— ^ 



' lie merry, sayos ihe Cuckow : lusty the Frog : 
Nimble, the Snaile : the Mag-pye, prouident : 
Ite thrifty, sayes the Buzzard : cleanly the Hoggc : 
Honest the Bull : the Pigeon resident : 
The Popingeare doth bid you to be silent : 

Be valiant, sayes the Horse : simple, the Asse ; 

A better Dictionary neuer was.' 

After a good deal of smooth-running 
commonplace, come these other personal 
and unmistakable allusions, his * Apology' 
(= Defence) for his * Pasquil '-* Madcap ' 
series being specially noteworthy : — 

' Let all good Schollers winde their wits away, 
From such ill following of their idle wils ; 
Least when they see their faults another day, 
They doe repent them of their little skils, 
Where lacke of grace, a wittie spirit spils. 

For drinke is poison that is drunke in quaffing ; 

And wit but folly, that sets fooles a laughing. 

Beleeue me, 'tis a kind of sport to some 

That loue no wit ; because of ignorance : 

When warres begin, to strike a wodden drum, 

When vertuous spirits fall at variance : 

About the treading of a Moris-dance. 
But what more spight can be to a good wit, 
Then see a foole to stand and laugh at it 

But. who will laugh so quickly as the foole? 

Although be know not well at what indeede : 

But who hath liu'd in any learned Schoole, 

Would leaue a line for any Asse to reede ; 

Except (alas) he were constrained for neede, 
As many are, God knowes (the more the pitty) 
That were they wealthy, would be far more witty. 

Sigh then for such, to see their sory cases, 
That must such treasure for such trash, go sell : 
And doe not fall to grieue them with disgraces. 
That in their sowles doe so with sorrow dwell. 
As in their hearts is more then halfe a hell. 
To beat their braines but for a little gaines, 
And, or be curst, or scoft at for their paines.' 

' But for my selfe, what cuer I haue writ ; 

And for poore Mad-cap. I dare sweare as much : 

In all the compasse of a little wit, 

It meant no one particular to touch. 

But for one should not at another grutch ; 

As the clouds thickend, and the raine did Call, 

He cast his Cap, at sinne in generalL 

Indeed, tis true, he cast his Cap at sinne ; 
And would to God that all the world did so : 
Then doe I hope our spirits should begin, 
Our wit, and senses better to bestow, 
Then one to seeke anothers ouer-throw. 

But pardon him for what is past before. 
And he hath done for capping any more. ' 

And for my selfe, good brother, by your leaue, 

I will not now dispute an Argument 

Of what I would, nor what I could conceiue. 

Nor what may be discretions detriment. 

In shewing of a wittie excrement : 
But I will wish all Scholers should be friends, 
And Poets not to brawle for puddings ends. 

I am not worthy to be heard to speakc 

Emong the wise, what they should haue to doe : 

But if there liue a wit that be too weake. 

Aduised care to bring his wil vnto : 

Oh, with good words let me his spirit wooe. 

That he will now but onely studie pro. 

Let Mos be no&is, and the contra goe. 

So shall our Muses sweetest musique make. 

When gratious spirits doe agree in one : 

And euery foole may not example take 

At our vnnaturall dissention : 

Let euery Asse goe by himselfe alone : 
And let vs seeme as though we knewe them not, 
Since no more good is by them to be got' 

One ^// of advice is excellent, of the 
lowly : — 

' If you will needes be merry with your wits. 
Take heed of names, and figuring of natures : 
And tell how neere the goose the gander sits : 
Of Hod and Sid, and of such silly creatures : 
Of Croydon sanguine and of home made features : 
But skorne them not, for they are honest people, 
Although perhaps they neuer saw Paules steeple. ' 

Other personal allusions are interesting, 
particularly his modest but distinct dis- 
avowal of * learning' or of having taken a 
degree at the University : — 

' Bring in no Verses for Authorities : 

As in prtsenti, and leaue out the R : 

Tis fit for Babes in their minorities, 

Emong their formes, to fall at such a iarre. 

Nocke verses are for theeues but at the Barre. 
God blesse vs man from euer comming there : 
A guiltie heart can scarcely reade for feare. 

Bacchus and Certs were the Gods below : 
And there shall be, and neuer come aboue. 
And Claret wine will quicken wit I trowe : 
By the Redde Crosse, I sweare, it is to proue : 
But, what should Scholers, wine and sugar moue, 
To bring in so Appollo and virorum f 
When wise men smile at korum karum korum. 



But, i>ardon me, if that I speake false Latine 
For lacke of learning : I no scholar am : 
My masters gowne deserues no face of Satine : 
I neuer to degree of Master came : 
But, where small learning might attaine the same : 
And for a verse in Latine, let me see : 
Alas, they haue too many feete for mee. 

But, let me loue that language yet of olde, 
For Ergos sake, that many a time deluded 
My troubled harte, that knewe not what to holde 
Should be vpon the consequence concluded. 
While many a Placet for his place entruded : 
Vntill the Bell had broake vp schoole, and then 
Sufficient, made a world of propre men. 

And I among them, not the least contented 
To see both Maior, and the Minor cease. 
Full many a time my hastie will repented. 
When I haue wisht a Placet hold his peace : 
Whose sophystrie would so my feare increase. 

That to be short, my learning was so little. 

As I may write my Title in a tittle. 

Looke not therefore for arguments of Arte : 
But from the painted cloth vpon the Mrall, 
What I haue leam'd I kindely doe imparte, 
Hoping to purchase no ill will at all : 
Because, so rudely to my worke I £Bdl. 
Such weaknesse my poore wits are come vnto. 
That beasts, and birds, must teach me what to do. 

My librarie is but experience : 
The Authours, Men, that in my notes I finde : 
My notes, the natures of such dilTerence, 
As may descry each other in their kinde : 
Where, if my wit and senses be not blinde, 
I doe perceiue in too much ill desarte : 
Pride in a Scholer, makes a foole by Arte. 

Blame me not then, if that I iudge amisse : 
The Sunne and Moone are my Astronomie : 
When you beholde where all my cunning is. 
Charge not simplicitie with villany : 
It were enough to breede an agony 

In many a man : but truely not in me. 

That make no care, what ere your censure be. 

If it be good, I thanke you for good will : 
If contrarie, so contrarie come to you. 
If it be well, I can not take it ill : 
If otherwise, the like good may it doe you. 
If kindely then, as kindly let me wooe you 

To leaue such ierkings. least they smart too sore. 

Loue me as I doe you, I aske no more. 

But yet, me thinkes, I see you smile at mee, 

As though my Rules were scarcely worth the reading 

And that a silly painted doath should be 

rhe Librarie of all my learnings breeding : 

And that my wits had need of too much weeding. 

O what a burthen must my patience cary ? 

The Alehouse is the Asses Dictionary. 

But for the Alehouse and the Painted Cloth, 
If ought I finde there, that be worth the noting, 
Laying aside the filthy drouken froth : 
What good I see, I will not skippe the coating. 
A good Redde Haring may be worth the bloting. 
Better a good wit in an Alehouse sit, 
Then finde an Alehouse in an idle wit. 

So much in honour of my homely booke : 
Wherein the Birds and beasts so wisely speake : 
And so much for the notes from them I tooke, 
To helpe such wits as will hath made too worke. 
Into the bounds of blessed thoughts to breake. 
Now, for the natures of those notes, you see 
What cause you haue to thinke amisse of me. ' 

Further : — 

' I will not meddle with Quce Maribus, 
The Propria will trouble me too much : 
Nor yet. Qui mihi Discipulus : 
Except I knew my mastership were such. 
As somewhat might a gratious Scholer tuch. 

No, I will let the Latine lines alone ; 

And speake a few more English, and be gone. 

Let all good wits, if any good there be ; 
Leaue trussing, and vntrussing of their points. 
And heare thus much (although not leame) of me ; 
The spirits, that the Oyle of Grace annoyntes, 
Will keepe their senses in those sacred ioynts. 

That each true-learned, Christian-harted brother. 

Will be vnwilling to offend another. 

And so would I ; for if in truthe, I knewe 
(Although it were full much against my will) 
I should offend but any one of you. 
That might conceiue iust cause to wish me ill : 
I would throwe downe my Inke, and break my quill, 
Ere I would write one word to such an ende, 
As might but gaine a foe, or lose a friende. 

In kindnesse then let me entreate you thus : 
If that your leasure senie you, looke it ouer : 
And what you finde that you may take amisse. 
Let my confession of such learning couer. 
Let euery Poet be each others louer. 
Let vs note follies, and be warned by them : 
But not in writing, to the world descry them. 

It is a plot among pernicious braines, 
To breede a brawle twixt better-natur'd wits. 
By soothing sinne with humour of disdaines, 
Vntill they fall into some raging fits, 
Wherein the fruite but of Repentance sits : 

But let them listen to those tongues that list. 

Let vs not labour for Had I wist. 

Let Noddies go to cuffes for bloudie noses : 
Let vs but laugh to see their lack of Reason : 
Leaue them their weedes, and let vs gather Roses. 
And reap our wheat, while they do pick on peason. 
Let vs hate lies, ingratitude, and treason, 



And with our friends in fond conceipts to striue, 
And we shall be the blessed'st men aliue.' 

Still further he pleads with * better-natured 
wits ' to be friendly with each other : — 

' If that a minde be fiill of misery, 

What villainy is it to vexe it more ? 

And if a wench doe treade her shooe awry, 

What honest heart will tume her out of dore? 

Oh, if our faultes were all vpon the skore : 
What man so holy, but would be ashamed, 
To heare himselfe vpon the Schedule named ? 

Let vs then leaue our biting kinde of verses : 
They are too bitter for a gentler taste. 
Sharp)e-pointed speach so neare the spirit pearoes, 
As growes to rankle ere the poison waste. 
But let all be forgotten that is past : 

And let vs all agree in one in this : 

Let God alone to mend what is amisse. 

But if we needes will try our wits to write. 
And striue to mount our Muses to the height, 
Oh let vs labour for that heauenly light. 
That may direct vs in our passage strdght : 
Where humble wits may holy will awaite ; 
And there to finde that worke to write and reede. 
That may be worth the looking on indeede. 

To shewe the life of vnitie in loue, 
Where neuer discord doth the musique marre : 
But, in the blessing of the soules behoue. 
To see the light of that farre-shining starre, 
Which shews the day that neuer night can marre : 
But in the brightnesse of etemall glory, 
How loue and life doe make a blessed story. 

If we be toucht with sorrow of our sinnes, 
Expresse our passions as the Psalmist did : 
And shew how mercy, hopes reliefe bonnes. 
Where greatest harmes are in repentance hid : 
Where Grace in Mercy doth despaire foibid : 
And sing of Him, and of his glory such. 
Who hateth sinne, yet will forgiue so much. 

And let our hymnes be Angell harmonie. 
Where Halleluiah makes the heauens to ring : 
And make a consort of such companie, 
As make the Quire but to their holy King : 
This, then, I say, would be a blessed thing : 

When all the world might ioy to heare and see 

How Poets, in such Poetry agree.' 

And onward : — 

' Let vs all Poets then agree together. 

To run from hell, and fained Helicon ; 

And looke at heauen. and humbly hie vs thither, 

Where Graces shall be let in, euery one, 

To sing a part in Glories vnion ; 
And there to settle all our soules desire. 
To heare the musicke of that heauenly Quire. 

Let Quid, with Narcissus idle tale, 

Weare out his wits with figurative fables. 

Old idle Histories grow to be so stale, 

That clownes almost haue bard them from their tables. 

And Pk<tbus, with his horses, and his stables : 
Leaue them to babies : make them a better choise 
Of sweeter matter for their soules rdoyce.' 

Here is another personal reference : — 

' And since my selfe haue marched in that ranke 
Where Mercury commanded Pallas Traine, 
And spent my spirits in my thoughts, as franke 
As he that thought he had a better vaine : 
I must confesse, what idle humours gaine ; 
A fhimpe, a frowne, a foyle, or els a feare : 
When wil doth write that reason cannot heare. 

No, truely no : this world is not for me. 

I will no longer be fiantasticall ; 

But winke at folly, when the foole I see : 

That in his gesture is so finical]. 

As if his spirit were Poeticall : 
And thinke it better were my wits at Schoole, 
Then spoyle my wits in painting of a foole. 

Vpon the painted cloth, the Nightingale 
Did bid me heare, and see, and say the best, 
The sea Mew sayes it is a cruell gale. 
That driues the Swallow cleane out of her nest 
Why, simple noses now can bide no iest : 
And Poets, that are open in Inuectiues, 
Doe often fall vpon too much defectiues. 

Beleeue me brother, tis as thou doest write : 
Poets should wright by heauenly inspiration : 
But he that is possessed with despight, 
Shewes but a wicked kinde of instigation ; 
To thinke by sco£fes to make a reformation. 
No, let vs all goe backe to vertues Schooles, 
And let the world alone to bring vp fooles. 

I haue bene vaine as any man aliue : 
But would be vertuous now, if I knew how : 
And euery day, and houre, and minute striue 
My wicked heart to better grace to bow. 
Then let me say, as to myselfe, to you ; 
Let vs leaue all our idle imperfections, 
And study vertue, for our hues directions. 

For God sake let vs then our follies leaue. 

And not lay open one anothers ill ; 

But in our conscience leame for to conceiue. 

How heedlesse wit may be abus'd by will, 

And haue a care so well to vse our slcill, 
We may be loued for our learned lines. 
Where gracious spirits Poets make diuines. 

And for my selfe, I meane the Ice to breake, 
Vnto the passage of that Paradice ; 
Where rauisht Grace may of that glory speake. 
Where mercy hues, and comfort neuer dyes. 
And the best praise of any Poet lies : 


XXX vu 

Or at the least if any went before, 

Follow that line, and loue the world no more.' 

The following stanzas as related to * The 
Whipping of the Satyre' by *W. I.' are 
specially to be noted, inasmuch as in * No 
Whippinge ' Breton ridicules them in his own 
sweet-blooded fashion : — 

* As a blind beggcr guided by his boy, 
Stands in the way of some firequented place, 
And cryes, Alas, I doc no sight inioy : 

For lesus sake, take pity on my case ; 

Bestowe one penny ; God your sight mayntayne ; 

The Lord in heauen will you reward agayne. 

And still his boy (like a Parenthesis) 

Comes in, For Gods sake help the poore and blind ; 

And leads him forward with a string, I wisse, 

Spying about some Gentleman to find. 

Then they poore soules make toward him apace, 

And both together pleade their wofull case. 

If he doth passe, and doth not passe for it, 
The boy runnes after with a ruthfuU crie, 
Good courteous Gentleman, for Gods sake yet. 
Here's a three halfpence, but one half-penny : 
So your blind errour by deuotion led. 
Wearies the senses of the Readers head.' 

(C verso and C a.) 

Here is Breton's retort : — 

* What right bred wits, will haue to doe with blind men, 
Especially blind beggers and their boyes? 

They that haue iudgement, how indeed to find men 
Wil think such yoimkers but hobberdie-hoyes, 
That ply their wits vnto such paltrie toyes : 
Or els to shew, that he hath leam'd in part. 
To rob the blinde man of his beggers art ' 

Another stanza is also laughed at by 
Bretoa It runs thus : — 

' Your Readers tongue at euery leafe doth tyre : 

Then for a bayte of fresher breath doth stay. 

Each Ijme he thinks a lane, and doth desire, 

It were as playne as Dunstable high way ; 

When I dare speake it, at the best mans table. 

You deale as plajme as any Dunse is able. ' (C. 4 p. 3.) 

Here is * No Whippinge's ' reply : — 

' And what haue we to doe with pilgrimage. 

To walke bare witted to S. Dunces well ? 

A Grammer Scholer but of ten yeeres age. 

That scarse hath leam'd his Latine lines to spell, 

Will soone by heart, a better story tell : 
And say, such Poets as their wits so tosse. 
Make all their walkes by little witlam crosse.' 

He adds another gentle, modest assurance, 
after dilating on the ' blind begger ' allusion 

in other three stanzas, and works in his often- 
used and curious expression *woe-begon 
him ' and his contempt for * ballad-makers ' 
(cf. II. Critical) : — 

' But for I doubt, some men of good profession, 
Will take exceptions at my table-writing : 
To honest mindes I make my hearts confession ; 
My soule is free from vertuous spirits spighting : 
Not one of them is in my thoughts endighting. 
I rather wish, God blesse them and their Arts, 
And let the blind men play the Beggers parts. 

For all good Poets will cry out vpon him, 

That falles to blindenes and to b^gery : 

And in his wits, be so farre woe-begon him. 

That in an humour, of base trumpery, 

The world may see, in idle foolery, 
A Ballad-maker would haue bene a Poet : 
But that he knew not in what point to shew it ' 

He concludes with a final wistful appeal 
to his fellow-poets for consecration of their 
gifts to * higher strains ' : — 

* Oh Poets, tume the humour of your braines, 
Vnto some heauenly Muse, or meditation ; 
And let your spirits there imploy your paines, 
Where neuer weary, needs no recreation. 
While God doth blesse each gracious cogitation. 
For proud comparisons are alwayes odious : 
But humble Muses musicke is melodious. 

No, no : let fande weane her selfe from folly ; 
And heauenly prayers grace our Poetrie. 
Let vs not loue the thought that is not holy. 
Nor bend our mindes to blinde mens beggerie : 
But let vs thinke it our soules misery. 

That all our Muses doe not ioyne in one, 

To make a Quire to sing to God alone. 

For could our spirits all agree together, 
In the true ground of vertues humble grace, 
To sing of heauen, and of the high-way thither, 
And of the ioyes in that most ioyfull place. 
Where Angels armes the blessed soules embrace ; 

Then God himselfe would blesse our soules enditing. 

And al the world would loue a Poets writing.' 


Doubtless Breton felt called on (apart 
from other motives) to *reproue' the * Whip- 
ping of the Satire ' from the direct allusion 
to one of his raciest books, as follows, in the 
portion devoted to the Epigrammist : — 

* It seemes your brother Satyre and ye twayne, 
Plotted three wayes to put the Diuell downe ; 
One should outrayle him by invectiue vaine. 
One all to flout him like a oountrey downe ; 



And one in action, on a stage out-face, 
And play vpon him to his great disgrace. 

You Humourist, if it be true I heare, 
An action thus against the Diuell brought. 
Sending your humours to each Theater, 
To seme the writ that ye had gotten out 
That Mad-cap yet superiour praise doth win. 
Who out of hope euen casts his cap at sin.' 

(F. 3 verso.) 

In margin on 1. 2, * Against the booke of 
Humours/ and on 1. 5, * Pasquils Mad-cap.' ^ 

Under i8th May 1602 is entered * A Poste 
with a Mad packet of Letters.' This was 
the first part of what proved a most popular 
venture. It was first published in 1603. 
The Bibliographers record numerous after- 
editions on to 1685. The dates of the 
* Letters are adapted to the dates of publica- 
tion of the several editions. In my Notes 
and Illustrations to the 'Mad Packet of 
Letters ' — as already partially exemplified — 
there are a number of touching personal 
allusions. In addition to 'Gawthorpe' — 
seat of the Gascoignes — there are * Chaulk- 
ley' and * my lodging in the little College' 
(Pt il Letter 14) and * Arthingworth ' [ib. 
Letter 32). One Letter, which like the 
others specified it is to be noted is signed 
with his own initials, is of rare biographic 
interest It reads to me as a bit of his own 
sorrowful life ; and as such presents the old 
man — about sixty probably — fallen on evil 
days and tongues. This Letter must appear 
in full here (Pt. ii. Letter 19) : — 

1 My friend Dr. Brinsley Nicholson has made it probable 
that a William Ingram of Cambridge was the W. I. of ' The 
Whippiiv of the Satyre.' See Letters in Tht Atkenttum as I 
write (187^ I would refer the reader to my collection of John 
Manton's Poems for relation of these poems to him. I show 
there that Marston could not possibly have been the author of 
Tkt Whippy 0/ tkt Satyrt his pennwu* in a wkiU Sktett^ 
herein diJETering from Mr. W. C. Hazlitt, Dr. Nicholson, and 
Iff. Charles Edmonds. The only allusion to ' The Whipping 
of the Satire' that I know is in Dekker's * Untmssing of the 
Humorous Poet' (Dramatic Works, vol. i. p. a6o : Pearson, 
1873) — ' Strra stincker, thour't but vntnissed now, I owe thee 
a whipping stiU, and I 'U pay it : I haue layde roddes in I^sae 
and Vineger for thee : It shall not bee the IVki^tig a' M' 
Sufyrt, nor the Whipinng of the blinde-Beare, but of a counter- 
feit Ingler, that steales the name of Horace.' This looks very 
like a disavowal for Marston of the ' Whipper of the Satire,' 
or why kit i^aae ' roddes in piase ' ? 

To my dearest Moved friend on earth, H. W. 

Honest ffarrie, out of a troubled spirit of a tormen- 
ted heart, I write to thee, & therefore beare with my 
skill, if it be not in the pleasing nature of so good an 
humour as I could wish, and thou art worthy of : but 
as I know thee able to judge of colours better then 
the blinde eyes and beetle-heads, and of that true kind- 
nesse that can & doth rather comfort the afflicted, then 
encrease the sorrowes of the distressed : let mt impart to 
thee some part of my passion, that patience in thy pitty 
may better play her part in my spirit : what sbal I say ? 
I liue as without life pleasured in nothing, crossed in all 
hopes, put in many feares, languishing in many sorrowes, 
ft troubled with the griefe of a wounded conscience : 
not with the horrour of Murther, the feare of Treason, 
nor delight of sin, but with the cruelty of Fortune, the 
▼nkindnesse of Friends, and the breach of credit, and 
most of all with them whom I most loue. Oh God my 
heart aketh, & blame it not : and my Spirit moumeth, 
and reproue it not : for though patience be a vertue that 
maketh men diuine, yet there is but one Christ, and men 
are no Angels : and let me tell the truth, the miserie of 
my life is intolerable in the sense of nature : for, compare 
the afflictions of the most patient, with the causes of my 
passions, and prouidc a world of pity to behold the map 
of my miseries : hath one man be^ne wealthy and be- 
come poore ? so am I : hath another suffered wrong ? so 
doe I : another buried his Parents, Children, and deare 
friends ? so haue I : another trauelled farre in hope of 
gaine, and returned with losse ? so haue I : another be^ne 
wotmded in the warres, fared hard, lain in a cold bed 
many a bitter storme, and be^ne at many a hard banquet ? 
all these haue I : another imprisoned ? so haue I : 
another long bin sicke? so haue I : another plagued 
with an vnquiet wife? so am I : another indebted, to his 
hearts griefe, and faine would pay and cannot ? so am 
I : in sum, any of these crosses are able to kill the 
heart of a kinde Spirit, and all these lie at once so 
heauy vpon my heart, as nothing but the hand of God 
can remoue : besides my continuall toile for the reward 
of vnqvietnesse, while that which should bee my comfort, 
is my corrosiue : imagine how with all this I can liue, and 
thinke what a death it is thus to liue. Oh for the scome 
of the proud, the abuse of the vngracious, the scoffe of 
the foolish, and the scanning of the vnkind : the company 
of the discontentiue. and the want of the most affected : 
the disgrace of learning, the losse of time, and the misery 
of want : if their be a hell on earth, it cannot be farre 
from this caue of my discomfort : where I am sure, the 
deuill, seeing my desire to seme God, layeth all his barres 
he can in the way for my discomfort : but I defie him, 
and hope in Christ that my lining and louing God, who 
hath tryed my soule in aduersities, wil one day in his 
mercie so looke vpon me, that the deuil shal be driuen 
back from his purpose, and, the teares of my body wiped 
away, I shall rejoyce in such a joy, as, all my griefes 
deane forgotten, my heart and soule shall in the joy of 
my sense, in the heauenly harmony of a holy bymne, sing 



a new song of praise to the glory of my Sauiour : for the 
hastening whereof in my deliuerance from my torments, 
and comforts in his mercies, I will frame my daily prayers, 
and be assured of thy Amen : but I feare I am too tedious, 
and therefore will thus end : God continue my patience 
but not my sorrowes : giue me deliuerance from my 
miseries, and make me thankfull for his blessings, and 
blesse thde with as much happinesse as thou knowest I 
want, so leauing my hopes to his mercies, and vs both 
to his tuition : I rest with as little rest as I thinke any 
man can rest, Thine or not mint ournt, N. B, 

One queries wtstfully whether the H. W. 
were Henry Willoughby, the poet of 

* Willobies Avisa ' ? Be it noted that Breton 
had (eheu !) an * vnquiet wife ' and that he 
had buried * Parents and Children * — the 
latter agreeing with the entries in St. Giles 
Cripplegate Register (ante). 

The 'Packet of Letters' is exceedingly 
entertaining even to-day. I know scarcely 
any contemporary book of such bright good 
English, or so packed full with anecdotes 
and incidents, wise saws and instances, quips 
and proverbs, hits and jests and humours, 
reflective of the old Elizabethan times. JSn 
passanty my eye has just caught the phrase, 

* I finde . . . loue so idle an humour, that 
I am afraid to lose time in it' (PL i. Letter 1 1). 
Whence came the extraordinary popularity of 
this word * humour ' in those days 1 Perhaps 
it began with Shylock's ' I'll not ansuer that, 
but say it is my humour : is it answered % ' 
At all events I think its employment in title- 
pages begins with Chapman's * Humorous 
Day's Mirth ' (dated 1597), and Ben Jonson's 
^ Every Man in his Humour^ (dated 1598). 
From that time, in spite of Shakespeare's 
ridicule and Jonson's remonstrances, the 
word spread and flourished, and hardly a 
popular author of the period escaped putting 
it on a title-page, epistle, or somewhere. 
Davies of Hereford, like Breton, uses it. 
The scores of * Humorous * books may be 
appropriately concluded with John Day's 
^Humour out of Breath* (1608) — ^by which 
time the public were probably rather tired of 
the word, as afterwards it only occurs now 

and then. Breton himself seems to have 
tired of it a little when he put his * Packet of 
Letters' into its latest shape: for I have 
noticed at least five cases in which the word 
'humour' of edition 1603 was replaced hy 
some other later. Similarly Shakespeare 
lessened his use of it. 

The success of the 'Packet of Letters' 
led to rivalry. I have now before me ' A 
Speedie Poste, with certaine New Letters. 
Or The first fruits of new Conceits, neuer 
yet disclosed. Now published for the 
helpe of such as are desirous to learne to 
write Letters. By L W., Gent' 1625. (4to.) 
Another edition — ^also before me — ^approaches 
still nearer Breton's title-page, as thus : — * A 
Speedy Post with a Packet of Letters and 
Complements: Usefull for England, Scotland, 
and Ireland. Or The first fruits of New 
Conceits, neuer yet disclosed. Newly pub- 
lished for the help of such as are desirous to 
learne to write Letters in Court, City, and 
Countrey. By I. W., Gent' 1645. (4^0.) 
Another is entitled, * Cupids Messenger : or 
A trusty Friend stored with sundry sorts of 
serious, witty, pleasing, amorous, and delight- 
fiiU Letters,' 163 1. (4to.). These are not 
without their value ; but are infinitely inferior 
to Breton's book in substance and style. 

The hit made by the 'Packet of Letters' 
was followed up with books of kin with it, 
e,g, * A merry Dialouge betwixte Twoo Tra- 
uellers, Lorenzo and Dorindo' {x) : 'Wonders 
or Newes worth the hearinge,' etc (y) : ' I 
praie be not angrie' {z)-, 'An Old Man's 
Lesson and A Young Man's Loue' {cc)\ 
' Wytte's Priuate Wealth,' etc {ee) : ' A Mad 
World' ijgg) : * Caracters morall and Devine' 
(jj) : * A Dialogue betwixt a Courtier and a 
Countryman' (nn)\ 'Strange Newes,' etc 
{fp\ and 'Grimello's Fortunes' {yy)^ and 
' The Honour of Valour' (««), and ' Honest 
Counsaile,' etc {aaa). These are all man- 
ners-painting and in a quiet modest way 
morally hortatory. They make us wishful 



to know whither, and with whom he went 
on his Trauells. He must have gone to the 
' Low Countries/ France, Italy, and possibly 
Spain. He avows in the letter quoted (p. 
xxxviii) that he had been * wounded in the 

In grouping these works together, I have 
over-passed others. There was in 1600 
* Melancholike Humors' (uu); which is over- 
shadowed in my judgment with the great 
sorrow of the break with the Countess of Pem- 
broke. There was in 1602 *The Mother's 
Blessing' — tender and beautiful, and 'A 
True Description of Unthankfulness,' etc 
(xx) — most affecting. There was the ex- 
quisite * Passionate Shepherd' in 1604 (ad). 
There was in 1605 *The Soules Immort^ 
Crowne,' etc. (dd). There was in 1607 'A 
Murmurer,' and later 'The Hate of Trea- 
son' (ccc) — both looking to the new king 
(James I.). There was in 1608 'Divine 
Considerations' (^^^). There was in 1614 
'I would and I would not' (M): in 161 6, 
'Crossing the Proverbs' (//). In 1622 two 
books are entered in the Stationers' Registers 
of which no solitary exemplars survive, viz., 
' Nay then' (^^) : * Oddes : or all the World 
to Nothing' (rr). Finally: 'Fantasticks' 
appeared in 1626. This is unquestionably 
one of his brightest, most vivid, most admir- 
able books. The marvel is that it has all 

the ^n and sparkle of youth, while its 
phrasing and wording is of his finest warbled 
prose. It is specially important to note that 
' Fantasticks ' did first appear in 1626; for 
the other Nicholas Breton contemporary, 
of the Staffordshire and Northampton lines, 
who has been mistaken for our Worthy, died 
two years before, viz, in 1624.^ 

The name of Nicholas Breton suddenly 
disappears after 'Fantasticks,' except in 
assignment of some of his earlier books in 
the Stationers' Registers. In all likelihood he 
died in 1626. If — as has been seen approxi- 
mately — he was bom in 1542-3, he would 
then be in his eighty-third year. I bare my 
brow to this fine ' old English gentleman all 
of the olden time.' To my mind's eye he 
stands forth a brave pathetic figure of the 
Elizabethan days. Seeing that hitherto next 
to nothing has been known or told of him, 
and that little, blundering, ^.^., Farr and 
others dub him Sir Nicholas Breton, while 
Ellis, Brydges, Corser, Collier, and others 
confound him with Captain Nicholas Breton 
(«/ supra), I may be forgiven if I am some- 
what proud of having brought together so 
much concerning him. Henceforward I 
trust (as in other cases of my Worthies) he 
will abide not umbra nominis, but a living 

1 See all the authorities named supra. 


Turning now from the Writer to his Writ- 
ings in Verse and Prose — the two about 
equally dividing the Works — ther e are c er- 
tain things in them that niayJ^Thaps, with 
advantage be stated and illustrated. 
I arrange them thus : — 
I. Characteristics. 
II. Shakespereana. 

III. Notabilia. 

IV. Satires and Epistles-Dedicatory, 


V. Claims. 
VI. Desiderata. 

I. Characteristics. — These I sub-arrange 
as follows : — 



I. Style— coNciNNiTY and melody. 2. 
Brightness. 3. Freshness. 4. Sweet- 
ness. 5. Tenderness. 6. Purity. 

I. CoNCiNNiTY and Melody. — In an age 
when great folios and squab quartos were 
the rule and the rage, Nicholas Breton 
elected to write only small books that could 
readily be issued as thin quartos or slight 
duodecimos. He had all a book-lover's fancy 
for dainty form ; and all of his productions 
were beautifully printed and not infrequently 
notably adorned, e,g, his ' Soule's Immortal 
Crowne' is a charming volume, with its 
woodcut bordering of quaint and intricate 
and varying devices.^ In contrast with the 
largeness and difiuseness of many of his con- 
temporaries, I regard it as a merit in our 
Worthy that he took time to be brief and 
compact One secret of this is — ^as I have 
noted — the concinnity of his style. There are 
few Elizabethan prose-writers — Bacon stands 
alone in his ' Essaies ' — ^who so abounds in 
'picked and packed words.' Our word 
' fluent ' has deteriorated in latter days ; so 
as to express mere volubility; but in its 
etymological sense it is nicely descriptive of 
Breton's style. It ' flows ' with cr3rstal clear- 
ness and closeness all round the thought, 
fancy, metaphor, apophthegm, quip, saying, 
story, that the Author wishes to tell us. I 
would have called it * sinuous ' were it not 
that somehow again the hiss of the serpent 
is inevitably associated with the word 
Ad aperturam libri^ his 'Characters vpon 
Essaies' and 'Good and Badde,' it would 
be preposterous to compare with Bacon's for 
weight and intellectual richness, and an 
unnameable charm of phrasing. But putting 
them out of court, I know not where to 
find better English, more substantive think- 
ing (within its own relatively modest limits), 
or more memorable portraiture, as with a 
stroke of the pen — comparable in a way with 
the pencilled memoranda of the great Art- 


1 VoL I. « ; a facsiaile of a page ia fgcnacu 

Masters. The * Characters ' are * Wisdome,' 

* Learning,' * Knowledge,' * Practice,' ' Pa- 
tience,' ' Loue,' ' Peace,' ' Warre,' ' Valor,' 

* Resolution,' * Honor,' ' Truth,' * Time,' 
'Death,' 'Faith,' and 'Feare.' Let the 
penultimate one stand as a fair represen- 
tation — conveniently short — of the rest. 
Thus :— 

' FArni is the hand of the soul which layeth hold of 
the promises of Christ in the mercy of the Almighty : 
Shee hath a bright eye and a holy eare, a cleare heart 
and sure foot : she is the strength of Hope, the trust of 
Truth, the honour of Amitie and the ioy of Loue ; shee 
is rare among the sonnes of men and hardly found 
among the daughters of woemen ; but among the sonnes 
of God she is a conueyance of their inheritance and 
among the daughters of Grace she is the assiu-ance of 
their portions. Her dwelling is in the Church of God. 
her conuersation with the Saints of God, her delight with 
the beloued of God and her life is in the loue of God : 
shee knowes no falshood. distrusts no Truth, breakes 
no promise and coines no excuse, but as bright as the 
Sunne, as swift as the winde, as sure as the rocke. and 
as pure as the gold, she lookes toward heauen, but hues 
in the world, in the soules of the Elect to the glory of 
Election : she was wounded in Paradise by a dart of the 
Deuill and healed of her hurt by the death of Christ 
lesus : she is the poore mans credit and the rich mans 
praise, the wise mans care and the good mans cognizance. 
In sunune, finding her worth, in words hardly to be 
expressed, I will in these few words onely deliuer my 
opinion of her : Shee is Gods blessing and mans blisse, 
reasons comfort and vertues glory. '^ 

' The Good and The Badde ' embrace ' A 
Worthy King ' and ' An Vnworthy King,' ' A 
Worthy Queene' with no 'Vnworthy,' *A 
Worthy' and 'An Vnworthy Prince,' 'A 
Worthie' and ' Vnworthie Priuy Councellor,' 
' A Noble ' and ' Vnoble Man,' 'A Worthie ' 
and ' Vnworthy Bishop,' ' A Worthy ' and 
' Vnworthy ludge,' * A Worthie ' and 
' Vnworthy Knight,' ' A Worthy ' and 
' Vnworthy Gentleman,' ' A Worthy ' and 
' Vnworthy Lawyer,' ' A Worthy ' and ' An 
Vntrained Souldier,' 'A Worthy' and 'An 
Vnworthy Physician,' ' A Worthy* and ' Vn- 
worthy Marchant,' ' A good Man ' and * An 
Atheist or most badde Man,' ' A Wise Man ' 

iVoL II. f, p. so. 




^d * A Foole/ • An Honest Man ' and * A 
Knaue,' 'An Vsurer' and *A Beggar,' a 

* Virgin ' and * A Wanton Woman/ * A Quiet ' 
and * An Vnquiet Woman/ * A Good Wife ' 
and * An Effeminate Foole/ ' A Parasite/ 

* A Bawde/ * A Drunkard/ * A Coward,' * An 
Honest Poore Man,' * A lust Man ' and * A 
Repentant Sinner,' * A Reprobate,' * An Old 
Man,' * A Young Man/ and *A Holy Man.' 
Two must represent the whole, viz., *A 
Worthy ' and * An Vnworthy Lawyer,' and 

* An Vnworthy Physician.* 

i8. A Worthy Lawyer. 

' A worthy Lawyer is the studient of knowledge, how 
to bring controuersies into a conclusion of peace and out 
of ignorance to gaine vnderstanding. Hec diuides time 
into vses and cases into constructiones. Hee layes open 
obscurities and is praysed for the speech of truth, and 
in the court of conscience pleads much in forma pauperis, 
for small fees. He is a meane for the preseruation of 
titles and the holding of possessions and a great instru- 
ment of peace in the iudgement of impartiality. Hee is 
the clyent's hope, in his case's pleading and his heart's 
comfort in a happy issue. Hee is the finder out of tricks 
in the craft of ill conscience and the ioy of the distressed 
in the reliefe of lustice. In surarae, hee is a maker of 
peace among the spirits of contention and a continuer 
of quiet in the execution of the Law. ' 

19. An Vnworthy Lawyer. 

' An vnleamed and vnworthily called a Lawyer, is the 
figure of a foot-post, who carries letters but knowes not 
what is in them, only can read the superscriptions to direct 
them to their right owners. So trudgcth this simple darke, 
that can scarce read a case when it is written, with his 
hand-full of papers from one Court to another and from 
one counsellor's chamber to another, when by his good 
payment iKX his paines hee will bee so sawcy as to call 
himselfe a Sollicitor. But what a taking are poore clients 
in when this too much trusted cunning companion, better 
redde in Pierce Plowman then in Ploydon and in the Play 
of Richard the Third then in the Pleas of Edvrard the 
Fourth ; perswades them all is sure when hee is sure of 
all 1 and in what a misery are the poore men when vpon 
a Nihil dicit because indeede this poore fellow. Nihil 
potest dicere, they are in danger of an execution before 
they know wherefore they are condemned. But I wish 
an such more wicked then witty vnleamed in the Law 
and abusers of the same, to looke a little better into 
their consciences and to leaue their crafty courses, lest 
when the Law indeede laies them open, insteede of carry- 
ing papers in their hands they weare not papers on their 
heads and instead of giuing eare to their clients' causes 
or rather eies into their purses, they haue nere an eare 

left to heare withal, nor good eie to see withall ; or at 
least honest face to looke out withall, but as the gras- 
hoppers of Egypt bee counted the caterpillers of England 
and not the foxe that stole the goose but the great foxe 
that stole the farme from the gander.' 

23. An Vnworthy Physician. 

* An vnleamed and so vnworthy Physician, is a kinde 
of horse-leech, whose cure is most in drawing of bloud 
and a desperate purge, either to cure or kill, as it hits. 
His discourse is most of the cures that hee hath done 
and them afarre off ; and not a receipt vnder a hundreth 
pounds, though it be not worth three halfe-penoe. 
Vpon the market-day he is much haunted with vrinals, 
where if he finde anything (though he knowe nothing) 
yet hee will say somewhat, which if it hit to some 
purpose, with a fewe fustian words hee will seeme a piece 
of strange stuffe. Hee is neuer without old merry 
tales and stale iests to make olde folkes laugh and cum- 
fits or plummes in his pocket to please little children ; 
yea and he will be talking of complexions though- he 
know nothing of their dispositions ; and if his medicine 
doe a feate he is a made man among fooles ; but being 
wholly vnleamed, and oft-times vnhonest, let me thus 
briefly describe him. He is a plaine kinde of mounte- 
banke, and a true quacke-saluer, a danger for the sicke 
to deale withall, and a dizard in the world to taike 

In the recollection of much contemporary 
long-winded writing, I for one estimate 
highly these pregnant, swift antithetic sen- 
tences. They fall into the memory inevit- 
ably as husked seeds wafted before the 
wind into crannies and comers. When you 
dwell upon the thick-coming continuations 
and variations of the initial thought, you find 
that you have bullion, not thinned-out gold- 
leaf. Superadded to the concinnity of the 
Prose is the concinnity combined with 
* melody ' of the Verse. One o' times indeed 
covets more vigour, more rush, more abandon. 
There is a soup9on of monotony in a good 
deal of the sacred Verse. But regarded 
broadly, the Verse of Nicholas Breton 
is matterful, and instinct with * melody.' To 
illustrate all this, and coincidently his not 
unfrequent nervous purity of language, I turn 
to his * Pilgrimage to Paradise ' as thus : — 

' Thou cursed serpent, grounde of al disgrace, . 
By Idlenes begetting Ignorance : 

»Vol. II.r,pp. 8,9. 



Which dost the sprigges of fairest rootes deface. 
With loathsome course of life's discountenaunce : 
And makst a pleasure of the spirit's paine, 
Die in thy dreame, and neuer wake againe. 

Sleepe is the soule's disease, the minde's dispight, 
The Curse of Nature, and the crosse of rest : 
The thoughte's disquiet, and the darkesome night, 
Wherein the spirit likes the body lest : 
A losse of time and reason's malladie, 
Where death is found but sorrowe's remedy.' 

(Vol. I. ^, p. 13, col I.) 

Again : — 

' And on they walke, vntil anone they came. 
Vnto a Church, not built of lime or stone 
Bat that true Church, of that Immortal fame 
That is worlde's wonder, and heauen's loue alone : 
Whose head is Christ, whose Martirs are his plllers 
And al whose members, are his wordes' wel-¥^ers. 

The gate, is Grace, Contrition, is the key, 
The locke, is loue, the porter, Penitence : 
Where humble faith, must heauenly fauour stay, 
Till pity taike with vertue's patience : 
While angeb' sighes, the sinner's waie deuise, 
To haue his entraunce into paradise. 

Which is in deede the plot of al perfection, 
Drawne by the compasse of diuine conceite, 
Whose Une, is life laide by his loue's direction 
Who makes al flesh vpon the spirite waite : 
Whose flowers are fhiites of faithe's eternal fauour, 
Sweete to the soule, in euerliuing sauour. 

Now in this groimde, doth line this glorious King, 
Of mercie's Ufe, amidde the fire of loue. 
Who, as the simne, doth cause the flowers to spring, 
So, by his fire, makes faith her comfort proue : 
When heauenly ruth doth vertue's roote so nourish. 
That, her faire flowers shall grow and euer floorish. 

Now heere the herbes were wholsome sentences. 
Which purge the hart, of euery idle thought : 
And for each grasse, a grace of wit and sences. 
By heauenly blessing from the spirit brought : 
In midst whereof the well of life doth spring, 
About the which the Angels sit and singe. 

Heere is the Ught that makes the sunne to shine, 
Heere is the brightnes of the morning light, 
Hcj^e is the sunne, that neuer doth decline, 
Heere is the daie, that neuer hath a night, 
Heere is the hope of euerliuing blisse. 
And comforte, that beyonde all knowledge is. 

Heere neuer weede, had euer power to growe. 

Nor euer worme coulde make an herbe to wither. 

But in the path, where all perfections goc, 

Vertue and Nature, kindely went togither, 

And heauenly dewes, did al the fruites so cherish. 

That, neither fruit, nor herbe, nor flower could perish. 

Heere neuer sorrow for the thought of losses, 
Heere euer labour and yet neuer weary : 
Heere neuer feare, of any fatal crosses, 
Heere neuer mourning, and heere euer merry : 
Heere neuer hunger, thurst, nor heat, nor cold. 
But take enough, and stil the store doth holde. 

Heere is the sky, the sun, the moone, and stars. 
Set for a dial, by the heauen's direction : 
Heere neuer cloude their brightest shining barres. 
But show their brightnes in their best perfection : 
Heere, is in some the sweetest light of al. 
From which al lights haue their original. 

Heere neuer foote of wicked pride presumed, 
But is excluded heauenlie paradise : 
Heere is the aier with sweetest swcetes perfimied, 
While sinners' sighes is blessed sacrifice : 
When faithful soules in Angels' armes embraced. 
Are in the eie of glorious fauour graced. 

Heere are the virgins playing. Angels singing, 
The Saintes reioicing, and the Martirs ioying. 
Heere sacred comfortes to the conscience springing. 
And no one thought of discontent anoying : 
Heere hurt was none, and feare of death is neuer, 
But heere is loue, and heere is life for euer. 

Heere sorrowe's teares. doe quenche the heate of Sinne, 

And fire of loue, doth kindle life againe : 

Heere doth the grounde of glory first beginne. 

And heere is Vertue, in her highest vaine : 

Heere, is in some the state of honour's story, 

And of all goodnes. the etemall glory. 

And heere is, lo that heauenly paradise. 
Whereto the pilgrime, made his pilgrimage : 
Where sacred mercy first did solempnize. 
The spirite to the fleshe in mariage : 
And here the hart did finde his spirit blest, 
To bring the sences to etemall rest.' 

Gloria in excelsis Deo. 
{lb. p. ao.) 

The * Countesse of Pembrooke's Loue/ 
and *The Countesse of Pembrooke's Passion' 
abound with co-equal passages, though it 
is difficult to detach them for quotation. 
But even thus far, how grotesque is the still 
occasionally disinterred Johnsonian dictum 
about ' the superior grace and finish of 
Waller,' etc etc. ! Even Giles Fletcher 
finds his match in the ' Pilgrimage' of 1592. 
I feel sure he knew it. 

2. Brightness. — Sometimes one's im- 
pression of a person or of a book, is incom- 



municable. It is too subtle as too individual 
to be expressed. I may not be able to con- 
vey my own meaning in this word ' Bright- 
ness;' but to myself there is a singularly 
pleasing sunniness — edged like all light with 
shadow — in these books of Breton. His 
misfortunes, his 'indiscretions/ his hard- 
ships, his wrongs, his lonelinesses, his outliv- 
ing of contemporaries, imparted no sourness 
to his spirit, no bitterness to his tongue, no 
misanthropy to his pen. He abides to the 
end, — with fits of melancholy interposed, — a 
cheery, whole-hearted, sweet-natured, love- 
able old fellow. I have already notified his 
last-published book ' Fantasticks ' (vol. ii /). 
It is as strong, as buoyant, as finished, as 
any of all his numerous writings. I can 
think, therefore, of no other word so inter- 
pretative of the feeling excited by these 
revived books of Nicholas Breton as 
this of their 'Brightness.' You may look 
into almost any of them, and this 'brightness' 
will gleam upon you. You may be led as 
into some tree-shut-in 'solitary place;' but 
even there a ray of golden light will be shot 
through the boughy green gloom. Unmeta- 
phorically, even his melancholy has semi- 
tones of joy, if also his joy have semi-tones 
of melancholy. I the more readily quote an 
illustration of this exceeding 'Brightness' 
from ' Fantasticks,' because, as his last, it is 
heart-satisfying to think of the 'old man 
eloquent' — then probably beyond his four- 
score years, — thus as whole-hearted and 
radiant as in the early years of Elizabeth. 
' Fantasticks ' is a fine 'Shepherd's Calender,' 
with poetic touches on which even Edmund 
Spenser should have smiled gracious ap- 
proval. It is to be carried captive away 
back to 'Merry England' of the 'Olden 
Time ' to surrender one's-self to this book. 
Carry it to the greenwood with you. Reader, 
and an thou art not charmed, I dub thee 

soulless. Here is one out of the many 

word-pictures : — 

Easter day. . 

' It is DOW Easter, and Jacke of Lent is turned out 
of doores : the Fishermen now hang vp their nets to 
dry, while the Calfe and the Lambe walke toward 
the Kitchin and the Pastry : the veluet heads of the 
Forresu faU at the loose of the Crosse-bow : the Sam- 
man Trowt playes with the Fly, and the March Rabbit 
runnes dead into the dish : the Indian commodities pay 
the Merchants aduenture : and Barbary Sugar puts 
Honey out of countenance : the holy feast is kept for 
the faithful!, and a knowne Jew hath no place among 
Christians : the Earth now beginnes to paint her vpper 
garment, and the trees put out their young buds, the 
little Kids chew their Cuds, and the Swallow feeds on 
the Flyes in the Ayre : the Storke denseth the Brookes 
of the Frogges, and the Sparhawke prepares her wing 
for the Partridge : the little Fawne is stolne from the 
Doe, and the male Deere beginne to heard : the spirit 
of Youth is inclined to mirth, and the conscionat^ 
Scholler wiD not breake a holy-day : the Minstrell cals 
the Maid from her dinner, and the Louers eyes doe 
troule like Tennis balls. There is mirth and ioy, when 
there is health and liberty : and he that hath money, 
wiU be no meane man in his mansion : the Ayre is 
wholsome, and the Skye comfortable, the Flowers odo* 
riferous, and the Fruits pleasant : I conclude, it is a day 
of much delightfulnesse : the Sunnes dancing day, and 
the Earths Holy-day. Farewell.' (Vol II. t, p. la.) 

Take again these companion-pictures : — 

Three of the Cloche. 

' It is now the third houre. and the Windowes of 
Heauen beginne to open, and the Sunne beginnes to 
colour the Clouds in the Sky, before he shew his face to 
the World : Now are the spirits of life, as it were, risen 
out of death : the Cocke cals the seruants to their dayes 
work, and the grasse horses are fetcht from the Pastures : 
the Milke-maids begin to looke toward their dayry, and 
the good Huswife beginnes to looke about the bouse : 
the Porrage pot is on for the seruants breakfast, and 
hungry stomackes will soone be ready for their victuall : 
the Sparrow beginnes to chirpe about the house, and the 
Birds in the Bushes will bid them welcome to the field : 
the Shepheard sets on his Pitch on the fire, and fills 
his Tar-pot ready for his flocke : the Wheele and the 
Reele b^inne to be set ready, and a merry song makes 
the worke seeme easie : the Plough-man &lls to hamcsse^ 
his horses, and the Thrasher beginnes to looke tow# 
the bame : the Scholler that loues learning, will be hard 
at his Booke, and the Labourer by great, will be 
walking toward his worke. In briefe, it is a parcdl of 
time, to good purpose, the exercise of Nature, and the 
entrance into Art Farewell.' (Vol. II. /, p. 13.) 

Fiue of the Cloche. 
'It is now fiue of the Clocke, and the Sunne is 
going apace vpon his ioumey : and fie sluggards, who 



would be asleepe : the Bels ring to Prayer, and the 
streets are fiill of people, and the high-wayes are stored 
with Trauellers : the SchoUers are vp and going to 
schoole, and the Rods are ready for the Truants correc- 
tion : the Maids are at milking, and the seruants at 
Plough, and the Wheele goes merrily, while the 
Mistresse is by : the Capons and the Chickens must bee 
serued without doore, and the Hogges cry till they haue 
their swill : the Shepheard is almost gotten to his Fold, 
and the Heard beginnes to blow his home through the 
Towne. The blind Fidler is vp with his dance and his 
song, and the Alehouse doore is vnlocked for good 
ftilowes : the hounds begin to find after the Hare, and 
horse and foot follow after the cry : the Traueller now 
is well on his way. and if the weather be Cure, he walkes 
with the better cheere : the Carter merrily whistles to his 
horse, and the Boy with his Sling casts stones at the 
Crowes : the Lawyer now begins to look on his Case, 
and if he giue good counsel, he is worthy of his Fee : 
In briefe. not to stay too long vpon it. I hold it the 
necessity of Labour, and the note of Profit Farewell' 

(Vol. II. /, p. 13.) 

Once more: here are a pair of 'bright' 
rural scenes, that in their naturalness and 
simplicity, seem to cry scorn on your modem 
elaborate rhetoric of description : — 


' It is now Summer, and Zephirus with his sweet breath 
oooles the parching beames of Titan : the leaues of the 
trees are in whisper talkes of the blessings of the aire, 
while the Nightingale is tuning her throat to refresh the 
weary spirit of the Trauayler : Flora now brings out her 
Wardrop, and richly embroydreth her greene Apron : 
the Nymphes of the Woodes in consort with the Muses 
sing an Aue to the Morning, and a Vale to the Sunnes 
setting : the Lambes and the Rabbettes run at base in 
the sandy Warrens, and the Plow landes are couered 
with come : the stately Hart is at Layre in the high wood, 
while the Hare in a furrow sits washing of her face : The 
Bon makes his walke like a Master of the field, and the 
braad-headed Oxe beares the Garland of the market : 
the Angler with a fly takes his pleasure with the fish, 
while the little Merline hath the Partridge in the foot : 
the Hony-dewes perfume the A3rre, and the Sunny-showers 
are the earths comfort : the Greyhotmd on the plaine 
makes the faire course : and the wel-mouthed Hound 
makes the Musicke of the woods : the Battaile of the 
fidd is now stoutly fought, and the proud Rye must 
itoupe to the Sickle : The Carters whistle cheeres his 
forehorse, anddrinkeand sweat is the life of the Labourer : 
Idle spirits are banished the limits of Honour, while the 
studious braine brings forth his wonder : the Azure Sky 
shewes the Heauen is gracious, and the glorious Sunne 
glads the spirit of Nature : The ripened fruits shew the 
beauty of the earth, and the brightnesse of the aire the 
gkMry of the heauens : In somme, for the world of worth 

I find in it, I thus conclude of it : I hold it a most sweet 
season, the variety of pleasures, and the Paradise of lone. 
FareweU.' (Vol II. /, p. 6.) 


' It is now April, and the Nightingale begins to tune 
her throat against May : the Sunny showers perfume 
the aire, and the Bees begin to goe abroad for honey : 
the Dewe. as in Pearles, hangs vpon the tops of the 
grasse, while the Turtles sit billing vpon the little greene 
boughes : the Trowt begins to play in the Brookes, 
and the Sammon leaues the Sea, to play in the fresh 
waters : The Garden-bankes are full of gay flowers, and 
the Thome and the Plumme send forth their faire Blos- 
somes : the March Colt begins to play, and the Cosset 
Lamb is learned to butt. The Poets now make their 
studies in the woods, and the Youth of the Country 
make ready for the Morris-dance ; the little Fishes lye 
nibling at a bait, and the Porpas playes in the pride of the 
tide : the Shepheards pipe entertaines the Princesse of 
Arcadia, and the healthfull Souldier hath a pleasant 
march. The Larke and the Lambe looke vp at the Sun, 
and the labourer is abroad by the dawning of the day : 
Sheepes eyes in Lambs heads, tell kind hearts strange 
tales, while faith and troth make the trae Louers knot : 
the aged haires find a fresh life, and the youthfull cheeks 
are as red as a cherry : It were a world to set downe 
the worth of this moneth : But in summe, I thus con- 
clude, I hold it the Heauens blessing, and the Earths 
comfort Farewell.' (Vol II. /, p. 8.) 

Well-nigh everywhere in Breton you have 
' pictures ' of these types ; and for my part 
they beggar the arid ' Chronicles ' of Kings 
that usurp the august name of History, and 
infinitely better than formal treatises set 
before me the ' bright ' side of Elizabethan 
England. What was Matthew Browne 
about, that, in his 'Shakespeare's England,* 
he left our Worthy unconsulted ? 

3. Freshness. — The quotations from 
' Fantasticks ' have so-far anticipated this. 
His 'Brightness' is as of sunlight in the 
silver rain and the quivering dew, rather than 
of the blinding sky and sultry air. The 
explanation is that, whether from boyhood- 
associations with the paternal town-house, 
'fair garden,' 'bechen lane,' and the 'farms' 
in Essex and Lincolnshire, or his friend- 
ships with the gentry of England (as shown 
in his Epistles- dedicatory, e^, the Houghtons 
of Lancashire, the Dallisons, Cradocks, Con- 
quests, and others of our ' Index of Names 



and Places'), he must have had an open 
eye and heart for Nature. His close observa- 
tion of Nature — thus early — is extremely 
noticeable, and gives a 'freshness' to his 
books simply inestimable. In this, as through- 
out, I can but imperfectly illustrate through 
quotation. My hope is, that what I work 
into this Memorial-Introduction will send 
capable readers to the Works themselves. 

I cull this description of minuter and 
humbler life to begin with, venturing to 
italicise a little : — 

' To see the grayhounde course, the hounde in chase» 
Whilst litU dormouse sleepeth out her time ; 
The lambes and rabbots sweetlle rune at base. 
Whilst highest trees the litle squiriles clime ; 
The cralinge wormes out creepinge in the showers, 
And how the snayles do clime the lofty towers.' 
(Countesse of Penbrook's Passion, st. 98.) 

As a commentary on the last, of the 
* snayle,' I saw lately on a * lofty,' indeed the 
loftiest of the mysterious * stones ' of Stone- 
henge, within a few miles of the summit, a 
common shell 'snail.' 

The ' Passionate Shepherd ' (Vol. I. n) is 
full of the ' Freshness ' I accentuate. Once 
more in quoting I italicise slightly, as 
throughout : — 

Pastoral 3. 

' Who can Hue in heart so glad, 
As the merrie countrie lad ? 
Who vpon a faire greene balke 
May at pleasures sit and walke ? 
And amidde the Azure skies. 
See the morning Sunne arise ? 
While hee heares in euery spring, 
How the Birdes doe chirpe and sing : 
Or, before the houndes in crie. 
See the Hare goe stealing by : 
Or along the shallow brooke, 
Angling with a baited hooke : 
See the fishes leape and play. 
In a blessed Sunny day : 
Or to heare the Partridge call. 
Till shee haue her Couye all : 
Or to see the subtill foxe, 
How the villaine plies the box : 
After feeding on his pray, 
How he closely sneakes away. 
Through the hedge and downe the furrow, 
Till he geets into his burrowe. 

Then the Bee to gather honey. 
And the little blacke-haird Cony, 
On a bankefor Sunny place. 
With her fore-feete wash her face : 
Are not these with thousandes moe, 
Then the Courts of Kinges doe knowe ? ' 

(Vol I. «, p. 6.) 

Even in his more ordinary Prose he 
delights to fetch his images from the country, 
€.g, in his 'Wonders worth the Hearing' 
(VoL II. g)f * she would looke as demurely as 
a Rabbet that had newly washed her face in 
a deawy morning' (p. 7, col. i). Birds and 
flowers, lambs and rabbits, kine and horse, 
the grass, the odorous hay, the shooting or 
yellowing com, orchards, hedgerows and 
rural lanes, chiming brooks and bosky nooks, 
sparkle of dew, the May sprays, the Autumnal 
reddened leaves, the Yule-log, cakes and nut- 
brown ale, the merry pranks and sports, the 
fire-side stories, the pat proverb, the snatch 
of old-world song,^ proud memories of 
• Queen Bess ' and stout Harry before her — 
to name only these — carry the * fireshness ' of 
inviolate nature through verse and prose 
alike.^ The lambs and ' rabbits at base ' are 
almost as inevitable in Breton's landscape as 
the grey horse of Wouverman. Let 'Fantas- 
ticks' be turned and returned to for de- 

1 See I. fi p. 5/a, 1. 34, ' Glim of the Clough : ' II. r, Na 19, 
' Pierce Plowman : ' ibid. * Play of Richard the Third : ' II. A. 
p. 34/Xi !• 4« ' Come live with me and be my love : ' II. u, p. g/a, 
L 41, 'My mynde to me a kingdome is :' I. a, p. zz/2, 1. 3, 
' Robin Hood and Walter Little Wise : ' ib.'p, 99/1, etc. etc. 

s I place the following references here for the student 
reader :— Country Fare, I. a, p. a^a : I. ^, p. 7/3, L 29 : p. ax/a, 
L 5 : I. X, p 7/1, 1. a8 : II. c, p. 43/1, 1. 13 : Dinner Time, 
strewing sweet herbs, etc, I. a, p. 40/a : II. /, p. 15 : Fruits, 

I. n, p. 8/1, 1. a6 : Fishes, II. b, p. lo/x : II. d, p. 9/a, 1. 34 : 

II. A, p 34, p. 74 : II. /, p. 10/2, L 3 : Delicacies, II. b, p. xa/i : 
II. c, p. i6/a, 1. la : p. 28/1, 38/a : II. h, p. aa, L 64/5 : p 33, 
L 7X. P- 35. 1- X3» P- 4o» 1- 25, p. 49, I 59, p. 50, L 60 : II. /, 
p. 6/z : II. m, p 7/1, 1. 41 : II. «, p 11/3, 1. 49. Tobacco, 
II. h, p. 35/x, 1. z : p 44, 1. 43 : II. /, p. 9/1. 1. 34 : p. io/a» 

I. ax : II. r, p. 13/1, L zi : II. h, p. 4Z, 1. a8— qu. did ladies 
smoke? Cahes and Ale, II. h, p. 50, L 6z, 6a : Fowl, game, 
etc, II. s, p. 5, p. 6/z : II. /, p zz/z, L z : Christmas Feasts, 

II. /, p. zz/z, 1. z : Lent Fasts, II. /, p. zz : Eeuter Feasts, 
II. /, pp. zz, za : Tortoise pies, II. u, p. Z4/Z : Caviare, II. u, 
p. Z4/2, 1. 4 : Popular sports, ape-baiting, II. 3, p zs/a, z6/z — 
was this a real or only pretended amusement ?— and so coursing, 
hawking, ferreting rabbits, cock-fightizig, bear-baitixag. May- 
games, morris-dances, etc etc 



liciously 'fresh' description. Even in *A 
Mad Worid ' his little gentle favourites are 
introduced with such a yearning and wistful- 
ness of preference as seems to me ineffably 
pathetic : — ' Oh to see in a faire morning, or 
a sunnie evening, the lambes and rabbets 
run at base, the birds billing, the fishes 
playing, and the flowers budding, who would 
not leave the drinking in an alehouse, the 
wrangling in a dicing-house, the lying in a 
market, and the cheating in a fayre; and 
thinke that the brightnesse of a faire day doth 
pat doune all the beauties of the world^ (Vol. 
11. /, p. lo/i, 1. 40). 

4. Sweetness. — This is a special charac- 
teristic of his sacred poetry on the one hand, 
and of his rural or pastoral on the other, 
as of his prose in these. His piety was not 
at all of the clamorous or demonstrative 
kind. He had definite beliefs, firmly-held 
convictions, bravely out-spoken opinions on 
the burning questions of the Reformation 
and Civil and Religious liberty. But as 
much as ever has our Matthew Arnold 
of to-day, had he faith in * Sweetness and 
Light,' though he does not * preach ' about 
either, rather exemplifies them. He knew 
nothing of that sleight-of-hand that com- 
mends * Sweetness ' in neat formulas barbed 
with a sneer, or that inculcates ' Light,' while 
stone-blind to others' standpoints and 
seeing, who are not of their inner circle or 
clique. (I know the bee's sting lies beside its 
honey-bag ; but your prophets of * Sweetness 
and Light' surely would not be taken for 
bees? Certes they do buzz hugely about 
and about the topics of their teaching.) 
For Breton's substantive 'sweetness' I 
would refer the reader to his ' Pilgrimage to 
Paradise,' his 'Countess of Penbrooke's 
Passion,' his 'Solemne Passion,' his 'Rauisht 
Soule and Blessed Weeper,' his 'Longing 
of a Blessed Heart,' his ' Soule's Harmony,' 
his * Mother's Blessing,' his ' Soule's Immor- 
tal Crowne.' There is in all of these the 

'linked sweetness, long drawn out,' that 
were clo)dng were it not for the honey- 
strength as compared with the mere melting 
' sweetness ' of sugar. I select one bit from 
the last named, the 'Soule's Immortal 
Crown': — 

' Then doth she bring her humbly on her knees, 
And, sets before her the faire booke of Blisse, 
Bids her there finde that she can neuer leese. 
The care of life, where euery comfort is : 
When lifting vp her heart with humble eie. 
She sees a Beautie brighter then the skie. 

There she beholds in Mercies Maiestie, 
Her Sauiour sitting on a glorious Throne : 
Where, in the Essence of Etemitie, 
He rules all powers in himselfe, alone : 
When, seeing her thus humbly fall before hira, 
He blesseth her that doth so much adore him. 

Then, doth she see the Angels exercise, 
Who, with the Saints and Virgins sit and sing : 
While humble spirits make their Sacrifice, 
Vnto the Glory of their Gracious King : 
While, all the Hoast of all the heauen reioyces, 
To heare the Musique of the heauenly voyces. 

Then, doth she set the Consort of the Quicr, 
Where euery Note doth keepe his Tune and Time : 
The ditty only speaking of Desire, 
Where, loue doth only vnto Mercy chme : 
Where euery Close doth in such comfort meete, 
That all the Heauens are rauisht with the sweete. 

She takes the Virgine to her Morning taske, 
And sets her downe a forme of faithfuU praier : 
But, couers not her Beauty with a Maske, 
When she hath made her truly heauenly faire : 
But, brings her forth with such a Blessed Grace, 
As, makes him happy that may see her face. 

She shewes her in a Glasse of Beauties Truth, 
How, Art doth Nature too much iniurie ; 
That feebled Age in forced tricks of Youth, 
In true Conceite is Reasons Mockerie ; 
The idle thoughts that spoile the inward eies, 
Where Loue should liue, but in dishonour dies. 

She shewes her there the Maiden-blush complection, 
Betwixt the cherrie Red, and snowie White : 
And, reades her then the precepts of perfection. 
Within the circle of Dianas sight. 
She shewes her all the Titles of desart. 
And, that true honour hues but in the hart. 

She neuer taught the Eye to leere nor lowre, 
Tongue, idle talkc ; nor minde, vngratious thought : 
She neuer set a countenance sharpe and sowre, 
Nor, fetch't a sigh vpon a thing of nought : 



But, shewes her ludgement of so iust a Measure, 
As. proues her Wisedome worth a world of Treasure.' 

(Vol. I, 9. p. 7.) 

It were easy to multiply by an hundred-fold 
confirmations of the ' sweetness ' of Breton. 
His religious prose-proper, e^,^ his * Divine 
Considerations' and ' Marie's Exercise/ have 
nothing of the weary platitudes, and as weary 
divisions and subdivisions of the Preachers 
of the day. They may not be very deep, as 
they are not in any wise learned. But I 
know none that so quietly yet certainly 
nurture the Christian life. You have a con- 
viction that the man is writing of actual 
experiences, not merely prating of texts. 

5. Tenderness. — ^The pathos of many of 
the things in these books is very beautiful. 
Whether it be a cry of despair, or a sob of 
contrition, or a sigh of weariness, or a con- 
fession of indiscretion,' or a laying-hold 
of some 'exceeding great and precious 
promise' in the Word, written straight out 
of the heart, it goes as straight to the heart. 
I do not forget the Scottish 'Balou my 
babe,' which I suppose was posterior to ' a 
sweet lullabie,' in the 'Arbor of Amorous 
Devices ' (Vol. I. //, p. 7), nor do I undervalue 
Robert Greene's *Sephestia's Song to her 
Child ' — * Weep not, my wanton, smile upon 
my knee' in his Menaphon (1589-1616) ; but 
where so early will we meet with tenderness 
so soft, pathos so un-sentimental and un- 
mawkish as in the ' Sweet Lullabie ' ? I am 
not ashamed to avow that it mists my eyes 
as I read it : — 

A sweet lullabie, 

' Come little babe, come silly soule. 

Thy fathers shame, thy mothers griefe. 

Borne as I doubt to all our dole, 

And to thy selfe vnhappie chiefe : 
Sing Lullabie and lap it warme, 
Poore soule that thinkes no creature hanne. 

Thou little thinkst and lesse doost knowe, 
The cause of this thy mothers moane, 
Thou wantst the wit to waile her woe, 
And I my selfe am all alone : 

Why doost thou weepe? why doost thou waile? 

And knowest not 3ret what Uiou doost ayle. 

Come little wretch, ah silly heart. 

Mine onely ioy what can I more : 

If there be any wrong thy smart. 

That may the destinies implore : 
Twas I, I say, against my will, 
I wayle the time, but be thou stilL 

And dopst thou smile, oh diy sweete face. 
Would God himselfe he might thee see, 
No doubt thou wouldst soone purchaoe grace. 
I know right well for thee and mee : 

But come to mother babe and play. 

For father falst is fled away. 

Sweet boy if it by fortune chance. 
Thy father home againe to send, 
If death do strike me with his launoe. 
Vet mayst thou me to him oOmend : 

If any aske thy mothers name. 

Tell how by loue she purchast blame. 

Then will his gentle heart soone yeeld, 
I know him of a noble minde. 
Although a Lyon in the field, 
A Lamb in towne thou shalt him finde : 

Aske blessing babe, be not afrayde. 

His sugred words hath me betrayde. 

Then mayst thou ioy and he right glad. 

Although in woe I seeme to moane. 

Thy father is no Rascall lad, 

A noble youth of blood and boane : 

His glancing lookes if he once smile. 
Right honest women may beguile. 

Come little boy and rocke a sleepe. 
Sing lullabie and be thou stiU, 
I that can doe nought else but weepe, 
Wil sit by thee and waile my fill ; 

God blesse my babe and lullabie. 

From this thy fathers qualitie.' 

(Vol I. d. p. 7.) 

Almost equally charming is the un-quoted 
other half of 'Pastoral Third' in 'The 
Passionate Shepherd,' as thus : — 

' The true pleasing spirits sights. 
That may breede true loues delightes, 
But with all this happinesse, 
To beholde that Shepheardesse, 
To whose eyes all Shepheards yeelde. 
All the fairest of the fielde, 
Faire Aglaia in whose face, 
Liues the Shepheard's highest Grace : 
In whose worthy wonder praise. 
See what her true Shepheard sales, 
Shee is neither proude nor fine, 
But in spirit more diuine : 
Shee can neither lower nor leere. 
But a sweeter smiling cheere : 



She had neuer painted face, 

But a sweeter smiling grace : 

Shee can neuer loue dissemble, 

Truth doth so her thoughts assemble, 

That where wisdome guides her will. 

Shee is kind and constant still. 

All in summe, she is that creature. 

Of that truest comfortes Nature. 

That doth shewe (but in exceedinges) 

How their praises had their breedings : 

Let then poetts faine their pleasure. 

In their fictions of loue's treasure : 

Proud high spirits seeke their graces. 

In their Idoll painted faces : 

My loue's spirit's lowlinesse. 

In affections humblenesse, 

Vnder heau'n no happines 

Seekes but in this Shepeardesse. 

For whose sake I say and sweare. 

By the passions that I beare. 

Had I got a Kinglie grace. 

I would leaue my Kinglie place. 

And in heart be truelie glad : 

To become a Country Lad. 

Hard to lie, and goe full bare, 

And to feede on hungry fare : 

So I might but Hue to bee. 

Where I might but sit to see, 

Once a day, or all day long. 

The sweet subiect of my song : 

In Aglaia^s onely eyes, 

All my worldly paradise.' 

(Vol. I. «, pp. 6/7.) 

Infinitely gracious and tender is the so- 
called * Sonet 3 * {ib, p. 12) : — 

Sonet. 3. 

' Foolish loue is onely folly. 
Wanton Loue is too vnholly : 
Greedy loue is couetous. 
Idle loue is friuolous. 
But the gratious loue is it : 
That doth prooue the worth of wit. 

Beautie but deceiues the eye, 
Flatterie leades the eare awrye : 
Weltb doth but inchaunt the wit. 
Want the ouerthrowe of it. 
While in wisdome's worthy Grace, 
Vertue sees the sweetest face. 

There hath loue found out his life, 
Peace without all thought of strife : 
Kindenes in discretion's care. 
Truth that clearely doth declare. 
Faith doth in true fancy prooue. 
Lost the cxcremente of loue. 

Then in Cuth my fancie see. 
How my loue may oonstruM bee. 


How it growes, and what it seekes, 
How it liues, and what it likes. 
So in highest grace regarde it, 
Or in lowest scome discarde it. ' 

(Vol I. n, p. 12.) 

*Lust the excremente of love * I hold to be 
very fine in its scom of the base and bad. 
I place beside it * Sonet 11': — 

Sonet II. 

• Pretty twinckling starry eyes. 
How did Nature first deuise. 
Such a sparkling in your sight. 
As to giue loue such delight. 
As to make him like a flye. 
Play with lookes vntill he die ? 

Sure yee were not made at first. 
For such mischiefe to be curst : 
As to kill affection's care. 
That doth onely truth declare. 
Where worthe's wonders neuer wither, 
Loue, and Beautie liue together. 

BlessM eyes then giue your blessing. 
That in passion's best expressing : 
Loue that onely liues to grace yee, 
May not suffer pride deface yee. 
But in gentle thoughte's directions, 
Shew the praise of your perfections. ' 

(Vol. I. n, p. 14.) 

It were almost treason to Breton not here 
to find a place for his * Phillida and 
Coridon ' ; — 

Phillida and Coridon. 

• In the merry moneth of May, 
In a mome by breake of day, 
Foorth I walked by the Wood side. 
Whenas May was in his pride : 
There I spi^ all alone, 
Phillida and Coridon. 
Much a-doo there was, God wot. 
He would loue, and she would not. 
She sayd neuer man was true, 
He sayd, none was false to you. 
He sayd, he had lou'd her long. 
She sayd, Loue should haue no wrong 
Coridon would kisse her then. 
She said, Maides must kisse no men. 
Till they did for good and all. 
Then she made the Sheepheard call 
All the heauens to witnesse truth : 
Neuer lou'd a truer youth. 
Thus with many a pretty oath, 
Yea and nay. and duth and troth. 


Such as silly Sheepheards vse, 
When they will not Loue abuse : 
Loue, which had beene long deluded, 
Was with kisses sweete concluded, 
And Phillida with garlands gay ; 
Was made the Lady of the May.' 

(Vol. I. /.p. 7.)i 

Combining 'sweetness' and * tenderness' 
is the following from 'England's Helicon' 
(1600) : — 

A sweete Pastor all, 

' Good Muse rock me asleepe, 

with some sweet Harmonie : 
This wearie eye is not to keepe 
thy warie companie. 

Sweete Loue be gone a while, 

thou knowest my heauines : 
Beauty is borne but to b^^e. 

My hart of happines. 

See how my little flocke 

that lou'd to feede on hie : 
Doo headlong tumble downe the Rocke, 

and in the Vallie die. 

The bushes and the trees 

that were so fresh and greene : 

Doo all their dainty colour leese, 
and not a leafe is seene. 

The Black-bird and the Thrush, 

that made the woods to ring : 

With all the rest, are now at hush, 
and not a noate they sing. 

Sweete Pkilonule the bird, 

that hath the heauenly throate. 

Dooth now alas not one afifoord 
recording of a noate. 

The flowers haue had a frost, 

each hearbe hath lost her sauour : 

And. Phillida the faire hath lost, 
the comfort of her fauour. 

Now all these carefiill sights, 

so kill me in conceite : 
That how to hope vpon delights 

it is but meere deceite. 

And therefore my sweete Muse 

that knowest what heipe is best. 

Doo now thy heauenly cunning vse, 
to set my hart at rest. 

I In relatioa to this little poem, I note here that that which 
follows 'A Pastorall of Phillis and Cotedon.' I overiooked as 
before given in *The Arbor of Amorous Devices' (Vol. I. </, 
p. la/a). So too with ODC or two others. 

And in a dreame bewray 

what fate shall be my friend : 
Whether my life shall still decay 

or when my sorrow end.' 

(Vol. I. /, pp. 7, 8.) 

6. Purity. — It is to the praise of Nicholas 
Breton that at a time when broad speech 
was not only common but acceptable, he 
ever presented a white page. Even in his 
Satires as ' PasquiV there is almost absolute 
absence of coarseness as of luscious minis- 
tering to our lower part By the necessity of 
fidelity to portraiture, some of the * Char- 
acters ' in his books troll out a ' merry tale/ 
a somewhat licorous jest, and once or twice 
we might choose less realistic words if we 
cared to describe at all things best left 
undescribed. But fundamentally, as dis- 
tinguished from incident and accident, the 
Purity of the Works of our Worthy is as 
thorough. and distinctive as it is admirable. 
Beaumont and Fletcher gird at the admira- 
tion of the 'common people* for Breton's 
pamphlets, etc. It had been well if other 
literature that was popular had partaken of 
his purity. 

I might similarly state and illustrate by quo- 
tation, his Wit and Humour and Common 
Sense, his weighty counsels, his patriotic 
love of England and Englishmen, his homage 
to the 'great Queen,' ^ and other charac- 
teristics; but these he shared more with 
contemporaries. I have therefore limited 
myself to those characteristics that in a 
special and noticeable manner belong to 
him, and that warrant renewed attention to 
his Works. 

II. Shakespereana. — Were it for no 
more than the illustrative things in Breton for 
the student of Shakespeare, I should have 
been spurred to do what I have done in 
collecting and reproducing his Works. I 
would now give in their order such as have 

1 Exclusive of VoL II. v. (Character of Queen Elixabeth) see 
VoL II. b, p. X9/9, 1. i-xo : II. j, p. >o: II. c, p. 13/a, 1, 17 : 
p. x?/i, L 9, etc. 



struck myself and my valued and esteemed 
fellow-worker in the Glossarial Index and 
other indices, — George H. White, Esq., 
of Glenthome. I do not doubt that others 
will be guided to further Shakespereana by 
these Indices and in their own reading. 
I have tried to be as vigilant and as sober- 
minded as possible in drawing from Nicholas 
Breton matter to elucidate or illustrate 
William Shakespeare.^ I wish the New 
Shakespeare Society would direct some of 
its energies to thoughtful reading of Eliza- 
bethan literature for like illustrations.^ For 
convenience sake {ue, of reference) I shall 
arrange my quotations and references in the 
order of the books in Vol I. a to u and 
Vol. II. a to V. There are disadvantages in 
this, but these are outweighed by the 
advantages. My main object is to guide 
my fellow-Shakespearean students to things 
and words in Breton, more or less illustrative 
and suggestive : — 

VoL I. (tf.) A Flooruh upon Fancier p. 33/2, L 26, 
and p. 37/2, 1. 29 : ' But take in 
worth his great good wUl.' Cf. 
Midsummer Night's Dream (Act v. 
sc. I). . . . ^ takes it in mighty not 

^ I q>eU ' Shakespeare ' as he himself did in title-page and 
•pisUe-dedicatory of his ' Poems,' and in the Poems among those 
added to Chester^i LoTe's Martyr (i6ozX It is simple nonsense 
to tell one that be thereby takes his Bookseller's or Printer's 
spelling for his own. I answer, Shakespeare wrote and signed 
the epistles-dedicatory, and no bookseller or printer would or 
conkl change what he wrote. Besides, who would pronounce 
' Shakspere ' ? The Will signature is so confused and shaky 
that it must remain uncertain ; and others as welL But plainly 
printed speUing from the author's own ms., and printed under 
his own supervision, is final, against all modem pragmatical- 
neis. Besides, there is his self-chosen coat of arms to show 
that he so understood his name. 

* It would form an admirable supplement to Dr. Ingleb/s 
valuable ' Centurie of Praise ' as re-edited by Miss L. Toulmin 
Smith, were she, or some one qualified and patient, to bring 
together from contemporaneous and onward Shakespearean 
quotations, phrases, words, allusions, etc. etc. Two things 
ifiu0judicio) would be found, («) That the Poems and Plays of 
Shakespeare got swiftly into men's ordinary speech and writ- 
ing among higher and lower : (^) That men's ordinary speech 
and writing of higher and lower went more into Shakespeare's 
Poems and Plays than many suppose. Surely the first is of 
infinitely more concern to us than bits and scraps of estimate of 
Shakespeare by the merest Smiths, Browns, Robinsons, and 


Vol. \, {a,) A Floorish upon Fancie^ p. 37/2, 1. 41, 
and p. 38/1, IL 17-18. 

' Time b set out with head all balde, 
Saue one odde lock before.* 

This b a commonplace of Elizabethan 
writers. So Shakespeare, ' the plain- 
balde pate of father Time ' (Comedy 
of Errors, ii. sc 2). Cf. VoL IL 
r, p. 9/2, L 4 : p. 25/1, L 28. 
(b,) Pilgrimage to Paradise^ p. 5/ 1, 1. 2, 
(from bottom) ' Ballat -makers. ' 

Ibid, p. 5/2 : Vol. II. b^ p. 20/2, L 35 : 
ibid, p. 5/1. 

Ibid, s, p. 6/2, L 34, ' BaUad penners.' 
Breton's contemptuous treatment of 
ballad-makers reminds of Shake- 
speare% specifically of i Henry iv., 
(in. sc. I). 

' I had rather be a kitten and cry mew 
Than one of those same metre ballad-mongers.' 

Ibid, p. 7/2, 1. 52, *Silucr sound.' 
Cf. Romeo and Juliet (Act IV. sc. 5), 
* music with her silver sound.' 

Ibid, p. il/i, 1. 39, *Or breake his 
hart with hammers of his head.' Cf. 
Titus Andronicus (Act ii. sc. 3) : — 
'revenge . . . hammering in my 
head : ' see also Glossarial Index for 
other examples, and s,v. 'anvile.' 

Ibid, p. 24/1, 1. 36, *The moone and 
stars, the candels of the night ' Cf. 
Romeo and Juliet (Act in. sc. 5) : 
Merchant of Venice (Act v. sc. I). 
Phineas Fletcher has also ' their 
candles,' etc. (Poems F. W. Lby., 
VoL II. p. 68, L 2.) 
(c) Countess of Pembroke s Passion, p. 3, 
St. 4, 'The night-raven's song that 
sounds of nought but death.' Cf. 
Macbeth (l sc. 5) : — 

' The raven himself is hoarse 
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan 
Under my battlements.' 

{d. ) Arbor of Amorous Devices, p. 4/2, L 8 
(from bottom), 'The Thurstle-cock 
that was so black of hewe.' Cf. 
Midsummer Night's Dream (in. I 1. 
130), 'The Ousel-cock so black of 
Ibid. p. 10/2, L I, 'What finds affect? 
both hue and labour lost,* This 
recalls Shakespeare's Play of ' Love's 
Labour Lost.' 


f f 










I. {e,) PasqmTs Madcap^, p. 4/1, L 7, 'a 
gallde hackney will winch.' Cf. 
Hamlet (Act ui. sc. 2). 
Ihi(L p. 7/1, L 49, 'Sea-coale:' also 
Vol. II. b, Wifs Trenchnumr, p. 1 7/1, 
'a good warme banke of sea-cole 
fire.' Cf. 2 Henry iv. (11. sc. i), 
'by a sea-coal fire.* 

(/:) PasfrnTi FooUs Cap, p. 22/2, L 40^ 
and note. 'To give the peake* no 
doubt means the same as to 'give 
the gleek' or 'the dor/ ue. to make 
a fool of him. Nares gives ' peak- 
goose ' as a term of reproach, but says 
nothing of the origin of it Was it a 
jocular variation of 'peacock'? In 
such case 'peake* here would be 
simply short for 'peacock ' of Hamlet, 
* A verie verie Paiocke ' (iii. 2). 
Ibid, p. 26/2, 1. I, 'a curtail jade.' 
Cf. Merry Wives (Act 11. sc. i), 
'a curtail dog.' 

(^.) Melancholike Humours, p. 5/2, L 7, 
'with much adoe about nothing.' 
Again recalls the Play of Shake- 
speare, 'Much Ado about Nothing.' 
So too in Vol. II. », CourtUr and 
Countryman, ' what a deale of adoe 
you have made about nothing.' 

(>t.) Longing of a Blessed Heart, p. 14/1, 
1. 9, 'the toppe of truth.' So in 
Tempest (Act in. sc. i), 'the top of 
admiration,' and elsewhere. 

{m.^Motha's Blessing, p. 6/1, L 13 and 
note. It was affirmed by Dr. Ingleby 
in his Perkins folio controversy, that 
the word * cheer ' was never used in 
the sense explained in my note till 
the present century. Perhaps here 
it is ^ cherishing. 
Ibid, p. 8/1, 1. 7, 'Know a halbert 
from a hedging bilL' Cfl Hamlet 
(Act II. sc. 2), 'I know a hawk 
from a hand-saw. ' 

(».) Passionate Shepherd, p. 8/2, L 5 — 

' Let me tit and bite my thambes 
When I see no comfort comes.' 

This was a way of expressing dis- 
comfort and morose humours. In 
Romeo and Juliet (Act I. sc. i) it is 
done as a mark of contempt for 
(f.) Honour of Valour, p. 51/1, 1. 17, * And 
truth disdaineth to subscribe to error ' 


= to submit Cf. Shakespeare's 
Sonnet 107, 'My love looks firesh, 
and death to me subscribes.^ 
Vol. I. {s. ) I would, etc., p. 5/2, 1. 9, * against the 
haire: Cf. Merry Wives (ii. 3), ' If 
you should fight, you go against the 
hair of your professions.' 
„ (/.) Daffodils, etc., p. 9/1, L 20, 'a flower 
in your eare.' CC Faulconbridge in 
King John (i. i. 141), 'mine eare I 
durst not sticke a rose,' etc. 
Vol II. (b.) IVifs Trenchmour, p. 17/2, 1. 3, 'siluer 
fork and pick tooth.' Cf. King John 
(I. i. 190). 

Ibid, p. 20/2, 1. 36, 'To the tune of 
all a greene willow.' Cf. Othello 
(Act IV. sc 3), 'SiDg all a green 
{€.) mil of Wit, etc, p. 17/2, 1. 10, ' her 
cake was dowe.' So in Taming of 
Shrew (v. sc i), *my cake is dough." 

Ibid, p. 48/2, 1. 43, fT. This is very 
like a prose version of Shakespeare's 
(or somebody else's) 'Crabbed Age 
and Youth ' (the piece is also found 
in Deloney's Garland of Good Will). 
Breton has the priority of all if the 
whole of Will of Wit was printed in 

Ibid, p. 62/1, 1. 46, 'Hurlie Burlie.' 
C£ Witch's Song in Macbeth. It is 
also used by Nic. Udall in Apophth. 
of Erasmus, p. 115 (Roberts' reprint). 
(</.) Strange Fortunes, p. 7/1, 1. 5 fi'om 
bottom, — ordinance = ordnance. So 
Shakespeare ' In second accent of hu 
ordinance' (Henry v., ii. 4), where 
the Globe Shakespeare and Leopold 
Shakespeare, and others, misprint 
strangely 'ordnance.' 
(g,) Wonders Worth hearing, p. 12/2. Cf. 

the story of Marina in Pericles. 
(h,) A Poste, etc, p. 1 1/2, 1. 2, 'Beleeve 
not your eyes till they have a better 
speculation.' Qt Macbeth (IIL sc 
4), 'Thou hast no speculation in 
those eyes.' 

Ibid, p. ri/2, last 1., 'The Play of 
Ancient PistolL' Breton here turns 
to excellent account the ' swaggering 
rascal ' of second Part of Henry iv. 

^^' P* 33/^1 L I, *But all is well 
that ends well. ' 

Ibid, p. 33/2, letter 8, 1. ii, *thc 


f I 









Hobbie horse,' etc., — a jocular 
reversal of the old relBrain alluded to 
in Hamlet, 'The Hobby horse is 
forgot. ' 
II. (i.) A J^sttt etc., p. 34/1, L 4, 'Come Hue 
with me and be my loue.' From 
Marlowe's song as quoted by Shake- 
/M/. p. 34/1, L 8, 'braue Oliver.' 
See the snatch quoted in As You 
like It (III. iii. loi), * O sweet Oliver, 
O brave Oliver.* 

^^' P- 35/2, 1. 41, *Were it not 
better for thee to read the fiction of 
Venus.* . . . 

/Wf/. p. 39, letter 21, * My day I will not 
breake.' Cf. Merchant of Venice (i. 
sc 3), ' If he should break his day.* 

/M. p. 41/2, letter 32, 'a fine Horse, 
bought out of Barbarie. ' Cf. Hamlet 
(v. so. 2), *suc Barbary Horses.* 

/W. p. 50/2, letter 61, * a cake and a 
botUe of ale.* Cf. Twelfth Night 
(II. sc 3), 'no more cakes and ale.* 

/Wc/. p. 51/2, letter 65, 'her most 
absolute workemanship ' = complete, 
perfect. C£ Hamlet (v. sc. 2), ' an 
absolute gentleman.* 
(1.) A Mad Worlds p. 6/2, 1. 42, 'my table- 
booke* (see also Glossarial Index, 
s,v,), Cf. Hamlet (Act ii. sc. 2). 
(/'.) A Dialogue^ etc,^ p. 9/2, 1. 34. Cf. 
Shakespeare's character of Brutus. 
See also IVifs lyenchmtmr^ p. n/2, 
1. 44,fr. 
{k.) Grimdldi Fortunes, p. 5/1, 1. 9, 
'Springes for Woodcocks.* Cf. 
Hiunlet (i. sc. 2, and sc 3, 1. 115). 
See also p. lo/i, 1. 5 ; and VoL I. k. 
Letter 58 (Part II.). 

IHd, p. 9/1, 1. 31, * Washing of buckes. ' 
So 2 Henry vi. (iv. sc 2), 'She 
washes buckes here at home.' 

Ibid, p. 13, L 13, * A Magot-a-Pie.' Cf. 
Macbeth (Act in. sc 4), ' Maggot- 
(/.) Olde Man's Lesson^ p. 7/1, L 44, ' The 
best loue is begotten by the eyes.' 
Cf. Merchant of Venice (Act in. 
sc 2), ' it is engender'd in the eyes.' 

Ibid, p. 9/2, 1. 47. The allusion no 
doubt is to the same Italian rhyme 
which is put into the mouth of Holo- 
femes in Love's Labour Lost (iv. 
sc. 2). 



VoL II. (/.) Olde Man's Lesson, p. 12/2, 1. 22, 'The 

Realta.' So Merchant of Venice (i. 
3), ' on the Rialto.* So Otway later. 
„ (iw.) I pray, etc., p. 4/1, 1. 22, 'There are 
floods as well as Ebbes : Time hath 
his tume.* So Julius Caesar (iv. 
sc 3), * There is a tide in the affairs 
of men,* etc Cf. Southwell's Poems 
in F. W. Lby. edit. (p. 64), * Tymes 
goe by tumes.* 
Ibid, p. 5/2, 1. 40, *a vengeance vpon 
his oiaftie conveyance ' = fraud, 
deception. Cf. Merry Wives (i. sc. 3) 
• Convey the wise it call.' 
(r. ) Good and Badde, No. 1 9 — * better redde 
in ... the Play of Richard the Third 
then in the Pleas of Edward the 
(j.) Strange Newes, p. 12. In 'A Dreame 
of a Chough, a Pie, and a Parrot,* 
the ' Chough ' argues for the ' russet- 
coate,' i.e, his own plumage, just as 
the pie and parrot for theirs. ' Russet ' 
accordingly must have had a wider 
sense than we give it now, as it in- 
cluded the whole of the Chough's 
plumage, his 'coate* as well as his 
' pate,' i.e, head. It is of importance 
to note this, inasmuch as it seems to 
warrant us to reject the correction of 
Midsummer Night's Dream (iii. 2) 
from ' russet-pat ed' to 'russet-patted,' 
so substituting the feet for the head. 
Breton's use of ' russet-coate ' would 
suggest our reading ' russet-coated ; ' 
but perhaps ' russet-pated,' i.e, 
headed, yields a sufficiently accurate 
sense, especially as we really do not 
know which bird Shakespeare in- 
tended — Cornish chough or jack- 
daw. I had at one time accepted 
the reading of ' patted ' as communi- 
cated to me by my friend Mr. J. 
Morison of Glasgow, who made it to 
me, unaware that another had antici- 
pated him (see Littledale's Mid- 
summer Night's Dream, in loco). 
My friend the Rev. W. E. Buckley, 
M. A., of Middleton Cheney, Banbury, 
is strong for ' russet-pated,' and well 
argues that the new reading ' patted ' 
would leave Breton's use of ' russet- 
coate ' untouched. 
(/.) Fantasticks, p. 11/2, 1. 21, ' if the cooke 
do not lacke wit he will sweetly lick 




his fingers.' CC Romeo and Juliet 
(IV. 3). 
Vol, II, {t.) Fantasticks^ p. 1 2/ 1, Easter, 1. 5, 

* veluet.* Cf. As You Like It (iL i), 
'iv/bv/ friends.' 
Ibid, p. 1 2/1, £aster-day, I 9, 'Bar- 
bary Sugar.* Cf. I Henry iv. (11. 
4., 1. 84), * in Barbary it cannot come 
to so much.' 
, , (f/.) Courtier and Countryman^ p. 14/2, 1. 4, 
'Another a great Lady sent him, 
which was a little Barrell of CoMtary^ 
which was no sooner opened and 
tasted but quickly made up again, 
and was sent back with this message 
... we have blacke sope enough 
already.' Cf. Hamlet's (v. sc 2) 
' 'twas caviare to the generaL' Appar- 
ently Shakespeare had the story of 
Breton in mind. It may have been 
derived from other sources. The 
only exemplar of the ' Courtier and 
Countryman ' extant, is of 161 8 ; but 
it was probably much earlier pub- 
lished — its style being like that of 
1597 books. 'Hamlet' was first 
printed in 1603; but composed pro- 
bably in 1 60a 

I doubt not that other Students of Breton 
(guided also by the full Glossarial Index) 
will discover other Shakespereana. But these 
must suffice for my contribution. Regard- 
ing them generally, I have formed three con- 
clusions from them, (a,) That Breton was 
familiar with the Plays and Poems of Shake- 
peare; (^.) That Shakespeare worked into 
his Plays more of the common language of 
his time than is suspected ; (c,) That it is 
not so improbable as on the first blush it 
might seem that the * W. S.' of the pretty 
and kindly lines to Breton prefixed to the 
collected *Will of Wit' (1596/9) was really 
Shakespeare. Let the reader judge : — 

' What shall I say of Gold, more then tis Gold : 
Or call the Diamond, more then precious : 

Or praise the man, with praises manifold 
When of himselfe, hiroselfe is vertuous ? 

Wit is but Wit, yet such his Wit and WiU, 

As proues ill good, or makes good to be ill 

Why ? what his Wit f proceed and aske his Will, 
Why? what his Willt reade on, and leame of Wit: 

Both good I gesse, yet each a seuerall ill. 

This may seeme strange, to those that heare of it. 
Nay, nere a whit, for vertue many waies. 
Is made a vice, yet Vertue hath her praise. 

Wherefore, O Breton, worthie is thy worke. 

Of commendations worthie to the worth : 
Sith captious wittes, in euerie comer lurke, 

A bold attempt, it is to set them forth 
A forme of Wit, and that in such a sort, 
As none offends, for all is said in sport 

And such a sport, as semes for other kinds. 

Both young and old, for learning, armes, and love : 

For Ladies humors, mirth with mone he findes. 
With some extreames, their patient mindes to proue. 

Well, Breton, write in hand, thou hast the thing, 

That when it comes, loue, wealth, and fame will bring. 

' W. S.' 
(Vol. II. c, p. 6.) 

The *gold* and play on *Wiir at once 
remind of Shakespeare. It is singular that 
with the exception of his two poems added 
to Sir Robert Chester's Love's Martyr (160 1), 
he neither gave nor sought commendatory 
verses, although it was the mode. I like to 
believe that Shakespeare thus paid dainty 
compliment to our Worthy. 

III. NoTABiLiA. — The Glossarial Index, 
Index of Names, and of Proverbs and Pro- 
verbial Sayings, and our Notes and Illustra- 
tions, will lead the student-reader to a goodly 
number of noticeable things. Here I pro- 
pose to make a note of various others that 
it was not easy to work into any of these ; 
and which indeed have mostly struck me in 
final critical reading of the Works for this 
Memorial-Introduction. By the necessities 
of the case this record of them must be 
somewhat irregularly arranged ; but as 
each presents a separate thing, strict order 
or classification is of less moment. 

1. Fine Thoughts, — 'darknesse is the sorrow of 

Time* (Vol. 11./, pw 7/i,l. 7). 

' Thought is a swift Traueller and the soule is in 
Heauen in an instant ' {ihid, L 29). 
* The sparing diet is the spirit's feast ' ( VoL I. m, 
p. 6/2, L 20). CX II Penseroso. ' Spare &st 
that oft with gods doth diet.' 

2. Impersonations.— Cmeliyt Despight, Envy, etc. 

(Vol. I. tf, p. 13/1 : i^w/. *, p. 14.) 



3. Good phrasing, — 'The wealthy beggar with his 

golden bagges ' (I. r, p. 8/2, L. 50}. 
' And if yon chance to see the Sonne of Pride 
etc (Vol I. / p. 19/2, L 29); 'both his 
insight and his outsight' (VoL II. /, p. ii/i, 
1. 14). 

4. Odd mtiaphor,— Vol, II. /, p. 17, Easter Day. 

This reminds one of a burlesque couplet in an 

old play : — 

' Whose eyes like two great foot-bals made of leather 
Were made to heat the gods in fro&ty weather.' 

{VAliofU IVtUhmM, i6z5).l 

5. ' Apt alliteraium.^ — ' The slouch of a slouven with 

a slauering smile, vpon a slubbered conceit, after 
manie good morrowes began to trouble her with 
thb Uttle ' (VoL II. d, p. 11/2, 1. 50). 

6. Foppish compliments,'^^ kA. II. b^ p. 15/1, 1. i). 

7. CovctabU possession to-day, — * An Acre of Land in 

Cheapside.' (Vol. II. /, p. lo/i, 1. 51 : ibid, 
col. 2, 1. 14). 

8. Anticipation of Swift, — * Wrought day and night 

for the mooneshine in the water ' (Vol. II. j, p. 
jo/i, L 52). This recalls the philosophers of 
Lapute extracting sunbeams from cucumbers. 

9. Increase of pcuturage. — 'Whereas in many other 

countries men did vse to eate vp the sheep, in 
that Country sheep had eaten vp both the men 
and their ho«ses ' (Vol. II. ^, p. 16/2, L 10). 

la Forks, — 'To be at your siluer forke, and your 
pick-tooth' (Vol. II. b, p. 17/2, 1. 2). 'But 
for us in the Coimtry, when we haue washed our 
hands after no foule worke, nor handling any 
unwholesome thing, wee neede no little Forks to 
make hay with our mouthes, to throw our meat 
into them ' (Vol. II. t#, p. 13/1, 1. 44). 

II. Tobacco,^* Yofu Tobacco breath * (Vol. II. h, 
letter 28, I 12). So Ben Jonson (Case is 
Altered, II. sc. 3). 

' Sister i' £uth yon take too much tobacco. 
It makes you black within, as yon are without.' 

It seems from this— as before queried — that 
tobacco-taking was not deemed the prero- 

1 Of the many grotesque things one meets with, the following 
OB die beheaded king (Charles I.) is perhaps unsurpassed :— 

'The Church and State do shake : the building must 
Expect to iaU, whose prop is turned to dust ; 
But ceas(e] from tears : Qiarles is of light bereaVn, 
AndiHu/i pm Emrth t0 Mn4 mart bright in Hemfn,* 

My friend Mr. James Crossley of Manchester pointed this 
o«t tome in a poem 00 ' the Martyrdom of his late M^jestie ' 
(pk 6S), in Tatidnsum Votivum, etc.— mis-anigned to Wither 
by Mr. W. C Hasiiu and othen. 

gative of the male sex : at least in these places 
it is regarded as a symptom not of mannishness 
but of pride (here), and of melancholy in Jonson. 

12. Proud memories.— Henry yiii 'Our late kinge 

of famous memorie, Henrie the 8, of whom 
the world speakes such honor that I need not 
amplifie his praises' (VoL II. p. 6/2, 1. 29). 
C£ the Prologue to More's Utopia — 'in all 
royal virtues a Prince most peerless.' 

13. Puritans — referred to contemptuously. — 'in truth 

brother, and verily sister' (Vol. II. ^, p. 9/1, 
L 4); 'Judas looked liked a holy brother' 
{ibid. 1. 47). 

14. Church-men = ri^r^y— described in uncompli- 

mentary terms (Vol. IL /, p. 12/2, 1. 47). 
Parson — ibid. p. 8/2, 1. 23. 

15. Religion — Superstition. — ' Foure hard days in 

the yeare 

Ash Wednesday for Papists, for then they 
must be whipt' (VoL II. /, p. 7/2, L 7). 
Query — as part of their devotions ? or by Pro- 
testants as a punishment for heresy ? 

16. Church- service — irreveretit behaznour. — (Vol. II. 

i, p. 8/2, 1. 39). The custom of ' crying' lost 
things at the Church door after service on 
Sunday, continued till about the banning of 
this century — query later ? 

17. Catalogue of Ladies' attire^ etc. — VoL I. a, p. 15/1, 

L 41 : ibid, p. 14/1, L 19 : ind. p. 14/2, L 55 : 
VoL II. bj p. 19/2, 1. 47 : ibid. c. p. 16/2, 1. 24 : 
ibid. /, p. 9, L 52. 

18. Merchants' ivives on Sunday. — Vol. I. a, p. 48/2, 


19. Male Fops,— Vol, I. a, p. 21/2, L 43: ibid, f 

p. 23, L 15 : ibid. p. 24/1, 1. 50 : ibid. J, p. II, 
St. 98. Vol. II. /, p. 9/1, 1. 15 I ibid, h, p. 46, 
letter 48. 

20. Counterfeit jewels,— \o\. II. ^, p. 10/2, 1. 69 : 

ibid, hf p. 19, letter 53. 

21. Well-dressed man and countryman, — Vol. 11.^, 

p. 9/1, 1. 9: ibid, i, p. 9/1, 1. 12. 

22. Female affectation.— Vo\. II. ^, p. 47, letter 49. 

23. Paintitig faces, dyeing hair, etc.— Vol I./, p. 22, 

11. 8, 29 : ibid, g, p. 7/2, L 31 : ibid, j\ p. 8/2, 
1. 9 : VoL II. h, p. 35/1, letter 12 : ibid. j\ 
p. 7/1, L 16 : i^d. /, p. 10/2, 1. 52 (it appears 
that painters of women's faces was a regular 
trade) : ibid, p. 15/1, 1. 35 : ibid, h, p. 6/2, 
L 30. 

24. Noticeable words,— a\%\i clash— fiddle faddle^ 



hab or nab — riftie tuftie — hurlieburlie — tipling 
tapling — twittle twattle — wily begialy. See 
Glossarial Index, x.v., also for wealth of vitu- 
perative expressions. 

i^.—Chatuer, — 'Zephirus with his sweet breath* 
(Vol. II. /, p. 6/2— Summer, L i). Was this 
a reminiscence of Chaucer's *Zei^onis eke 
with his soote breth* (ProL to Canterbury 

'Virtue of necessity' (Vol I. o^ p. 15/1, L 13), 
as old as Chaucer. 

* Miller's Thumb'— (Vol L j, st. 39)— a Chau- 
cerian allusion. 

26. Gascoigne. — 'Amid my Bale I bath in bliss' 

(Vol II. f, p. 8/1, I. 17). This is the first 
line of a poem by Gascoigne (ed. Hazlitt, i. 40). 
(See under V. Claims, p. Ixvi.) 

27. Thomas Rymour, — *Vpon a wooden horse he 

rides through the world, and in a merry gale 
makes a path through the seas' (Vol. IL r, 
p. 9/2, No. 24). So Thomas Rymour 
(E. E. Text Society), p. 50, 1. 168, * Riding 
vpon a Horse of tree.' 

28. Roger Aschatn — Vol. I. </, p. 51. — This discussion 

is a reminiscence of that at the beginning of 
Ascham's Scholemaster (1570) and the first 
half of col. 2 an amplification of a passage in 
that book (Arber's reprint, p. 45) — 'The 
matter lieth not so much in the disposition of 
them that be young, as in the order and maner 
of bringing up by them that be old ; nor yet 
in the difference of leamyng and pastime. 
For beate a child if he daunce not well, and 
cherish him though he leame not well, ye 
shall have him vnwilling to go to daunce and 
glad to go to his booke. Knocke him, when 
he draweth his shaft ill, and fauor him againe, 
though he pant at his booke, ye shall have 
hym uerie loth to be in the field, and uerie 
willing to be in the schole. ' 

29. Sidney. — Loue and relative note — Vol II. f, 

p. 7/2, 1. 12 : a closer parallel is Sidney's, 

' Join hearts and hands, so let it be. 
Make but one mind in bodies three ' (Davison's Rhaps-X 

3a SotakwelL—\o\. I. /», p. 7/1, L 45. Cf. South- 
well's ' My conscience is my crown.' 

31. MarUnoe. — Pethare's Mountain plaine and 

Petharco — the first passage is not unlike 
'Come live with me' (VoL I. «, p. 11/2, 
1. 16 and Sonet 7). 

32. Euphuism, — Note the hit at Euphuism with its 

analogies drawn from natural history in the 
mouth of a pretender (Vol. II. </, p. 12/ 1). 

33. Giles Fletcher.— ^ hxA if He so hath deckt the 

earth below' (VoL I. », p. 6/1, L 17). Cf. 
Giles Fletcher: (p. 211, st. 27, edn. Grosart) — 

* If such a house God to another gane. 
How shine those glittering courts He for Himself 

' Loue is not an houre's humour, nor a shadow 
of light' (Vol. II, h, p. 43, letter 37). 
Again cf. Giles Fletcher {ib. p. 136, st. 8) : — 

' As though it were the shadowe of some light ' 

34. Milton.—* the Herauldry of Heaven' (VoL IL q, 

p. 9/1, 1. 6). Cf. Milton's Hymn Upon the 
Circumcision : — 

' He who with all Heaven's heraldry whilear 
Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease.' 

So opposite, Phineas Fletcher's Locusts 
(Poems, edn. Grosart, voL ii. p. 73, st 18), 
'HeU's Heraldry.' 

35. Henry Vaughan. — Wit's Trenchmour — 'for all 

courses whatsoever fedl out, if I doe you good, 
be glad not proud of it, and open not your 
window to the Sunne, when she hath power 
to sende her beams through the glasse, etc. 
(VoL II. by p. 14/2, IL 49-51-) So Henry 
Vaughan (Fuller W. Lby. edn. vol. i. p. 238) :— 

' Who breaks his glass to take more light 
Makes way for stonns into his rest' 

A curious coincidence of thought, but most 
likely purely accidental. 

36. Dr. Isaac Watts.— \o\. I. «, p. 37/2, last four 

lines : — 

'So that you looke vnto his worke, 

that he not idle stand : 
For if he doo, some knaaish worke 
himself will take in hand:' 

— an anticipation of Dr. Watts' ' Satan finds 
some mischief still, ' etc. 

37. /V^.— Vol. I. Ii, p. iif Sonet 2, st. 3, 'A Haire 

that holdes the heart's afiections.' First fiunt 
prelude of 'Beauty draws us with a single 

38. WordswartM. — ' And sue but to those inward eyes 

That see my heart' 

Cf. Wordsworth's Daffodils— 

' They flash upon that inward eye.' 


39. The Eel story.— (Vol. II. h, p. 13)— this is found 

in the book of the Knight de le Tour de Landry. 



4a IMattUs, — Litanies like Pasquil's Procession 
(Vol. I. g) became very fashionable during 
the Civil Wars. In Wit's Recreations, 1641, 
there is snch a Litany, part of which is a cento 
firom 'Pasquil's Procession.* 

41. LaHn quotation, — Tempora mtitantur^ etc. (VoL 

IL b^ p. 9/1, 1. 45)^^an early instance of this 
quotation, if it really was written by Matthias 
Borbonius, who could not have written it much 
earlier than Breton himself. For myself I think 
it must have been much older. 

42. Word-play, — 'A straunge Springe in Suffolke' 

(Vol. I. a, p. 49/2). Presumably a young lady 
of the name of Spring— a form of wit which 
Breton afterwards stretched about as far as it 
would go in 'Wonders worth the Hearing* 
(Vol. II. g, ). 

43. Corrections, — 'But if (alas) he be passe pure 

pennilesse' (Vol. I. y, p. 6/2, 1. 3). Perhaps 
this should read, * But if (alas) he be Pierce 
(or Piers) pennilesse.* The explanation pro- 
bably is that ' passe* and ' pure ' were Author*s 
corrective variations imported into the text. 
On p. 4, Morphorius = Marforio. In Vol. II. 
J, p. 9, Langdebiete, apparently for Langde- 
breufl In VoL 1 1. 1», p. 6, last 1. , read certainly, 
'old Leacher.* In Vol. I. ^, p. 16, and note, 
St. 3d is occupied with the mention of some 
of Spenser's writings ; but (eheu !) st. 4 on re- 
consideration I see passes on to his qualities — 
poetic art, reason, judgment, and wit. Con- 
sequently the allusion is not to Spenser's lost 
treatise on poetry. 

As with Shakespereana (II.) it were easy 
manifoldly to continue Notabilia from Bre- 
ton ; but my intention is rather to whet than 
satiate the Reader's appetite. By 'search- 
ing * the Works for themselves, students will 
come upon well-nigh innumerable note- 
worthy things. They lie like shells — tiny 
and dainty of hue — on sea-shore sands. I 
can scarcely conceive any taste unsuited, 
any line of research unrewarded. 

IV. Satires AND Epistles-dedicatory, etc. 

(a,) Satires. — In the Memoir (I. Bio- 
graphical) I have quoted as fully as might 
be under the conditions, from *No Whip- 
pinge nor Trippinge : but a kinde friendly 
Snippinge.' I recur to its title-page, be- 


cause nothing serves better to mark out the 
distinction between Breton and earlier and 
later Satirists. With all their salt of wit and 
value as pictures of their periods, it must be 
conceded that Donne and Marston — to 
name them only as types — are coarse and 
savage; while others, as represented by 
Bishop Hall, are spiteful and envious, e,g, 
I must set down Hall's ist Satire in Book 
VI. of Virgidemiarum, as striking at Spenser 
and Samuel Daniel, while 'Adamantius 
my dog,* and ' Semelefemorigena ' meant the 
elder Scaliger. There is a fierceness and 
ribaldry of invective, a vulgarity and broad- 
ness of phrasing, an offensive iteration of 
double-meanings in contemporary Satirists — 
alike in Satires-proper and in Epigrams, — 
that one can scarcely exaggerate. With 
Breton there is nothing of all this. If he 
flings dirt at all, it is * dry dirt,' or as a 
handful of sand, and because he would not 
use a stone so as to hurt. He has the bee's 
sharp sting, but its honey-bag close beside 
it. He is stirred and fired with indignation ; 
but his passion is compassion. He would 
have shared Robert Bums's ruth for even 
the Devil. You hear indeed the crack of 
the lash, but it is in the air, not to leave weals 
on the offender's back. I grant that he 
impales your ' pretender,* but he does it as 
Isaak Walton his frog, * as though he loved 
him.' There is a humanity in all Breton's 
Satires, a ripple of light-hearted humour, 
that in my estimate place him in a most 
amiable light. I trust I shall not plead in 
vain for a deliberative reading of the * Pas- 
quir series, as reproduced in his Works, 
viz. : — 

Pasquil's Madcappe, etc. (Vol. I. €,) 
Pasquil's Foole's Cappe, etc. {Ibid,/.) 
Pasquil's Passe and Passeth Not, etc. 
{Ibid, g,) 

Alas! that I can add neither 'Pasquil's 
Mistres,' nor * Old Madcappe's Newe Gally- 




mawfryM I would allure to such critical 
study by a few quotations, taken almost ad 
aperturam libri. Here is a pungent assault on 
the all-attracting, all-swaying power of mere 
Wealth and the humiliation of Poverty, 
from 'An Invective against the wicked of 
the world': — 

' The wealthy Rascall be he ne're so base, 

Filthy, iIl-fiiaor'd« vgly to behold, 

Moale-de, plaise-mouth, dogges-tooth, and camel's &ce, 

Blinde, dumbe, and deafe, diseasM, rotten, olde, 

Yet, if he hane the coffers foil of golde, 
He shall haue reuerence, curtsie, cappe and knee, 
And worship, like a man of high degree. 

He shall haue Ballads written in his praise, 
Bookes dedicated to his patronage, 
Wittes working for his pleasiure many waies, 
Petigrees sought to mend his parentage. 
And linkt perhaps in Noble marriage, 

He shall haue all that this vile worlde can giue him. 

That into pride, the deuiU's mottth may driue him. 

If he can speake. his wordes are Oracles, 

If he can see, his eyes are spectacles. 

If he can heare, his eares are miracles. 

If he can stand, his legges are pinacles : 

Thus in the rules of Reason's obstacles. 
If he be but a beast in shape and nature. 
Yet, gine him wealth, he is a goodly creature^ 

But, be a man of ne're so goode a minde. 

As fine a shape as Nature can deuise ; 

Vertuous and gratious, comely, wise, and kinde, 

Valiant, well-giuen, full of good qualities. 

And almost free from Fancie's vanities : 
Yet let him want this filthy worldly drosse, 
He shall be sent but to the Beggars Crosse. 

The foole will scoffe him, and the knaue abuse him. 
And euery rascall in his kinde disgrace him. 
Acquaintance leaue him, and his friends refuse him : 
And euery dogge will from his doore displace him. 
Oh this vile world will seeke so to de£Bu:e him 
That vntill death doe come for to releeue him. 
He shall haue nothing heere but that may greeue him. 

If he haue pence to purchase pretty things, 
She that doth loue him will dissemble loue ; 
While the poore man his heart with sorrow wrings 
To see how want doth womens loue remooue. 
And make a iack-dawe of a turtle-doue : 
If he be rich, worldes seme him for his pelfe. 
If he be poore, he may goe serue bimselfe. 

If he be rich, although his nose doe runne, 
His lippes doe slauer, and his breath doe stinke. 
He shall haue napkins faire and finely spunne, 
Pilles for the rhewme, and such perfumM drinke 
As were he biinde. he shall not seeme to winke : 

Yea, let him cough, halke, spit, fart and pisse. 
If he be wealthy, nothing is amisse. 

But with his pence, if he haue got him power. 
Then halfie a god, that is more halfe a diueH ; 
Then Pride must teach him how to looke as sower. 
As beldam's milke that tumM with her sneuill ; 
While the poore man that little thinketh euiU, 
Though Nobly borne, shall feare the Beggar's frt>wne. 
And creepe and crowch vnto a filthy downe. 

Qh, he that wants this wicked cankred ooyne. 

May fret to death before he finde reliefe, 

But if he haue the cunning to purloyne 

And ease the begger of his biting griefe. 

Although (perhaps) he play the priuie thiefe : 
It is no matter if the bagges lie fiiU, 
Well ian the wit that makes the world a GulL' 

(Vol I. #, p. 5.) 

Such is very much the 'burden* of 
* Pasquil's Madcappe.' His outlook is — 

• Where gracelesse sinnes doe in their gloiy sit.' 

Firmly-lined — ^bitten-in as your Etcher 
sajrs — are his portraits of those he thus sees. 
Let these testify for the rest : — 

' Let but a fellow in a fox-furd gowne, 

A greasie night-cap and a driueled beard. 

Grow but the baliffe of a fisher-towne. 

And haue a matter fore him to be beard ; 

WiU not his frowne make halfie a streete afeard ? 
Yea, and the greatest Codshead gape for feare 
He shall be swallowed by this vgly beare. 

Looke but on beggars going to the stockes. 
How master constable can march before tiiem, 
And while the beadle maketh Cast the lockes. 
How brauely he can knaue them, and be-whore them, 
And not afford one word of pitty for them. 
When it may be poore honest seely people, 
Must make the church make curtsie to the steeple. 

Note but the beadle of a beggars Spittle, 

How (in his place) he can himselfe aduance, 

And will not of his title lose a tittle. 

If any matter come in variance, 

To try the credite of his countenance : 

For whatsoeuer the poore beggars say, 

His is the word must carry all away. 

Why let a begger but on cock-horse sit. 

Will he not ride like an ill-fauourd king ? 

And will it not amaze a poore man's witte. 

That cuckoes teach the nightingale to sing? 

Oh, this same wealth is such a wicked thing, 
Twill teach an owle in time to speake true latine, 
And make a frier forsweare our Ladle's mattine. 

Take but a peasant newly from the cart. 

That only lines by puddings, beanes, and pease, 



Who neuer learnM any other arte. 
But how to driue his cattle to the leas, 
And after worke, to sit and take his ease ; 
Yet put this asse into a golden hide, 
He shall be groome vnto a hansome bride. 

Take but a rascall with a rogish pate. 

Who can but onely keepe a counting-booke. 

Yet if his reckning grow to such a rate. 

That he can angle for the golden hooke, 

How-euer so the matter he mistooke, 
If he can cleerely couer his deceite. 
He may be held a man of deepe oonoeite. 

Finde out a Villaine, borne and bred a knaue, 
That neuer knew where honesty became, 
A drunken rascall and a doggM slaue, 
That all his wittes to wickednesse doth frame. 
And onely lines in infamy and shame ; 
Yet let him tinke vpon the golden pan. 
His word may passe yet for an honest man. 

Why, take a Pidler but with halie an eye. 
Who neuer knew if Ela were a note, 
And can but play a Round or Hey-de-gey, 
And that perhaps he onely hath by roate, 
Which now and then may hap to get a groate ; 
Yet if his Crowde be set with siluer studdes, 
The other minstrels may goe chew their cuddes. ' 

{Ibid. p. J, col. a.) 

He thus closes the • Inve<:tive ': — 

* Then let a knane be knowne to be a knaue. 

A theife a villaine, and a churlo a hogge ; 

A minkes a meaion, and a rogue a slaue, 

A trull a tit, an vsurer a dogge, 

A lobbe a lotite, a heauy loll a logge : 
And euery birde goe rowst in her owne nest. 
And then perhaps my Muse will be at rest. 

But if a lacke will be a gentleman. 
And mistris Needens lady it at least, 
And euery goose be saucy with the swanne. 
While the asse thinkes he is a goodly beast. 
While so the foole doth keepe ambition's iieast ; 
My Muse in consdenoe that cannot be quiet. 
Will glue them this good lawce vnto their diet 

But I doe hope I am but in a dreame, 
Fooles win be wiser then to loose their wittes ; 
The countrey wench will lodke vnto hec creame. 
And workemen see, but where their profile fits, 
And leave fiai^astickeai to their idl^ fits ; 
Pride shall goe downe, and vertue shall encrease. 
And then my Muse be still, and hold her peace. 

But if I see the world win not amend. 
The wealthy beggar counterfdte the king. 
And idle spbltes all their humours spend, 
Im seeUnf hov to naake the cuckoe dng ; 
If Fortune thus doe daunce in FoUie's ring. 
When contraries thus go against their kindes. 
My Muse resohies to ten them what she findes. 

For she cannot be partiall in her speech. 
To smooth, and flatter, to cologue and lie ; 
She cannot make a breast-plate of a breech, 
Nor praise his sight that hath but halfe an eie, 
She cannot doe herselfe such iniurie ; 
For she was made out of so plaine a molde, 
As doth but Trueth for aU her honor holde. ' 

(Ibid. p. lo.) 

After the * Invective' comes 'Pasquil's 
Message.' It thus opens : — 

' Goe Muse abroade, and beate the world about, 

TeU trueth for shame, and hugger vp no ill ; 

Flatter no foUie with too plaine a flowt, 

Nor on a buzzard set a fiedcon's biU : 
Doe no man wrong, giue euery man his right, 
For time wiU come that all will come to light. 

Doe not persuade a fbole that he is wise, 

Nor make a begger thinke he is a king ; 

Say not a mole can see that hath no eyes. 

Nor Starke dead stockes haue any power to spring ; 

For while that logicke would maintaine a lie, 

Tis easely found out in philosophie. 

TeU idle eies that know not how to looke. 
Their wanton thoughts wiU worke them nought but woes, 
TeU addle wittes that haue the worlde mistooke, 
Vnbridled wiUes are Reason's ouerthrowes : 
While onely Trueth that walkes by Wisedome's line, 
Happieth the heart, and makes the soule diuine. ' 

{Ibid. p. ii/i.) 

With ' Goe ' for refrain, there follow like 
mordant, but ever and anon graciously- 
touched, delineations of the 'Court' and 
*King,' 'Lordes and Ladies,' 'Courtiers,' 
'Lawyers,' 'Schollers,' 'country Players,' 
'Fidlers,' 'Swaggrers,* 'Diuine,' 'Souldier,' 
'Craftesman,' 'Fencer,' the 'wretch that 
would and cannot thriue,' the 'crow,' 
'Aesop's pie,' 'beggar,' 'lailour,* 'pri- 
soner,' ' Poets,' ' Authors of high Tragedies,' 
' Scriuener,* * luglers,' * Pander and Parasite,' 
'Traitour,' 'Farmers,' 'Labourers.' AU 
these are wisely counselled. I limit myself 
to three of these, as thus : — 

I. 'Country Players.' 

' TeU country Players, that old paltry iests 
PronouncM in a painted mottely coate, 
FUles aU the world so fuU of cuckoes nests, 
That nightingales can scarod.y sing a note : 
Oh bid them tume their minds to better meanings, 
Fields are ill sowne that giue no better gleanings. ' 

(P. ii/a.) 



2. ' Poets and poore Writers.' 

' Goe tell the Poets that their pidling rimes 
Begin apace to grow out of request : 
While wanton humors in their idle times, 
Can make of Loue but as a laughing iest : 
And tell poore Writers, stories are so stale, 
That penny ballads make a better sale.' {Ibid.) 

3. • Authors of high Tragedies.' 

' Goe tell the Authors of high Tragedies, 
That bloudlesse quarrells are but merry fights ; 
And such as best concette their Comedies, 
Doe feede their fancies but with fond delights ; 
Where toyes will shew that figure Trueth's intention, 
They spoyle their spirits with too much inuention.' 


* Goe bid the Poets studie better matter. 
Then Mars and Venus in a tragedie ; 

And bid them leaue to leame to lie and flatter. 

In plotting of a Loner's Comedie ; 
And bid Play-writers better spend their spirits, 
Than in fox-burrowes, or in cony-ferrits.' 

(Ibid, p. 13.) 

'Pasquil's Foole's Cap' with *Pasquil*s 
Passion for the World's waywardnesse ' semi- 
lifts the veil of anonymity, inasmuch as his 
epistle-dedicatory to Master Edward Con- 
quest is signed * N. B.* It is really a vindi- 
cation of the * Madcappe/ but relies more on 
raillery than sarcasm, on pleasantry than 
rebuke. He dons the cap and bells, the 

* Foole's Cap,' that he may * play the Foole,' 
yet has he again a grave message as ever 
was Hebrew prophet's. I can find room only 
for one consecutive passage, of alternate 
lightness and gravity, and not without (I fear) 
autobiographic home reminiscences : — 

' Hee that loues to be noted for strange fashions, 

And for his lockcs, and for his kinde of gate: 

And in his Muses, and his Passions, 

Will not be thought an ordinary mate : 

If that his Wittes come to themselues, too late, 

I know not well how to be his Aduiser ; 

But euen be sory, that he was no wiser. 

He that will hoorde vp aXi/br a deereyeare ; 
Yet in the meane time vrant necessities : 
He that will be vnto himselfe so neere, 
As bring himselfe into extreamities. 
By his owne wilfull caus'd calamities. 

This is the end that will fall out of it ; 

Such Niggard Fooles haue neuer better Wit. 

Hee that doth put his wealth vpon a Coche, 

A Carde, a Die, or such an Idle toy ; 

And hath his humour so much on the Smoche, 

As if it were his Spirits onely ioy : 

When Soonvwes sighes doe shewe the heartes annoy : 
Let him goe backe vnto Repentance schoole. 
And see how long his Wit hath plaid the Foole. 

Hee that will busie be with Euery matter. 
Yet scarce hath power to bring one well to passe : 
And neuer leaues to cosen, lie. and flatter, 
VntiU hee prooue himselfe a Craftie Asse : 
Let him but looke in the Poles looking Glasse, 
And there his Woodcoche iVit shall plainly haue 
The true proportion of a Paltry Knaue. 

Hee that would perswade himselfe He is a King, 
Yet all the world doth for a Begger knowe him : 
And he that takes the Winter for the Spring, 
Because the Sunne a little light doth showe him : 
If want of Wit doe wholly ouerthrowe him. 

And that the Cockes combe to his cappe doe fall 

Tis not my fault, I can not doe withaL 

Hee that ^xAzfifteene elles into a Ruffe 
And seauenteene yards into a swagg'ring slappe : 
And tioentie thousand Crawnes into a Muffe, 
And halfe his land into a hunting Cappe : 
If that atiejbole doe catch him in his trappe, 
There like a WoodcockeXet him walke about : 
When hee is in, I cannot helpe him out. 

Hee that in aU his thoughts is so vnholy, 
Hee makes no care of any good conoeight : 
But giues himselfe so much to Idle folly. 
That vnto Hell Hee runnes the highway straight : 
If hee be poysoned with the Diuels baight, 
I cannot choose but tell him like a friend, 
Such wicked Pooles will haue a wofull end. 

Hee that will Brcue his face at Lothebury, 

Because he will not blush at Knauery : 

And he that will refuse no drudgery, 

To gather Drosse by any Slauery, 

And yet will stand vpon his Brauery : 
He is no foole, whoeuer be an Asse, 
Makes such a Couer for a looking glasse. 

Hee that repents him of no wickednesse. 

Nor takes delight in any godlinesse : 

But in the way of all vnthriftinesse, 

Doth wast the Time of Natures wretchednesse ; 

Where helplesse Sorrowes, in vnhappinesse. 
Doe breede the Spirits endlesse heauinesse : 
That Foole is in the height of foolisbnesse.' 

(Ibid, p. 24.) 

A vein of melancholy though not of repin- 
ing, runs through * Pasquil's Passion.' Let 
its opening send every student-reader to the 
whole, to be delighted with the vigour of the 



thinking and the firmness of the workman- 
ship: — 

' Wicked, vngratious, and vngodly Age^ 
Where hatefiill thoughts are gotten to their height, 
How should my spirit in true passions rage? 
Describe the courses of thy vile conceight. 
That feede the world but with the diuels baight : 
While wofull hearts, with inward sorrowes wounded, 
Finde Wit and Reason in their sense confounded. 

No, no, the depth of thy vnknowne distresse 
(Wherein the heart is ouerwhelm'd with woes) 
Exceedes the power of passion to expresse ; 
While so much griefe within the Spirit growes. 
As all the power of Patience ouerthrowes : 
While vertuous minds, within their sowles agrieued, 
Must helplesse die, and cannot be relieued. 

The clearest eye must seeme to haue no seeing. 
And Eloquence must be to silence bound. 
And Honours essence seeme to haue no beeing. 
Where wicked windes runne Vertues shippe a ground, 
While healthfull spirits fall into a swound ; 
That only Pride, that weares the golden home. 
May line at ease and laugh the world to scome. 

If euery right were rightly apprehended, 
And best deseruings best might be regarded. 
And Carefull toarkes were to their worth conunended. 
And Gratious spirits gratiously rewarded. 
And wicked craft from Conscience care discarded ; 
Then might the Angels sing in Heauen, to see 
What blessed courses on the earth would be.' 

{IHd. p. 25/1.) 

* Pasquil's Passe and Passeth not ' is first 
signed *N. B.* to epistle-dedicatory, and 
then, to show that he was *Pasquil/ the 
Epistle to the Reader is signed * Pasquill.' 
I must ask my Readers to turn to these 
further Satires. I had marked very many 
bits for quotation ; but I refrain. I must 
repeat that the explicit acceptance of the 
authorship of these Pasquil poems by Breton 
in * No Whipping ' — as given in the Memoir 
(I. Biographical) and the discovery of a 
* William F.' as author of * Palinodia/ and so 
of * Comucopiae ' (I. Biographical, p. xxx/i), 
relieve me firom the necessity of establishing 
Breton's authorship of the one set as of his 
non-authorship of the other set, and the utter 
mistake of the late Rev. Thomas Corser 
and others in assigning 'Comucopiae' to 
Breton. I may add that doubtless Breton 

fetched his name of * Pasquil ' from Thobcas 
Nash's trenchant productions under that dis- 
guise, and availing himself of their popularity, 
if indeed, in his sore straits, our worthy was 
not quite willing to have his Pasquil pieces 
taken for posthumous work of the recently 
dead earlier PasquiL ' Marphorius ' was of 
course taken from the same source. Both 
are combined in *The Retume of the re- 
nowned Cavaliere Pasquill of England from 
the other side of the Seas, and his meeting 
with Marforius at London upon the Royal 
Exchange' (1589.) One need not go 
searching further. ^ 

{b,) Epistles-dedicatory, etc. — As a 
rule the Epistles-dedicatory and to the Reader 
of the Elizabethan period are well-turned and 
gracious; but Breton's are peculiarly so. 
Bacon and others led the way in adulation 
and exaggeration of rank above brains early 
in the reign of James i. I find nowhere 
in Breton's books either flattery or fawn- 
ing. There is directness, fine simpleness, 
manly self-respect in his Epistles, while I 
look in vain elsewhere for such felicitous 
and deserved compliments, such pleasant 
in-working of passing circumstance, such 
gentlemanly phrasing, such daintily wrought 
turns of expression, such sprightliness. I 
shall be glad if my Readers study the Epistles- 
dedicatory and to the Reader of the Verse 
and Prose alike. For one thing, it will result 
that no one will do so and be entrapped, — as 
Mr. W. C. Hazlitt was, — by his ever-recur- 
ring trick of expression, to think the * Olde 
Man's Lesson ' was edited but not composed 
by him. So too with the guises and dis- 

1 It is to be remembered that ' Mckncholike Hamoun' (Vol. 
I. A,)— a collection of small pieces first published in the same 
year with the first of the Pasquil series— was probably issued 
00 the strength of the popularity of the others. Though it bears 
Breton's name, the address ' To the Reader * begins ' Pasquil 
having been long in his dumps,' etc, the name ' Pasquil ' bdng 
brought in apparently to reveal that ' Melancholike Humours' 
was by Pasquil Madcappe, and that Pasquil Madcappe was 
Nicholas Breton. Nash died late in 1599, ^^ ^^T taxly in 



guises in the Pasquill set and elsewhere. 
They will not hide Breton himself from any 
one who has eyes in his head, not merely 
spectacles a-straddle his nose. I am glad 
here to be able to give one additional Epistle- 
dedicatory, a Preface, and a Publisher's 
Epistle, from the late lamented Mr. Henry 
Huth's volume of Prefaces, etc. (1874, 50 
copies only) edited by Mr. W. C. Hazlitt. 

I. To * The Works of a Young Wit; 

' The Letter Dedicatorie, to the Reader.' 

I Have both heard and read oft tymes, that Bookes 
and Cheeses may very well be likened one to the 
other in this poynt : for the diuersitie of mens iudge- 
mentes giuen of them. For they are wares both, to 
be looked on for loue, and bought for money. The 
Cheese, once out of the Presse, shortly after comes 
to market to be solde» where (perhaps) it is tasted of 
many, before it be bought; and bookes onoe 
imprinted are presently in shoppes, where many 
peruse them, ere they be solde. Nowe, some that 
hane tasted the Cheese, wil say (perchaunce) tis too 
drjre : an other wylsay, tis too ftil of wha3re : the third 
wyll say, the meate is good, but it is yll handled : the 
fourth wil (contrary) say, it lookes better then it is. 
Come another, he wyl say, Berlady, tis prety good 
meate. Some wyl say. It is litle worth : and some 
wyll say, It is starke naught; but that b an euyl 
tomigd felow. Some wyl say, *T!s Cheese : thats a 
blunt . whorson. Some wyl say, Twil seme r he is 
to be borne withal. Some wyl say, Tis good meate 
when one is hungry : he is woorthy to haue a peeoe.of 
it (if he can get it), when he hath nothing els to 
dynner. Some wyl like it very well, and giue money 
for it : he is most worthy to haue it, and much good 
may it doo hym. And thus of Bookes, and so of this 
my booke among others. Some wyl say, It is too 
dry, it wants the sap of Sapience, neither hath it 
yenough of the Runnet of Reason. Some other wyl 
say, It is to ltd of the whay of wantonnesse which, 
in wise mens taste, seemes very sowrc. Some wyll say. 
The innenticm is prety, but it is yll pend. Some 
odier wyll more commend the pennyng, . then the 
matter. Some wyl say. It is prety Poetrie. Some 
wyl say, It is meane stufie. And s(Mne (perhaps) wji 
say. It is bald ryme, not worth the reading : but that 
is a malicious Lob for my lyfe. Some wyll say, 
Tis verse : he speakes his mynd plainly. Some wyl 
say, Twil passe for Poetrie : let hym passe for & 

cetera. Some wyl say. It is good enough to reade, 
when a man hath nothing els to doo : he may reade 
it (if he can come by it) in such idle tyme. Some 
(perhaps) wyll prayse it more then it deserues, and 
geue coyne for it, rather then goe without it Such 
are best woorthy to haue it : and wel may it like them 
when they haue bought it. Well, such as like it not, 
I pray you beare a good tongue, and let it alone, 
and God be with you. I wish you well, and perhaps 
I wyl, agaynst the next Terme, prouide you some 
other newe ware for your olde golde. Tyll when, 
and euer, I wish you all, with my selfe, the grace of 
God, and well to fare. From my lodgyng this xiii 
of May, Anno DominL 1577. Yoiir poore Countrey- 
man N.B.' 

2. ^A Flourish upon Fancy ^ 1577.' Our 
text of Flourish upon Fancy was the second 
edition (1582). It omits the Preface to the 
portion entitled The Toys of an Idle Head: 
and it is specially gratifying to be able to 
reproduce it here : — 


My friend, who so thou bee, that &ine wooldst buy 

this booke, 
To passe away the time thereon, in ydle times to 

If so thou fyndste that like thee not, yet pardon 

graunt to mee, 
And wish me from thy harte no worse, then I wish 

vnto thee. 
Against my will it shall be much, if many I offende 
With these rude rymes which I haue made vnto none 

other ende. 
But as I sayde before, for want of other glee. 
For pleasaunt heads to looke vpon, when they at 

leysure bee. 
But some there are, I must confesse, gainst whom in 

great despight 
Some running rymes, which here jrou see, I chaunced 

toindight. . 
But such I count my deadly foes : and such one if 

thou bee 
That bnieist my boke, then take the same in deepe 

despight of thee. 
Bat if you be my (iiend, and take all in good parte 
That. there yQU fynde : and thinke it is for want of 

better arte. 
Then here with right good will I offer it to thee, 
And doe but thanke me for my paynes, it is ynoiigh 

for mee. 



Of troth I promise yee, tis not for want of will, 
That rudely thus in rymes I run, but want of better 

For iir that I had Quid's pen, ech worde in printe to 

Or Homer's eaercyse I had, to giue my verse a grace, 
Or Tullie*s Eloquence to talke, as I in minde thought 

Or Aristotle's pregnant wit, that passeth all the rest, 
Some prety peece of worke perhaps then monghtst 

thou fynde 
Among so many mery toyes, that mought content thy 

But tush, my beetle brayne can no such fruictes bring 

My verses are but nigged rimes, and therefore little 

My head vnhooded yet, I ready am to flye 
At every little paltrye bird, that goeth whisking by. 
I neuer hauc respect to any kinde of Game, 
Like to the hooded Hauke that, kepte a long while 

When that he Game doth spring, she knowes it by 

the whurre, 
And then, to make a wing thereat, she ginnes of[f] 

fyst to sturre. 
But tin the Game be sprong, on fyst she pearcheth 

But I (God wot) to choose my game haue no such 

Idnde of skill. 
I stryke at what I may, and geue God thankes for 

And stande contented with the same, till better doth 

And glad I am sometime to pray vpon a Byrde, 
I hane no wit to waye the best, but euery worthe* 

lesse worde 
I ready am in ryme to put, although my reason be 
But small (God wot), and that too small, as you may 

plainly see. 
But since yon see my simple head vnhooded (as it is), 
Accept the S3rmple fruict therof, and be content with 

Vntill I hane the skill to flye at better Game, 
Which when I kill, you shall be sure to taste some 

of the same. 
But if ye now disdayne these Byrdes, whereon I 

With better game hereafter I perhaps will flye away. 
And Ijfke a very Churle, then will I parte with none. 
But feede vpon the best thereof vnto myself alone. 
Where few or none shall see, what foode I feede 

No, nor yet where I hyde the same, till all be spente 

and gone. 

Wherefore, my friende, I say, if so thou doest desyre 
More of my workes, and wouldst not haue the rest 

throwne in the fyre, 
Skome not these ragged rymes, but rather soone 

What so thou fyndst that likes thee not, and so I 

make an ende. 
Wishing thee well to fare, if so thou be my friend, 
But if my foe, then iU and worse, and so agayne I 



3. The Bower of Delights, Seeing that 
neither the 1591 nor 1597 editions of the 
'Bower' is at present available (though at 
Britwell) I gladly give here the Epistle of 
the Publisher Richard Jones, the more 
readily that it explains Breton's disavowal 
in the Postscript of the Epistle to his 
Pilgrimage to Paradise .'»— 


Gentiemen : I present you here, in the Authoars 
absence, with sundrie fine Deuioes and rare con- 
ceytes, in English verse, by the names of Epitaphes, 
Poems, Pastorals and Sonnets : some of worthines, 
and some of wantonnes, yet (all in my poore censure) 
wittie, pleasant, and commendable : If any like you 
(as I hope they wyl), partiy for the well penning of 
them : tnit specially for the Subie[c]t and worthinesae 
of the persons the[y] doo conceme, though (happly) 
you esteeme the rest of lesse regard : I then haue my 
desire, and count my labour and chaiges well be* 
stowed. I am (onely) the Printer of them, chiefly to 
pleasure you, and partiy to profit my selfe, if they 
prooue to your good liking : if otherwise, my hope 
is frustrate, my labour lost, and all my cost is cast 

Pardon mee, (good Gentieman) of my presump- 
tion, and protect me, I pray you, against those 
Canellers and find-faults, that neuer like of any thing 
that they see printed, though it be neuer so wd 
compiled. And where you happen to find any fault, 
impute it to bee coittmmed by the Printers n^li* 
gence, then (otherwise) by any ignorance in the 
Author : and especially in A 3, about the middest of 
the page, for lime or Uad^ I pray jrou read it Um or 
lead. So shall your poore Printer haue iust cause 
hereafter to be more carefull, and acknowledge him- 
selfe most bounden (at all times) to do you seruice 
to the vtmost of his power. 

Yours, R I. Printer.' 



V. Claims. — I hope that what I have 
already said of Breton's Characteristics, 
viz., his — I. Style — concinnity and melody. 
2. Brightness. 3. Freshness. 4. Tenderness. 
5. Purity, and given under Shakespereana, 
NoTABiLiA, and Satires and Epistles- 
Dedicatory, etc., together with a critical 
study of the full Glossarial Index, will 
win assent of capable and sympathetic 
readers, when I claim for him first of all 
a place among the 'Sweet Singers' of 
our England. It seems declarative of 
the extremely superficial knowledge of 
Elizabethan and Jacobean literature, that 
our (so-called) Historians of Literature, 
larger and lesser, as well as our Anthologies 
and books of Extracts, have no recognition, 
or such recognition as betrays it to be 
second-hand and traditionary, of so fecund 
and long-sustained a Writer as our present 
Worthy (and indeed the same remark holds 
of well-nigh all except prominent and ex- 
ceptional names). I must regard it as 
blameworthy, that to so sorrowful an extent 
the bye-ways of our literature are left un- 
trodden. Such treatment of the great body 
of Elizabethan-Jacobean Verse and Prose 
reminds me of your vulgar Cook 'personally- 
conducted tours' along beaten tracks and by 
cheapened hotels, rushing forward in stone- 
eyed disregard of everything save the * ad- 
vertised* goal of the day. The very soul 
and joy of travelling is to * turn aside * into 
the inviolate quietudes and sanctities of 
Nature, and of Biography and History. If 
you would hear the Nightingale really sing, 
you must leave even the glorious streets of 
Florence and hide you in a pine-dell of 
Fiesole. Similarly, if you would get at the 
actual literature of any period, you must not 
limit yourself to a few outstanding names, 
but give willing and laborious nights and 
days to those books that made the reading 
of the vast majority, alike gentle and simple. 
For Nicholas Breton I claim that any one 

who dedicates the necessary time to his 
Works as a Poet, will find himself or (her- 
self) if not in a * Nightingale Valley,' yet in 
greenwood, vocal with many and many a 
sweet bird-voice, and bright with colourings 
of leaf, and flower, and butterfly's wings, and 
tenderest fragrancies, and dewy freshnesses, 
and patterings of soft rain. There is an 
uncloying sweetness in the Poetry of Breton 
that I hold justifies a demand that he shall 
henceforward be represented in every History 
of our Literature, and in every Collection or 
Selection professing to be based on first- 
hand knowledge. Even the (relatively) few 
things that I have quoted or indicated (as 
supray II. I.) will bear out my claim ; but it 
were easy to multiply proofs an hundred-fold. 
My design was (and is) like Alexander 
Wilson's little boy in the well-known anec- 
dote, to allure into the woods themselves, 
/>. to persuade those who have hitherto not 
read Breton to do so for themselves. If 
after that he be not accepted as a * Sweet 
Singer ' I shall indeed be disappointed As 
nearly as possible I have arranged the Works 
(Verse and Prose alike) chronologically ; so 
that his growth and culture from the ' ragged 
rimes' of the 'Flourish upon Fancy' and 
other early books, onward to the almost 
perfect work of his middle-period and later, 
can be readily and suggestively traced. 

I further claim for Nicholas Breton a 
still higher place as a Sacred Poet In no 
department of our Literature is the ignorance 
of our Historians and Critics of Literature 
more crass than this of our religious Poetry. 
The surprise of our representative literary 
journals over Dr. George Mac Donald's 
* Anriphon ' would have been ludicrous if it 
had not been so deplorable. It is a charming 
little book, doubtless ; but after all it is thin 
and shallow because restricted in its range. 
Yet restricted as it is, the utterances of 
various Critics on its selections satisfies one 
that to them even the Fletchers, and 



George Sandys, Henry More, and Richard 
Baxter, and Henry Vaughan were all but 
unknown. Similarly with the reception of 
Archbishop Trench's still more inestim- 
able anthology, his 'Household Book of 
English Poetry.' Its Critics are in open- 
mouthed wonder over the * new ' names 
introduced ; and yet his Grace would be 
the first to acknowledge that his representa- 
tion is inadequate, that is, omits others whose 
faculty was as genuine and as noticeable as 
any represented in his book. The religious 
life of England has with rare exception beat 
strong and high, and has all along been 
nurtured in its deepest and finest elements 
by sacred song. The very substantiveness 
and prodigiousness of the theological pabu- 
lum furnished necessitated this. 'Praise* 
alone could catch up those yearnings, aspira- 
tions, conflicts, triumphs, sorrows, and de- 
spairs, alternated with gladness and raptures, 
that belong to the reality of Christian experi- 
ence; and when you come to 'search' you dis- 
cover that England never (or rarely) has been 
left without its sacred Poets. A thorough 
History of our Literature would reveal this 
most gratifyingly. I claim, then, for our 
Worthy, that he did much that deserves our 
thanks in his sacred Verse. I would send 
the reader, with all confidence, to his 
'Solemne Passion of the Soule's Love* 
(1595); his 'Melancholike Humours' (1600); 
his * Pilgrimage to Paradise ' joined with the 
*Countesse of Penbroke's Love' (1592); his 
'Rauisht Soule' and 'Blessed Weeper' 
(1601); his 'Longing of a Blessed Heart' 
(1601); his 'Soule's Harmony' (1602); his 
• Soule's Immortal Crowne ' (1605) ; and his 
'Countesse of Pembrook's Passion.' It is 
simply a discredit to our critical authorities 
and ' Histories ' that poems so matterful, so 
radiant, so pure, so musical, so memorable, 
should remain unstudied. Even my well- 
informed friend Professor Morley, in his 
Library of English Literature : English Re- 


ligion : has a very imperfect appreciation and 
representation of Breton. His bits from 
* I would and I would not' give no idea of 
the spiritual wealth and poetic fineness of 
workmanship of his elaborate sacred Poetry. 

I claim, again, for our Worthy, that in his 
Prose, regarding the books broadly, his English 
is rich and pure. I have elsewhere accent- 
uated its concinnity. I think now of its fine 
simpleness, unpretence, ease, continuous- 
ness. There is nothing of Horace's ' purple 
patchwork.' All is of the every-day speech : 
now of the 'gentle,' and now of the 'simple.' 
Our Glossarial Index will guide to abundant 
proofs and examples of this. Whether he 
is dashing off a * Character,' or sketching a 
'Portrait,' or filling in a 'Landscape,' or 
telling a ' Fire-side Chat,' or carrying on a 
' Dialogue,' all is done with spontaneity 
and naturalness. When you examine details 
you find, doubtless, that there must have 
been 'pains' and 'art;' but the working is 
concealed, and only the work shown. For 
bright, I might say sparkling, pleasant, 
equally-sustained, and unmistakable English, 
I claim special praise for the Prose of 
Breton. Except in its orthography and 
occasional obsolete words (some of which 
might to advantage be revived) his English is 
as much Victorian as Elizabethan- Jacobean. 
But as a phraser, as a maker of short, sharp, 
pointed sentences, he has no successor or 
representative in our day. It were better 
if, for the platitudinarian rhetoric of our 
time, we had something of his brevity, com- 
pactness, sententiousness, finish. 

Before leaving this claim for his good 
English, I may notify certain peculiarities 
in i^reton. He generally doubles the ^ in a 
number of words, e.g.^ doo, dooth, doone, 
prooue, mooue, etc. He also frequently adds 
the letter «, e,g., chaunging, demaund, etc. 
Could this spelling be phonetic] It was 
not peculiar to Breton. He often writes con 
for don or tion^ as in admiracon, mencon. 



disposicons, etc. : doubtless the c was pro- 
nounced as s. The use of / and y inter- 
changeably, is common to him and other 
contemporaries. The words travail and 
travd are generally, but not always, used in 
the reverse meaning of modern usage, e.g.^ 
travails: modem travel, and vice versa^ travel 
ss travail (in childbed). The singular verb 
following a plural noun was frequently used 
by Breton, as by contemporaries, e,g. — 

'The apa that rides them now' (I. a, p. 10/2, 


'That iudgements prooues uniust' (I. m, p. 14/1, 

1. 16). 

Further, I claim for Breton that he was, at 
an imitative period, specially original. I 
cannot think of any contemporary, whether 
as Poet or Prose Writer, resembling him. 
There are accidents of parallelism in thought 
and wording; but I think it must be con- 
ceded that throughout, our Worthy drew on 
his own resources. He does not hesitate to 
repeat himself, or quote from himselfl Thus, 
in the 'State of Treason,' or 'Invective 
against Treason ' (Vol. I. r), there are three 
stanzas identical with three in the * Soule*s 
Immortal Crowne ' (Vol. I. <?), viz., p. 4/2, 
St. 2, p. 5, last stanza, p. 6, first stanzasst. 
1-3 of * Humilitie * in the *Soule*s Immortal 
Crowne.* ^ Again, in the * Soule's Immortal 
Crowne ' there is much of similarity between 
p. 10/ 1, 1. I, and the opening of the 
* Pilgrimage to Paradise.' En passant the 
resemblance of these two passages to that of 
theopening of * The Passion of a Discontented 
Mind' may have originated the misascrip- 

1 FwT in his ' Select Poetry. chicEy Sacred, of the Reign of 
James I.' (1847), extracts four stanzas from the printed edition 
of the ' State of Treason." Three of them vary veriMJly only 
from ray text (vi*. the Author's MS. in British Museum) ; but 
the following is entirely different It seems to answer to p. 5/a, 
tt. 7 of my text. It is a line short : — 

' Let pride be hatefull vnto every state,— 
It is a rice with vertue not allowed ; 
And such a vice as vertue hath in hate, 
For vertue neuer makes the spirit prowde. 
And in advauncement of nobilitie 
Giues greatest graces, Truth's humilitic.' 

tion of it to him, albeit the styles are charac- 
teristically different^ 

In the * Honour of Valour ' (Vol. I. q) the 
style is somewhat stilted. He had evidently 
been studying Michael Drayton, and 
endeavours to catch his tone. Again, in 
the * Arbor of Amorous Devices' (p. 12/1), 

* Of his Mistresse Love * may be compared 
with Griffin's Fidessa, Sonnet 57. The two 
are from the same original, viz., a French 
Sonnet by Philippe Des Portes, with copying 
from whom and Petrarch, Drayton reproaches 
his contemporary Sonnetteers. The present 
may be reckoned a translation ; Griffin's is 
an imitation or paraphrase. The French 
begins: — 

' Un jour, I'aveugle Amour. Diane et ma maistresse. ' 

I doubt if *0f his Mistresse Love' is by 
Breton. Once more: It is interesting, be- 
cause of the biographic fact — as shown in 
(I. Biographical) — that Breton's mother in 
her widowhood married George Gascoigne, 
to find that his step-son paid him the 
most flattering of all homage, of walking in 
his footsteps. There are various evidences 
that the poems of Gascoigne were familiar 
to Breton. Thus, in the *Floorish vpon 
Fancy ' (Vol. I. «), the * Dolorous Discourse 
of one that was bewitched with loue* (pp. 
25-6) echoes Gascoigne's * Passion of a 
Lover ' (edn. Hazlitt, i. 38). Lines 7-8 are 
taken in substance from it, as cf. : — 

• Some other saye they hope, yet live in dread. 
They fuese, they flame, they ilie aloft, they fall' 

Yet Breton here, as on p. 14, indulges in 
a gird or two at Gascoigne, who wrote in his 

* Strange Passion of a Louer ' (edn. Hazlitt, 
i. 40) :— 

* Amid my bale I bath in blesse. ' 

1 In the ' Arbour of Amorous Devices ' there is at least one 
poem common to it and the ' Phoenix Nest,' viz. , A Sonnet 
(p. 12/2). It is anonymous in the latter, but the Ca-«ns m>.. 
(Daffodils and Primroses) is evidence that Breton wrote it. In 
pp. 9-1 X 'Britton's Divinitie' in its opening is repeated from 
the ' Pilgrimage to Paradise,' and sixteen stanzas further ou 
from * The Conntesse of Penbrook's Love.' 



C£ Breton, L 13 : — 

* They bide in bksae amid their weary bale.' 

Also: — 

' I laugh sometiines with little lust' 

Cf. L 14 :— 

'>^th heauie hearts they show a smiling face.' 

And again : — 

' And yet mistrust breedes myne anoye. 
I hue and lacke, I lacke and haue : 
I haue and miase the thing I craue.' 

Cf. IL 9-12 : — 

' The feeld once wonne. yet ielousie full ofte 
With \ile suspect, theyr yrkesome hearts doth teare. 
They liue imd lacke, they lack, and yet they haue. 
And hauing, yet they lack the thing they craue.' 

So too the opening of * A Gentleman talking 
on a time/ etc. (p. 34/1), is nearly verbatim 
from Gascoigne (i. 362), ' When first I thee 
beheld in colours black and white.' It is thus 
clear that in his earliest book, the *• Floorish 
vpon Fancy,* the influence of Gascoigne was 
deeper than that of any other in his after- 
books, though he studied his friend Sidney, 
and also Southwell, to advantage. 

Further: Turning to the *Countesse of 
Pembrook's Passion,* there are several things 
to be noted. I suppose by * Passion* 
Breton meant * trials.' At all events, he is 
particularly fond of putting 'patience* and 
* passion' in juxtaposition; and which jux- 
taposition it was that led me in Gleanings 
(Vol. I. u) to assign to him the stanzas from 
Rowley's Book of Tablature. But a much 
more important matter £Edls here to be con- 
sidered, viz., that there are lines common to 
the * Countesse of Pembrook's Passion ' and 
Thomas Watson's * Tears of Fancy.' My 
deliberate opinion is, that Breton was the 
original and Watson the copyist. To the 
proof. Thomas Watson, to begin with, was 
an unconscionable spoiler of others. Let 
any one study his * Tears of Fancy* with 
George Gascoigne before him, and he will 
come on abundant passages taken bodily 
from Gascoigne. Even in lesser things he 

pilfered from him, ^.^., the opening lines 
of Watson's Sonnet 48 are concocted from 
the same poem of Gascoigne to which he 
was indebted for the last six lines of 
that Sonnet, and the whole of Sonnet 47 
(also his Sonnet 60 belongs probably to 
the Earl of Oxford). The case therefore 
stands thus : Watson or his literary executors 
(for the book was posthumous) undoubtedly 
stole eight whole Sonnets and parts of two 
others from Gascoigne; one Sonnet and 
eight lines of a second are found also nearly 
verbatim in a poem of Breton's : the presump- 
tion consequently is, that he appropriated 
Breton's lines as he did Gascoigne's. My 
friend, Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, in his 
Letters in the Athefuzum (October 13, 1877, 
and 9th March 1878), if I rightly under- 
stand him, sets internal evidence of two 
kinds against this: (i.) That the lines are 
in Watson's style and not in Breton's; as 
to which I can only answer that to me the 
exact reverse seems to be the simple matter 
of fact ; (2.) That the style of the whole 
* Passion * resembles Breton's about the year 
1600, i.e. considerably after Watson's death. 
I demur. I have yet to see marks of likeness 
between this poem and those of that date, 
which are not to be found in the * Countesse 
of Penbroke's Love' of 1592 ; which seems 
to me in substance as in name the companion 
poem. And the title itself, though not 
proving so early a date as 1592, seems to be 
against the notion that it was written so late 
as 1600. For while 'Marie's Exercise' be- 
longs to 1597, in * Wit's Trenchmour' of the 
same date an autobiographic passage quoted 
by us (L Biographical, pp. xxvi-viii) makes it 
self-evident that he had then forfeited the 
favour of the renowned Countess, and, as we 
have shown, because of this, suppressed the 
second poem of the Countess's 'Passion.' 
These considerations determine me to date 
the 'Passion' not later than 1597. I must 
say finally, that Watson has been, in my 



judgment, preposterously extolled. He is 
the merest mocking-bird beside Nicholas 
Breton. Matter and workmanship are poor. 
There is no life, no pathos, no imagination, 
in all his writings. His Latin is mechanically 
accurate only. Let the Reader judge of 

Watson's Tea res of Fancy. 

Son. ao, 1. 13-14. 

' Eies wept and gaz'd too much. 
Yet must I gaze because I see none such.' 

Son. 34. 

• Why liue I wretch and see my ioyes decay, 
Why liue I and no hope of loues aduancing : 
Why doc myne eies behold the sunnie day, 
Why liue I wretch in hope of better chancing. 

O wherefore tells my toung this doleful! tale. 
That euery eare may heare my bitter plaint : 

Was neuer hart that yet bemond my bale, 
Why liue I wretch my pangs in vaine to paint. 

Why striue I gainst the streame or gainst the hill, 
Why are my sorrowes buried in the dust : 

Why doe I toile and loose my labour still, 

Why doe I feede on hope or bild on trust, 

Since hope had neuer hap and trust finds treason, 

Why liue I wretch disdain de and see no reason ?' 

Son. 35. 

' Amongst the Idle toyes that tosse my brayne, 
And reaue my troubled mynd from quiet rest : 
Vyle cruell loue I find doth still remayne. 
To breede debate within my grieued brest. 
When weary woe doth worke to wound my will, 
And hart surcharged with sorrow lines oppressed : 
My sowlen eyes then cannot wayle there fill, 
Sorrow is so far spent and I distressed. 
My toung hath not the cunning skill to tell. 
The smallest greife that gripes my throbbing hart 
Myne eies haue not the secret power to swell, 
Into such hugie seas of wounding smart 
That will might melt to wanes of bitter woe. 
And I might swelt or drowne in sorrowes so.' 

Watson's spoliations of Gascoigne by these 
tabulated quotations; for it seems due to 
Breton to exhibit the 'theftuous practice' 
of over-praised Thomas Watson as above 

Gascoignis Works, ed. Hatliti, voL i. 

P. 46, 1. 3-4. 

' Though I loke to much, 
Needes must I loke because I see none such. 
[See also p. 399, 1. 23-24.] 

P. 400, last four lines ; p. 401, 11. 1-4, 9, 10, 12, 13. 

15, 16. 

• Why liue I wretch quoth he, alas and well away, 
Orwhy beholde my heauy eies this gladsome sunny day? 
Since neuer sunne yet shone that could my state aduance, 
Why liue I wretch, alas, quoth he, in hope of better 

Or wherefore telles my toung this drearye dolefull talc. 
That euery earr might heare my grieeffe, andsobemone 

my bale ? 
Since earr was neuer yet that barkened to my playnte. 
Why liue I wretch, alas, quoth he, my pangs in vaine 

to paint? . . . 
Why striue I with the streame, or hoppe against the hill, 
Or search that neuer can be found, or loose my labor 

Why liue I wretch, alas, quoth he, with lucke thus ouer- 

Why feedes my heart on hope? why tyre I still on 

trust? . . . 
Since hope had neuer hap, and trust always found trea- 
Why liue I wretch, alas, quoth he, where all good luck 


p. lai, 11. 7-18. 

* Among the toyes which tosse my braine. 

and reaue my mind from quiet rest ; 
This one I finde doth>there remainc, 

to breede debate within my brest. 
When wo would work, to wound my wyl, 

I cannot weepe, nor waile my fylL 

My tongue hath not the skill to tell 
the smallest griefe which gripes my heart. 

Mine eyes haue not the power to swell 
into such Seas of secrete smart. 

That will might melt to wanes of woe, 
and I might swelt in sorrowes so.' 



Son. 36. 

• My waterie eies let fall no trickling teares, 
But flouds that ouerflow abundantly : 

Whose spring and fountaine first inforst by feares. 

Doth drowne my hart in waues of misery. 

My voice is like unto the raging wind, 

Which roareth still and neuer is at rest : [= stay 

The diuers thoughts that tumble in my minde, 

Are restlesse like the wheele that wherles alway. 

The smokie sighes that boyle out of my brest, 

Are fEure vnlike to those which others vse : 

For Louers sighes sometimes doe take their rest, 

And lends their minds a little space to muse. 

But mine are like vnto the surging seas, 

Whom tempest calme nor quiet can appease.' 

Son. 37, 11. I- 13. 

• Where may I novo my carefull corps conuay, 
From company the worker of my woe : 

How may I winkc or hide mine eies alwaies. 
Which gase on that whereof my griefe doth growe. 
How shall I seeme my sighes for to suppresse, 
Which helpe the hart which else would swelt in sunder, 
Which hurts the helpe that makes my torment lesse : 
Which helps and hurts, O woefuU wearie wonder, 
How HOW, but thus in solitarie wise : 
To step aside and make hie waie to moane. 
To make two fountaines of my dasled eies. 
To sigh my fill till breath and all be gone.' 

Son. 40. 

• The common ioye, the cheere of companic, 
Twixt m3rrth and mone doth plague me euermore : 
For pleasant talke or musicks melodic, 

Yelds no such salue vnto my secret sore. 
For still I liue in spight of cruell death. 
And die againe in spight of lingring life : 
Fudt still with hope which doth prolong my breath ; 
But choackt with feare and strangled still with strife. 
Witnes the daies which I in dole consume, 
And weary nights beare record of my woe : 
O wrongfull world which makst my fancy fume, 
Fie fickle Fortune fie thou art my foe. 
O heauie hap so froward is my chance, 
No daies nor nights nor worlds can me aduance. ' 

Son. 43, II. 1-4. 

' Long haue I swome against the wished waue. 
But now constrained by a lothsomc life : 
I greedilie doe seeke the grcedie graue, 
To make an end of all these storms and strife.' 

Son. 47. 

' Behold deare Mistres how each pleasant greene. 
Will now renew his sommcrs liuerie : 
The fragrant flowers which haue not long beenc scene, 
Will flourish now ere long in brauerie. 

p. 121, U. 19-22, 25-28 ; p. 123, U. 3- 8. 
' Yet shed mine eyes no trickling teares, 

but floudes which flowe abundantly, 
Wliose fountaine first enforst by feares, 

found out the gappe of lelousie, . . . 
My voice is like the raging wind 

which roareth still and neuer staies ; 
The thoughtcs which tomble in my minde, 

are like the wheele which whirles alwayes : . . 
The sighes which boyle out of my brest, 

are not lyke those which others vse. 
For louers sighes sometimes take rest, 

and lend their mindes a leaue to muse. 
But mine are like the surging Seas, 

whome calme nor quiet can appeas. ' 

p. 400, 11. 1-4. 7-10, 13-16. 

might I then 

which worketh all 
might alway 



helpe and hurte 

[Only the above words different.] 

p. 399, 11. 13-16, 19.22; p. 398, 11. 7-12. 


Lo, thus 


as fast 

Ay me, 

Alas ! the nightes which witncsse well my woe 

Out and alas. 


p. 120, 11. 1-4. 
' Which makes me swim against the wished wave. 
Lo thus (deare wenche) I leade a loth some life, 
And greedely I seeke the greedy graue, 
To make an endc of all these storms and strife. ' 

p. 358, 11. 11-14, 17-20, 23-28. 
Alas ! quod hhe. behold 



But I alas within whose mourning mind, 

The grafts of griefe are onelie giuen to grow : 

Cannot inioy the spring which others find, 

But still my will must wither all in woe. 

The lustie ver that whilome might exchange. 

My grief to ioy, and my dilighi increase : 

Springs now else where and showes to roe but strange. 

My winters woe therefore can neuer cease. 

In other coasts his sunne doth cUarely shine, 

And comfort lend to euery mould but mine. ' 

Son. 48, lines 1, 3. 5. 7. 9-14. 
' The tender buds whom cold hath long kept in, . . . 
Will spring and sprowt as they doe now begin, . . . 
But cold of care so nips my ioyes at roote, . . . 
No sunne doth shine that well can doe it boote, . . . 
For what can spring that feeles no force of ver, 
What harwtr [flower] can flourish where no sunne doth 

shine : 
These balUs deart hue within my brest I beare. 
To breake my barke and make my pith to pine. 
Needs must I fall, I fade both root and rinde, 
My branches bowe at blast of euerie winde.' 

Son. 58, 11. I- 13. 

• When as I marke the ioy of euery wight, 

Howe in their mindes deepe throbbing sorrow ceaseth. 

And by what meanes they nourish their delight. 

Their sweet delight my paine the more increaseth. 

For as the Deare that sees his fellow feede, 

Amid the lusty heard, himself sore brused : 

Or as the bird that feeles her selfe to bleede, 
And lies aloofe of all his pheeres refused, 

So haue I found and now too deerely trie, 

That pleasure doubleth paine and bliss annoy : 

Yet still I twit my selfe of Surcuidrie 

As one that am vnworthy to inioy 

The lasting frute of such a heauenly loue. ' 


then my ioyes 

full cleare doth 


p. 358. 11. 15. 16, ai. 22, 29-31 ; p. 359, 11. 1-3. 


What plant 


bales, quod she. 

p. 44, last 3 lines : p. 45, 1-3, 6 ; p. 118. IL 21-23. 
' And there to marke the testes of euery ioyfiill wight. 

And with what winde and wane they fleet, to nourish 

their delight 
For as the stricken Deare, that seeth his fellowes feede, 
Amid the lusty heard (vnhurt), and feeles hlmselfe to 

Or as the scely byrd that with the Bolte is brusd. 
And heth aloofe among the leaues, of all his pheares 


Euen so I finde by proofe, that pleasure dubleth pajrne. 

And styU accuse my selfe of Surquedry : 

As one that am vnworthy to eniojre 

The lasting fruite of such a loue as thine. ' 

It is curious that Mr. J. Payne Collier, who 
is so preposterously and uncritically hard on 
the venial borrowings of Griffin's * Fidessa/ 
should have selected as a good specimen of 
the Tears of Fancy, a sonnet (No. 47) which 
is all but verbatim from Gascoigne, as No. 
60 has already been seen to belong almost 
certainly to the Earl of Oxford. Dr. Nichol- 
son also would have been safer to have 
eschewed the sonnets, necessarily all suspect 
by Watsonian plagiarisms elsewhere. For my 
part, having regard to Watson's poverty of 

poetic gift, and the character of his * Tears 
of Fancy,' I must hold him to have been 
the thief in each case. I would however 
remember that as 'Tears of Fancy' was 
posthumous, its editor rather than its author 
must bear the blame of its wholesale 

It will be understood that where only 
single words or so are placed opposite, 

1 1 wish specially to acknowledge the great help rendered me 
in this detection of Watson by my friend J. M. Thomson, 
Esq., of Edinburgh. 



Watson has only to that extent departed 
from Gascoigne. 

All this being so I place in similar tabu- 
lated form Watson and Breton : — 

WatsotCi Tears of Fancy. 
Son. 56. 
* Were words dissolued to sighs, sighs into teares. 
And eaerie teare to torments of the mind : 
The minds distresse into those deadly feares. 
That find more death than death it selfe can find. 
Were all the woes of all the world in one, 
Sorrow and death set downe in all their pride : 
Yet were they insttfildeiit to bemone. 
The restles horrors that my hart doth hide, 
Where blacke dispaire doth feede on euerie thought. 
And deepe dispaire is cause of endles griefe : 
Where euerie sense with soirowes over>wrougfat. 
Lines but in death dispairing of reliefe. 
Whilst thus my heart with loues plague tome asunder. 
May of the world be cald the wofull wonder. ' 

Son. 57 (1. 1-8). 
< The hunted Hare sometime doth leaue the Hound. 
My Hart alas is neuer out of chace : 
The liue-hounds life sometime is yet vnbound. 
My bands are hopeles of so high a grace. 
For natures sSckenes sometimes may haaie ease. 
Fortune though fickle sometime is a friend : 
The minds affliction patience may appease, 
And death is cause that many torments end.' 

Breton's Countess 4jf Pembroke' s Passion. 

Where words desolve to sighes. sighes into teares. 
And euerye teare to torments of the mynde ; 
The mynd's distresse into those deadlye feares. 
That finde more death, than death it selfe can finde. 
Put all the woes of all the workle together. 
Sorrow and Death sitt downe in all ther pryde. 

With all the horrors that the harte may byde. 

Wher every sence with sorrowes overwrought, 

Lives but in death, dispayring of relef ; 
Whilst thus the harte with torments tome asunder, 
Maye of the worlde be cald the wofull wonder. 

St. 6, 1. 4. 

St. a, L 3-e. 

The hunted harte sometymes doth leave the hound. 
My harte. alas, is never out of chase ; 
The Ume-bound's Isme sometymes is yett imbonnd. 
My bands are hopelesse of so high a grace. 
For nature's sicknes sometime maye have ease, 
Fortune, though fickle, sometime is a friende ; 
The mynde's affliction patience maye appease, 
And death is cawse that manye torments ende. 


St. 13, 1. 1-4. 

St. 7, 1. 1-4 

I for one have not a shadow of doubt that 
again Breton was the original and Watson 
the copyist. Breton's was too rich a mind 
and too self-contained to filch from so 
meagre a poet as Watson. Need it be re- 
called that it was the mode to circulate 
poems, — especially in ms., — long prior to 
publication ? 

There are traces of Spenser, Sidney, and 
Southwell and Drayton in Breton, as there 
is tender and fine praise of the first two. 
But with every allowance for inevitable 
obligations to others and semi-mnconscious 
impressions from others, our Worthy remains 
notably original. His use of the word 
'compiled' in some of his title-pages was 
fetched from his step-father-in-law, Gascoigne, 
and others used it ; but it was equivalent only 
to our ' composed.' 

Finally — I claim grateful and positive 
recognition of Breton for his Purity. He 

is out-and-out * cleaiL' His sacred Verse 
and his religious books, t,g, 'Di\ine Con- 
siderations,' necessitated that ; but the same 
attribute belongs to all he wrote. This is 
something to be remembered in recollection 
of the abandon^ the insinuation, the provoca- 
tiveness, of a good deal of contemporary 
writing. It is pre-eminently satisfying to 
compare and contrast his ' Passionate Shep- 
herd' with like collections of the period. 
The shepherds are shepherds. The maidens 
are virgins. The love is heart-deep, not lip- 
shallow. The lights and shadows of wooing 
mean wedlock. The love-gifts are love- 
tokens, not snares. There is the smell of the 
breath of kine and hay and butter-cups and 
May-blooms in the vernal or summer air. 
The argument of the * Hesperides ' might 
fitly have been prefixed to these Works : — 

' I sing of Brooks, of Blossomes, Birds, and Botoers : 
Of April, May, of June, and ^ir^i^Flowers. 



I sing of May-poles, Hock-carts, Wassails, WaJUs, 
I write of Youth, of Love, and have accesse 
By these, to sing of cleanly- Wantonnesse. 
I sing of Dewes, of Raines, and piece by piece, 
Of Baltne, of Oyle, of Spice, and Amber-Greece. 
I sing of Times trans-shifting ; and I write 
How Roses first came Red, and Lillies White. 
I write of Groues, of Twilights, and I sing 
The Court of Afab, and of the Fairit-King. 
I write of Hell ; I sing (and ever shall) 
Of Heauen, and hope to have it after all. ' 

But his ' Hesperides ' has no leering 
Satyr, no gorge-raising (scunnering^ Scotic^) 
brutality of thought or epithet I think of 
him as of a singing brook that wells out 
softly and quietly from some bosky cleft, and 
glitters through the green grass and beneath 
green boughs, and falls into some pure 
river (rather than the sea) uncontaminated. 
Witness his * What is Loue ' (I. ^, pp. 12-13) 
— with its Shakespearean parallels. 

The flowers and greenwood of Breton are 
natural, not artificial. A good three cen- 
turies have come and gone since they 
bloomed and bore, but they are as daintily- 
hued and rich-flavoured to-day as in the 
beginning. So that as we gather them from 
book to book, we admire alike their fra- 
gility and indestructibility. Let the clos- 
ing lines of one of Henry Ellison's fine 
Sonnets interpret all this for me : — 

* On a Flower-worked Stone Table. 

Ye flowers, your stone hues still delight the eye ; 
Your marble-blooms have known no sere decay 
Of elements ; rude Autumn cannot lay 

Your brightness in the dust or bid ye die ! 

Yet has the heart with ye small sympathy, 
Ye art-made things : e*en Fancy will not play 
'Mid vour unwind-stirred clusters, which no ray 

Of sunsnine ever warmed ; we pass ye by 

With a chance-glance, and dream of ye no more ; 
For we can pluck ye not to deck the brow 

Of those we love ; ye give us back no store 

Of early thoughts ; and tho' the flowers that grow 
Wild in the fields, must wither in their hour, 
Tis like ourselves, with hopes ye never know !'* 

I think that Nicholas Breton deserves 
our revival of his Works. I think that his 
life-time popularity alluded to in Beaumont 
and Fletcher, and elsewhere, was deserved, 

^ Mad Moments, I pp. x 15-1x6. 

and was a factor in the formative elements 
of the grand Elizabethan and early Jaco- 
bean age. I think that while without 
that pronounced genius that compels our 
wonder and our submission, he had things 
in him that only genius owns. I make no 
* great ' claims for him. He was of the rank 
and file, not of the Leaders and * mighty ' 
Captains ; but within his own lowly and 
homely and familiar sphere, he is worthy of 
our gratitude as of our praise, and of our 
study as of our remembrance. For myself, 
there are Poems in his Verse as there are 
maxims, apophthegms, counsels, vivid putting 
of things in his Prose, that never can leave 
my memory. In the illustrious gallery of 
English Worthies, I write out for enduring 
honour, the modest yet distinct, the un-noised 
but living name of * Nicholas Breton, 

VI. Desiderata. — No one but myself ever 
can know the toil and anxiety involved in 
bringing together ioxthe first time these works 
of Nicholas Breton. No one either save 
myself can estimate the disappointment that 
I feel in being unable to * complete ' the 
Works by adding the Four preserved in 
the famous library of Britwell. I trust 
some after-comer may be fortunate enough to 
supplement my collection with these, either 
by access to those now withheld, or by the 
discovery of other exemplars. They are 
these : — 

1. The Workes of a young Wvt trust vp with a Far- 

dell of pretie fancies, profitable to young Poetes, 
preiudicid to no man, and pleasaunt to eucry 
man to passe away idle tyme withall : Where- 
unto is ioined an odde kinde of wooing with a Ban- 
quet of Comfites to make an end withall. Done 
by N. B. Gent Imprinted at London nigh 
vnto the three Cranes in tlie Vintree by Tho. 
Dawson, and Tho. Gardyner. 1577. 4*®, 39 
leaves (Hailitt's Hand-Book and Collections 
and Notes s.n,), 

2. Brittons Bower of Delights, contayning many 

most delectable and fine deuices of rare Epi- 
taphs, pleasant Poems, Pastorals and Sonets. 
By N. B. Gent Imprinted at London by 
Kichaid I hones, at the Rose and Crowne, necre 
Holbome Bridge. 1591. 4^, 30 leaves (*W</.). 



3. Pasqails Mistresse ; or the worthie and vnworthie 

woman ; with his description and passion of that 
Fttrie Jealousie. Imprinted at London for 
Thomas Fisher, and are to be sonlde at his 
Shoppe, at the Signe of the White Hart in 
Fleete Streete. i6(£. 40, 24 leaves {jbid,), 

4. Old Mad-Cappes new Gallymawfry, made into a 

Merrie Messe of Mingle- Mangle out of these 
three idle conceited Humours following. I. 
I will not. 2. O the merrie time. > Out 
ypon Money. At London, Printed for Richard 
Johnes neere S^. Andrewes Church in Holbome. 
1602. 4<>, 20 leaves \ibid,). 

With reference to No. 2 it is to be 
remembered (i.) That in his Pilgrimage to 
Paradise Breton repudiates responsibility 
for it ; (2.) That in Daffodils and Primroses, 
through the Cosens ms., we have probably 
all in it that really belonged to him. It is 
probable that much of Na i. is similarly 
represented. But the others it makes me 
heart-sore not to be able to reproduce. 
Another book recorded by Hazlitt is :— 

* Honest Counsaile. A Merrie Fitte of a Poeti- 
call Furie : good to read, better to follow. 
Imprinted at London by W. W. for W. Jones. 
1605. 4*>.' 

Of this no exemplar whatever is known. 
Neither has any exemplar come down to us 
of these entries in the Statiotiers^ Registers : 

a. The Payne of Pleasur, compiled by N. Brit- 

ten : 9^ Sep. 1578 (vol. ii. p. 337). 

b. Nay then by Nicholas Bretton. S^ July 1622 

(vol iv. p. 73). 

c. A booke called Nothinge by Nicholas Bretton 

{ibid. ) ; also entered 9^ August 1 622, as ' A 
booke Called Oddes : or all the world to 
Nothing; by N. B. {ibid. p. 77.) 

I have also failed to trace a copy of the 
1603 edition of * A Mad World my Masters.' 
My text of 1635 is without the Epistle- 
dedicatory to valiant John Florio, that I 
should have liked to give. 

Such is the (comparatively) little all of 
Breton's numerous books that are required 
to make the Works * complete.' Because of 
their lack I have not — as in the others — 
put 'complete' in the title-pages; but I 
am thankful that what I lack is so small 


beside what I have obtained and actually 

Of books mis-assigned to Breton it needeth 
not that I add much. No student of 
Breton will hesitate in rejecting 'A small 
handfull of fragrant flowers,' etc. (1577). 
It is the very antithesis of his style, while 
* N. B.' (without his usual, if not absK^utely 
invariable * Gent.') belongs rather to Na- 
thaniel Baxter of ' Ourania ' — itself so long 
ascribed to Breton — at any rate not to 
our Worthy. 

* Marie Magdalen's Love. A practical 
discourse on lohn xx. 10-18. 1595' (i6mo) 
is intensely Roman Catholic, while Breton 
was as intensely and evangelically Protestant. 
It iis a pity that the late Rev. Thomas Corser 
so hastily assigned this book to Breton from 
the mere accidental binding up of his copy 
along with Breton's ' Solemn Passion.' Be- 
sides its Roman Catholicism, neither his 
name nor initials anywhere appear in it. 

The * Passion of a Discontented Minde,' 
1 60 1, has neither his name nor initials nor 
the mint-mark words of the period, whereby 
the Breton authorship should have been 

In the 'Case is altered. Howl Aske 
Dalioand Millo,' 1604, the initials *F. T.' 
to the Epistle-dedicatory and to the Reader 
— Mr. Collier assigning these to Francis 
Thynne — must decide the non-Breton author- 
ship of this tractate. So too with ' Barley 
Breake or a Warning for Wantons,' 1607. 
The initials * W. N.' assign it necessarily to 
another ; while, as I have shown in my repro- 
duction of it in Occasional Issues, its whole 
substance and manner are anti-Breton. 
£ver3rbody now knows that Lowndes erred 
in placing among Breton's writings ' Pleasant 
Quippes for upstart new-fangled Gentlemen ' 
(1595) and 'England's Joy' — well-known 
productions of others. 

An anonymous book that internally seems 
out-and-out Bretonese is the following: — 




* Choice, Chance and Change : or Conceits 
in their Colours. Imprinted at London for 
Nathaniel Foxbrooke, and are to be sold at 
his shop in Paul's Churchyard, at the signe 
of the HeUnet.* 1606. (4to.) As I read 
and re-read this singularly brilliant and 
unforgetable manners-painting book, I felt 
here was the ' fine Roman hand ' of Breton. 
But seeing that there is no external authority 
for giving it to him, I reluctantly decided 
not to include it among his Works, but 
rather perhaps find a place for it among my 
Occasional Issues. 

I have now in conclusion to return my 
heartfelt thanks to all who have in any 
way aided me in my * labour of love,' of pre- 
paring these Works of Breton. In their 
places I acknowledge special help with rare 
exemplars, etc. etc. I would repeat empha- 
tically here my sense of obligation to my 
dear friends Dr. Brinsley Nicholson of 
London ; George H. White, Esq., of Glen- 
thome, Torquay, and John M. Thomson, 
Esq., Edinburgh. I wish also to thank 
Henry F. Bailey, Esq., London j Rev. T. 
O. L. Davies, M.A., Southampton; Rev. 
J. W. Ebsworth, M.A., Molash Vicarage, 
for excellent help throughout ; and last, but 

not least, to my admirably intelligent and 
kindly co-operative printers.^ 

I would fain persuade myself that the 
completion of these two massive volumes 
shall lead a select number of sympathetic 
minds to acquaint themselves with the Works 
of Nicholas Breton. I would send such 
to them confident of this, that none will do 
so unrecompensed. For it is with his bright 
and pleasant books as with those commended 
of Caxton. With his gracious inviting words 
applied to our Worthy I close my Introduce 
tion: — 

'The exercises of chivalry are not used and 
honoured as they were in ancient time, when the 
noble acts of the knights of England that used 
chivalry were renowned through the universal world. 
O, ye knights of England, where is the custom and 
usage of noble chivalry ? What do ye now but go 
to the bains and play at dice ? Alas ! what do ye 
but sleep and take ease, and are all disordered from 
chivalry? Leave this, leave it, and read the noUe 
volumes of St. Graal, of Launcelot, of Tristrem, of 
Galaod, of Perceval, of Perceforest, of Gawayn, and 
many more ; there shall ye see manhood, courtesy, 

Alexander B. Grosart. 

1 See Appendix B for a number of odds and ends desenriBg 

s ' Of the Order of Chyvalry and Knyghthood,' quoted in 
Orlandus, Broadstone of Honour (voL iv. pp. 403-4 : edn. z8]iQ. 

♦,* Three little things promised in Notes and Illustrations I add here :— 

(a) In * A Mad World * (II. t^ p. 6, L 13 from bottom) reference is made to an ancient description of 
:k-Beggars' Hall.' It is as follows :—' Mock-Beggers Hall, with his situation in the spacious country 

• Mock _ 

called Anywhere.' n.d. Roxb, Coll. 

{b) For * A Mother's Blessing ' (I. w, p. 6/2, L 1$) Dean Ramsay furnishes this Scottish example of a 
shepherd's wit :— * Lord Cockbum, the proprietor of Bonaly, amongst the Pentlands, was sitting on the hUl>side 
with the shepherd, and observing the sheep reposing in the coldest situation, he observed to him, "John, if I 
were a sheep, I would lie on the other side of the hiff." The shepherd answered, ** Ay, my lord, but if ye had 
been a sheep, ye woukl hae had mair sense." ' (Reminiscences, ch. i. : cf also anecdote of shepherd and Loid 
Rutherfurd, ibid.) 

{c) In • Wonders Worth Hearing ' (II. g, p. 9/2, L 23), I refer to Sir John Davies' use of the phrase^ 
* There is no fishing to the sea nor seruice to the Kmg.' It occurs in his ' Lottery.' See it in Grosart's edn. 
of his Poems, vol. li. pp. 87-89 and relative note : also Fuller Worthies' edn. of Works, vol. i. p. 291. 

Finally, as supplementing and confirming our remark in this Introduction (I. page xxix) very sweet and 
pathetic is st. 153 of' I would and I would not ' : — 

' Thus would I spend in seruice of my God, 

The lingring nowres of these fewe daies of mine, 
To shew how sinne and death are oucrtrod. 

But by the vertue of the power diuine. 
Onr thoughts but mine, our substance slime and dust. 

And onely Christ, for our Etemall trust.' 

In 1 6 14 he was (probably) beyond his three-score years and ten. G. 


VISITATION OF LEICESTERSHIRE 1619 {College of Arms, C. 8. fo. 48''). 

William Breton ^ Euzabbth dau. of 

of London. 

■ • • 



Richard Breton 
of London 

Katharine dau. of 
Edw: Guest of 


Nichoku Breton 
of London. 

Robert Breton 

of Barwell in 

Com : Leic : 

Alice, dau. of Richard 
Wright of Sutton juxta 
Broughton in com. 

Mary, mar. to 
Edw. Newton 
of Leicester. 


Elizar : mar. to Francis 
Ducket of Broughton 
in Com. Lei^ : 


RicHAKO Brbton, Danull, William, FiUNas, Robbrt, 

a « _*i _-• A ..k —..1. 

2^ son. 

son and heyr, 

setat. 20 in 1619. aet 19. 

3'* son, aet. 
16, a Schol' 
ler in Cam- 

4™ son, 5« son, 
aet. 12* aet. 8. 

I I I I 

John, Thomas, Katherine, Mary, 

6** son, 7^ son, aet 14. aet. i. 

aet. 6. aet 5. 


WITH reference to * Merry Wonders' 
(Vol. IL g), p. 8/2, 11. 39.41, this 
Epitaph is assigned to John Hoskins in 
the Dr. Farmer Chetham ms. and in Cam- 
den's Remaines concerning Britaine. Page 
lo/i, L I, John Owen afterwards put this, 
neatly parodying Virgil, thus : — * Una salus 
sanis nullam potare salutem.' 

In ' Daffodils and Primroses ' (Vol. I. /), 
p. 16, No. 8, the first four stanazs are set 
to music in R. Dowland's Musical Banqueiy 
(16 10); but the author's name not given: 

p. 17, No. 13, is preserved also in Harleian 
MS. 6910, and thence printed in Excerpta 
Tudoriana. In the Harleian ms. it is sub- 
scribed Finis La. R. (Rich, I suppose) ; but 
there seems no great doubt that Breton was 
the author: p. 19, No. 18, this was printed 
by Fry in Pieces of Ancient Poetry, 1814 : 
p. 20, No. 21, there is another anonymous 
copy in the 'Phoenix Nest:' ibid. No. 22, 
the last three stanzas of these are also in 
* A Most excellent Passion ' in the * Phoenix 
Nest (as at p. 6, supra) : p. 22, No. 27, this 



is set to music in Bartlet's Ayres^ 1606 : he 
reads in st. 2, 11. 4-5 : — 

' Love himselfe is sworne to seme thee 
Princesse in a Goddes place. ' 

Instead of the ms., st. 3, he has the follow- 

' Looke how loue thy seniant dyeth, 
Harke how hope for comfort crieth, 
Take some pity on poore fancy, 
Let not fancie proue a franzie :' 

p. 28, No. 31, forms the conclusion of the 
long Elegy on Sidney printed in the Dr. 
Farmer Chetham ms. This is an addi- 
tional proof that the Elegy is Breton's, not 
Dyer's : ibid. No. 33, the first twelve lines 
were printed in Perc/s *Reliques' from a 4to 
MS. in Percy's own possession. He added 
twelve other lines of his own. I had in- 
tended giving a more minute account of the 
Cosens ms. ; but my space is exhausted. 

In my notice of the letters not foimd in 
the 1603 ed. (on p. 52) of *A Poste, etc.* 
* 77 to 85 ' ought to be * 78 to 86/ the 1637 
numbers having been altered by my insert- 
ing the Answer of the Laugh as Letter 57. 
I regret that I detached this last from the 
Letter to which it is a reply: a 2d Part, 
1606, of these Letters was probably the ist 
ed. of the 2d Part 

In the * Arbour of Amorous Devices* 
the Epistle (p. 3) mentions * many men's 
workes.' The following identify some, cg.^ 
*A Lovers Complaint' (p. 6/2, and p. 7/1) 
is from Sidney's Arcadia (No. 40) : * A 
Poeme both pithie and pleasant' (p. 5/2), 
and *Fantasma' (p. 6/1), are among the 
anonymous pieces in Tottel's Miscellany, 
(iggy) — too early for Breton : the latter, 
according to a broadside copy reprinted in 
the late lamented Mr. Huth's Ancient 
Ballads and Broadsides^ is by a certain J. C. 

In *Will of Wit,' etc. (p. 17, 1. 43)> cf. 
Donne and contemporaries on the * flea,' as 
I meant to have illustrated. 

In *Floorish vpon Fancy' (p. 14/2) these 

allusions may be helpfully filled in: L 16, 

* Pride and Fowle disdaine.' See Bausle/s 
Treatyse shewing and declaring the Pryde 
and Abuse of Women Now a Dayes \circ, 
1550] in Hazlitt's Early Pop. Poetry, vol iv. : 
1. 17, 'letters amatorie' — see W. Fulwood's 
Enimie of Idlenesse (1568) — a vol. of letters 
like Breton's 'Poste,' etc, some in verse: 
L 19, *Pretie Pamphlets' — a section of 

* A Grorgeous Gallery of gallant inventions ' 
(1578), is headed *Pretie Pamphlets by T. 
Proctor:' 1. 20, 'Posies' — the 'Posies' of 
George Gascoigne, Esquire, 1575 ; ibid, 
' Satirs '— ' The Steele Glas A Satyre com- 
piled by George Gascoigne Esquire 1576': 
L 21, 'Falconrie' — ^Turberville's Booke of Fal- 
conrie or Hauking (1575): 11. 22-23, 'Day 
of Doome,' etc — Gascoigne's Droomme of 
Doomesday (1576): 11. 24-6, 'Tales of Lap- 
wings ^ — Gascoigne's Complainte of Phylo- 
mene (1576): I 27, 'Songes and Sonets ' — 
'Songes and Sonettes written by the right 
honorable Lorde Henry Howard late Earle 
of Surrey and others' (1557). 

I regret that after-researches have not 
yielded me materials for illustrating certain 
names that I had counted on being able to 
illustrate. I decided to leave the * Countess 
of Pembroke's Passion ' itself to vindicate its 
Breton authorship, as well as those that bear 
his initials reversed, and other disguises. 
They abundantly do so. For 'Good and 
Badde,' I have mislaid the spurious 'Vn- 
worthy Queen* of a later edition. The 
student for himself will easily discern in 
' Good and Badde ' Thomas Fuller's proto- 
type. It was my purpose to have gleaned 
facts and references confirmatory of Breton's 
Travels and knowledge of Italian, etc., and 
to have noticed some of his proverbs, inns, 
etc. etc If any other points promised in 
Notes and Illustrations or elsewhere, to be 
noticed, have been inadvertently overlooked, 
I crave pardon. G. 

A Floorish vpon Fancie 


The Toyes of an Idle Head. 


, .•••M*, 



The * Flourish vpon Fancie* and *Toycs of an Idle Head' were re- 
printed from the edition of 1582 in 'Heliconia.' It is Breton's usual 
small quarto — 50 leaves — ^black letter and occasional lines and words 
in Roman, somewhat arbitrarily. I am indebted to Henry Huth, 
Esq., London, for his nearly unique exemplar of the same edition ; 
whereby I have been enabled to correct the all-too-many negligences 
and corruptions of words and orthography in 'Heliconia' — ^including 
restoration of so many as four lines and more at a time in three places. 
I have, however, to suit our double colunms, divided the long lines as in 
* Heliconia * and occasionally substituted the author's favourite colon ( : ) 
for a comma, and conversely. It is noticeable that (1) The semicolon 
nowhere occurs in these two booklets ; (2) The adjective, not the noun, is 
made prominent by a capital letter. The first edition (1577) it has not 
been my good fortune to see. Of both these most characteristic early 
works of Breton, see our Memorial-Introduction. — G. 

^*v» A'^ 

-v\^ ^V' 


as A Floorifh 

vpon Fancie. 

As gallant a Glofe, vp- 
on so trifling a text as euer, was written. 
Compiled by N. B. Gent. 

To which are annexed 

The Toyes of an Idle 

head : Containing, many pretie Pamph- 
lets, for pleasaunt heads to passe away 
Idle time withall. By the 
same Authour. 






Printed by Richarde 

Ihones : dwelling at the Signe of the 

Rose and Crowne, neere Holbome 

Bridge. 1582. 





..^*t.-s«'- V 


Z^ all younge Gentilmen, 

That delight in trauaiU to Forreine Countreis, 

YOU GALLANT YOUTHES, who are of minde, rather addicted to trauaile through the world, for 
in the diuersities aswell of Countries as customes : of men. as of manners : of languages, as of other lawdable 
points, too tedious to discourse of : as well to the commodity of your Countrey. comfort of yoor Parents, 
content of your freends. as cheefely to your owne aduaunoement : rather then to sit at home, as a Chicke vnder a 
broode Hen, esteeming warmthe, the cheefest wisdome : golde. their God : and a whole skinne aboue an Honourable 
name : As many, — ^the more pittie, — by too much dandling of their Dads & making of their Mams, do now adayes. 
To you. my young Mates. T say— I heere vnnamed (as young as one) hauing lately taken in hande to passe a k»ge 
Pylgrimage to PARNASSVS HiU. to PALLAS and her NIMPHES, to sue for a SchoUership in the Schoole of 
VERTVE : I was not far out of mine owne Contrey, but suddenly, in a place vnknowne. a league or two from any 
towne. ^nperfect to retume the waye I went : standing in a muze a while, not knowing what best to doo. seeing many 
footepathes leading diuers waies : at last I thought good to take the moste beaten way. as moste likely to leade me to 
some place of habitation, where for that night to take vp my lodging, and the next morning to enquire further 
onwarde on my loumey. But not bearing in minde. that the broade waies are commonly beaten with Beasts : and the 
footepathes (I meane) are very narrow. I foolishly followed the Coxcomes Causey before me. which led me on a long 
streight to the Forrest of Fooles. and so to the Forte of Fande : of which Forte, mm ptrtinencijs, of my conmiing 
thither, abode there, and retume from thence. I haue more laxgelie then learnedly discoursed. Yet as it is. I hope it 
will seme your tumes : though not as a direction to the place I ment to goe too. yet as a disswasion (in your travaile) 
from that way that hath led mee so much out of the waye before you. Thus, hoping to tume the thriftlesse fruite of 
my fonde trauaile to the commodity of a great many of ]ree : that I hope some of yee will one day thanke me for : 
I wishe you all. with my selfe. in trauaile. to treade the Ptube that maye bring vs all to perfect Paradise. 

From his Chamber in Holboune, 
Uus XX. of February. 


AProuerbe olde, and therewith tme there is. 
That haste makes waste : ech thing must haue 
his time : 
Who high aspires roust ever looke to this. — 
To marke his steppes before he ginne to clime : 
For who in diming takes no care at all, 
Ere he get vp, is like to catch a folL 

Who dooth desire to HONOR high to clime. 

By due desart, must woorsliippe first attaine : 

Then for to seeke, in farther tract of time. 

The meane, whereby to HONOR to attaine : 

For he that thinkes to be a Lorde first day. 

Will misse a Lorde, and prooue a Loute, straight vray. 

Who doth assault the huge high FORT OF FAME, 
Must first beginne to scale the outward walles : 
Long is the Ladder that dooth reach the same. 
And happie he that gets vp without falles : 
Tedious the time, the labour nothing short, 
To take in hande to scale so high a Forte. 

This Prouerbe olde, my selfe obsemed well. 
Who not assault the gallant FORT OF FAME : 
But FANCIES FORTE, not minding there to dwell, 
But for to see the secretes of the same : 
And many times I thought to make retire, 
But in the ende obtain^ my desire. 

I scalde the walles, and got into the Fort 
With ease inough, short time and little fight : 
And there I sawe whereof I make report, 
Eche thinge that was for to be scene worth sight : 

And when that I sometime therdn had past. 
How, by good hap, I got away at last 

Now farre from this, I see THE FORT OF FAME. 

A harder thinge. to giue assault vnto : 

I dare not seeke the meane, to scale the same, 

And, if I durst. I knowe not what to do : 

In scalinge Fortes, my skill is too too small, 

Then if I clime, I needes must catch a fall. 

By lying still, I can but little gaine. 
By diming too, the feare is but a fall : 
No praise in deede is gotten without paine, 
Small hmte by falles, if bmze growe not withall : 
No bmze nor fall takes hee that takes good heede. 
No taking heede, great haste and little speede. 

Then when I clime, my selfe am wamde to leame 
The way to scale, ere ought I take in hande : 
To set my LADDER, wisdy to disceme. 
To choose a place, where it may surely stande : 
Then for to make my LADDER of such stuffe 
As I may trust, to treade on sure ynouffe. 

But then the ROVNDES must not be made of RIMES. 
My feete will slippe, in treading on the same : 
And REASON sayes. that who so fondly dymes. 
Falles downe into the Ditche of foule Defrune : 
God keepe me thence, and hdpe me so to dime. 
That REASON yet, may rayse me vp in time. 




METHINKES I see you smile, 
before you gin to reede. 
At this same title of my Tale : 

but, for you shall not neede, 
To maruaile at the same. 

First, read it to the ende. 
And marke ye stUl, through all the tale. 

wherto eche point dooth tend : 
And you shall see I hope, 

that this same title semes 
Fit for this tale : els, sure my minde 

firom reason greatly swarues : 
Who is expert in any Arte, 

dooth beare a Maisters name : 
Then he who cheefe is in an Art, 

dooth well deserue the same. 
Of Arte of lucklesse Loue, 

first Fande is the ground, 
Although that Cupid, with his Dart, 

doo giue the deadly wounde. 
First, Fande lildng tmedes, 

and liking breedeth Loue, 
And Loue the breeds sudi passing pangs, 

as many Louers prooue : 
And when the troubled minde, 

with torments is opprest, 
Fande dooth finde some secret meane, 

to breede the hart some rest : 
And Fande, shee sometime, 

to breede the Louers ioy, 
A thousand sundrie wayes (at least) 

dooth still her paines imploy : 
She thinkes on this and that, 

shee teacheth how to looue, 
And tels the Louer what to doo, 

as best for his behooue. 
But least I go to furre, 

and run too mudi at large 
Out of the waye, and take no care 

what thing I haue in charge : 
I will begin to show, 

what kinde of Schoole this is. 
What orders too shee keepes therdn. 

Pint, k> the Schoole is this. 

The roome bothe large and long, 

and very darke of sight. 
The most sight that her SchoUers haue, 

is chieflie by fier light : 
Whidi fier dooth bume so bright, 

as giues them light to see 
To read such books, as there are taught 

but what this fier may bee, 
Nowe thereby lyes a case. 

Well marke what I doo wright. 
And you shall know : for I my selfe, 

haue scene it burning bright 
First, Fande fetcheth coales, 

and calles for Deepe desire : 
By him shee setteth Vaine ddight, 

and biddes them blow the fire : 
And when the fire once bumes, 

for to maintaine the same. 
The Colier Care, hee brings in ooales 

▼nto this daintie Dame. 
Hee makes his Coales of wood, 

that growes on Haire braine hill : 
The Groue is cald, the ThrifUes thicke 

of wilde and wanton will : 
The wood is of small groth, 

but stickes of Stubbome youth, 
Whidi semes as fittest for that fier, 

God wot, the greater mthe : 
Lo thus, this fier dooth bume, 

and still dooth ghie the light 
To Fandes SchoUers in her Schoole : 

they haue none other sight : 
Now, Sir, in this hot Schoole, 

first Fande highest sittes, 
And out of all her SchoUers stiU, 

she takes the wUdest wittes. 
And those she takes in hands, 

to teach the Art of loue : 
Which bdng taught in that Tain Art, 

do soone fine schoUers proue. 
She teacheth them to moume, 

to flatter and to fidne : 
To speake, to write, and to indight, 

to labor and take pafaie : 


To go. to run, and ride, 

to muse and to deuise : 
To iuggle with a deerest freend. 

to bleare the parents ejres : 
To spend both kmdes and goods, 

to venter I^m and life. 
To make foes frends, and twixt deere frends, 

to set debate & strife : 
To doo, and vndoo too, 

so that they may obtaine. 
Their mistresse looue : and neuer care, 

for taking any paine. 
To iet in braue attire. 

to please their Mistris eye : 
Although perhaps they vtterly 

vndoe themselues thereby. 
To leame to singe and daunce, 

to play on Instruments, 
To speake choice of straunge language, 

to trie experiments 
Straunge, seldome had in vse : 

in fine, to tell you plaine. 
To doo almoste they care not what. 

their LAdies loue to gaine : 
And thus in tract of time, 

by such instructions, 
Shee makes them tread, the perfect pathe 

to their destructions : 
Some other Schollers now, 

are taught within her Schoole 
By Vsshers that teach vnder her : 

of which one is a foole 
By nature and by name. 

for FoUie men him call ; 
And he will teach his Scholler soone. 

to prooue a Naturall. 
The second, Frenzie is, 

in teaching too as bad : 
For he will teach his Schollers most, 

the way to make them mad : 
The Vssher FoUie first, 

he teacheth to be bould. 
Without aduice to giue no eare, 

to counsaile that is tould : 
To take deUght in gauds, 

and foolish trifling toyes. 
In things of value, little worth, 

to set his chiefest ioyes. 
To prate without regarde, 

of reason in his talke. 
To think black white, and wrong for right, 

& know not cheese firO chalke : 
To loue the things in deede, 

which moste he ought to hate : 
For trifling toyes, with deerest fireends, 

to £eU1 at dire debate : 
To looue to play at Dice, 

to sware his blood and hart. 
To Cace it with a Ruffins looke, 

and set his Hat a thwart 

To haunt the Tauemes late, 

by night to trace the streetes. 
And swap ech slut vpon the lippes, 

that in the darke he meetes : 
To laughe at a horse nest, 

and whine too like a boy, 
If any thing do crosse his minde, 

though it be but a toy : 
To slauer like a slaue, 

to lie too like a Dog, 
To wallow almost like a Beare, 

and snortle like a Hog. 
To feede too like a Horse, 

to drinke too like an Oxe, 
To shew himselfe in each respect, 

a very very Coxe. 
But such a Scholler now, 

is chosen of grose wit. 
Because that Beetle heads doo seme 

for such instructions fit 
The other Usher now, 

that Frenzie hath to name. 
His kinde of teaching, hee againe, , 

another waye dooth frame : 
Hee teacheth how to rage, 

to sweare and ban and curse, 
To fret, to fume, to chide, to chafe, 

to doo all this and worse. 
To teare his flesh for griefe, 

to fill the aire with cryes; 
To harbor hatred in his hart, 

and mischiefe to deuise : 
To hate all good aduice, 

to follow witlesse will, 
And, in the end, for want of grace, 

to seeke himselfe to IdU. 
And sutch his Schollers are. 

ripe wits, but wanting grace. 
And sutch vngratious grafies, doo leame, 

sutch gracelesse geare apace : 
These Schollers all are young, 

except that now and than. 
To be a scholler with the rest, 

there step in som ould man. 
Who when that he a while, 

hath bin in Fande's Schoole, 
Dooth leame in his olde crooked age. 

to play the doting foole. 
And such there are sometime, 

(more pittie) for to see. 
That in their crooked doting age. 

would fiEune fine louers bee. 
Which beeing in that Schoole. 

doo prooue. for all their paine. 
By Frenzie mad, by Folly fooles, 

or els by Fancie vaine. 
My selfe can tell too well, 

for I haue seen the Schoole, 
And learned so long there, till I prou'd 

more halfie a very foole. 


First, Fande dandled me, 

and held me on her lap : 
And now and then, shee would me feede, 

with worldly pleasures pap. 
Shee tould mee, I was young, 

and I my youth must spend 
In youthfuU sporte. I did not know* 

how soone my life would end : 
Be merry while I mought, 

Set carke and care aside : 
How mad were he, that mought in blisse, 

and would in bale abide ? 
Such sugred speach of hers, 

had soone intrapt mee so. 
That I did thinke, that did me good, 

that wrought (in deed) my wo : 
Remayning thus a while, 

at last I had an eye 
To see how Folly taught his Youthes, 

and some rules, by and by, 
My selfe began to \eaimt : 

First this, for to be bould. 
And to refuse to lend my eare, 

where good aduise was tould. 
In foolish trifling toyes 

to take a great delight : 
To take in hand to prate of that, 

wherein I had no sight. 
These rules I soone had leamd, 

but when I came to that. 
Where Ruffins card & dice, and sweare, 

and ware aside their hat, 
I read no farther then, 

but up againe I went. 
Unto my Mistrisse Fancie fine : 

and straight downe shee me sent. 
Unto the nether ende 

of all her Schoole below, 
Where Frenzie sat : and sweating hard, 

he gan to puffe and btow. 
He little likte my minde, 

yet would I ye or no, 
I leamd some of his raging rules, 

ere I away did go : 
I leamd to fret and fume, 

though not to ban and ctuse. 
And oft for griefe, to sigh and sob, 

and many times doo worse : 
But yet. I thanke my God, 

I neuer had the will, 
In greatest franticke fit I felt, 

to seeke my selfe to kill. 
But to make short my tale, 

his lessons likte me not. 
But up againe in haste I went, 

to Fancie fond, God wot. 
And lying in her lap. 

I fell a sleepe anon : 
Where sleeping so. I dreamed sore 

that I was wo begon : 

If Me thought that wisdome came, 

and warned mee in hast. 
To lothe sutch lessons as I leamd, 

ere that my youth were past. 
For short shotdd be my sweet, 

and time would passe away : 
The man is in his graue too day 

that lined yesterday : 
Thy life (quod hee) poore soule, 

is like vnto a flower, 
That groweth but in daunger still 

of cropping euery hower : 
And if it be not cropt, 

yet soone it will decay. 
And like the flower, in little time, 

it wither will away. 
Thy pleasures wilbe paine, 

Uiy game will tume to greefe. 
And thou wilt seeke in vaine to kite, 

when y" wouldst finde releef : 
Arise thou sluggish slaue, 

out of that lothsome lap. 
And be no longer like a Babe, 

so fed with pleasures pap. 
Lose no more labor so, 

in sutch a witles Schoole, 
Where as the best that thou canst gaine, 

is but to prooue a foole. 
Study some better Art, 

for lo thy wits will seme 
To leame to doo, that may in time, 

a good reward deseme : 
Better then best degree, 

that thou art like to take 
In Fancies schoole : I tell thee plaine, 

therefore I say, awake. 
Awake, in haste, awake. 

and hie thee hence, I say : 
Take warning in good time, poore soule. 

for time will sone away : 
But since that with such Youthes, 

words seldome will preuaile. 
With this same rod, thou foolish boy, 

I meane to breech thy taile. 
With which (me thought) he gaue 

a ierke, that made me smart : 
Which soden smart, although but small, 

yet made me give a start : 
And in my starting so, 

I waked sodenly ; 
And so awakte, I cald to minde 

my vision by and by. 
Thus thinking on my dreame, 

I heauy grew in minde, 
Which by and by, when Fancie fond. 

gan by my countenice finde : 
How now, my youth (quoth she) 

what ailes thee seeme so sad ? 
What c&st thou think to cheare thy minde. 



No, no, (quoth I) I nol 

beleeue these woordi of thloe. 
Tbou uoajr (Iwie (qqoth ibe) due 

mklnut these mndi of mise? 
And, therewith in ■ nge, 

I Up. 


Why fine Hutri* (quoth I) 
What cui yoo bide no ien ? >Im.— 

And thenrith. ongerly, 
Without or loldng leaue, 

or uf duly done. 
From Fande in ■ rage I flong, 

and out of dores I ranne : 
And beyng out of doore, 

theie wordes me tbonght I uld, 
Fie on thee FANCIE, flMtOTng flyH, 

I bold me wel ■pdde : 
That I am got awaj, 

out of thy ikyllesK Scoote : 
For DOW I «ee. thou wentn about 

to make mee a right foole : 

But Fude, beaiing tUi, 

10 make mee ttyU lo H*r, 
To letdw mee in with plcMUit sporte* 

Innented many a way : 
But when I dyd poceloe 

bow neere mee itill abe came. 
Then from ber quite I Soong in b«Me, 

audio I left this Dame. 
Loe. Ihui I tell you bow. 

I came from Fande« Scoole : 
Where, teainyng but a little while, 

I proou'd more halfe a (bole : 
Wberfore, alnee my Kood hap, 

hath ben to come from Ihcnce, 
Althoogh with labour lost, in dcede, 

and lome. too mutch eipence : 
I now haoe ihougbi it good, 

lo waruE eche one my frende, 
To keeps tbemseluei fiom Fancies Sehw 

ft M 1 make an ende. 




so hath she too a FORT. 
Of which, the chiefest points, my selfe. 

wyll somwhat make report. 
The ground wheron it stands, 

and the foundation then : 
How it is built, how it is kept, 

and by what kynde of men : 
What kinde of cheere she keepes, 

who are her chiefest gesse : 
What drink she drinks, who ar her cookes 

yt al her meat do dres : 
Whom most she loues. who is her foe, 

& who againe her frend, 
And how the Fort may soone be scald, 

& ther to make an ende. 


THE ground wheron it stands, 
is haughtie Harebraine Hyll, 
Hard by the Thick I tould you. of 

wild and wanton wilL 
The fond Foundation is. 

false Fortunes fickle wheele, 
Which neuer stands, but stil eche way, 

is ready for to reele : 
Now here, now there againe, 

with euerie blaste of winde : 
Not as she list, but as it most 

doth please Dame Fortunes mind. 
The House it selfe is calde. 

The Lodge of luckelesse Loue ; 
Within the whiche are diuers roumes, 

beneath and eke aboue : 
The names wherof anon, 

I meane at large to showe : 
But first, the outside of this House, 

I must declare, I trow : 
The commyng to the same, 

the walles, the Gates, and then. 
The base couru, couru & gardens 

then, & then the gards of men : 
The Porters to the Doores, 

the Officers within : 
And therefore, thus in order, 

I wyll now my tale begyn. 

if The commyng to the same, 

is by a great hie way, 
Faire beaten plaine, with Fooles footsteps, 

and troden euerie day : 
The Soyle is pleasant sure, 

bedeckt with gallant flowers. 
But, being gatherd once, wil scarce 

bide sweet aboue two houres : 
And in this Soyle, there standes. 

a Forrest large and wide, 
Which b wel stoard wt thicks ft woods. 

the beasts therin to hide : 
Of which great peeoe of grounde, 

for to declare the name. 
The Forrest (Sir) of Fooles it is : 

loe. now you know the same : 
And in this Forrest now, 

this beaten way doth lie. 
Which leadeth unto Harebraine Hyll, 

the right way redyly. 
At foote of this same Hyll. 

and round about the same, 
There is a Ditche. which Deepe 

deceipt is calde by name : 
Ouer this lies a Bridge, 

but trust mee, verie weake : 
For when you are in midst therof, 

then sodenly twyll breake : 
And downe into the diche, 

of Deepe deceipt you fiedl : 
Rise againe, as jrou can your sdfe, 

you get small helps at all : 
The Bridge is calde, the breacfae 

of perfect amytie : 
Tis made of Hollow harts, 

of such as wanted honestie : 
Which, being rotten styll, 

wyll neuer beare the waight 
Of any man, but sodenly, 

downe casts hyra in Deceight : 
Now sir, although you fall. 

no bones shall yet be burst. 
Nor what so euer hurt you take, 

you feele it not at fiust : 
But beyng lalne, if you 

can make a shift to swym. 
Though it be bat a stroake or two. 

yet may you get up trym, 





Unto the bankes therof, 

That leades into the Court : 

and so by shrubs that growe 

further you can not passe, 

Upon the bankes, to make a shift, 

Except you let a lackcamapes. 

vp to the gate to goe : 

to ride you lyke an Asse. 

But if you can not swym, 

But if you wyll do so. 

you may catch such a foU, 

then may you passe vp straight. 

That you may diaunce, vnto your cost, 

Into th' inner Court (forsooth) 

to catch a bruse withall : 

where long you shall not waight, 

Not swimnung as in Seas, 

But out vnto the doore. 

for feare in deepe to drowne, 
But swimming sir, in Worldly wealth, 

for feare of fallyng downe. 
But if that you can swym, 

then soone perhappes you may, 
By shrubs and bushes, to the Gsites 

make shift to finde a way. 
Then bedng at the gates, 

there shall you standing finde 
A peltikg patch for Porter there, 

of nature very kinde : 
His name is Dalianoe : 

a foolish crafty knaue. 
Who needeth not, to let you in, 

too much intreatie haue. 
Welcome, good Sir (saith he) 

now trust me, by my iieiy, 
I thinke that you have trauailed 

a wery peece of way : 
Wilt please you to go in, 

and take a little rest ? 
Thus by the Porter DaliaAce, 

you go in as a guest. 
Now if up to the gate 

you cannot finde the way. 
Then lustely to scale the walles 

]rou must somewhat assay : 
Which walles you soone may scale, 

if you will take the paine. 
Or cds may quickly beat them downe 

with beetel of your braine : 
Few are to make defence, 

and such as are, wHl stay 
Their hands from dooing harm to you, 

but rather, make you way. 
And shall I show in kinde, 

what gallants you shall see 7 
That for to garde this Forte are set, 

and what their weapons bee? 
It were a sporte to tell, 

to set them out in kinde : 
Well, I wyll showe them all, as well 

as I can beare in minde : 
First, loe, a Garde of Geese 

and Ganders, in one rancke. 
With doutie Duckes and Drakes hard by, 

vpon an other bancke : 
A sight of Asses then, 

there stoode in Battell ray, 
With lackeanapeses on thdr backes : 

and they stoode in the way 

comes out an officer. 
And gently (Sir) into the Hall, 

this man wyll you preferre : 
But now sir, wyll you know, 

what meanes these Armies so. 
That standes to gard Dame Fancies Fort? 

well marke, & jrou shal know. 
The Gard of Ge^ are first, 

Vngratious Graftes of Youth, 
That wallow euery wanton way, 

and misse the trackt of trueth. 
The Duckes (good Syr) are Doults, 

as well both jrong as olde. 
That in that carelesse Court are set, 

to keepe a foolysh holde. 
The Asses they are Loutes, 

of wisdome none at all : 
Yet haue a certaine kinde of wit, 

to play the fooles withalL 
The Apes, that rides them now, 

and rules them euerie way, 
& tume their heads which way they list, 

a thousand times a day, 
Are Foolysh Apish toyes, 

fond heads for to delite : 
Not voide of reason vtterly, 

though voide of wisdome quite. 
Their Weapons are their Tongues, 

wherewith they make a crye, 
Away, I say, away, stand backe, 

soft Syr, you come not by : 
But if so bee they see, 

one ridden like an Asse, 
Then will they make but small a doo, 

but let him gently passe. 
Now Syr, thus like an Asse, 

he goes to the Hall doore, 
And there becomes a Man againe. 

and stands an Asse no more : 
Yet though his eares grow short, 

he is not altered so, 
But he shall beare an Asses head, 

where euer so he go. 
And be he Man or Asse, 

Jacke an apes hee must beare, 
As long as hee is in that Forte, 

or els he bides not there. 
Now Syr, at the Hall dore, 

the Porter Pleasure standes : 
He looks for, ere he farther go, 

some money at his hands. 



He lets in none for thankes, 

he must haue money, hee : 
He goes not in eb. I am sure, 

for so hee ddt with mee. 
But if hee him rewarde, 

he brings him to the Hall, 
And there the Vsher, by and by, 

good Syr, hee meetes withalL 
Hee entertaines you then, 

in such a pleasaunt wise. 
As makes you thinke you are arriude, 

in place of Paradise. 
Not long he bides with you, 

but to the Chamberlaine 
Hee brings you vp, where curiously 

hee dooth you entertaine 
With Besoles manos, 

imbrasings downe to knee : 
With Cap of curtesie : and a grace, 

the brauest that may bee. 
This is a gentle 3routh, 

but ere I farther go. 
The names of these same Officers, 

I plainely meane to show : 
The Vsher of the Hall, 

is called Vaine delight : 
Hee entertaineth none, except 

he be some witlesst wight. 
The Chamberlaine is 

called Curiositie, 
And fellow with this Vaine delight, 

and of affinitie : 
For at request of this, 

his fellow. Fond delight, 
Hee brings you where of Fancie £aire, 

you soone may haue a sight : 
And if you Uke him well, 

hee workes so in the ende. 
That hee will in your sute, foorthwith, 

cause Fancie stande your freend. 
To Fancie then, good Sir, 

he brings you, by and by. 
And there may you beholde her, how 

she sitteth gallantlie : 
Her Chamber large and long, 

bedect with thousand toyes : 
Braue hanging clothes of nure deuise. 

pictures of naked boyes. 
And Girles too, now and then, 

of sixeteene yeeres of age : 
That will within a yeare or two, 

grow fit for mariage. 
But they must haue a Lawne, 

a Scarfe, or some sutch toy, 
To shrowde their shamefastnes withall 

but if it be a boy, 
Hee standes without a Lawne, 

as naked as my naUe : 
For Fancie hath a sporte somtime, 

to see a naked taUe. 

Besides, in pictures too, 

and toyes of straung deuise. 
With stories of olde Robin Hood, 

and Walter little wise : 
Some showes of warre long since, 

and Captaines wounded sore. 
And souldiers slaine at one conflict, 

a thousand men and more : 
Of hunting of wilde Beastes, 

as Lions, Bores, and Beares : 
To see how one an other oft, 

in sunder straungely teares. 
Of gallant Citties, Townes : 

of Gardens, Flowers, and trees : 
Of choise of pleasant herbs, and finits, 

and such like toies as these : 
These hange aboute the walles, 

the floore now is troade 
With pleasant flowers, herbs, & sweets, 

which in her garde grode. 
But now, the names of them, 

I purpose to.descrie : 
In steede of Fenell, Syr, 

the first is Flatterie, 
The other Herbe is Sawsinesae, 

in steede of Sauourie : 
In steede of Basell, now 

there lyeth Brauerie : 
And for svreete Southernwood, againe, 

is secret Slauerie : 
In steede of Isop, now' 

there lies Inuention : 
And in the steede of Camamill, 

there lies Confusion : 
The Flowers now are these : 

in steede of lylliflowers, 
Fajrre lestes : that last not sweete, alas. 

aboue two or three houres. 
For Roses, Rages : which 

wyll not so soone decay : 
For Paunseies, pretie Practises, 

that alter many a way : 
For Marygoldes, Mischiefe : 

for Walflowers, Wantonnesse : 
For Pinckes, Presumption : 

for Buttons, Businesse : 
For Daysies, Doubtfiilnesse : 

for Violets, Vidousnesse : 
For Primroses, Foolysh Pride : 

for Cowslips, Carelesnesse : 
With these flowers and Herfoet, 

with many moe (God wot) 
Doth Fancie strow her Chamber floore, 

whiche I remember not. 
Now Syr, in this same roome, 

thus brauely bedett, 
S]rts Fancie in her biauerie : 

and Syr, in cache respect. 
So serued in her kinder 

with her fine Chamhipriayoe, 



That not for any thyng she hath, 

She shews jrou flowers, but tels jrou not, 

that she needes to t^e payoe. 

how soone they wil decay : 

Fine Curiositie, 

Shee tdles you this braue tree. 

her Chamberlaine, doth all 

a gallant fruict wyll beare. 

The seruice in her Chamber, Syr : 

This is a gallant Princely Phmi, 

Init the Vsher in the Hall 

and this as braue a Peare : 

He doth her seruice too. 

This is a Pippyn right. 

although not all so neere 

this is a Philbeard fine, 

Her person, as her Chamberlayne : 

This is a Damson delicate : 

she houldeth him more deere. 

but fewe suche fruictes as mine : 

The order how she sittes. 

When God, he knowes, the Tree 

is this Syr, in a Chayre, 

whose fruictes she bragges on so, 

Fine carued out with Caruers woriee, 

Is Init a plant of peeuishnes, 

and couerd, verie (aire. 

and biynges foorth fruits of woe. 

With a strange kind of stuffe : 

Her Plum is but a Pate, 

the colour is all green : 

that puffed b with pryde : 

Braue fringde and hang'd, with two fine Pearles, 

Which eyther quickly rotten growes, 

the like but seldom seen : 

or breakes out on som side : 

Now Syr, her Chayre (in deede) 

Her Peare is an olde plant. 

is but a Youthfull brajrne. 

that bringeth Outwarde ioye 

Whose head is verie greene, in deed : 

To sight, at least : but, eaten once. 

the Frindge, to tell you plaine. 

wyll choake you with annoy. 

Are Haires upon the head : 

Her Pippjm is a Crabbe, 

the Pearles, they are the Eyes : 

that growes in Sainct lohns wood : 

Fast set vnto the head (good Syr,) 

Which makes a shewe of a Ceure firuict, 

and loe, thus in this wise. 

but in taste is not good. 

I shewe you Fancies seat : 

This is a secreate foe. 

Init if the eyes dyd see. 

that seemes a faythftill fi«nde. 

What great dishonour tis to them. 

But wyll be sure, who trust in him. 

in Fancies Chaire to bee : 

to faile hym in the ende. 

They rather would Call off. 

Her Fylberds haue faire shales. 

then hang in such a place. 

but Kemelles all are gone. 

Where they are ruld, when they mought rule, 

Her Damsons are deceiptfiill fruicts, 

and so to ^yne disgrace. 

as hard as any stone : 

But be ^ey as they be. 

Harde : how ?— not hard in hand, 

I shewe you as they be : 

nor very hard in taste. 

Beleeue me, when that you come there, 

But beyng swallowd, very hard 

then you your self shall see. 

for to digest at last. 

Wdl Sir, thus Fancie sits. 

These Trees, with many mo 

before whom you must stand. 

which I not call to mynde. 

Tyll she her selfe do bid you come, 

In Fancies gallant Garden plot 

and take you by the hande : 

you shalbe sure to finde. 

And that she soone wyll doo. 

Now in this Gardein, more 

for she is curteous ; 

alas, I had forgot : 

And where she takes a likyng too, 

About the midst therof (I gesse) 

she is as amorous. 

there standes a prety plot. 

Now, beyng come to jrou. 

Wherin is made a Maze, 

these wordes first she wyll say. 

all bordered with Wilde breere. 

She ¥ryll be askyng, how at first. 

Set all about the bankes with Rue. 

you thither found the way? 

that grew there many a yere. 

Wherto, your Answere made. 

Just in the midst wherof. 

then she wyll take the payne. 

a huge high Mount dooth stand, 

To shewe you all her roomes within. 

Which grew by nature in y* pkice, 

and shee wyM entertayne 

not made by Gardeners hand : 

You in so braue a sorte. 

The hill on the one side, 

that you shall thinke, a whUe, 

is made much lyke a Hart, 

You are in heauen : with sugred spendie 

And as like to a Hed againe 

she ¥ryll you so beguile. 

vpon the other part. 

Now, first, she leades you in. 

And in this Mount, there dwels 

into her Garden gay : 

a number of mad men : 



Some mad in hart and some in bed, 

and euery one his den. 
Upon the Hart side, stands 

the cave of cnieltie, 
A currish knaue, whidi with his teeth, 

still gnashing, dose doth lie. 
By him hath foule Despight 

a fylthy Den lykewise. 
Which, fai that lothsome lodge of his, 

Still fretting, dayly lyes. 
By him bonrible Hate, 

hath eke a kinde of Cane, 
Like a foule hole : but good inough 

for such a filthy slaue : 
Upon the bedside now, 

lies Melancoly first, 
Hee beates his head with studie so> 

as if his braines would burst. 
By him vile Enuy next, 

foule fiend, with fierie eyes. 
Bound about bed w* Serpent skinnes, 

in lothsome manner lies. 
Right ouer him dooth keepe 

fierce Frensie, in his caue : 
Hee frets, hee ftmes, he stampes and stares, 

& neuer lins to raue. 
Aboue them all, vpon 

the top of this same hill, 
Dwels Madnes, Maisterof them all, 

and with him, wiUes WiU : 
His lodge is like a house, 

that had bin built of stone, 
That had bin ouerthrowne, & nought 

left but the walles alone : 
It hath a kinde of roofe, 

but all vncouered : 
So that the raine vpon him folks, 

as hee lies in his bed : 
And for the manner now 

how he lies, credit mee. 
It is the straungest sight mee thinkes, 

that euer I did see. 
HU Bedsteed is of Wood, 

ingrauen with Vgly iisoes : 
And standes more halfe a sunder, burst 

in twenty sundry places : 
His Bed with fethers stuft, 

but all the Downe flowne out : 
And those yt bide, are stubbome quilles, 

yt prick him round about. 
Upon an olde crackt Forme, 

by his Bedside, there lies 
Ould instruments of Musicks sound, 

all broke in wondrous wise. 
A Lute, with but thre strings, 

and all the pinnes neere out : 
The belly crakt, the back quite burst. 

and riuen round about. 
His Vifginals, with neuer a iack, 

and [but] haUe the keyes : 

His Organes, with the bellowes burst, 

and battred many waies. 
His Fife, three holes in one : 

his Harpe, with neare a string : 
Great pittie, trust me, for to see, 

so broken euery thing. 
A Pen and Inke he hath, 

and Paper too hard by, 
But paper quite in peeces tome, 

pen burst, and Inkhome drie. 
He feedes of Fancies fruites, 

that in her Garden growe, 
He drinks of Drugs of foule Despight, 

a beastly broth I trow. 
He feares no heat nor colde, 

for if with heate he glow. 
The waues of wo wil coole him streight, 

yt there by tides do flow. 
For through this Forrest nmnes, 

the Seas of sorrow sore : 
Whose Waues do beate against this Fort, 

that bordereth on the shore. 
And if with colde be quake, 

the heate of raging ire 
Will quickly warme him so, that he 

shall neede none other fire. 
In raging Frantick fittes, 

he passeth foorth the day 
In straunge perplexities, himselfe 

tormenting many a way. 
Among many mad toyes, 

I saw him play one parte. 
With looke full fierce I saw him holde, 

a Dagger to his Hart, 
Redie to kill himselfe. 

and with his beare vpright, 
He cryed, he would rather die, 

then bide sutche deepe dispight : 
At which same crie of bis, 

me thought that euery one 
Within their Caues, all sodeinly 

did make a piteous mone : 
With which amazed halfe, 

not knowing what to say, 
By helpe of God, I know not how, 

but straight I got away. 
And then I was againe 

with Fande, by and by, 
Out of the Maze in her Gardeine : 

who led me presently, 
As she will you likewise, 

if you will : backe againe 
Into her house : where you will thinke 

in heauen for to remaine. 
The Entrie first, before 

you come vnto the Hall, 
Is set out gallantly with toyes, 

and that of cost not small. 
The Pauements are of stone, 

which Hard harts haue to name : 



They grow all in a minde of man, 

and thence she hath the same : 
About the Entrie walles, 

doo hang devises straunge : 
And, by the brauerie of the same, 

much like the Low Exchange. 
From Entrie then you come 

streight way vnto the Hall ; 
And that with manie Jewels riche 

is hanged rotmd withalL 
The roome it selfe is long, 

and therewith somewhat wide. 
And for the fashion, in my minde, 

not much unlike Cheapeside : 
There hang great store of gaudes, 

of which the Vsher straight, 
Dooth ofifer to Dame Fancies eie. 

and therfore there dooth waight, 
Chaines, Jewels, Cups, & pots : 

Pearles, precious stones, & Rings, 
Fine whistels. Corals, Buttons, Beads, 

& such like costly things : 
Fine Brooches for your Hat, 

fine Aglets for your Cap, 
Fine Tablets for a gallant Dame, 

to hang before her lap. 
These things, with many mo, 

in this same Cheapeside Hall, 
Hath Vaine delight, to please Fancie, 

his Mistris minde withall. 
Now though she see them all, 

her Chamberlain must chuse 
What he best thinkes will like her minde, 

& what she wil refuse. 
That Chamberlaine (you know) 

is Curiositie : 
He euer chooseth all the ware, 

that Fancie fond dooth buye. 
Now from the Hall, vnto 

the Parlor straight you go. 
Which, as the Hall, with Jewels riche, 

is brauely hanged so : 
The roome is long, not large, 

I met it not with feete : 
But, as I gesse, in fashion tis, 

much like to Lombarde streete : 
This roome the Vsher too, 

dooth looke too, with the Hall : 
Well, there within a little while 

you quickly will see all : 
Which, beeing seene, you passe 

into the other roome. 
Which called is her Counting house : 

wherin when you be come. 
There shall you see her bookes, 

that treates of many toyes. 
And most of them doo show the 

of louers greefes or ioyes. 
Some volumes Syr, doo treate 

of naught but Vanitate, 

But very few that speakes a worde 

of perfect Sanitate. 
Some auncient Authors write 

De arte amandi : 
Which who so studies throughly, 

runs mad or ere he die : 
And, in the steede of TulUes workes, 

written De ojlcijs. 
There standes Tom tatlers treatise, Syr, 

Define Brandicijs : 
Among the rest are some, 

BelU discorce damoret 
And some doo write discourses 

De graundisfimo dolore: 
Some bookes doo make discourse 

of Pride and Foule disdaine, 
Some letters Amatorie are : 

some of Despite againe. 
Some Pretie Pamphlets are, 

some Posies, Satirs some : 
Some doo discourse of Falconrie, 

and some of Day of Doome ; 
And they are called Drummes : 

and some tell pretie tales 
Of Lapwings, Swallowes, Fesant cocks, 

& noble Nightingales : 
Some Songes and Sonets are, 

and some ar^ Louers layes : 
Some Poets paint The pangs of loue, 

a thousand sundry waies. 
Now with such bookes as these, 

with other such like toyes, 
Dooth Fancie store her Counting house, 

for to instruct her boyes. 
And girles too, now and than : 

at least, if they doo reede : 
And in such vaine Discourses, most 

her selfe delights indeede. 
Now Syr, when you haue seene 

her fine Librarie there : 
She shewes you then her other roomes, 

& leades you euery where. 
But sure her Counting house. 

of all that ere I see. 
Is built as like to Poules Church yarde, 

as euer it may bee. 
Now next she leades you too 

her Wardrope of fine cloth. 
Of diuers kindes of colours Syr : 

what, laugh you Syr, of trothe? 
Beleeue mee, when that you 

to Fancies Forte doo go : 
And if you come into her Courte, 

then you shall finde it so. 
The colours of her cloath 

are faire and verie gay : 
White, red, blewe, greene, Cemation, 

Yelow and Popyniay : 
Of blackes, but very few : 

but other colours store 



Of mingled colours, or suche as 

I tolde you of before : 
Now, she that keepes that roume 

is a yonge pleasant Dame, 
And Wantonnesse I trow it be, 

that Fancie calles her name : 
Nowe Wantonnesse againe, 

shee keepes a pretie knaue. 
That euery day deviseth styll, 

newe fashions for to haue. 
He hath a knauish head, 

fine knackes for to inuent, 
Wherof good stoare of cloathe, in haste. 

in fashions may be spent : 
In gardes, in weltes, and iagges, 

in laying cloath upon cloath : 
And this same youth a Tailor is, 

for men and women bothe. 
His name is Fond deuise : 

he came of Apish race : 
A man, for such a mistris meete, 

and fit for such a place : 
But for Dame Fancie fine, 

no garments Syr, he makes : 
But first the view her Chamberlaine 

Curiositie takes : 
And if he like it well, 

then will she stand content : 
If not, his labour all is lost, 

and cost in vaine is spent. 
Now this same Wardrop Syr, 

is likest, in my minde, 
To Watling streete, of any place, 

that euer I could finde. 
Now Syr, from thence you come : 

when you haue seene all there. 
You go into her Gallarie, 

a roome that I dare sweare. 
The like is seldome seene 

for gallant setting out : 
If one should trauaile euerie day, 

almost the world about. 
For choice of Gallant stuffe, 

and fine deuises strainge : 
No place so like, that ere I see, 

as is The high Exchange : 
Such purses, gloues, and pointes, 

of cost and fashion rare. 
Such cutworks, partlets, sutes of lawne, 

bongraces, & such ware : 
Such gorgets, sleeues, and ruffes, 

linings for gownes, and calles, 
Coiffes, crippins. comets, billaments, 

muske boxes & sweet balles, 
Pincases, picktoothes, bearde brushes, 

comes, needels, glasses, belles. 
And manie such like toies as these : 

that Gaine to Fancie sels. 
But yet, of all these toyes, 

not one will Fande boye. 

Except they first be looked on 

by Curiositie : 
But Follie, manie times, 

standes at his elbow so, 
That makes him choose the worse sometime, 

and let the better go : 
Well, there not longe you bide, 

but downe you come againe 
Into the Hall beneath good Syr, 

where longe you not remaine : 
But to the Kitchin streight, 

she forthwith leadeth thee : 
Where, how she dresseth all her meate, 

the order thou shalt see. 
And what kinde cookes she hath, 

and how they make their fyre 
To roast, to seeth, to broile, to bake, 

and what you will desire : 
The roome is narow syr, 

in which a Harth, all bare. 
On which the Cook powers on his coales, 

& kin dels the with care : 
Then layes he to the Spit, 

if any meate be roast : 
And if the fyre be once a flame, 

then it beginnes to toast. 
The meate that most he roastes, 

for Fancies daintie toothe. 
Are Partridges, larkes, plouers greene, 

& such fine foule (for sooth). 
The Coles are made of stickes, 

of stubome youth (God wot) 
Which kindle qmcklie of themselues, 

and blowing needeth not : 
The kinde of woode is Will, 

drie, without Sapience sappe : 
The lobcoke Lust, from thiiftlesse thick, 

both bring the in his lap : 
Which wood with lying still, 

is growne so verie drie. 
That with a Sparke of Sporte, alasse, 

they kindle, by and by. 
The Cooke is Carelesse calde : 

the fowles he roastes, are these : 
For Larks, are looks ; for Plouers, thoughts : 

for Partridge, Practises : 
The Larkes are Lookes : 

which when they line, doe file : 
But beeing stroken dead, they serue 

for Fancie, by and by : 
The Partridge, Practises : 

which, lining, seeme so good. 
That they are put vnto the fyre 

to serue for Fancies foode : 
For as the Partridge keepes 

her selfe close to the grounde, 
Because, by colour of her coate, 

she may not so be founde : 
So Practises, that shift, 

to kcepe themieliiet vnieene. 



Are Foules most fit for Fancies tooth : 

and now, for Plouers greene, 
Greene thoughts, that flie about : 

now here, now there againe : 
But if, by chaunoe, by Cupids dart, 

they hap for to be slaine. 
Then lying but a while, 

at this same flaming fire. 
They make in deede a meate, that most 

fond Fancie doth desire. 
Now hauing seene all this, 

then shall you see, hard by. 
The Pastrie, Mealehouse, and the roome, 

wheras the Coales do ly : 
The Coalehouse is a Caue 

of care and miserie ; 
The Pastrie, is a Place 

of open patcherie : 
The Mealehouse, is a Place, 

vrith set mischiefe fraught, 
For sure, the meale is made of come, 

y^ is much worse then naught. 
The Come is called Rye : 

and diuers kindes there bee 
Of this same Rye : as you your self, 

when you are there shall see. 
For there is one kinde Rye, 

is called Knauerie : 
Another, Flatterie, 

with Tretcherie, and Patcherie : 
An other Tmmperie, 

an other M ockerie, 
And Baudrie too : and yet the best 

is but a kinde of Rye, 
Wherof the Meale is made, 

that maketh Fancies bread : 
And that is baked in the braine, 

of a hot foolysh head : 
The Graine is sowne by sundrie slaues : 

of which one, Beastlinesse, 
The other Secrete sawcinesse : 

another Tra3rterousnesse : 
An other Peeuishnesse, 

and another Wilfulnesse, 
With Lx>wtishnesse, and many moe, 

which I can not expresse : 
And reaped by suche slaues, 

to Fancie, slaues, in deede, 
Which bring the Come into the Bame 

of Beggerie, with speede : 
They now, that thresh the Come 

are two stronge sturdie knaues. 
Who haue great beetles in their hands, 

in steed of thrasshing staues : 
Of whome to tell the names : 

first, Lobcocke, little wit. 
And wayward Wyl : a good tugh knaue : 

he stands, his fellowes sit : 
They with their Beetels in 

their hands, or heades, at least, 

Doo make it readie for the Myll : 

then he that grindes the griest. 
Is Many better sir, 

an arrant craftie knaue : 
Who, with his toulyng, wfVL be sure, 

a good round gaine to haue. 
Now sir, this Myll doth stand, 

vpon an Hyll on hie. 
Whose Sayles are driuen by blastes of winde, 

& so grind merely : 
Now Syr, the Come thus groonde : 

to Fancies Fort, streight way. 
The Myller coms, and in the house, 

there down his Meale doth lay : 
Now Syr, when you haue ben 

in all those Offices, 
And that at Fancies handes, yoa finde 

suche loue and gentlenesse. 
To shewe you all her House : 

but soft, I had forgot 
To speake of her Bedchamber fine, 

which now sir, I wyll not 
Let slippe, for any thing : 

the Roome it selfe is rounde. 
And in the night dooth stand hir Bed, 

with Curtens braudy boQd. 
The Walles hangde all with Hope, 

on thone side verie £aire : 
Vpon the other side againe, 

darke hangings of dispalre. 
Strange pictures by hir Bed : 

on thone side, fittes of greefe. 
On thother side, to euerie pange, 

a present sweete releefe. 
Upon the one side, sweete accorde, 

on thother Dire debate, 
Vpon the one side. Naked loue : 

on thother, Couerd hate. 
On thone side, Prodigies, 

with pleasaunt Dames in ioye, 
On thother side, Chauing Peasoods : 

in greefe and great annoye. 
These diuers contraries, 

with many thousands mo. 
When Fancie gazeth on a whUe, 

she is amazed so, 
That musing so a while, 

she slumbreth at the last. 
And beeing in a slumber so, 

she sleepeth, but not Cast : 
Her Bed is all of Downe, 

whereon she lies so soft. 
As any Ladie in this land : 

and at her Bed a loft. 
Are written in faire hande, 

and easie for to reede ; 
(Although I seeme a louelie dame, 

I lothsome am in deede) 
This solempne sentence. 

Who euer so dooth see* 



And dooth consider the oODtents, 

will neuer like of me. 
Her Bed is thus bedeckte : 

the Curteynes are of Saye, 
Not greene, nor yealow, red nor blew, 

nor white, nor popiniaye : 
No Silke, nor Cruel Saye : 

what then may be the same? 
This Say is calde, saye for thy selfe : 

lo, nowe you know the name. 
Her Couering, Curious cost : 

her Blankets, Louers blisse : 
Her Sheets are Shifts : to shroud her aelfe. 

her quilts, are quidities : 
Her PUlowes, they are Points : 

that Louers leane vpon. 
Her Bolster, is a Beggar's Bagge : 

when coine and goods are gone. 
Her Bed she lyes vpon, 

is a yonge Mellowe braine : 
Where Fancie softlie lyes and sleepes, 

and neuer feeleth paine. 
And of such Beds, she hath 

such stoare of choise (by roode) 
That (if so be) she like not one, 

an other is as good. 
Of which, some are so softe, 

that she dooth like them so. 
That with her lying in them long. 

they more halfe rotten growe : 
And if they be not turned, 

or ere they go to farre. 
In time, both braine. and head, and al 

she wilbe sure to marre. 
Thus shall you see her Bed 

and Chamber, brauely deckte : 
And euery roome within her boose, 

set out in each respect, 
So gallantlie : that as 

I saide, I saye againe. 
You sure will thinke (at first) a while, 

in heauen for to remaine. 
Thus, when that Fancie fine, 

hath led you rounde about 
Her statelie house, in everie roome : 

then shall you see a loute. 
Come with a napkin fine, 

about his body bound. 
Into the chamber, there where first 

Dame Fancie fine you found : 
He comes to laye a cloth, 

▼pon Dame Fancies boorde : 
And then to bringe in all her cates : 

and trust me (at a worde) 
It is so strange a sighte, 

to see her seruM so. 
As I shall neuer see the like, 

where euer so I ga 
Her Table is a Forme, 

that stands without a firame, 


And none but she and her compeeres, 

can sit vpon the same : 
Her Stooles, stande without feete, 

I cannot shew you how, 
Though I haue seene them (credite me) 

I haue forgot them now. 
But jTOu shall see them there, 

if thither you will go. 
Now sir, when you are there, 

and see this order soo. 
Then unto Dinner straight, 

she goeth by and by : 
There shall you see her fine Compeeres. 

that beare her companie. 
First, vpper most she sittes, 

in a great maiestie : 
Then sits there downe by her, a Dame 

called Ladie vanitie. 
Then downe sits her Compeeres, 

FoUie and Frenzie both : 
Such companie, as for to keepe, 

a Wiseman would be lothe. 
Her Waitors at her borde, 

are Curiositie, 
Her Chamberlaine ; and next to him 

stands Carefulnesse hard by : 
The Cooke that drest the meate : 

then Nodcoke naturall. 
Then lacke-an-apes and busie Bee, 

worst manered of them all : 
1 Aus fumisht is this boorde. 

with waitors in such sorte : 
The meates whereof she feedeCh most. 

I neede not make report : 
I spake of them before : 

but for her kinde of drinke, 
No beere, nor ale, nor wine it is : 

and what then doo you thinke? 
It is a drinke composde, 

of drugges of diuers sortes, 
Discourtesie, Disdaine, Dispigh : 

and mingled with Disportes, 
Sappe of faire Semblaunce, 

with secret Simulation. 
With loioe of herbes of hollow hartes, 

and faithfiill protestation : 
These Drugges, with many mo, 

puts Fancie in her drinke : 
Which though they sumwhat please the tast, 

yet make the bosom stinke : 
And workes so in their heads, 

that are not used theretoo. 
That maks them more half mad : for greif , 

they know not what to do. 
Now syr, this is her drinke : 

her meate before you know : 
Her servaunts I haue showne you too, 

that do attend her so. 
Now Syr, when you hane fed, 

of Fandes fere one day : 




I doo beleeue that you will wishc, 

your sdfe, next day away. 
I promise you (of troth) 

I did when I was there : 
And I would not be there agaiae, 

for twentie pound, I sweare. 
And more then wishing too, 

at borde aloude I cride : 
I would I were away, this fare, 

I cannot I abide. 
Which when that Fande sawe, 

she tooke me from the boorde. 
And thrust me out of dores in haste, 

not speaking any worde. 
And flonge me downe the steares, 

wherewith I caught a fall, 
That greened me sore : but yet (me thought) 

I stood cdtent withaL 
The vsher of the Hall. 

he tooke me by and by. 
And out of doores too in like lorte, 

he thrust me presently. 
Then euery lacke-an-apes, 

that rid upon an Asse, 
Was ready for to ride me still, 

as I the Courte did passe. 
The Geese and Ganders hist, 

the Duckes cride quack, at mee : 
Thus euerie one would haue a flyrt, 

ere I could get out free. 
The Porter Daliaunoe, 

he draue me out in haste. 
And thrust me downe so hard the Hill, 

my neck was almost brast 
And vp I rose againe, 

though brus^ verie sore, 
And ment, if once I gat away. 

for to come there no more. 
Well, limping as I coulde, 

I hit the beaten waye, 
Of fooles foote steps : through Forrest back, 

that led me so astraye. 
And back againe I came, 

to Learning's narrow lane : 

And there I hit The tnu:kt of Thith, 

that I should first haue tane. 
That leaues the Forrest quite : 

which when I had bit on, 
I staide awhile, and there my walke 

I gan to thinke vpon : 
And thinking so, I saw 

a Scholler comming by. 
That came from leamM Vertue's Schoole 

and. sighing heaudy, 
I calde him vnto me, 

and tolde him of my wo, 
Of my sore iall, from Fancies Forte. 

and how I caught it so. 
Which when that he had harde, 

he tooke me by the hande. 
And beeing verie weake (in deede) 

scarse able for to stande : 
He led me to a house 

of Wisdome : an olde man. 
His Father (as he saide) he was : 

and there I rested than. 
This Jentle youth, if I 

do not forget the same. 
Is Honest Reason : ao I thinke, 

his Father cald his name. 
Where, beyng but a while, 

my tale I gan to tell 
To hym, of this my gentle walke : 

wherat he laug^^ well. 
And laughing so (quoth he) 

go. Youth, here take a booke, 
And write now, for remSbrance thine, 

y' when thou chance to looke 
Upon the same againe, 

then thou mayst take heede styll. 
Of leauyng Wisdome's narrow Lane. 

and follow wanton wyll : 
Loe, thus at his commaund, 

I wrote it by and by : 
And this it was, beleeue me now, 

or els (at least) I lye. 




In Difpight of Fancie, 

AH, feeble Fancie, now 
thy force is nothing worth : 
Thou hadst me in thy Castel once, 

but now I am got forth : 
Thou barst a gallant. flagge 

of lustie brauerie. 
But I haue seene y* all thy shoiwe, 
is but meere knaucrie. 

Thy Fethers flaunt a flaunte, 

are blowne awaie with winde. 
And Falshood is the trustie Troth, 

that one in thee shall finde. 
Thy valure is but vauntes, 

thy weapons are but wordes : 
Thou vsest Shales, in steede of Shot, 

and signes in steede [oQ swords. 



Thy Forte is of no force, 

each foole male scale the same, 
And thou thy selfe art bat a flirt, 

and not a noble Dame, 
As some doo thee accompt : 

I know thee too too well. 
And none but Dawes & Doltes, within 

thy foolish Forte do dwelL 
Thy Castell is, in deede, 

a Caue of miserie, 
A place in short space for to bring 

a man to beggerie. 
Thy Forte defended is, 

by Duckes and gardes of Geese, 
By lacke an Apes, Asses too, 

and such gallants as these. 
Thy deepe delight is all 

in foolish trifling toyes : 
Thou makest a man in things of nought, 

to set his cheefest ioyes. 
Thy Schoole maie well be caUed, 

the Schoole of littdl skill. 
Thy Schoolers most are wajrwarde wits, 

that follow wanton wil : 
Thy Lessons lothsome are, 

thy selfe a Mistris too^ 
Of naught but Mischeefe, which thou 

doost make thy Schollers doa 
Thy Pleasure breeds Man's paine^ 

thy Game doth tume to Greefe : 
Thou woorkest many Deadly woe, 

but few doost lend rdeefe. 
Thou makest a man to gaine 

Dishonor and Defieune, 
Thou makst him thinke a Stinking Shit 

to bee a Gallant dame. 
Thou malces him Piang on hope^ 

and drowne in Deepe dispaire : 
Thou makest him, like a monOk to build 

High Castels in the aire. 
Thou malcest him thinke Black White, 

& when that all is known. 
Thou makest him Like an Asse^ to se 

a fooles head of his owne. 
Thou art The cause of care, 

but comfort very small. 
And so, what euer is amisse, 

thou art the cause of all : 
My selfe haue seene all this 

that I report, and more : 
Thou madest me thinke yt did mee good, 

that greeuM me ful sore. 
But long I was so blinde, 

thou so hadst dimd my sight, 
That I could neuer see the craft 

of this thy deepe dispight : 
Tm I out of thy Forte, 

was clerdy got away. 
And came to Graue aduises house, 

where now I hope to stay. 

Where when I was arriued, 

by helpe of a deere frende : 
Trew reason : one with whom I meane, 
, to keepe till life do ende. 
Now when that I came there, 

he did declare to me. 
What ment that foolish Forte of thine, 

and all that I did se : 
Whfch When I well had markt, 

I did not all repent 
My labour in my Journey so, 

although my cost I spent 
Because thy nature so, 

and deeds I did discrie : 
Which deeds of thine, I doo detest, 

and thee I doo defie. 
And now unto the worlde, 

in deepe despight of thee, 
I shew what a vaine flirte thou art, 

that euery man may see. 
I haue set out thy Forte, 

thy Force, and eke thy Schoole : 
Thy Vshers too, that teach therein, 

a mad man and a foole : 
•Thy lothsom lessons to6, 

and how, by great good happe, 
I am got out, although kxig first, 

out of thy lothaome kppe. 
What shall I £Eirtber say. 

I haue set out, in kintde : 
Eche peeuish poynt I know in thee, 

for euery man to finde. 
Therefore, let fall thy flagge, 

and all thy brauerie ; 
I haue at large, I thinke, set out 

thy suttiU slauerie : 
And that, in sudi a sort, 

as who so lust to reade. 
My whole discourse of thy diapigfat, 

will leame for to take heede. 
Of all thy gallant abowe, 

they know now what it is : 
Thou long hast lined mknowen, alas, 

but now descride, I wis. 
And for my sdfe, thy Forte 

I know so well, I swearfe^ 
That I doo meane to keepe mee thetiee, 

and neuer to come there : 
But if I doo k)ofce vp, 

and follow thee againe : 
Then keepe mee fast within the Forte, 

and plague me for my paine. 
But trust me, I meane it not : 

with Reason here, my finend, 
I meane to lyue in thy dispight, 

and so I make an ende. 
And yet before I make 

a flat ende, ere I go, 
I wyll discharge my stomacfae quite, 

and bjd thee fiueweU to. 




A Foolcj 

Dame Fancies man, 

speaketh in Defence of his Mistresse, Fancie, 

WHAT roeanes that mad man, tro, 
that railes on Fande so ? 
That aedces to do her such dispight, 

& sweres hunself her fo : 
The man mistakes himselfe, 

it is not Fancie, sure, 
Thai for to Col into such rage, 
. doth him so much procure. 
Why, Fancie, is a frende. 

to enery curteous Knight : 
Why, Fancie, is the chiefest thing, 

that doth the minde ddight. 
Why, Fande, was the cause, 

that wunders first were founde : 
Of many fine deuices strange, 

first, Fande was the ground : 
Why, Fande is the thing, 

that mooueth men to lone. 
And telles the Louers what to doo. 

as best for their behooue : 
Fande, findes pretie toyes, 

to please eadi Courtly Dame : 
Fancie, to passe the time in sporte, 

inuented many a game. 
To Courtiers many a one, 

a good firende Fande standcs : 
She makes them reap good lyldng. at 

thdr louing Ladies' hands : 
She made the Poets olde, 

deuices to endight, - 
Which they in wrightyng, left behind, 

for other men's delight. 
She seeketh ynto none, 

but many seeke to her : 
And those who are her senraunts styll, 

she seeketh to preferre 
To high degree in time : 

and that in Court (perchaunce) 
She hdpeth them, and many wayes, 

doth seeke them to adnumoe. 

Now some (perhaps) againe, 

that are of grosest wit. 
And, by their dispositions. 

For FoUye Schollers fit : 
Those now (perhaps) in deede, 

she letteth all alone. 
With FoUie, ondy, to rewaide, 

and them regardeth none. 
But those that are againe, 

of quicke capadtie. 
Who can consider Vertue wise, 

firom foolysh Vanytie : 
Suche men she chieflie loues, 

and suche, atthougfa they know her, 
ShaU*haiie smal cause, in tract of time, 

in deed, for to beshrow her. 
I may not speake too mnche, 

for lampartiall. 
Bat what I hane said is true, 

for I have tried aU. 
And therfore, sure the man, 

that rayleth on her so, 
Hath done her wrong, without hist cause, 

to stand so mudi her fo. 
Faire wordes are euer best, 

backbiting is too bad. 
And therfore, I doo thinke the man, 

is dther dronke or mad. 
That sedces her suche de^right, 

so much without desarte : 
And, by her countenance, it seemes. 

it greeues her to the hart 
To be so muche abusde : but wot 

you what, no remedie : 
A wicked tongue doth say amisse, 

and win do tyll I die. 




The Lamentacion of Fancie. 

ALAS, poore seelie wretche, 
now maiste thou weepe and wayle : 
For now, thy Forte is of no force, 

thoa canst no more preoayle. 
Fande, let fall thy flagge, 

thy brauerie is descride, 
Thy shifts are seene, wherwith thou thonghtst, 

thy selfe from sight to hide. 
The man is got away, 

whom late I entertainde : 
And loe, by him I am deCeunde, 

and all my state is staind : 
Why did I not him feede, 

with some more sweete repaste ? 
Why dyd I not deuise to dreiae, 

some toy, to please his taste ? 
I put into his drinke, 

too much Drugges of despight : 
Thou mougfatst allayd the bittemes, 

with drams of sweet delight 
Why didst thou, in a rage, 

fim fling him from thy lap. 
And leaue to feede him any more, 

with Worldly pleasures pap ? 
Why did I, in my rage, 

not speakyng any worde. 
Take him so roughly at the first, 

and set him from my boorde ? 
And thrust him out of Doores, 

in such a scomlull wise : 
Thou hadst ben better let him dinde 

and let himself to rise. 
Why didst thou throw him downe 

the Steares in such a sorte ? 
That he of thy discurtesie 

may iustly make report : 
And beeing falne downe so, 

why didst thou, Vaine delight. 
Thrust him out of doores 

by force, in such dispight? 
You. Jacke an Apeses too, 

why caught you at him so? 
To ride him like an Asse, as he 

along the Courte did go ? 
Why did you hisse, you geese? 

and Duckes, why cride you quacke. 
To raile on him ? why did you not 

more gently let him packe? 
Why didst thou, Daliaunoe, 

so thrust him out of doore ? 
That made him catch so great a fall 

and bruze himself so sore. 

Alas, what blame I you ? 

my selfe I ought to blame : 
For. if I had forbidden it, 

you had not done the same : 
Coulde none of all my Flowers. 

so fiure and sweete of smell. 
Cause him to haue desire, againe 

within my Forte to dwell ? 
Coulde not my Bedchamber, 

with all my Pictures frUre, 
Make him yet ere he die againe, 

thither to make repaire ? 
Alasse, I feare he sawe 
' the words at my Beds head : 
And, out of doubt, I feare in deede, 

that sentence he hath read : 
And that hath caused him 

to lothe my Bed and me : 
But could not all the other sights, 

that in the Chamber he 
Did see, to mooue delight, 

make him forget the same? 
Oh no, well Fancie, yet 

seeke none at all to blame. 
But euon thy onely selfe, 

who tookste so small rogarde 
Vnto a Stranger in such sorte, 

and handle him so harde. 
Well, since that he is gone, 

and that I am discride ; 
And that from him my shiftes, alasse, 

I can no longer hide : 
I must a warning take, 

the next that come againe 
Vnto my Forte, for seruice mine, 

better to entertaine. 
And though he thus be gone, 

I doubt not but there be. 
Some youthes abroade yet in the worlde, 

y^ wil come seeke out me : 
But all that I can euer 

haue, to ease my paine, 
Will neuer doe me halfe that good 

as to see him againe : 
Which if I euer haue. 

I now not sorrow so. 
But I shall then reioyoe asmocb, 

and ridde me of my wo. 
Untill which time, aksse, 

I languish still in paine, 
And so shall doo, vntill I see, 

my gentle youth againe. 




To Fancie, 

FONDE Fancie. now farewell, 
thy Lodging likes me not : 
I serued thee long, full like a slaue, 

yet little gaines I got. 
Yet though I say my selfe, 

no slaue that euer seni'de 
Of any Mistris in this world, 

haue more rewarde deseru'd. 
But he that bindes himselfe 

apprentise to a Patch, 
At seauen yeares ende, will this be sure, 

to gain sum foolish catch. 
So Nodcoke I, that longe 

haue serued thee like a slaue ; 
For my rewarde, by dew desart, 

Repentaunce gainM haue. 
Thou never badst me go, 

but I would runne with spetde : 
If thou didst bid me stale againe, 

two biddings should not neede. 
When I had better runne, 

when thou didst bid me staie> 
And better staide then goe on foote, 

to breede mine owne decaye. 
When thou didst bid me looke, 

I readie was to marke. 
And would not loose the thing so soone, 

no, not in greatest darke. 
When better I had beene, 

for to have shut mine eye,- 
Then for to cast mine eye on that, 

should worke me woe thereby. 
When thou didst bid me like, 

I loouM, by and by : 
When thou againe badst me mislike, 

I hated contrarie. ' 
What shall I further say, 

thou nothing badst me doe. 
But I was willing, by and by, 

for to agree thereto. 
But what, for all my paines 

banc I now reapt in fine. 

A goodly gaine, Repentaunce sore, 

of such great follie mine c 
When thou didst bid me go, 

my running made me fall : 
When thou didst bid me stay againe, 

twas for no good at all. 
Thou madste me atudie ofte, 

but what ? — fonde trifling toyes : 
The Arte of Loue, and of the cause 

of louers greefes and ioyes. 
Thou madste me think, long while, 

that louers greefe was game, 
And that no ioye could be compard, 

vnto a gallant Dame. 
Thou madst me thinke long time, 

no pleasure like to that. 
With Curtisans. in their kinde, 

to doe, I say not what. 
Thou madste me halfe amaide, 

sometime, with fi:antick fits. 
And, now and then with thoughts of loue 

almost out of my wits. 
Thou maadst me take delight, 

in Lodge of Loue to dwdl : 
And for to coumpt that thing a heauen, 

which rather was a helL 
Thou maadst me thinke that Loue 

did purchase heauenly Joy : - 
Which now I see did purchase paine, 

& wrought naught but annoy. 
Thou maadst me take delight 

to iet in braue attire : 
Which now 1 finde was more, indeede, 

than reason did require. 
In Fethers flaunt a flaunt, 

and tossing in the winde. 
Thou maadst me take delight, which now 

a folly great I finde. 
Thou maadst me take delight 

in singularitie, 
In Tailors worke to haue a tricke, 

that none should hane but I. 



Thou maadst me coumpt a praise, 

some liEishion to deuise» 
Wherewith I sought in wisemens sight, 

my selfe for to disguise. 
Thou maadst me spend my time, 

in vaine and foolish toyes, 
And euer didst withdraw my minde, 

from seeking perfect ioyes. 
Thou maadst me thinke it was 

a heauen. For to go gaye, 
But neuer badst me looke in time, 

how long it would hould way. 
In fine, as long as I 

was SchoUer at thy Schoole : 
For all the learning that I got, 

I proou'd my selfe a foole. 
Thou didst withdraw my minde 

from Perfect pietie, 

And maadst me cheefely to delight 

in worldly vanitie. 
But now, since that I see, 

that it hath pleasM God, 
To plague me well for my desarts, 

with smart of mine owne rod : 
And giue me grace to finde, 

what greefes by thee doe grow, 
And that, although vnto my cost, 

thy nature naught I know. 
What gaines by thee are got, 

what pinching penurie, 
What greef of minde, what plague of purse, 

what wretched misery : 
I now forsake thee quite, 

and neuer meane to dwell, 
Neere thee, by fifteene thousand mile : 

and so, Fancie farewell. 


The Toyes of an Idle head: 

verye pleasaunte and delectable, to passe away idle 

time withall. 

U A pretty Dittie in despight of Fantasie. 


% Since Fantasye fynt mooued mee. 
To rime thus ruddy, as jrou see : 
A prety Dittye of Despight, 
Gaynste Fantasy, first will I write. 

NOW, by my troth, I camiot chuse but smile. 
To see the foolish fittes of Fantasie : 
With what deodts she dooth the mind begufle. 
As pleaseth best her great inoonstande. 
As well the wisest as the foolish man. 
She troubleth, I tdl you. now and than. 

And no denyall : if she lyketh once. 
It must be bad, what euer so it bee : 
And eadi day new Deuices for the nonce, 
Ondy to please Mistresse fonde Fantasye. 

For she can neuer like one thing two dayes. 

Though it deserue neuer so great a praise. 

This thing to day, to morrow that againe. 
And yet the next day ndther of them bothe : 
That now she likes, anon she will disdaine, 
And whom she lou6d, seemeth now to loath. 
Thus chopping still, and chaunging euery day. 
With vaine delights, she leades the minde away. 

She makes the Looer thinke his Lady &yre. 
Although she be as foule as foule may bee : 
Shee makes hhn eke, build Castles in the ayre. 
And very &rre in Milstones for to see. 

And in the ende, I thinke if all were knowne. 

Shee makes him see, a Fooles head of his owne. 

Shee makes my Lady so much to esteeme 
Of her greene pratling Parratte in the Cage : 
This makes hear eke her little Page to deeme. 
The finest Boye in England, of his age : 

This makes her set more by her tame white Deare. 

Then some would doo by twenty pounds a yeare. 

And who can choose but laugh, to thinke vpon 

Such frowarde fittes of foolish fisntasie ? 

And how, alas, the minde is woe-begon. 

If that it hath not each thing, by and by. 
That she desires, whateuer so it be : 
Cost life or death, it must be had, we see. 

Shee feedes the minde of man with many a t03re. 

Shee makes himsdfe to seeke his owne decay ; 

In thinges of nought, she makes him set his ioye. 

And firom all Vertue leades him quite away. 
And shee it is, that vaindy caiisM me. 
Against her sdfe to rime thus, as you see. 




A dolorous Discourse j 

of one that was bewitched with loue. 


^ Since that the passing panges of looae, 
Which many Loouers ofte doo prooue : 
I fynde the cause, from time to time, 
That made men shew their mindes in rime. 
I doo intend, in verses few 
A dolorous discourse to shew, 
Of one that was bewitcht in looue : 
What passing pangues he ofte did prooue. 
In which, God wot, the more his polne, 
Euen till his death he did remaine. 

IF I had skill to frame a cunning Vearse 
Wherein I mought my loathsome life lament, 
Or able were in rimes for to rehearse 
The gryping greefes, that now my heart haue hent : 
Such priuie panges of looue I could descrie. 
As neuer any Louer felt but I. 

Some say they freeze, they flame, they flie alofte. 
And yet they fall, they hope, and yet they feare : 
The feeld once wonne, yet ielousie full ofte 
With vile suspect, theyr yrkesome hearts dooth teare. 
They line and lacke, they lack, and yet they haue, 
And hauing, yet they lack the thing they craue. 

They bide in blisse. amid their weary bale. 
With heauie hearts, they show a smiling fooe : 
In figures thus, they tell a moumefiill tale. 
And set their sorrow out with such a grace, 
That who so reades the same, and markes it well, 
Would thinke a Loner's torments worse then HelL 

Then thinke you, what vyle torments doo I feele. 
When all these pangues are but Flea-bytes to mine : 
I neuer came to top of Fortune's wheele, 
But vnnemeath, in dolours still doo pine : 
I neuer flew, whereby to haue a faU, 
Yet stoope I ofte, although my gate be small. 

Am I not then in case much worse then they 

That flye sometimes, although they fall as fast? 

Oh yes. my case let any Louer way. 

And they shall see, I neuer yet did taste 
One sugred ioye that they haue swallowed ofte, 
That flye and fall, although they fall not softe. 

For they that flie, although they catch a ftdl, 
Yet while they flie, the time so ioyfull is : 
The harme they take by fSalling is but small, 
For when mto themsdues tbey thinke on this, 


What a fyne flight, but euen ere while they had : 
For ioye thereof, they cannot long be sad. 

But Fortune neuer yet so fiuioured mee. 
To lend me winges to take on little flight, 
Whereby the harme by Calling I mought see, 
Or yet in flying fynde the deepe delight. 
I cannot call to minde one ioyefiill day. 
Which, for a time, my sorrowes may allay. 

But lye along all weryed with this woe. 
And know not how to prooue to make a flight : 
With chilling colde, my ioyntes are froxen so, 
That when I striue but euen to stande vpright, 
I feele my feebled limbes to fifunt so fast, 
That staggering still, downe flat I fall at last. 

My harte it selfe, is bitten so with frost. 
That all my senoes now are waxed nome : 
My tongue his taste of pleasaunt ioyes hath lost. 
My minde with cruell care is ouercome : 
My dazeled eyes are waxed dinune with teares, 
Which shew the state wherem my life it weares. 

Mine eares waxe deafe, no pleasaunt tunes they beftre. 
That may reuiue with dole, my dulled braine : 
Where I was wonte with Musicke for to cheare 
My heauy heart, now seeroes a deadly paine. 
For each sweete note I heere men play or sing. 
Thorough mine eare, like thunder dappes, dooth ring. 

But thus to liue, oh what a lyfe is this? 
To liue (alas) my sences all bestraught : 
Though straunge it seeme, yet trust me true it is, 
Such chilling cold my sences all hath caught. 
That I can neither heare, nor feele, nor see, 
Nor smell, nor taste, and yet aliue must bee. 

And shall I tell how fyrst I caught this coMe? 
By looking long vpon thy louely iaxx : 
For when I did thy heauenly hew behold. 
And markt therewith thy braue and comly grace : 

Good Lord, thought I, what worthy wight is this? 

Some heauenly Dame, then Venus sure it is. 

Venus, quoth I ? with that I winckte for feare. 
And shut the windowes of my seeing shoppe : 
For greefe whereof my heart did swelte, I sweare : 
Then gan I striue against the hill to hoppe. 
With gasing eyes to stare on thee againe. 
Whose only lookes haue wrought me all this paine. 




Bat when I heard a name to thee assignde, 
And sawe thou werte an earthly Creature ; 
Then gan I thus imagine, in my minde, 
Which waye mought I this LAdyes Loue procure, 
To me poore Page, that thus sore wounded lye 
At i>oint of death : yet dying cannot die. 

But when I sawe mine owne vnworthinesse, 
And could not call to minde a due desarte : 
Whereon I mought presume, in this distresse. 
To craue of thee some salue for this my smarte : 
With greefe thereof, I caught this chilling oolde, 
Which, quaking yet, my quiuering corps dooth holde. 

Yet lookte I, loe, and stared still on thee. 
Thinking thereby to finde some ease of paine : 
But straight, me thought, I sawe thee looke awrye, 
As who should say, thou didst my lookes disdaine. 
Which lowryng looke droue me into this fytte. 
Which God he knowes, how it torments me yet. 

But yet I must confesse at fyrst, deare dame, 
lliat whot desyre my greefe hath caused so : 
But, by and by, my fierce and fierie flame. 
Was quicklye quenchte with wanes of wearie wo : 
In which wet wanes. I too and fro am tost, 
Seeking in vaine, to finde some quiet cost. 

Now (noble Dame) since that thou seest plaine, 
How fyrst I caught this greefe that gripes my harte. 
And makes me thus to pine in pangues of paine : 
Since that in thee it lyes to ease my smarte. 
And only thee : (deare Dame) doe not denye 
To helpe me now, for if thou doest, I dye. 

But thinke vpon my bitter passion. 
And eke the passing pangues wherein I pyne : 
And bow fast bound, without redemption, 
I lynger foorth this loathsome lyfe of mine : 
And how thou mayest with speede, if thee it please. 
Both set me free, and cure my straunge 

Which if thou wilte, I know for certajrnty 

Thou canst not choose, but lend me some releefe : 

Thou wilt, beholding my calamity. 

Lend some one graine of comfort to my greefe : 
Which when thou doest, for a Phisitions fee, 
A noble name thy greatest gayne shall bee. 

And so, deare Dame, when thou doest thinke vpon 
The lothsome lyues that Louers oft rehearse : 
Among the rest, let this of mine be one. 
Which here to thee dooth shewe itselfe in vearse : 
Then shalt thou^see how farre my passyon, 
In pangues of loue, hath paste them euery one. 

^ A Gentleman being on a Christmas Eue 
in a very sollitary place, among veiy 
solemn Company : where was but small 
cheare, lesse myrth and least musicke : 

beeing very earnestly entreated to sing a 
Christmas Caroll, with much adoe sung 
as folio weth. 

Now Christmas draweth near, & most mC make good 

With heigh how, care away : 
I lyke a siely mome, in drowsy dumpes at home, 

WiU naught but £ast and pray. 

Some syng and daunce for lyfe, some Carde and Dyce 
as ryfe, 

Some vse olde Christmas Games : 
But I, oh wretched wight. In dole both day and night 

Must dwell : the world so frames. 

In Court, what pretty toyes, what fyne and pleasaunt 
To passe the tyme away : 
In oountrey nought but care, sower Cheese curdes, 
chiefest fare, 
For Wyne, a Bole of Whay. 

For euery daintie dish, of Flesh or else of Fish, 

And for your Drinke in Courte : 
A dish of young fiyed Froogges, Sodde houghes of 
mezled Hogges. 

A cuppe of small Tap worte. 

And for ech Courtly sight, ech shew that may delight 

The eye, or else the minde : 
In Countrey Thomes and brakes, and many miery lakes. 

Is all the good you finde. 

And for fine Enterics, Halles, Chambers. Galleryes, 

And Lodginges many moe : 
Here desert Wooddes or plaines, where no delight 

To walke in too and froe. 

In Court, for to be shorte, for euery prety sporte, 

That may the heart delight : 
In Countrey many a greefe, and small or no releefe, 

To ayde the wounded wight 

And in this Desarte place, I, Wretch, in wofull case, 

This merry Christmasse time : 
Content my selfe, perforce, to rest my carefull corse : 

And so I end my rime. 

^ In the latter end of Christmas, the same 
Gentleman was likewise desired to sing ; 
and although against his will, was con- 
tent to singe as followeth« 

The Christmas now is past, and I haue kept my fast. 

With prayer euery day : 
And like a Country Clowne, with nodding vp and 

Haue past the time away. 



As for old Christinas Games, or daimsing with fine 

Or shewes, or prety playes : 
A solemne oath I sweare, I came not where they were, 

Not all these holy dayes. 

I did not sing one noate, except it were by roate, 

Still buzing like a Bee : 
To ease my heauy harte, of some, though little smarte. 

For want of other glee. 

And as for pleasaunt Wine, there was no diinke so fine. 

For to be tasted heere : 
Full simple was my fare, if that I should compare. 

The same to Christmas cheere. 

I sawe no kinde of sight, that might my minde delight, 

Beleeue me, noble Dame : 
But euery thing I saw, did freat at wo my maw, 

To thinke vpon the same. 

Upon some bushy balke, full faine I was to walke 

In Wooddes, from tree to tree, 
For wante of better roome : but since my latall doome. 

Hath so appointed mee : 

I stoode therewith content, till Christmas lull was spente, 

In hope that God will sende 
A better yet next yeare, my heauie heart to cheare : 

And so I make an ende. 

^ The same man beeing in very great dumpes 
the same time, beeing likewise intreated 
to write some dolefull Dittie df his owne 
inuention wrote as followeth. 

What griping greefes, what pinching pangues of payne ? 

What deadly dinte, of deepe and darke annoye? 

What plague? what wo. dooth in this world remaine? 

What Hellish happe ? what wante of worldly ioye? 
But that (oh Caytife) I do dayly bide. 
Yea. and that more then all Uie world beside. 

If euer man had cause to wish for death, 
To cut atwo this lucklesse lyne of life : 

Why striue not I, with speede to stoppe my breath? 

Since cruell care, not like a earning knife. 
But like a Sawe, still hackling to and hot. 
Thus gnawes my heart, with gripes of weaxy woe. 

What, doo you thinke I iest, or that I fiune? 
Or, Louer-like, my life I doo lament? 
Or that my fyttes are fiancies of the braine» 
Which wauer still, and neuer stande content? 

Or that my sighes are nought but signes of skxuh ? 

Oh, thinke not so, beleeue me, on my troath. 

This I protest before my God on hie, 

If that I could my doloures well declare : 

I thinke I shotild such priuie pangues descrie 

Of sorrowes smarte, as surely seldome are 
Scene nowadayes : I thinke, especially : 
Yea, scene or felte, of such a Youth as I. 

But some perhaps will aske, what is my woe? 

What is the thing that makes me so to moume? 

And why I walke so solemne too and froe? 

I aunswer thus : such fyry flames dooth bume 
Bothe day and night, within my boyling brest. 
That, God he knowes, I take but little rest 

But shall I tell how fyrst this flame arose ? 

And how these Coles were kindled at the furst ? 

I may not so my dolloures deepe disclose : 

For credit me, I wotild faine, if I divst : 
But since, alas, I may not as I would. 
Let this suflice, I wotild faine, if I could. 

What if I could? nay, durst : what did I say? 

For if I durst, I know full well I could : 

What could I doe? no whit more then I may : 

I know that too : but yet, if that I would, 
I could doe much more then I meane to doe, 
As thus advisde : but whether doo I goe ? 

What neede so many words, so much a doe? 
To blaze the broyles that I doe dayly byde : 
Or else to tell of tormentes too and fro. 
Wherewith I am beset on euery syde : 

These few wordes mought haue serued the toume, I 
trowc : 

Ten thousand plagues, bat pleasures none I knowe. 

% A pretty gyrd, giuen by a Gentlewoman to her servaiint, 
whereupon these Verses were made as followeth. 

^ Farewell Youth, to your vntruth. 

When as thou badst farewell to myne Tntmeth, 
I hope thou spakest it but in iest, deaie Dame : 

Or else, for that you thought that euery youth, 
Most commonly is touched with the same : 

Such youthes there are, I must confesse, in deede. 

As with vntrueth their Ladies fancies feede. 



Bat what of that : tush, I am none of those, 
Though youthly yeares, I cannot well denie : 
For rather lyfe then tmeth, I chuse to lose : 
By trueth, I meane my true fidelitle : 
Which who so breakes, to him, as to a jrouth, 
Thou mayest well say : fiurewell to thine yntrueth. 

But yet, good Lady, say not so to mee, 
Till thou dooest see. my trueth by fslshood staynd : 
Which when thou seest, then iustly spit at mee, 
As at a slaue, whose trueth is all but foynd : 
But till that time, say not to mine yntrueth 
Farewell againe, but onely to my jrouth. 

For all vntruethes I vtterly denye, 
And to my trusty trueth, I stoutly stand : 
And who so list against the same replye. 
Gainst him with speede, I goe, vrith swofde in hande 
Into the Feeld, the same for to defend : 
For loe, in this my credit dooth depend. 

And though (perhaps) most commonly, each youth 
Is giuen in deede, to follow euery gaye : 
And some of these are touched with vntruth, 
Yet some there be, that take a better waye : 
And stande vpon their trueth and honesty, 
More then vppon their foolish brauerie. 

Which two I count to be the cheefest poinctes 
That ech man ought to builde his life vpon : 
And these holde I my cheefe and strongest Joynctes : 
For what were I, when these two poinctes are gone? 
Wherefore, deare Dame, as I begon I end : 
My Youth I graunt, and trueth I still defend. 

^ It chaunced not long after, that this 
Gentleman happened to be in the com- 
pany of his very friend, which at Dyce 
lost much money : and after his losse, 
entreated him to write some despightfiill 
Ditty, to diswade him from Cards and 
Dice: which with much intreaty he 
graunted, & wrote as foUoweth. 

My freend, I saye, if thou be wise. 
Use not to much the Cardes and Dyce : 
Least, setting all at sincke and syce. 

Doe make thee know the cost : 
Twill make thee weare a thinne light purse. 
Twill make thee sweare, and ban, and curae : 
Twill make thee doo all this and worse. 

When once thy Coyne is lost. 

Therefore, take heede in time, I say : 
For time at Dice runnes fast away, 
No time worse spent then at dyce-play, 
I put thee out of doubt : 

And say not, but it was thee tolde : 
The nearer that thy purse is polde. 
The more still friendship waxeth oolde. 
Yea, all the worlde throughout. 

And then, when once thy coyne is gone. 
And friends to helpe thee thou hast none. 
Nor house nor Land to live vpon : 

Oh then, what wilt thou say? 
Well, once I might haue taken heede, 
I had a trusty freend in deede, 
That tould me true how I should speede. 

If I did hold this way. 

For who continues in this vaine 

Of setting still, bothe bye and mayne. 

But in the ende he shaU be &ine 

To leaue it, will or nill : 
And doe the thing that dooth despight 
Most men, though some it dooth delight. 
To them that play to holde the light, 

FuU ill against their wilL 

Leaue therefore (friend) while thou art well. 
And marke the woordes that I thee tell : 
If once thy lande thou fall to sell. 

Thy credit will impaire : 
And care not thou, though Gamsters say, — 
(These Gamsters, Roysters call I may) 
What, Dastard, darest thou not play? 

Howe, reach this man a Chaire. 

Well, if he bring it, sit thee downe. 

Or else go out into the towne : 

If not, then walke thee vp and downe. 

And beare a time his scoffe : 
And thou shalt see within a while. 
How thou mayest finely at him smile : 
When he would gladly wish a file. 

To file his yrons off. 

For commonly, such knaues as these 
Doe ende their lyves vpon three trees : 
Or lye in Prison for theyr fees. 

For all their bragging out : 
And though one yeare they goe full gaye. 
And euery day play lusty play : 
Yet with a Rope they make a fiaye. 

Ere seuen yeare goe about 

And therefore, say they what they list. 
Take thou still heede of, had I wist : 
And vse not too too much thy fist. 

To shaking of the Dice : 
For fyrst, thy gaine will be but small. 
The credit lesse, thou gettest with all : 
Thy estimation least of all. 

Though deare thou buy the price. 

Good Lorde, was not that man halfe madde, 
That once a prety lyuing had : 
And would not rest, but out mutt gadde. 
To Cardes and Dyoe in batte : 



And vsed tbem so histily. 
Setting, and throwing carelesly : 
Till in shorte space, fiill foolishly, 
He spent euen all, at laste. 

Euen so wilt thou, I promise thee, 
If thou doe not giue eare to me. 
And leaue thy trouling of a Dye, 

And that with speede, my firiend : 
For they that vse so lustily 
The Gardes and Dyoe, most commonly 
Are eyther brought to beggery. 

Or hang else in the ende. 

And now, farewell 1 since that I may. 
As now, no longer with thee stay : 
My counsaile, therefore, beare away, 

And leaue that vaine delight. 
That now thou hast in Gardes and Dyce : 
And leame betimes for to be wise : 
Once well wamde, is as good as twise : 

And so, my fireend, good night. 

An Other Dittie, after that, made by the same 
man (after a sorte) in defence of Gardes 
and Dice, as followeth. 

To play at Dice is but good sporte, 

So it be vsed in good sorte : 

But who delights in Gardes and Dyse, 

In deede, I cannot count him wise : 

For he that playes, till all be gone, 

With Robin Hoode and little John, 

May trace the Wooddes : for wise men say, 

Keepe somewhat till a rayny day. 

But will you, therefore, generaUy 
Disprayse the Dyce so spightfiilly? 
What thing so good, that now is vsde. 
But by a foole may be abusde ? 
I speake not this vnto that ende. 
That you should thinke I would defend 
Dyce playing vniversallye. 
But onely used moderately. 

For who so long dooth vse the Dyce 
Till he thereof hath knowen the price : 
I meane, till almost all be gone : 
Then marke this, straight way, such a one, 
Beginnes to leame to cogge a pace : 
Whereby he dooth so much disgrace 
The Gardes and Dyce, that men doo fieare 
To play, for Goggers euery where. 

But if that Goggers all were barde, 
And cleanly cutters of a Garde, 
And euery Gamster would play square : 
Then some men would hope wdl to &re. 

And then would few so much despise, 
As now they doe. both Gardes and Dyse : 
For neytber Gardes nor Dice be naught, 
If men would vse them as they ought. 

For how can Gardes or Dice hurt those. 
That care not whether they win or lose? — 
But who doe so? such men these are 
As play no more then they may spare : 
And when they come to any Game, 
They make a pastime of the same ; 
But hab or nab, speede well who may, 
And merrily so vrill spend the day. 

And what is lost too, fiu«well it, 

Neuer chafe nor freate a whit 

And they that vse play in this sorte, 

With Gardes and Dyce make preaty Sporte. 

Then, therefore, since both Gardes and Dyce 

Be good for some men, as I say : 

Who dooth abuse them, is not wise, 

Nor worthy, in my minde to play. 

Therefore, as I b^one, I ende, 

Moderate play I doe defend. 

If An Other time, not long after, he chaunced 
to be in his friends and betters house : 
being in his bed about midnight, by 
chaunce awake, heard in the next cham- 
ber a Page of the Ladyes of the house, 
lamenting, as he laye in his bed, very 
sore his vnhappie estate : which as he 
could well beare away in the morning, 
put it in verse only for his owne read- 
ing, to laugh at : but being by his friend 
intreated, put it, as you see, among his 
Toyes (as one not the least), which was 
as followeth. 

That I would not perswaded be, 

in my yong rechlesse youth : 
By pUdne experience I see, 
that now it prooueth truth : 
It is Toms song, my Ladyes Pige, 
That seruice is no heritage. 

I hard him sing this other night, 

as he lay all alone : 
Was never Boie in such a plight, 
where should he make his mone? 
Oh Lord, quoth he, to be a Pige, 
This seruioe is none heritage. 



Mine Uncle told me tother day, 
that I must take great paine : 
And I must cast all sloath away, 
if I seeke ought to gaine : 
For stu%, quoth he, a painefiill Pige 
Will make seruice an heritage* 

Yea sure, a great commoditie, 

if once Madame he doe displease : 
A cuffe on the eare, tvro or three 
he shall haue, sroally for his ease. 
I would, for me he were a Page, 
For to possesse his heritage. 

I nibbe and brush almost all day, 

I make cleane many a coate : 
I seeke all honest meanes I may, 
how to come by a groate : 
I thinke I am a painefoll Page, 
Yet I can make no heritage. 

Why? I to get haue much a doe 

a Kirtle now and than : 
For making cleane of many a Shooe, 
for Ales, or Mistresse Anne. 
My Ladies Maides will wipe the Pftge, 
Alwayes of such an heritage. 

The wCches they get Coifes and Cawles, 

Frfichhoods & partlets eeke : 
And I get naught but checks and brnwles, 
a thousand in a weeke : 
These are rewardes meete for a Pige, 
Surely a goodly heritage. 

My Ladies maides too, must I please, 

but chiefly mistresse Anne : 
For else, by the Masse, she will disease 
me vily, now and than. 
Faith, she will say, you whorson Pige, 
lie purchase you an heritage. 

And if she say so, by the roode, 

'tis Cock I warrant it : 
But God he knowes, I were as good 
to be without[en] it 
For all the gaines I get, poore Page, 
Is but a slender heritage. 

I haue so many folkes to please, 
and creepe and kneele vnto : 
That I shall neuer Hue at ease, 
what euer so I doe : 
lie therefore be no more a Page, 
But seeke some other heritage. 

But was there euer such a patch, 

to speake so lowde as I : 
Knowing what hold the Maides will catdi, 
at euery fault they spie : 
And all for spight at me, poore Page, 
To {wichase wm an beritt^ne. 

And if that they may heare of this, 

I were as good be hangde : 
My Lady shall know it, by Qis* 
and I shall sure be bangde : 
I shall be vsed like a Page, 
I shall not loose myne heritage. 

Well, yet I hope the time to see, 

when I may run as fast. 
For wandes for them, as they for me, 
ere many dayes be past : 
For when I am no longer Page, 
He give them vp mine heritage. 

Well, I a while must stand content, 

till better happe doo iaSL : 
With such pore state, as God hath sent, 
& giue him thankes for all : 
Who wyll, I hope, send me, poore Page, 
Then this, some better heritage. 

With this, with hands and tjt& 

lift vp to heauen on high : 
He sighed twise or thrise, 
and wepte to, piteously. 
Which when I saw, I wisht the Page 
In faith, some better heritage. 

And weeping thus, good God, quoth he, 

haue mercy on my soule : 
That ready I may be for thee, 
when that the bell dooth knoule : 
To make me free of this bondage. 
And partner of thine heritage. 

Lord, graunt me grace so thee to serue, 

that at the latter day : 
Although I can no good deserue, 
yet thou to me majrest say : 
Be thou now free, that werte a Page, 
And heere in heauen haue heritage. 

If The same man beeing desired the next 
day following, to singe some prety song 
to the Virginalles, by a Gentlewoman 
that he made no small accoumpt of: 
was faine, Extempore, to endite, and 
sing as followeth. 

Amid my ioyes, such greefe I fynde. 
That what to doo, I know not I : 
My pleasures are but blastes of winde : 
Full well euen now, and by and by 
Some sodaine panges torment me so. 
That I ooold eoen crie out for wo. 



And yet perforce no remedy : 

Needes must I laugh when I could moume : 
Yea, ofie I sing, when presently 
To teares my singing could I toume. 
Such luck haue Gaimsters, some men say, 
Winne, and loose, and all in a day. 

But some there are, whom Fortune still 

Giues leaue to winne. and seldome lose : 
Oh, would to God, I had my will, 
That I might soone be one of those 
That are in Fortunes fauour so : 
Then neede I not thus playne of wo. 

For if that I were sure, at least, 

For to obtaine that I would craue ; 
Yea, though it were but one request. 
I would desire no more to haue : 
I aske but euen one happy day, 
Let me doo after as I may. 

And sure I see no remedy. 

But euen to hope on happe alone : 
And that it is that comfortes me : 
For when hope fayles. all ioyes are gone 
Therefore, what with hope and dispayre. 
My ioyes lye houering in the ajrre. 

Which, would to God, would eyther fall, 

Or else be driuen quite away : 
That I might haue no hope at all. 
Or else that I might happily say : 
Now haue I found the thing I sought. 
Now will I take but little thought 

Well, yet I hope, or ere I dye. 

To light on such a happy day : 
That I may sing full merrily, 
Not, heigh ho wele, but care away : 
The Ship, full many tempests past, 
Hath reacht the quiet Hauen at last Finis. 

If The next day after that he had written 
this passion of Loue, dyuers Gentle- 
women being then in the house: he 
was intreted by two or three of them at 
once, to make some verses : and one 
among the rest, being very desirous to 
haue her request fulfilled, brought him 
a Pen, and ynke, and Paper : with 
earnest intreaty, to make some verses, 
upon what matter he thought best him- 
selfe : he, very vnwilling to write, not 
knowing of a sodain, how to please 

them all in vearse, and yet desirous to 
graunt all their requests, with much 
adooe, was in the end intreated to 
write, as followeth. 

What, shall I write some prsty toy ? 

will that like Ladies best ? 
Or shall I pen the praise of one 

£aire Dame, abooue the rest ? 
Or shall I vrrite at randon else, 

what fyrst comes in my braine ? 
No, no : for words once flowen abroade, 

can not be cald againe. 
Why then, since none of these will seme, 

what other kinde of stOe, 
Shall I picke out to write upon?^ 

now sure, I needes must smile, 
To thinke vpon my beetle brain, 

that can no fruite bring foorth : 
But such Baldictum rimes as these, 

as are not reading worth. 
Faith, Ladyes, but for shame, I woukl 

not write one word at all, 
In ryme (at least) because you see, 

my reason is so smalL 
But since it is such as it is, 

indeede small and too small : 
I must desyre you, for this once, 

to stand content withalL 
And take the same in as good parte. 

as if a wiser man 
Had better done : because you see, 

I do the best I can. 
And more then can, you can not craue : 

for if you do of me, 
Before you aske, be sure to go 

without, I promise ye : 
But any thyng that well I can, 

commaund you all of me : 
And I wyll do the best I can, 

to please each one of ye : 
And thus, as humbly as I can. 

I craue of you to lend 
Your padence to my rudenesse this : 

and so I make an ende. 
Full sory that I cannot write, 

so finely as I would. 
To like your fancies all alyke, 

for if I could I would : 
And so agayne, fayre Ladies all, 

in curteous sort I craue. 
As I deserue your favours so, 

and firiendshyps, let me haue. 

If Not many dayes after, hee sawe a Gentle- 
woman in the house, whom he ac- 



counted his deere Mistresse, beginne to 
shew her euill countenaunce without 
cause, and to make very much of an- 
other, whom he thought very vnworthy 
of such good happe : and being not a 
little agreeued, to see himselfe cause- 
lesse to grow dayly so much out of 
countenaunce, and his adversary so vn- 
worthy, esteemed : wrote one day among 
other, halfe a sheete of Paper in verse : 
wherein he priuily shewed his aduer- 
saries unworthinesse, his Mistresses in- 
constancy, and his owne euill happe : 
and finding a fit time, deliuered the 
writing to his sayde Mistresse : which, 
how she tooke in worth, that restes : the 
verses were these. 

When Flauerie lalles to play the fleer3mg knaue, 
And tried trust is put out of conceight : 
And cogging craft by subtyll shiftes can haue 
The gaynes, for which doth fajrthfull seruice waight ; 
Then deepe deceight must needes possesse the parte 
That doth in deede belong to due desarte. 

IT When fond suspect, shall cause a faythfull ftende 
To deeme amisse of friend, without desart : 
And coy conceight, shall cause a finall ende 
Of friendshyp there, where friendes were linckt in hart : 
Then double dealyng, must of force preuaile 
To winne reward, and faythfull friendship faile. 

When men are soomde, and shadowes are esteemde, 
And shels are sau'd, and kernels cast away : 
And deedes be done, and woords for deedes be deemde, 
And outward brauery beares the bell away : 

Then honest meaning may go chatmge his minde, 

Or else is sure a colde rewarde to finde. 

But when, in deede, vile flatterie frdse is found, 
And tryed Trust dooth reape his due rewarde : 
And deepe decdte is digged vnder ground. 
And cogging craft can get no tale be harde : 
Then right may haue that reason dooth require. 
And due desarte may haue his deepe desire. 

Lo thus, deare Dame, this for my selfe I write : 
My troth, I trow, your selfe haue tryed well : 
For which (alas) I reape nought but despight. 
The iust cause why, God knowes, I cannot tell : 
Except, by stealth, some fleering flattering knaue 
Hath got the gaines, which I deserue to httoe. 

Or else, perhaps, some fjeilse suspect hath bread, 
Misliking some, of me, without desarte : 
Or ooye conceyte hath entred in your head 
To hate the man who honoures you in harte : 
Or double dealing seekes some secreate meane. 
Betwixt true friendes, true loue to banish deane. 

Or else. I doubt, some shadow of a man. 
In my despight, some gallant wordes hath usde : 
On whome I vow to doe the best I can 
To seeke reuenge, where I am so abusde : 
Wherefore, good Lady, if such any bee : 
I humbly craue, hide not his name from mee. 

That I, with speede, may giue him his desarte, 
Or else receaue my iust and due reward : 
For then, when you shall see my honest harte. 
I doe not doubt your harte will be so harde, 
But you at last, although fyrst somewhat long. 
Will make amends to me for euery wrong. 

And thus, in hope no false and fonde suspect 
Of liking yours, shall cause such sodaine chaunge : 
And that you will such coye conceyts reiect. 
As to your friend, doo make you seeme so straunge 
I rest the time that reason dooth require, 
When my desarte may haue his deepe desyre. 

Not long after, seeing his Aduersary still 
creeping in countenance, and himselfe 
almost excluded : sitting on a day alone 
in his Chamber, thinking on the de- 
spight of Fortune & the want of discre- 
tion, in his discourteous Dame : wrote 
in haste these verses following. 

Oh 1 what a spight it is vnto a noble harte 
To see a Scabbe. without all due desarte. 
With no account of credit nor of fame, 
To winne the loue of any gallant Dame. 

Which valyant harts, with tratiaile great and paine. 

Haue mudi adooe, long time for to obtaine. 

My selfe I count of valiande but small. 
Vet such as may my credit well defend : 
And such as in my Mistresse'honour shall 
Be well content, with speede my Ijrfe to spend : 

Which, let me spend, and spend, and spend againe. 

Yet shall an other sucke my sugred gaine. 

VHth much a doo, I once did fauoure winne. 
Of one. in deede, a fajrre and gallant Dame : 
Which my good happe no sooner did beiginne. 
But by and by, to ouerthrow the same, 
A privie Psatch, a whoreson scuruy Knaue, 
Inioyed the finictes that was my right to haae. 



His fleering face, her peeuish fiancie pleasde, 
My tryed troth was put out of conceyte : 
He gladde, I sadde. he well, and I diseasde : 
He caught the Fish, for which I layde the boite. 
He idle sate, and nothing did all day, 
And yet at night did beare the Bell away. 

But since I see, that cases so fall out. 
That valyaunt hearts so little are regarded : 
And gallaunt Dames will seeme to.loue a Loute, 
And let a noble youthe goe vnrewarded : 
I will no more, henceforth, such trauaile spende 
In cases such : and so I make an ende. 

^ Not many dayes after, seeing his Mis- 
tresse' discourteous dealing, began to 
put her away, and chuse himself an 
other Mistresse : and, beeing then in 
the Christmas time, presented his new 
Mistresse with a new yeares Gifte, in 
this sorte. 

This little Toye to thee, 

for wante of better shifte, 
I heere presume for to present, 

as a small Newyeares gifte. 
The value small whereof, 

weigh not, I humbly craue : 
But take, in worth, his great good wiU 

whose friendly heart you baue. 
To vse braue vaunting words, 

will winne naught but disdaine : 
But valiant deeds, with words but few, 

be they that credit gaine. 
Therefore, for to be breefe, 

thus much I do protest : 
That if to worke your harts content, 

within my power it rest, 
Commaund what so thou wilt : 

if I denye the same, 
God let me never haue good looke, 

of any noble Dame. 
But you, perhaps, will thinke, 

these wordes are all but winde : 
But doo not so : first trie, then trust, 

and fancie, as you finde. 
And let not false suspect. 

once cause you for to deeme, 
That there is any one aliue, 

whom I doo more esteeme. 
But, as I doo protest. 

so count me your deaie friend. 
Who likes, who loues, who honotirt you : 

and so I make an end. 


1[ A verse or two written Extempore, vpon 
a sight of a Gentlewoman. 

I SIGH to see thee sigh : 

the iust occasion why, 
God knowes : and I, perhappes. 

can gesse. vnhappily. 
But whatsoeuer I thinke, 

I meane to let it passe : 
And thus, in secrete sorte. to tliinke 

vnto my selfe (alas) 
Poore little seely soule, 

God quickly comfort thee, 
Who could his sighes refraine, a Dame 

in such sad sorte to see? 
The cause whereof I gesse, 

but not the remedy : 
I would I could a medicine frame, 

to cure thy mallady. 
For if it were in mee, 

or if it euer bee. 
To doo the thing, oh noble Dame, 

in deede, to comforte thee : 
My hart, my hand, my sword, 

my purse, which (though) but small. 
At your conmiaund I ofCer heere, 

all ready at your calL 
Of which if any shiinke, 

when you vouchsafe to trie : 
As I deserue, disdaine me then, 

and God then let me dye. 
And thus, from honest harte, 

as one your Caithfull friend. 
In few vnibyned friendly wordes. 

farewell : and so an ende. 

^ Verses written vpon this occaaion ; a yong 
Gentleman, falling in loue with a faire 
yong Damsell, not knowing how to make 
manifest vnto her the great good will he 
bare her : vsing certaine talke vnto her, 
in the end of her talke demaunded of 
her, whether she could or no? she 
answered yea : vpon which yea, he wrote 
these verses following, and found time 
to present them vnto her presently, as 
he wrote them. 

If thou canst reade, then marke what heere I write : 
And what thou readst, beleeue it to be true ; 
And doo not thinke, I doo but toyes indite : 
For, if thou marke in time what dooth insue. 
Then thou, ere long, perhaps, shalt easily fynde 
The effisct of that, that may content tby minde. 




And, to be plaine, I lyke and loue thee well, 
And that so well, as better cannot be : 
What should I say? I wish that I did dwell 
In place where I thy selfe mought dayly see : 
That yet, at least, I mought injoy her sight 
In whom doth rest the stay of my delight. 

^ A Gentleman talking on a time with a 
yong Gentlewoman, being apparreled 
very plainly, shee tolde him she was too 
plaine for him, he must go seeke some 
gallanter Geste, more meete for his 
tooth : to which, answering his minde 
aflerwarde, wrote vpon the same as 
foUoweth : and gaue them Tnto her to 

When first I saw thee clad 

in coloures blacke and white, 
To gate vpon thy seemely selfe 

I tooke no small delight 
Thy blacke betokens modestie, 

thy white, a Virgins minde : 
And happy he may thinke himselfe, 

that such a one can fynde. 
That which is painted out 

with colours fresh and gay, 
Is of it selfe but little worth, 

the colours set away : 
But that deseiueth praise, 

which of it selfe alone 
Can shew it selfe in playnest sorte, 

and craueth helpe of none. 
What should 1 further say? 

let ech man choose his choice : 
Though some in painted toyes delight, 

in plainnesse I reioyce. 
And why? because my selfe 

am plaine, as you doo see. 
And therefore, to be plaine with you, 

your plainnesse liketh me : 
The plajmnesse of your minde, 

and eke your plaine attyre : 
For gaye and galkmt Cotes is not, 

the thing that I desyre. 
But noble gallaunt minde, 

and yet too therewith plaine : 
For now and then, in gallant minds, 

dooth deepe decdte remaine. 
But for in you, fayre Dame, 

bothe noble gaUant minde, 
And therewith meaning plaine in deede. 

I now doo plainly finde. 
Chuse others what they list, 

this plainely I protest : 
Your gallant minde in plaine attire, 

it is, that likes me best. 

^ A comparison betweene a slippery stone 
and a trustlesse friend. 

As he that treades on slippery stones, 

is like to catch a fall. 
So he that tnistes to trothlesse friends, 

shall ill be delt withall 
But he that lookes before be leapes, 

is likest sure to stande : 
So he that tryes or ere he trust, 

shall be on surer hand. 
But once found out a good sure ground, 

keepe there thy footing fast : 
So charyly keep a faithfull friend, 

whose friendship tride thou hast. 
For as some grounds that seeme full sure, 

in time will much decay, 
So some false friends that seeme full true, 

at neede will shrinke away. 
And as within some rotten groundes, 

some hidden holes we see. 
So in the hartes of fruthfull friends, 

so many mischiefes bee. 
Therefore, 1 breefdy bidde my friends 

for to beware in time. 
For feare of further after dappes : 

and so I end my rime. 

U A Dolorous discourse. 

If he who lingers foorth a loathsome lyfe. 
In weary wyse, exprest vrith endlesse woe : 
To whom care still stands, as a hackeling knife. 
To teare the heart that is tormented so : 
Who neuer felte one hoMrre, nor sparke of ioy. 
But deepe lyes drownde in Gulfe of foule annoy. 

Whom Fortune euer frounde on bi his life. 

And neuer lent one lucky looke at all : 

With whome the Moone and Starres are all at strife. 

Who all in vaine dooth dayly crie, and call 
For comforte some, but yet receiueth none, 
But to himselfe his greefe must still bemone. 

Whose greefe first grew in time of tender yeares, 
And yet dooth still continue to this daye : 
Who, all berent, dooth chaunge among the Breares, 
And still hang fast, and cannot get awaye : 
Who euery way, which he dooth seeke to goe, 
Dooth finde some block that dooth him ouerthrow. 

Who neuer was, is not, nor lookes to bee. 
In way of weale, to ridde him of his woe : 
Who day by day, by proofe too plaine, dooth see 
That Desteny hath swome it shaH be so : 
That he must line with torments so opprest. 
And till he die, must neuer looke for rest. 

If such a one may well be thought to be 
The onely man that knoweth misery : 



I may well say that I (poore man) am bee ; 

Who dayly so doo pine in penury ; 
Whose heauy heart is so opprest with greefe, 
As, mtill death, dooth looke for no releefe. 

To swim and sinke. to bume and be a-colde, 
To hope and feare, to sigh and yet to sing : 
And all at once, are loners fyttes of olde, 
To many knowen, to some a common thing : 
But still to synke, frye, feare, and alway sigh. 
Are patterns plaine, that death approcheth nigh. 

And doost thou then, sweete Death, approche so neare ? 

Welcome, my friend, and ease of all my woe : 

A friend in deede, to me. a friend most deare, 

To ease my heart that is tormented so : 
Happy is he who lightes on such a friend. 
To breede his ioyes, and cause his greefes to end. 

H A Letter sent by a Gentlewoman, in verse, 
to her Husband, being ou«r sea. 

What greater greefe, than leese a cheefest ioy ? 

Then why Hue I, that lacke my cheefe delight ? 
My friend I meane, for whom thus, in annoy, 

In weary wise, I passe both day and night : 
For loe, a friend, in deepest of distresse, 

To friend dooth yeeld of euery greefe redresse. 

His company dooth often driue away 

Such dolefull thoughts as mought torment the roinde 
With friend, a friend to passe ech dolefull daye. 

Of comfort great, may many causes finde : 
A freend, sometime, but with his only sight 

His dolefull friend dooth many times deUgfat 

No greater ease is to some heauy heart, 
Yea, when it is with greatest greefes opprest : 

Then trusty friendes, to whom for to imparte 
Such cause of greefe, as breedes it such unrest : 

For ofte, by telling of a dolefull tale. 
The tongue dooth ease the brett of micklebale. 

If heart be glad, what myrth can then be more. 
Then when true friends doo meete with merry cheare ? 

The greefe forgotte of absence theirs before. 
By presence had, doo soddaine ioyes appeare. 

What shall I saye ? as I begone I end. 
No ioye to loue, no greefe to losse of friend. 

Then, my sweete friend, in this my deepe dJrtwic, 

Let me inioy thy company againe : 
For thou alone must purchase my redresse. 

And ease my heart, that thus doth pine in paine. 
Thou art the friend, that euen but with thy sight 

Mayest me. poore soule, thy dolefull friend, ddigfat 

What now can ease my pyning pensiue hewt. 
Thus day and night, with torments tore opprwt : 

Then vnto thee, my friend, for to imparte 
Such cause of greefe, as breedes me such Tnrest? 

For ofte, by telUng of this dotefUl tate, 
M y toagiM wm CMB B7 fantt of mkUe bile. 

If thou werte heere, my heart that now is sadde. 
To thinke on thee, whose absence breedes my wo. 

With thoughts on thee would soone become 90 glad. 
As should forget those greefes that gripes me so : 

And. as before, so now againe I ende, 
I feare to die, for want of thee my friend. 

Thou art my friend, chiefe freend, and onely Feare. 

My Jemme of ioy. my Jewell of delight : 
God onely knowes. for thy sweete sake, my deare. 

How I in dole doo passe ech day and night. 
Come, therefore, come: with speede come home 

To comfort her, that thus dooth pine in paine. 

IT Thy louing Wife, and faithfuU friend. 
And so will bide, till life doo end. 

II One sitting in dolefall durapes by himselfe 
alone, thinking to haue written some 
dolorous discourse, was let by occa- 
sion: and so, for want of time, wrote 
but onely sixe lynes, and left them vn- 
finished : the verses were these. (I like 
them, and therefore thought good to 
place them among other imperfections.) 

My hand here houering stands, 

to write some prety toye. 
My mourning mind for to delight, 

yt wants all worldly ioye : 
And Fancy offereth eke, 

fyne toyes for to indite vpon. 
To comfort thus my heauy heart, 
that is thus woe begon. 
But all in vaine : for why? 

my minde is so opprest with 
As 8l11 the pleasures in this world 
can lend me no releefe. 


Fimt's imperfecta. 

H A dolorous verse, written by him» that 
in deede was in no small dumpes, when 
he wrote them. 

If any man doo liue of ioyes berefte. 

By heauens I sweare, I thinke that man am I ; 

Who at this hower, no sparke of ioy haue lefts, 

But leade a life in endlesse mysery : 
I sigh, I sobbe : I cannot weU ezpccne 
The greefes I bide, without hope of redretM. 

So many are the CMitet of my greefi^ 

That day by day tomwDts my meminipmfaRle, 



As that almost there can be no releefe 

To ease my heart, till ease by death I fynde. 

What shall I say ? what pangues but I abide? 

What pleasure that but is to me denyde? 

What sappe of sorrow but I dayly taste ? 

What mite of myrth, that I can once attaine ? 

What foule despight dooth follow me as fioste, 

To plague my heart with pangues of deadly paine 7 
Ten thousand POets cannot paint the smarte 
That I abide, within my harmelesse heart. 

And why doo I by pen then seeke to shew 
The passing pangues that I doo dayly bide ? 
The pangues I paint by pen (God wot) are few, 
Comparde to those, which I on euery syde 
Am faine to fede : and that is worst of all, 
Without all hope of any helpe at ali 

Then you, alas, that reade this mourning vearse, 
Waye with jrour selves what loathsome life I leade : 
And let your hearts some sparke of pitty pearce. 
To see me thus (as one amazde) halfe dead : 
Striuing for life, desyring still to dye. 
And yet, perforce, must pine in penurie. 

And thus an end of writing heere I make. 
But not an end of mourning, God he knowes : 
For when I seeke one sorrow to forsake. 
Another greefe a new as freshly growes : 
So that of force, myselfe I must content 
To dwell in dole, vntill my dayes be spent. 

f A Gentleman hauing made promise unto 
his Mistresse to come unto her vpon 
a certaine appointed day, to doo her 
seruice, brake promise with her: but 
the next day following, thinking her 
haste [not] of necessitie so great but 
then he. might come soone inough to 
accomplishe such matters as he was 
wonte to doo, came: and confessing 
his faulte of breache of promise, pro- 
fessing it against his will, shewing his 
earnest desire of more haste, craued 
pardon and recoverie of credit lost, in 
verse as followeth. 

Though yesterday I brake my word, 

& theiby purchasde blame : 
Yet now to day, as you may see, 

I come to keepe the same. 
And though this be not halfe inough 

my fault to countemaHe : 
Yet do not you my word mistmst, 

tboa^ once my promlie fiUle, 

For if ye knew the urgent cause 

that kept me so away, 
And therewith saw mine earnest haste 

to come againe this day. 
For to recouer credite lost : 

I doo my selfe assure. 
With little sute I should ywis, 

]rour pardon soon procure. 
Well, to be shorte, I hope no hart 

is of such crueltie, 
But that, in an offender, will 

regard humilitie. 
And since that noble Ladies all 

are pittifiill by kinde. 
Let some remoroe, good Lady mine, 

take roote within your minde. 
And doo not me, your seruaunt poore* 

for one small fault disdaine : 
But let me. by my due desarte, 

your fauour get againe. 
And though y* once I brake my word, 

in matters of small weight : 
Yet thinke not, therefore, otherwise 

in me to rest deceight 
For in a case of credit, loe, 

wherein my worde I giue. 
If that I shrinke or eate my word, 

then God let me not line : 
And if in me to doo you good, 

by worde or deede, it rest ; 
Vnto my power, I solemne vow 

doo maJce, to doo my best. 

H A Gentleman beeing on a time desyred of 
diuers of his friendes, sitting togeather 
in company, to make some verses, which 
he graunted, and yet not knowing howe 
to please them all, and yet willing to 
perfourme his promise, wrote as fol- 

Some pleasaunt heads, delight in prety toyes, 

And some count toyes, most meete for foolish boyes : 

Some greatly loue to heare a merry rime. 

Some stately styles, which doo to honour dime : 

Some loue no rimes, what euer so they bee, 

And some mens mindes with verses best agree. 

Thus euery one hath by himselfe a vaine. 
Which, all to please, it were to great a paine : 
Which since I see t'is farre too much for mee. 
To write what may with all mindes best agree : 
I thinke it best, since I haue nothing doo. 
To make an ende of that is scarce begon. 

So shall I well my promise post fulfill, 
In writing thos, aooonUBg to mj ddll ; 



Which promise made of mine, I trow was thisi 
To write a rime : and heare a rime there is : 
Wherein although bat little reason be, 
Yet rime there is, and sence ynough for me. 

U A prety Epigram, vpon Welth and Will. 

Where Welth doth want, thexe Wni can bear no sway ; 
And where Will wants, there Wealth can make no way. 
In many things. Welth greatly rules the roste, 

In some things too, selfe will, will beare a sway. 
To winne the wager, Welth will spare no oost| 

Which, to subuert. Will worketh many a way : 
And. in the end, let Welth doo what he can. 
Yet, commonly. Will stands the stouter man. 

H A Gentleman, marking his Mistresse angrie 
countenaunce without cause, tolde her 
of it in verse, as followeth. 

By countenaunce of fiice, a man may fynde 
(I say, fajrre Dame, by outward view of fooe) 
Such sundry thoughts, as occupie the minde : 
Sometime by one, and efte another grace. 
Looke, with that thoughts the minde is aye possessed 
Straight by the lookes the same is plaine expressed. 

The frowning &ce declares a froward harte. 
And skouling browes a sullen stomack sbowes : 
The glaundng lookes, of priuie grutch a parte, 
Which hidden lyes within the heart, Qod knowes : 
The staring looke declares an earnest minde, 
The trouling eye, vnconstant as the winde; 

The smyrking looke declares a merry minde. 
When smiling lookes are forste from beany heart : 
For some can smile, that in their hearts could finde 
To weepe (God wot) of greefe to ease their smaite. 
But who so smirking smiles with merry dieare. 
That countenance shewes that some good newes is 

Some finely vse a winking Unde of wile. 
Some looke alofte, and some doo still looke downe : 
And some can fajme a frowning kinde of flnlle^ 
And some can smile, that in their hearts doo frowne : 

And so doo I, and so doo many moe, 

That laugh son^etime, when we coold weepe for woe. 

But euery looke, a meaning dooth dedare, 
Some good, some bad, some mery« and tome tad : 
The countenaunce shewes how euery one dooch five. 
Some griefe, some ioye, some snOen, and tome mad : 
And though that many be by lookes decehied. 
Yet by the lookes are mwmfaigi pkdae p t wdu ed. 

II Some other gentlewomen in the company, 
angrie with this toye, pleasde with these 
prety verses following. 

Ah. be not angrie so, 

my words were but in iest : 
And more then that, I ment them not 

by you, I doo protest 
I saw no lookes to light, 

nor frowning ouer much. 
Nor any such like suUein lookes, 

as might shew inward grutch. 
Nor smiling wantonly, 

but with such modestie. 
As might declare a merry minde» 

but with sobriety. 
But such as seeme to poute, 

without iust cause, in deede : 
Or els, Ypon their friends will faine, 

a frowning, more then neede : 
Or, giglet like, wiU laugh, 

or else with anger sweU, 
And deale in lookes disdainfully, 

with them that wish them well : 
Gainst such it is I wright, 

but none of you are namde : 
Then do not you accuse jrourselues, 

and you may go vnblamde. 
And this, what I haue sayd, 

take well in worth, therefore : 
If I did ill against my will, 

I will doo so UQ more. 

1[ A prety toye written upon Time. 

As I, of late, this other day 

lay musing in my bed. 
And thinking vpon sundrie toyes, 

that then came in my head : 
Among the rest, I thought vpon 

the setting out of Tyme : 
And thinking so vpon the same, 

I wrote this ragged rime. 
Time is set out, with head all balde. 

sane one odde lock before : 
Which locke, if once you doo let slip, 

then looke for Thne no more. 
But if you hold him iaax by that, 

and stoutly doo him stay ; 
Then shall ye know how he dooth passe. 

before he goe his way. 
And if you keepe him tide by that, 

good seruioe will he doo 
In euery worke, what so it be, 

that you will put him to : 
So that you looke vnto his worke, 

that he not idle stand : 
For if he doo, some knaniih worke 

himidf will cake ia hand. 



And the twere better want the knaue, 

then haue him serue you so ; 
When yon doo think he dooth you good, 

yt he should worke your wo. 
I reade. besydes, he painted is 
with winges, forsooth, to flie : 
And Mower like, with Sithe in hand, 

and working earnestly : 
And in his worke still singing thus : 

This dare I boldly saye, 
Saue Vertue, all things ! cut downe, 

that stand within my way. 
But Vertue neuer will decay, 

she goes before me still : 
But since I cannot let her stand, 

lie cut elsewhere my fill 
But tis no matter, hold him fast 

by that same lock, I say, 
And neither words, nor yet his wings, 

shall help hhn get away. 
By chaunce my selfe haue caught him fost. 

but euen this other day ; 
And by that locke I holde him &st. 

for flipping yet away. 
And by that locke, as thus aduisde, 

I meane to holde him so. 
But I will know, or ere he passe, 

which way he meanes to go. 
And since I caught him so, I thinke 

he hath not idle stood, 
But somewhat he is dooing still, 

although but little good. 
And as this morning I, by chaunce, 

did see him idle stand, 
I thought it good to make him take, 

a Pen and Inck in hande : 
And hauing little else to doo, 

to spend a little time, 
In true discription of himselfe 

to pen this trifling rime. 
Which time, nor well nor yet ill spent, 

stands till an other time, 
Some better seruioe for to doo : 

and so I ende my rime. 

Harte, written by a Gentleman unto his 

To reade a dolefull tale, 

that tels of nought but giecfa, 
And of a man that pines in paioe, 

and lookes for no releefe ; 
Whose hope of death seems tweet, 

h dread of life seems tower, 
Who neuer bid oii[e] meny month, 

one weeke, one day, or howtr. 

In such a tale, I say, 

if any doe delight, 
Let him come read this verse of nUne, 

that heer for troth I wright. 
And though the speech seeme darke, 

the matter shaU be plaine : 
And he, poore wretch, of whom it treats. 

too wel doth feele the peine. 

^ A prety Discourse of a hunted Hart 

Thkrb is a pretye Chase. 

wherein dooth rest a Hart : 
Wherin for his abode (poore wretch) 

he keepes one only part. 
Adioyning to his chase, 

there is a prety place. 
Where stands a Lodge, wherin dooth dwell. 

the Lady of the chase. 
This Lady, now and then, 

for sport, sometime for spight, 
To hunt this silly hannlesse Harte 

dooth take a great ddight 
And how? with hounds (alas) 

and when she hunts for sporte. 
With little Whdpes, that cftnot bite. 

she hunts him in this sort 
Two little whdpes, I say, 

she casteth off at once. 
To course, and eke to feare him with, 

as meetest, for the nonce. 
And with these little whelps 

she bringes him to the bay : 
And then, at bay she takes them vp, 

and let him goe his way. 
And if for spight she hunt, 

she takes another way : 
She casteth of no little whelps. 

to bring him to the bay, 
But cruell byting Curres : 

at once she castes of all : 
And with those crudl cankred Curres. 

she foUowes him to fidl : 
And being Cedne (poore wretch) 

pining in eztreame peine, 
She casteth off her crudl curres, 

and lets him rise againe : 
Until! she hunts ageine, 

to make her tdfie like tporte : 
And then, euen as the is disposde. 

she hunts him in like torte. 
Thus liuet thit harmeleite Heart, 

opprest with endlesse wo : 
In daunger still of Death by Dogges, 

and yet cannot dye sa 
And neither day nor night, 

he feedeth but in feare. 
That these tame Dogget tboold Yft In wahe, 

'lo co mi c him 



Thus restlesse restes this Harte, 

and knowes not how to rest : 
Whose hope of death, in midst of ooone, 

it is that likes him best. 
God send him better rest, 

a speedy death at least, 
To rid him of his great vnrest, 

and breede him quiet rest 

^ The meaning of the Tale. 

But wherto tends this Tale? 

what first may meane this Chase? 
And then the Harte, which in y* same 

doth keep one only place? 
The Plot where st&ds the I..odge, 

the Lodge, & then the Dame 
Which hunts the Hart : & last, the Dogs 

which do pursue the game ? 
A meaning all they haue : 

which meaning I must showe. 
And that so plaine, as in each point 

the meaning you may knowe. 
My Carkase is the Chase, 

my Heart the selly Harte : 
Which, for his rest, my woefoU brest, 

dooth keepe that onely parte. 
The Platte where stands the Lodge, 

my head I count that place : 
My Minde the Lodge, my Lone the Dame 

& Lady of the Chase. 
Her Dogges of diuers Idndes, 

that doo my Heart pursue. 
Sometime to baye, sometime to fall, 

are these that doo ensue. 
And first, the Dogges with which 

she hunts sometime for sport. 
To bring my Harte vnto the baye, 

and leaue him in that sort. 
Are these, beleeue me now. 

Discountenaunce is the fyrst. 
The second is Discourtesie, 

and of the two, the worst. 
Discountenaunce hee comes fyrst, 

and feares me, in this wise : 
He hangs his lip, holds downe his head, 

& lookes vnder his tjea. 
And with that angry looke 

hee feares me in such sort. 
That I may not abide the same : 

and then beginnes the sport. 
For then shee casteth of 

Disoortesie, that Curre : 
And then doo what I can, alas, 

my Heart beginnes to sturre. 
And wearie halfe at last, 

I stand with them at baye : 
And so at baye, for my ddenoe, 

I ioiiiewfaat ginne to aaye. 

Which sayde, shee then takes of 

those hylding Cuzres againe, 
And leaue me, till she hunt againe, 

thus pining all in paine : 
And now the Cruell Cunres, 

with which she takes delight 
To hunt my Hart euen till he laU, 

are these : not first, Despigfat, 
But fowle Disdaine : then hee, 

which Curres doo course him soe 
That to the fall they bring me ofte, 

and yet then let me goe. 
So that my Harte dooth line— 

but howe? alas, in dreade 
Of these same deuillish Dogges : St lo 

still shall, till I bee dead. 
Who would not blame this Dame, 

that thus, without desart. 
With these her crudl cankred Curs 

dooth hunt this seely Hart : 
And curse those cruell Curres, 

that thus doo make her sport : 
Bothe day and night, without canse why, 

do hunt him in such sorL 
And wish this seely Hart, 

with endelesse griefes opprest. 
To scape the daunger of the Dogges, 

and finde some quiet rest 
But wish who list to wish, 

except that you, deere Dame, 
Among the rest do wish that wish, 

no wish wyll helpe the same. 
But if that you, in deede, 

so wish among the rest. 
And hartely do wish that wish, 

3rour wish will helpe him best 

A straunge Dreame. 

^ Who so he be on earth, 

that wisely can deuine 
Vpon a Dreame : come shewe his akyH 

vpon a Dreame of mine : 
Which, if that well he marke, 

sure he shaU finde therein 
Great misteries, I gage my life.* 

which Dreame did thus begin. 

Me thought I walked too and firo, 

vpon a hillie land. 
So long, till euen with wearinesse, 

I could wd scareely st&d. 
And weery so (me thought) I went 

to leane against an Oke : 
Where leaning but a while, me thought, 

the tree in peeoes broke. 
From which, me thought, to saiie my life 

I lightly skipt away : 
And at the first the sight thereof 

my senses dkl dismay : 



But when I stayed so a while, 

and looked rounde about. 
And sawe no other dreadfull sight, 

I knew not what to doubt. 
But to some house (me thought) aks, 

I wisht my selfe full Deune : 
But when I lookte, I could not see 

one house vpon the plaine : 
Good Lord (thought I) where am I now ? 

what desart place is this ? 
How came I heere? what shall I doo? 

my heart full fearefiill is. 
And therewithall (me thought) I fell 

flat downe vpon my knee, 
And humble praiers made to God 

on high, to comfort me 

Holding a Citteme in her hand, 

wherewith to mee she came : 
And gaue it me, desiring mee 

to play vpon the same. 
More halfe afeard to see this sight, 

Lady fayre ! quoth I, 

My skyll too simple is, God wot, 

to sound such harmony. 
Yet playe, quoth shee, the best thou canst, 

it shall suffice, I say ; 
Doo thy good will, I craue no more, 

therefore, [I] (praye thee) play. 
With that, mee thought, I tooke the same, 

and sounded, by and by, 
(Not knowing what I did myselfe,) 

a Heauenly harmony. 
Unto which tune, the Lady then 

so sweete a song did sing : 
As, if I could remember it, 

it were a Heauenly thing. 
Of all which song, one onely steppe 

1 still doo beare in minde. 

And that was this — ^There is no ioye 

vnto content of minde : 
No plague, to pride : no woe, to want : 

no greefe, to lucklesse loue : 
No foe to fortune, friend to GOD : 

no trueth, tyll tryall prooue. 
No Serpent, to sclaunderous tongue : 

no corsey, vnto care : 
No losse, to want of4ibertie : 

no griefes, to Cupids snare. 
No foole, to fickle fantasie, 

that tumes with euery winde : 
No torment, vnto Jelosy, 

that still disturbes the minde. 
Lo, this was all I bare in minde,' 

the rest I haue forgot : 
Vnto my griefe, O God, he knowes : 

but since I haue it not. 
Well, let it passe : this Lady fayre 

when she had sung her song. 
She layde me downe a Napkin faire 

vpon the ground along, 

As white as Snowe : which when I saw, 

I mused what she ment : 
But then (mee thought) frO thenoe againe, 

a little space she went. 
And calde mee thus : Hoe, maides, I say 1 

when will you come away ? 
Tis time that dinner ready were, 

tis very neere midday. 
Wher with, mee thought, from out no house, 

but fro a bushy bancke. 
Came out eight Damsels, all in white : 

two and two in a ranck. 
In order right, and euery one 

a fine Dish in her hand. 
Of sundry meates : some this, some that, 

and down vpon the land 
They laide me downe their Delycates, 

wheras this Napkin lay : 
Which done, fowre of th€ staled stil, 

the rest went straight away 
Unto the place frO whence they came, 

the Bushy Banke (I meane) 
And sodenly, I wot not howe, 

they all were vanisht deane. 
But, to goe onwardes with my dreame 

in order briefe I will. 
To make discourse of these fowre Dames 

behind that staled stilL 
First, one of them fell downe on knee, 

and solempnely sayd Grace : 
Another, she with Pleasant Herbes 

bestrowed all the place : 
The thirde, she with a Bason fayre 

of water sweete did stand : 
The fourth, demurely stoode, and bare 

a Towell in her hand. 
I standing still, as one amaz'd, 

to see so straunge a sight, 
Yet seeing nothing but might serue 

my minde for to delight ; 
The Lady (Mistris) of them all, 

that kept her Royall seate. 
Rose vp, and comming towards me 

did greatly me entreate 
To come vnto her stately boorde : 

seeing me still yet to stand 
Amazed so, she came herselfe, 

and tooke me by the hand : 
Come on, and sitte thee downe, quoth she, 

be not afraide, I say : 
And eate, quoth she, for well I know 

thou hast not dinde to daye. 
Faire Dame, quoth I, I cannot eate, 

my stomack semes me not : 
Therefore, I p>ardon craue. Quoth she. 

thou art afraide, I wot. 
To see this seruice heere so straunge : 

indeede, tis straunge to thee : 
For men but fewe or none do come 

our seruioe heere to Be^ 



And happy thou maist thinke thy self, 

that thou camst heere this day, 
For very fewe vnto this hill 

can hap to hit the way. 
We liue within these desart woods, 

like Ladyes, all alone : 
With Musick, passing forth the day, 

and Fellows we haue none : 
We are not like the wretches of 

the world, in many a place. 
That many liues, for feare or shame, 

dare scarsly shew their face. 
We spend the day in fine disport, 

somtime with Musicke sweete, 
Somtime with Hunting of y* Hart, 

somtime, as we thinke meete, 
With other Pastimes, many one : 

sometime with pleasant talke 
We passe y« time, somtime for sporte, 

about the Fields we walke, 
With Bowe and Arrowes (Archer-like) 

to kill the stately Deere : 
Which, being slaine, we roste & bake, 

& make our sdues good cheere : 
Our meate we roste againe the Sunne, 

we haue none other fire : 
Sweete water Springs do yeelde ts drinke, 

as good as we desire. 
For herbe and roots, we haue great store, 

here growing in the wood, 
Wherwith we many dainties make, 

as we our selues think good. 
In Sommer time, our Houses here, 

are Arbers, made of Trees : 
about the which, in sommer time, 

do swarme such Hiues of Bees, 
As leaves vs then, of hony sweete, 

such store as well dooth seme 
Insteede of Sugre, all the yeare, 

our fruites for to preserue. 
Besides, they ydde vs store of waze, 

which from the Hiues we take : 
And for our lights, in winter nights, 

we many Torches make. 
For then our houses all are Canes, 

as well thy selfe shalt see. 
When thou hast dinde : for I my telf 

will go, and shew them thee : 
Therefore, be bolde, and feare no more, 

for thou shalt go with me : 
From perils all, within this place, 

I will safeconduct thee : 
And taste of one of these same herfaes, 

which thou thy selfe likst best : 
The fayrest flower, trust me, oft timet 

is not the holsommest. 
But as for these same herbes, or flowert, 

that stand vpon my boord : 
There is not one but is right good, 

beleeoe me, on my wofd. 


Take wher thou list, I giue thee leaue : 

but first, my fried, (quoth she) 
Pul of thy gloue, & wash thy hands.^ 

Wherwith, a maid brought me 
A bason faire, of water cleare, 

which gaue a sent so sweete, 
That, credit me, me thinkes almost, 

that I doo smell it yet. 
Wherein I softly dipt my hands, 

and straight, to wipe the same, 
Vpon her arme, a towell brought, 

an other gallant dame : 
Of whom, I could none other doo, 

but take in courteous sorte. 
With humble thanks for sendee such : 

and so, for to be short. 
With reuerence done vnto the Dame, 

who kept her stately seate, 
I sat me downe : and hongerly, 

(me thought) I fell to eate. 
First of a Salet, that, me thought. 

hard by my trencher stoode : 
Whereof, at first, me thought the tast 

was reasonable good : 
But being downe, it left (alas) 

a bitter tang behinde : 
Then that I left, and thought to taste 

some herbes of other kind. 
And therewithall, I gan of her, 

in humble sort to craue. 
The roote that I had tasted so, 

what name the same might haue : 
It is Repentance roote, quoth she, 

whose taste though bitter be. 
Yet in the Spring time holsome tis, 

and very rare to see. 
But in the ende of all the yeare, 

when it is nothing worth. 
In euery foolish fielde it growes, 

to shewe the braunches forth : 
But if the taste thou likest not, 

then set away the same. 
And taste of somewhat else, (quoth she) 

& straight (at hand) a Dame 
Stoode reedy by, at her oommaond 

to take the EMsh away : 
Which done, then of an other herbe, 

I gan to take a say. 
Which better farre did please my taste, 

whereof I fedde on well 
Good Lady, quoth I, of this herbe 

vouchsafe to me to tell 
The proper name ? This holsome herbe, 

is caUed Hope (quoth she) 
And happy he, who of this hertw, 

can get a peece, of me. 
This herbe preserues the life of man, 

euen at poincte of death : 
Whe they are speechles, often timet, 

this herbe doth lead th£ bteth. 



This driues Dispaire, fr5 brainsick beds, 

this salueth many a sore. 
This is reliefe, to euery griefe : 

what vertue can be more ? 
Feede well thereon, quoth she, and thou 

Shalt finde such ease of mind, 
As by no meanes, but onely that, 

is possible to finde. 
O Lady faire, quoth I, 

I humble thankes doo yeelde, 
For this thy friendly fauour great : 

but now, if to the fyelde 
Wheras this herbe so rare doth grow, 

if you wil deigne (faire dame) 
Me to conducte : and shewe me eke, 

the true roote of the same : 
Twise happy shall I thinke my selfe, 

that thus, by chaunce, I foimd 
So courteous a noble Dame, 

and such a fertil ground. 
The roote (quoth she) yes, thou shalt see, 

when thou hast dinde anon, 
Both roote and herbe & eke the groimd 

which it doth grow vpon. — 
Dine Lady, quoth I, I haue dinde : 

this herbe hath fyld me so. 
That when you will, I ready am 

vnto that ground to goe. 
Which ground and roote for to behould 

I haue so great desire, 
That till I see the same, me thinkes, 

my hart is still on fyre. 
Well then, quoth shee, since after it 

I see thou longest so, 
I will my dinner shorter make, 

and with thee I will goe : 
And bring thee to the place, where thou 

both roote and herb shalt see, 
And gather eke a peece therof, 

and beare away with thee. 
And therwith, from the boorde she rose, 

and tooke me by the hand. 
And led me ouerthwart, me thought, 

a peece of new digd land : 
And so from thence into a wood, 

in midst wherof, me thought, 
She brought me to a great wilde Maze : 

which sure was neuer wrought 
By Gardeners h&ds : but of itself, 

I rather gesse it grew : 
The order of it ¥ras so straunge : 

of troth, I tell you true. 
Well, in into this Maze we went : 

in midst whereof we founde, 
In comely order, well cut out, 

a prety peece of grownde. 
The portrayture whereof, was like 

the body of a man : 
Which, viewing well, foorthwith, 
me thought, this Lady gan 

To kneele her downe, vpon the ground, 

hard by the body, loe : 
And there she shewed me the herbe, 

that I desired soe : 
And eke the order howe it grew : 

which viewing well, at last * 

She brake a peece, and gaue it mee 

to take thereof a taste. 
Fresh frO y® groimd : which don. traight way, 

Well now, y* roote, q** she, 
Thou lookest for : but stay a while, 

and thou it straight shalt see. 
The roote is like an other roote, 

but onely that in name : 
In difference from all other rootes : 

and, to declare the same. 
When thou hast seene it, thou shalt knowe 

(& therwithall, quoth she,) 
Come heere, beholde the roote, which thou 

desirest so to see : 
And therwith, digging up a Turfe. 

she shewde me very plaine 
The fashion of it, how it grewe : 

and downe she laide againe 
The Turfe in place whereas it was : 

Lady fayre, quoth I, 

If one should seeme to cut the roote, 

what? would y« herb then die? 
No, no, quoth she, vntill the roote 

be pludced quite away. 
The roote it selfe, be sure of this, 

will neuer quite decay. 
Then would I craue a peece thereof. 

(quoth I) O noble Dame, 
That I may know it, if againe 

1 chaunce to taste the same. 

The taste, quoth she, vnpleasaunt is, 

I tell thee that before : 
But where the roote, dooth rancor breed, 

y« herbe wil salue the sore. 
But yet to make thee for to knowe 

the taste thereof, quoth she : 
She raisde the Turfe, and of the roote 

she brake a peece for me. 
And downe she layde the same againe, 

in order as she found : 
That scarsely well it could be seene, 

that she had raisde ye ground. 
Well, I had my desire therein : 

but tasting of the same, 
It was so bitter in my mouth, 

that to allaye the same, 
I was full glad to take the herbe 

which, as the Dame did say, 
The bitter taste of that vile roote, 

did quickly driue away. 
And then, in humble sort, quoth I, 

O fayre and courteous Dame, 
Since that this roote (as you doo say) 

dooth differ much in mune 



From other rootes, O let me know 

If thou maist haue thy choyce, 

what his true name may be? 

which wouldst thou rather do? 

His name, quoth she, Necessitie 

Leade heere thy lyfe, lyke one of vs, 

is, tniely credit me. 

or els retume vnto 

And of these Rootes, some lesse then some : 

The loathsome Ijrfe, that now thou leadst? 

but bigger that they be, 

pause on this that I say : 

The more doth Hope spred forth his leaues : 

If th' one thou chuse, here tary styll : 

& som do go with me. 

if th' other, hence away 

Now I haue showne thee thy desire, 

Thou must returne from whence thou comst. 

this hearb, this roote, & groQd, 

I put it to thy choyce : 

I back againe will bring thee, to y« place 

If th' one thou chuse, of thy good happe 

wher first thy self I foQd. 

thou euer mayst reioyce : 

So, to be short, we backe retumde 

But if thou choose amisse. poore wretch. 

vnto the place againe, 

then thank thy self therfore : 

From whence we went : where, sitting still. 

Consider well vpon my words. 

attendant did remaine 

as yet I saye no more. 

These fowre faire Dames, whom ther we left : 

With that, more halfe amazde hereat. 

but al ye dishes they, 

still standing in a muze. 

And what else on the Boorde was left, 

Not knowing what were best to doe, 

they all had borne away. 

to take or to refuse 

Well, beeing come vnto the place. 

The proffer made me by this Dame, 

vp rose they all at once : 

I humbly fell on knee : 

And to this Lady reuerence did, 

Beseeching God to graunt me of 

and likely, for the nonce. 

his grace to goueme me, 

They knew their Mistresse minde right well. 

To make me chuse that choice y^ best 

her vse belike it was : 

mought please his holy will : 

Of water cleere vpon the ground. 

And sitting so, in humble wise, 

they full had set a Glasse. 

on knee thus praying still : 

Hard by the Glasse a Towell faire. 

The Dame, expecting earnestly 

and by the Towell, Flowers : 

some annswer at my hand, 

Loe, Youth, quoth she, bow likst thou now 

So long, quoth she, vpon this choice, 

this seruice heer of ours ? 

why doo you studying stand ? 

Couldst thou thus like to Hue in woods. 

Some aunswer briefely let me haue. 

& make thy cheefe repaste 

what euer so it be : 

On hearbs and rootes, as we do heere? 

What? wilt thou back retume againe? 

or else the life thou haste? 

or wilt thou bide with me? 

Troubled, tormented, euery howre. 

One way, faire Dame, quoth I, 

and that with endlesse griefe : 

I gladly here would stay. 

In hope of helpe, and now againe 

And leade my life here still with you : 

despayring in reliefe ? 

but now another way 

Still to rescrue? We heere thou seest 

Reason perswades me to retume : 

doo lyve in quietnesse : 

thus in a doubt twixt bothe. 

We passe the time without all care. 

I one way loue the life I led, 

in myrth and ioyfulnesse : 

another way I lothe. 

We feare no foe. we feele no woe. 

So that remaining thus in doubt, 

we dread no danngers great : 

a certaine aunswer for to giue. 

We quake not here with too much cold. 

Whether back againe for to retume. 

nor bum w* extreme heate : 

or in these woods to line 

We wish not for great heapes of gold. 

I most desire, I cannot sure : 

such trash we do despise : 

therefore, I pardon craue. 

We pray for health & not for wealth : 

And for an aunswer flat, I may 

and thus, in pleasant wise, 

some longer respit haue ? 

We spende the day full ioyfully : 

O no, quoth she, I cannot graunt 

we craue no ritch attire. 

thee longer time, not nowe 

This thinne white weede is euen asmach 

To pause vpon these words of mine : 

as we do here desire. 

and therefore, since that thou 

We haue our Musique sweete, besides, 

Wylt backe retume, loe, here behold, 

to sollace, now and than, 

this narrow foote path heere : 

Our weerie minds with other sports : 

Go, follow this, vntill thou comst 

& now, how saist thou, man? 

vnto a Temple neere : 



Then leaue this pathe, and presently 

crosse ouer to the same : 
And there, for further help frO thence, 

your praiers humbly frame 
Unto Dame Pittie, and her tdl 

that straight from me you came. 
And she will help you, for my sake : 

Dame Patience is my name : 
And for a token true, that you 

were sent to her by me : 
Say, Patience will Pittie mooue, 

and she will credit thee : 
And so, fEuewell, when thou hast been 

a yeere or more away. 
If thou wilt hither make retume, 

and be content to stay : 
Though thou beest woQded many a way, 

and plagde with many a sore, 
Thou shalt haue ease of euery greef : 

& the what wouldst haue more? 
And so, my Youth, quoth she, adue, 

I may no longer stay : 
Haue good regard to this foote path, 

for feare thou goe astray : 
And for a farewell, eare thou goest, 

to me, thy courteous friend. 
In song come beare a part with me : 

which, being at an ende. 
Then fare thou well : and therewithal! 

an Instrument she tooke. 
And bad one of her Maides with speede, 

go fetch her forth a booke. 
Which termed was. The trackt of time : 

which by & by, me thought. 
Ere one could well say, thus it was : 

in humble wise she brought. 
With such an humble reuerenoe, 

doune to this noble Dame : 
That sure it would haue done one good, 

for to haue seen the same. 
Well, opening the Booke of Songs, 

and looking well therein : 
At last she staide, and on she plaide : 

which Song did thus b^n. 
Who seeketh far, in time shall finde 

great choice of sGdry change : 
In time a man shall passe the Pikes 

of peryls wonderous strange. 

But he that trauaileth long Time, 

to seeke content of minde : 
And in the end, in trackt of Time 

his owne desire shall finde : 
And beeing well, is not content 

to keepe him where he is : 
His time is lost, vnworthy he 

to finde the place of bUsse. 
One Time a fault may be forgiuen, 

but if thou once obtaine 
The place of rest : marke well the way 

vnto the same againe. 

For if thou once doo misse the way, 

or hast the same forgot : 
Thou wander maist, a tedious Time, 

& neare the neere, God wot 
Therefore, in Time I wame thee wdl 

to haue a great regarde : 
The way thou goest for to retume : 

for trust me, it is hard. 
And so, for want of longer Time, 

I needes must make an ende : 
Take time enough, marke wel thy way, 

and so, farewell, my friend. 
Till Time I see thee heere againe : 

which Time let me not see. 
Till Time thou canst content thy self, 

to spend thy Time with me. 
And so take time, while time will seme, 

else Time will slip away : 
So once againe, adew, quoth she, 

I can no longer stay. 
With yt, me thought, this heauenly Dame, 

vdth aU her maides, was gon : 
And I, poore soule, vpon the hill, 

was left so all alone : 
Where taking heede vnto the path, 

which she had shewde me so : 
Crosse overthwart the hill, 

(me thought) I gan to goe. 
At foote whereof, harde by the path, 

me thought a Riuer ran. 
And down y« streame, in a small boat, 

me thought there came a mft : 
And by and by he cald to me, 

to aske me if I would 
Come take a boat to crosse the streame ? 

and if I would, I should : 
Now crosse the riuer straight (me thought) 

I sawe a beaten way 
Likely to lead vnto some Towne : 

whereat I gan to stay : 
But nought I said : and therewithal] 

(me thought) I plaine did see 
The Dame who late had lefte me quite, 

approching neere to me : 
And beeing neere come to me, 

me thought she stoutly saide, 
Why do you lose your labour so ? 

what cause hath heere you staide? 
Keepe on your way, and lose no Time, 

and happy siu'e art thou, 
Thou tookst not boate or ere I came : 

but, quite past danger now : 
My selfe will bring thee thither, where 

The Temple thou shalt see 
Whereto I gave thee charge to go : 

and so, (me thought) quoth she, 
Come follow me : and by and by 

no great way we had gon. 
But straight she brought me to the hill, 

this Temple stood vpon. 



And ther (me thought) these wcurds the said : 

With that the doore, was opened. 

Go, knock at yOder dore, 

and in, (me thought) I went : 

And say thou art a seely wight. 

Wherewith, me thought I hard a voyoe 

cast vp on sorrowes shore ; 

a sobbing sigh that sent. 

Brought m the Barke of wearie bale, 

Wherewith somewhat amasd at first. 

cast vp by vraues of woe : 

though greatly not afraide. 

The Barke is burst, thou sav'de aliue, 

Still staring round about (a while) 

dost wander too and froe, 

this stately Church, I staide. 

To seeke some place of quiet rest : 

And as before Dame Patience, 

and wandring so about 

to me at parting tolde. 

The hil of Hope, where Patience dwds. 

Within the Quier, on the right hand, 

by chance thou foundest out : 

(me thought) I did behokl 

From whom thou presently doost oome. 

A gallant Dame, all clad in white. 

a message to declare : 

to whom, for my behoue. 

Beare this in minde, thou shalt get in. 

These words I sayd. Dame Patienoe, 

well warrant thee I dare. 

I hope, will Pittie mooue. 

And when thou oomst into the Chureb, 

With that (me thought) this Lady aayd. 

mark wel on the right hand, 

I know thy deepe distresse : 

Within the Quire, all dadde in white, 

And for thy fried. Dame Pfttitee take. 

dooth Lady Pittie stand : 

thou shalt haue som redresse. 

To whom, with humble reuerenoe. 

And therwithall, me thought, she adde 

saye this for thy behoue : 

vnto an aged Sire, 

I doo beleeue that Patience 

Which in the Temple hard by sate : 

in time will Pittie moue. 

Father, I thee desire 

And thus this lesson I thee leaoe : 

which if thou beare in minde. 
Assure thy selfe straight, at her hands, 

some Cauor for to finde. 
And thus, quoth she, againe farewell, 

though me no more thou see. 
Till backe thou doost retume againe, 

yet I will be with thee : 
And guide thee so, where so thou goest, 

that thou thy selfe shalt see. 
In many Melancolike moodes, 

thou shalt be helpt by me. 
And therewithall, I know not how, 

she vanished away : 
And I vnto the Temple straight 

began to take my way. 
And to the doore, as I 

had charge, me thought I came : 
And tooke the ring [with] in my hand, 

and knocked at the same : 
Who knocketh at the doore, quoth one? 

A silly wight, quoth I, 
Cast vp of late, on sorrowes shore, 

by tempests soddenly : 
Brought in the Barke of weary bale, 

cast vp by wanes of woe : 
Since when, to seeke some place of rest 

I wandred too and froe. 
And wandring so, I knew not how, 

vnto a Mount I came, 
Whereas I found in comely sort, 

a noble courteous Dame. 
The moot is cald the Hill of Hope, 

wher doth Dame Patifioe dwd : 
From whom I come : Wdoome* quoth he^ 

I know the Lady wd. 

To shew this Youth, the perfect path 

vnto the place of rest, 
Who long hath wandred vp & down, 

with torments sore opprest. 
Dame Patience hath stoode his friend, 

and sent him vnto me, 
To lend him helpe vnto this place, 

where he desires to be. 
Lady, quoth he, I cannot go 

my selfe abroade to day. 
But I will send my seruant here, 

to shew him the right way : 
Whose company if he will keepe, 

beleeue me, he shall finde 
In little time, a place that may 

right well content his minde. 
Which if he do not, yet let him 

with him retume to me, 
And then my selfe will go with him. 

It shall suffice, quoth she : 
Go, sirra, quoth she, follow well 

[t]his man, where to he goes : 
And take good heede, that in no wise 

his company you loose : 
For if you lose his company, 

you lose your labour quite : 
But follow him, your gaine perhaps 

your trauaile, shall requite : 
His name, quoth she. True Reason it, 

my Father Wisdoms man : 
Whom, if you follow, to the place 

of rest, conduct you can. 
So, sirra, quoth she, go your wayet, 

be rulde by him, I tay : 
And though he leade you now ft the 

through tome vnplefluit way. 



Yet follow him where so he goes : 

doo as I bid yoa doe, 
And he, in time, the perfect place 

of rest, can bring thee too : 
And so, Oarewell, Lady, quoth I, 

I humble thankes do giue 
To you, and eke this good olde man : 

and sure, while I doo line. 
You two, I vowe, and eke besides 

the noble curteous Dame 
That sent me hither vnto you. 

Dame Patience by name. 
In hart I euer honour will : 

and honest Reason loe, 
For taking paines, vnto the place 

of rest with me to goe. 
To recompence his paines, I vowe 

to stand his fiuthftill friend. 
To follow him, and to be nilde 

by him vnto mine ende. 
And if I seeke to slippe from him. 

I willing aye will be. 
That, as he list, he shall doo due 

correction vpon me : 
So Lady, I my leaue doo take : 

and therewithall, me thought. 
The good olde man, fast by the hande 

vnto the doore me brought : 
And at the doore (me thought) did part, 

this good olde man and I : 
And Reason, he came stepping forth, 

to beare me company : 
Or else to leade me to the place 

whereas we then should goe : 
But as in euery merry moode, 

dooth happe some sodaine woe : 
So in this Dreame, as we (me thought) 

were going on our waye, 
I know not well at what (alas) 

we suddainly gan staye : 
And staying so, a Phesant Cocke 

hard by me I gan see, 
Which, flying by me, crew so lowde, 

as that he waked me. 
And thus my Dreame was at an end : 

which, when that I awoake, 
I tooke my penne, and as you see 

I put it in my booke : 
Which, for the straungenesse of the same, 

surely perswadeth mee, 
It dooth some straunge effect pretend, 

what euer so it be. 

The huge highe Mountaine, fyrst of all ? 

and then the brokS tree? 
And then the Lady, soddainly, 

that did appeare to me? 
The Napkin lying on the groQd? 

& then the Dames that came 

In order so, with Dishes all, 

vnto this noble Dame ? 
And wherefore, onely fowre of them 

went backe againe away : 
And other fowre attendatmt still 

vpon this Dame did staye ? 
And what should meane the giuing 

of the Citteme, vnto me 
To playe vpon ? and that my selfe, 

should soimd such Harmonic, 
Which neuer playde on like before? 

and then the Song that she 
Vnto the tune that I so playde, 

dyd sweetley sing to me ? 
Then what should meane the order, that 

the Maidens did obserue. 
As they vpon this stately Dame, 

attendaunt still did seme ? 
The Bason, Towel, & the Flowres, 

wher with she strawd y* place? 
And one alone among the rest, 

so humbly saying Grace ? 
What ment her stately keeping of 

her royall Princely seate ? 
And what she ment, by bidding me, 

to wash before I eate ? 
And when, as one amazed, so 

she did behold me stande : 
What she should meane to rise her selfe 

& take me by the hand ? 
Then what should meane the bytter roote 

that first I fed vpon : 
And tasting of the herbe of Hope, 

the bitter taste was gon ? 
Then what should meane my great desyre 

to see that herb to grow : 
And how the I.ady ledde me straight, 

whereas she me did show ? 
The herbe, the roote, the ground, & all, 

and why I then did craue 
Of that same roote, or ere I went, 

a little taste to haue ? 
Then what should meane the cutting vp 

the Turfe, to let me see 
The roote ? and then the breaking of 

a peece thereof for me ? 
Then what should meane ye laying down, 

the turfe, ev6 as she foQd, 
So closely as could scarse be scene, 

that she had styrde the ground? 
And then what ment the great wilde Maxe, 

the Image of a man 
Whereas it grew? and after that 

our backe returning than ? 
What ment the Glasse of water, that 

at our retume we found : 
The towel, and the flowers besides, 

downe lying on the ground ? 
Then what Dame Patience should meane, 

for to demaund of me. 



Howe I did like her seruice there, 

And how from thence with me, vnto 

and whither I could be . 

the Temple neere she came ? 

Content to liue with her or not» 

Then, what should meane the lesson, that • 

or backe retume to chuae? 

she gaue me for to say 

And that she put it to my choice, 

At the Church doore ? and then againe, 

to take or to refuse? 

her vanyshing away ? 

And backe retumde to my olde life, 

Then what should meane the stately Churdi ? 

then what she ment to say : 

and, as I sayd before, 

If well I chose, I mought reioyoe. 

The lesson that I did rehearse 

for to haue scene that day ? 

when I came to the doore? 

If contrary, why then I mought 

Then what should meane y^ sighe I heard ? 

but thanke my selfe therefore ? 

then what y^ Lady ment. 

And bad me pause vpon her words. 

Appairelled in white, to whom 

and then would say no more? 

Dame Patience had me sent ? 

Then what should meane my kneeling so, 

Then what my kneeling ment to her. 

and praying the of mine 

and then my words I sayde? 

To God, for grace to take and chuse, 

And that at my first entring in 

to please his will diuine? 

I was so much afraide ? 

Then what the Lady ment in hast, 

And what should meane the aunswer then 

as I was kneeling so, 

the Ijidy gaue to me? 

To aske to that she did demaund 

And how that from Dame Patience 

an aunswer, yea, or no? 

I came, she did well see? 

Then what my doubtfull aunswer ment, 

Then what should meane her saying, that 

and p>ardon I did crane. 

she knew right well my grief : 

That for an aunswer fiat, I might 

And for Dame Patience sake, I shold 

some longer respit haue? 

be sure to find relief? 

And why she should no respit giue ? 

Then what should meane the aged man. 

then what the padi way ment ? 

of whom she did request 

And what she ment, in that she me 

To take the paines to bring me to 

vnto the Temple sent? 

the place of quiet rest ? 

The Lesson that she gaue me then, 

Then what the old man ment to say, 

and then Dame Pitty too? 

he could not go that day. 

And what besides, at the Church door. 

Bat he would send his servaunt then, 

she further bad me doo? 

to bring me on the way? 

Then, at our parting, the sweete song 

Then what the Lady ment to say 

which ran of Time so much ? 

that should as then suffice : 

What y< shold mean, & what should mean 

And charging me his company 

our choice of musick such ? 

to keepe in any wise ? 

Her song once done, what then should meane 

And then what ment the Lady then. 

the vanishing away. 

to bydde me farewell soe ? 

Wherewith my selfe at first a while 

And thS what ment this old mans m&, 

amazed so did stay? 

that forth with me did go? 

But going onwards on my way. 

And then my thanks vnto the Dame, 

what ment the Riuer then 

and to the good olde man ? 

That ran so neer the path ? and then 

And to Dame Patience, my friend. 

the Boate? and then the man ? 

and eke our parting than 

And then what should be ment, in that 

At the Church doore, with y« okle Sire ? 

he called so to me. 

and the what should be ment 

To take a Boate to crosse the streame ? 

the way that I did see. 
Likely to leade vnto some towne ? 

what too was ment by that 
Whereto I made no aunswer, but, 

I stayed looking at? 
And then againe, what ment the Dame 

who vanished away. 
To come vnto me there againe, 

and what she ment to saye? 
I happy was I had not tane 

a Boate or ere she came : 

By him, that for to bring me to 

the place of Rest was sent? 
And then, what should be ment by this. 

in going of our way, 
I know not how, but soddainly 

we both at once gan staye? 
And last, of that accursed Cocke : 

what should the meaning bei. 
That in his flying crew so lowde, 

as that he waked me? 
Which Cocke, I am perswaded sure, 

if that he bad not beene : 




Some wondrous sight, in trauailing, 

I, doubtles, should haue seen : 
And that which grieues me most of all. 

the place of quiet rest 
That man would sure haue brought me too : 

where now, with grief oppiest, 
I must perforce liue as I do, 

and only haue this ease, — 
To pray unto Dame Patience 

my sorrowes to appease : 
Who promisde me, at parting last, 

that though I her not see 
Long time againe in open sight, 

yet she would be with me : 
And guide me so firom place to place, 

where euer so I goe. 
That I by her shall finde great ease 

Of many a deadly woe. 
In hope whereof, thus, as you see, 

my wearie life I spende, 
Till I the place of Rest attaine : 

and so I make an ende. 

This Dreame is strainge : and sure, I thinke 

it dooth Pronosticate 
Some straunge effect, what so it is : 

but since I know not what 
It dooth pretend : I still will praye 

to God, me to defend 
In daimgers all, bothe daye and night, 

vnto my lyues end. 
And when this loathsome life I end, 

with torments so opprest, 
In Heauen I may, at latter daye, 

enioye a place of resL 

1! A prety Toye written vpon this Theame : 

A man a sleepe, is not at rest 
Although the heart a sleepe, 

the bones be all at rest. 
Yet man a sleepe, his minde is oft 

with many thoughu opprest. 
He dreames of this and that : 

sometime with trifling tojres 
His onely minde is troubled sore : 

sometime of pleasaunt ioyes 
His minde dooth run in sleepe : 

sometime, he dreames of Kinges, 
Of Princes Courts & princely feates, 

and of such gallant thinges : 
And, by and by, is out 

in midst of all his dreame. 
And from the Court to country Clowns, 

and of a messe of Creame : 
Of Cattle in the feelde, 

of woods and pasture groundes. 
Of Hawking, Fyshing, Fowling too, 

& hunting hare with hoQds : 
And sodeinly, vnwares, 

be leaues his oountrey sport* 

And firom the countiey, by and by, 

to Cittie dooth resort. 
And there a thousand things 

at once runs in his minde : 
The gallant shops of sundry sortes, 

and wares of sundry kinde : 
The precious Pearies and stones 

on Goldsmiths shops that shine : 
And then the Horsehead, but hard by 

and then a cuppe of Wine. 
Besides all gallant showes, 

yet one aboue the rest. 
The Marchaunts wiues, with other 

in fine attire adrest. 
That at their dores, sometime 

on Sundayes vse to sit : 
This when some doo behold by day, 

by night they dreame of it. 
And then they &11 in loue, 

although their sute be small : 
For in the Morning once awakte, 

they haue forgotten all. 
Some dreame of cruell warres, 

of men slaine here and there : 
And all the Fields with bodyes dead 

nye couered euery where. 
And by and by, the warres 

not scarcely halfe begon : 
But who dooth get the victory, 

and then the warres are done. 
And sodeinly againe, 

he cannot tdl which way. 
He is at sea, and there he sees 

great Fishes gan to play : 
And straight a tempest comes, 

that makes the waues to rore : 
And then he seeth how the Ships 

doo saile in daunger sore. 
Anon he sees his ship 

with billowes beaten so : 
That comes at last a sodaine waue, 

that dooth her ouerthrow : 
And there, both she, and all 

her Marriners are dround : 
Yet he himselfe, he knowes not how. 

is safely set on ground. 
He onely is at shore, 

when all the rest are lost : 
And there he sees, how other ships 

with tempests like are tost. 
And there he stands not long, 

but straight a suddaine chaunge : 
He carryed is, he knowes not how, 

into a Countrey straunge : 
And there he speakes a speech 

he neuer spake before : 
And once awake againe, perhaps, 

he neuer shall speake more. 
A thousand things too, more, 

a man dooth thinke to 



In sleepe sometimes, that neuer were, 

nor yet are like to be. 
For I my selfe haue dreamde, 

in sleepe, of sightes so straimge, 
And, in the midst of all my dreame, 

of sodaine sundry chaunge : 
That, in the mome awake, 

I could but merudle much, 
What cause by day, by night should drine 

me into dreaming such. 
But sitting so a while, 

sometime I call to minde 
A prouerbe olde, which some count true, 

but I meere false doo finde : 
That is, That man asleepe 

dooth lie at quyet rest : 
For many sleepe, yt haue their mindes 

with many greefes opprest. 
Some Dreame of Parents death, 

or death of some deare friend : 
Some dreame of sorrowes to insue, 

and pleasures at an end. 
And dreaming so, I thinke 

that man is not at rest. 
Although he sleepe, his heart is yet 

sore troubled in the brest. 
The Boye that goes to Schoole 

dooth dreame of Rods by night. 
His breech too, ready for the rodde : 

and in a soddaine fright 
He starteth in his sleepe, 

and waketh therewithall : 
And then say I, although he sleepe, 

his rest can be but small. 
Some thinke in sleepe they are 

in Field with foe at fight, 
And with their fysts they buffet them 

that lie with them by night 
And are they not at rest, 

although they sleepe, say you? 
In deede they haue a kinde of rest, 

but rest, I wot not how. 
And many causes moe 

of great vnquiet rest, 
I could declare, that are in sleepe : 

but these that are exprest 
May well suffice, I hope, to prooue 

my iudgement good in this : 
That minde of man is troubled much, 

when moste a sleepe he is. 

H Another Toye written in the praise of a 
Gilliflower, at the request of Gentle- 
women : and one, aboue the rest, who 
lotted that Flower. , 

Ir I should choose a prety Flower, 
For seemdy show, and sweetest feme : 


In my minde, sure, the Gillifiower 
I should commend, where so I wente : 

And if neede be, good reasen too 

I can alledge why so I doe. 

The Crimson coulour, fyrst of all, 

Dooth make it seemely to the eye : 

The pleasaunt savour therewithall 

Comfortes the braine too, by and by : 
For coUour then and sweetest smell 
The Gillifiower must beare the BelL 

This is in Pots preserued we see. 

And trimly tended euery day : 

And so it dooth deserue to bee. 

For siu%, if I mought plainly say : 
If it would prosper in my Bedde, 
I would haue one at my Beds head. 

What laugh you at ? you thinke I iest, 

I meane plaine troth, I promise ye : 

The Gillifiower dooth like me best 

Of all the Flowers that ere I see. 
And who that dooth mislike the same, 
In my minde, shall be much too blame. 

H A pretty toye wr3rtten in the praise of a 
straunge Springe in Suffolke. 

I NEUER tranailde countreys farre, 

whereby strange things to see. 
As woods and waters. Beasts & byrds, 

wherein such vertues bee. 
As are not common to be had, 

but seeldome to be found : 
And hearbes and stones, of nature such, 

as none are on the ground. 
But as I haue red of many one, 

and surely, in my minde. 
As well at home as fane abroad, 

I many straung things finde. 
But many men whose runing heads, 

delights abroad to range. 
Whose fancies fond are dayly fed. 

With toyes and choice of change : 
What euer their owne soyle dooth yeeld, 

they do no whit esteeme : 
But far fet & deare bought, that they 

most worthy praise doo deeme. 
But tis no matter, let that passe, 

ech one, where he thinkes best, 
Choose what and whe and where he likes, 

& leue his frends the rest. 
And let me speake in praise of that, 

which worthy, in my minde. 
And therewith, rare like to be seene 

in England, here I fynde. 
No beast, nor byrde, no stick nor stone, 

no hearbe nor flower it is, 
No foule nor Fish, no metall stxaoge : 

nought but a Spring ywis. 



But such a Spring, so cleare, so fayre, 

so sweete and delicate : 
That happy he may thinke himselfe, 

that may come sip thereat. 
To speake in praise thereof at large, 

it ¥rere to much for me« 
As it deserues ; but if I were 

a Poet, as some be : 
Sure I would spend a little time 

to let the world to know, 
That out of our small Iland yet, 

so fyne a Spring dooth flow. 
In Quids Metamorphosis 

I read there of a Spring, 
Whereby Narcissus caught his bone, 

[and] only with looking 
Long while vpon the same : for loe, 

the water shone so cleare. 
That thorow the same, the shadow of 

his face did so appeare, 
That he forgetting quite himselfe, 

fell so enamoured 
Of his o?me Cbux, that there he lay 

as one amazde, halfe dead : 
So long, till at the last, 

for want of very foode. 
He fell Starke madde, and lost his life 

in place whereas he stoode : 
And after his ghost yeelded vp, 

(at least, as Poets fiEdne,) 
His Corps was turned to a flower 

which there did stil remaine : 
Which flower, if I doo not mistake, 

is tearmde the Lilly white. 
If this be false, blame Quid then, 

that such a tale would write. 
But if it had beene true, 

when he so sore was greeued. 
Had he but come vnto this Spring, 

he had beene soone releeued : 
For in this Spring he should haue seene 

no shadowes of a face. 
But such a face as should in deede 

his owne so much disgrace. 
That he should haue forgotte his owncj 

if this he once did see. 
Now he that doth desire to know 

wher this same Spring should be : 
In SufTolke soyle, who so best list, 

let him I say go seeke : 
And he may hap to see a Spring 

he neuer saw the leeke. 

IT A Gentleman on a time, hauing three 
Sonnes: and being very desirous to 
haue them brought vp at an Universitie : 
being very well acquainted with a yong 

Gentleman, who he knew had spent 
some yeares at Oxford, desyred him to 
choose a Tutor there, for his three Chil- 
dren, which- as he thought were fyttest 
to bring them vp as well in learning 
as good behaviour : which he was con- 
tented to doe : and hauing chosen a 
Tutor for them, not long after, hauing a 
great desire to see them doo well, wrote 
their Tutor a Letter, and with the 
Letter a pretty Tale in verse, to mooue 
him to haue a great care of them : the 
Letter I let alone : but the tale I haue 
thought good to shew forth among these 
prety Toyes, as one not the worste : 
which tale was as followeth. 

IT A little Prefiauie before the Tale. 

A PRBTT Tale of late I heard, 

a learned wise man tell : 
Wherto I gaue attentiue eare, 

and markte it very well : 
Touching the bringing vp of youth, 

'and who were fittest men. 
In learning and good quallities, 

to bring vp children. 
Which Tale, when I had heard told out, 

of troth, it likte me so, 
That to the like, I were content 

againe ten myles to go. 
WeU : as it was, I did full ofte 

reuolve the same in minde : 
And many prety poincts therein 

I many tymes did finde. 
And as one day vnto my selfe, 

by chaunce, I did rehearse 
Eche poinct therein, I tooke my Penoe 

and put it into verse. 
Which Tale so pend, according to 

my simple skill, I send 
To you : for dyvers causes Syr : 

first, for that it doth tend 
Vnto a little matter, that 

there is twizt you and me : 
It hath (I trow) somwhat respect, 

vnto the Children three : 
The three yong Gentlemen, 

which to you, as my firiend, 
I gaue in charge, to rule and teach : 

and so I make an end. 



II The Tale followeth in this manner. 

A GENTLEMAN, that had two soimes, 

desirous was to see 
Them both in learning traded up : 

for which, great counsale hee, 
Of diuers often did require, 

what Tutors he might choose 
To put these prety Puples too, 

that rightly might them vse. 
And vnder whom they likely were 

their labours to haue lost 
Well : to be breefe, so many men 

so many mindes there were : 
Some would say this, some other that, 

& som were here, som there. 
Some sayd, they thought that liberty 

was ill for Children : 
Some other sayd, that lawfull twas 

and needefull, now and then : 
Some sayd, the rod should be the sword, 

to keepe Children in awe : 
And other some, such cruelty 

counted not worth a strawe. 
Some sayd, that Children should 

surpressed be by feare : 
Some thought, to rule by gentlenesse, 

a better way it were. 
Some said, that children were 

by nature bent to play. 
Which from their learning, in short space, 

will drawe them soone away : 
Fro which, by feare to keepe them still, 

the rod should be the meane : 
Least little smack of liberty 

would quickly marre them cleane : 
And vse would make great masteries, 

for so, by keeping in 
And harde applying of their bookes, 

they profile would therein. 
Some other then, that thorowly 

this matter did discusse. 
To that opinion contrary, 

alleadged reason thus : 
Children, by nature, are not bent 

to any Idnde of play ; 
Their minds are euS halfe made by thS 

that goueme them alway : 
And that, to keepe their minds frO play, 

the rod should be no meane ; 
And that by feare for to subdue, 

that were not worth a beane. 
As for esuunples sake, (quoth one) 

at first, take me a Childe, 
Who hath a prety ready wit, 

although of nature wilde : 
And let him leame to daunce, 

to shoote, and play at ball, 
And any other sporte : but put 

him to bis booke whhall : 

And when he is abroade, 

if fEiyre he doo not shoote, 
Or when he gins to daunce, 

if false he chaunce to foote, 
Then pay him, breech him thorowly, 

favour him not at all : 
And now and then correct him well, 

though for a fault but smaU. 
If that he trip, or misse his time, 

vp with him, by and by : 
Let him not slip with such a fault, 

but pay him presently. 
And you shall see that ofte, for feare, 

his legges will quiuer so. 
That he shall neuer leame to daunce, 

nor scarcely well to go. 
And when in fedd he drawes not cleane, 

his arrow in his bowe, 
Knock him vpon the fingers harde : 

and you shall see, I trow. 
That in a while his fyngers ends, 

for feare will quiuer so. 
That he will neuer leame aright, 

to let his Arrow go. 
Now if he be harde at his booke, 

although he leame not well, 
Either forget, or conster &lse : 

at fyrst, doo gently tell 
Him of his faulte, and if 

that he do plye it harde, 
Giue him an Apple or a Peare, 

or some such childes rewarde : 
And trust me, you shall see, the schoole 

shall be his chiefe delight : 
And from his booke he seeld will be, 

or neuer, if he might. 
Wherefore, by reason thus I prooue, 

that children be not bent. 
But that their natures much are made 

by Tutors gouemment. 
But this I graunt as requisite, 

with reason to correct : 
Lest children oft for lacke thereof, 

their faults too much neglect. 
But as a sworde, to set it vp 

in schoole to open sight, 
I like not that : for tis to some 

at fyrst to great a fright 
Their eyes are so vpon the rodde, 

they little minde their booke : 
For diildish feare will cause them still 

upon the Rodde to looke : 
And so their eyes quite from their bookes 

not only drawes away. 
But eke their minds, as much and more 

then any kinde of play : 
Wherefore a Rod I would in schooles 

should be kept out of sight. 
To make the Children to their bookes 

to haue a more delight 



% Another graue gray headed syre, 

that harde them reason so. 
Thus said : So many shrewd curst boyes, 

& wftton wags I know. 
And eke so many Schoolemaisters, 

that lack good gouemment. 
That many piety Boyes will mar, 

that are of minds well bent : 
That sure I know not what to say, 

but, trust me, in my minde, 
A good Tutor, whereto a child 

is bent, can quickly finde ; 
And as he findes the nature of 

the Childe, euen so he may. 
By gentle meanes, euen as he list, 

soone leade him euery way. 
So, that to keepe him in good awe, 

correction, now and than, 
He iustly use with gentlenesse, 

as a good Tutor can. 
Well : at the last, this Gentleman, 

when he had heard at large 
Their true oppinions euery one, 

at last, he gaue in charge 
His two Sonnes to two sundry men : 

whereof the one was milde. 
And euer sought by gentle meanes 

for to bring vp a Childe : 
The other was of nature fierce, 

and, therefore, rather sought 
With store of stripes for to bring vp 

such children as he taught. 
The children both of nature like, 

in time did differ much ; 
The difference of gouemment, 

of Tutors, theirs was such. 
The one did prooue a proper Youth, 

and learned for his time : 
And by his learning afterward, 

to honour high did dyme. 
This, was by him brought vp, 

that was of nature milde. 
And euer sought by gentle meanes, 

for to bring vp a Childe. 
The other prooued but a blocke, 

a Dunsicus, an Asse : 
Because, with too much cruelty, 

he often dulled was. 
This, was brought vp by him 

that was so fierce of minde : 
That thought the Rod should be the sword, 

to rule a child by kinde. 
The Father sory, afterward, 

to see his Child so lost : 
And seeing, that his other sonne, 

did euer profile most : 
Tooke him away from that fierce foole, 

and put him presently 
To him that was the mylder man, 

praying him, earnestly. 

To see if that he could in time, 

quicken his duUed wit : 
D^iring him thereto to vse 

such meanes as he thought fyt. 
Well : at the last, with much adoe 

he tooke a little paine : 
And tooke in hand to shaipen theo, 

his dulled braine againe : 
And many maisteries did prooue, 

but rigour none he vsde : 
For that before he had so mudi 

by thother ben abusde : 
But euer sought, by gentle meanes, 

to make him voide of feare ; 
And so in time did alter much, 

his nature as it were. 
He made him boulder to his booke, 

therefore, more willing to 
His study still : but yet, alas, 

whateuer he could doe. 
He could not make him like vnto 

his brother any way : 
Although he striu'de, and tooke great pains, 

asmuch as in him lay : 
Yet euery way he mended had, 

his nature very much : 
The gentle meanes, he euer vsde 

in teaching him. were such. 
Well : to be short, when that 

this Gentleman did see. 
The difference twixt his two sons : 

There shall no more, quoth he. 
Of children mine be put to Schoole 

to such as still doo vse 
To rule the Children by the rod : 

I rather aie will chuse 
To put my children vnto those, 

that are of nature milde, 
And know by loue and gentlenesse, 

how to bringe vp a childe. 
And thus the tale was at an ende. 

and now, Sir, euen as he. 
The Gentleman that had two sonnes, 

desirous was to see 
Them both in learning traded vp : 

euen so, no lesse, am I 
Desirous for to see these youthes, 

bothe learnedly 
And vertuously brought vp, 

as much as if they were 
The neerest kinsmen that I haue, 

or brethren deere, I sweare. 
Wherefore, good Syr, as I in you 

my fiaithfull trust repose : 
Vouchsafe to take such pains with them, 

that they no time do lose : 
And for correction, now and than, 

to him that dooth not wdl, 
I meane not to instruct you Sir : 

your selfe can better tdl 



Then I, what longs thereto : 

therefore, as you shall finde, 
Vse your discretion Sir, therein 

according to your minde; 
Thus you haue heard the milder man 

the better Scholler made : 
And yet, a bridell must be had, 

for a wilde brainesicke Jade. 
But for your prety Coltes, I hopei 

no bridle you shall neede : 
I hope you easdy shall them bende, 

with a snudl twined threed. 
My meaning is, I hope they will 

themselues eche order so. 
That you shall neede to take small care 

almost which way they go. 
Yet now and then, though without neede, 

somwhat looke out, I pray : 
Least that they hap by Cknnpany 

for to be led astray. 
For though their natures well be bent, 

yet you know, now & than, 
111 company oft times, God wot, 

dooth marre an honest man : 
And they, you know, are all but young, 

and youth delights in toyes. 
And toyes frO learning quite & dean, 

withdraweth wanton boyes. 
Yet in good faith, I hope, good Syr, 

your prety Puples three. 
Will bothe in learning, and all things, 

by you so ruled be : 
And eke vnto their bookes, besides, 

will haue so great desire : 
That earnest more, or dilligent, 

you cannot well require. 
Well : I haue put them aU to you, 

you only must be he. 
That as well to their learning, as 

behauiour must see. 
I sought not out three sundry men, 

to put these children vtoo, 
To see which of them would doo best, 

and which againe would do 
Worst of the three : but aU vnto 

your charge I doo conunit, 
To teache and goueme, by such meanes, 

as you alone thinke fit. 
And as I haue them giuen in charge 

to you, euen so I craue 
That you will see your SchoUert lo, 

themselues each way behaue ; 
And bring them vp in learning so, 

that when from you they part, 
I to haue found a Tutor such, 

first will be glad in heart : 
And you your selfe another day, 

may be full glad to see 
Their vertuous life, & then may say, 

these were brought vp by me. 

Their Father then, whose tender care 

is for to see them aU, 
In learning daily to succeede, 

and further there withall 
In good behaviour eke, 

may ¥rell in hart reioyoe : 
That I in this bdialfe haue made 

so good and happy choice. 
As to finde out, so fit a man, 

to put his children too. 
As vnder whom, they all in time, 

so will are like to doe. 
And I my selfe, the more for that, 

may stande your bounden friend : 
And he reward you for your paines : 

and so I make an ende. 

giuen to a Gentilman, to set about his 

What man can beare a lofty saile. 

Where fortune frownes, and friends doo Cedle ? 

And who so low, but he may rise. 
By fortunes aide, and friends aduiae ? 

What wo to hate ? what ioye to love ? 
What stranger state, then both to proooe ? 

What treasure, to a friend in deede? 
What greater spight, then faile at neede? 

What wisdome more, then for to leame 
The trueth from falshood to disoeme ? 

From which false dealing God defend 
Those that meane well : and so I end. 

IT A Gentleman being requested by a Gentle- 
woman, to pen her a Prayer in verse, 
wrot at her request, as followeth. 

PiTTE, oh Lord thy Servaunts heavy heart. 

Her sinnes forgiue, that thus for mercy cryes : 
Judge no man (Lords) aooording to deaart. 
Let fall on her with speede thy healthful! eyes : 
In hart who prayes to thee oontimially, 
Putting her only trust of God in Thee; 
Lords, Lords, to thee for mercy still I call, 
Oh, set me free, that thus am bound and thrall. 

U Not many dayes after, he chaunced to 
walke with the same Gentilwoman in a 
Garden : and was againe then intzeated 



by her, to make her another prayer, 
which presently he pend : speaking with 
the tearmes of a Gardiner, as foUoweth. 

Plant Lorde, in me the tree of godly lylie. 

Hedge me about with thy stronge fence of &ith : 
If thee it please, vse eke thy proyning knife. 
Least that, oh Lord, as a good Gardiner saith : 
If suckers draw the sappe from bowes on hie. 
Perhaps in tyme the top of tree may die. 
Let. Lord, this tree be set within thy Garden wall 
Of Paradise, where growes no one ill sprig at alL 

f A pretty toye, written vpon a Ladyes pro- 
pounding of a Riddle to her friende. 

A LADY once, in pleasaunt sorte, 

A question did demaunde of mee, 
For want as then of other sporte : 

Without offence, good Sir (quod she) : 
May I craue thus much at your hande, 

To haue a riddle rightly scand? 

Whereto I soone gaue this replye : 

Madame, you know full haJxle it is 
To reade a Riddle perfectly ; 

The wisest men may iudge amisse. 
But shew the effect of your request, 

And you shall see me doo my best 


Why then, a thing there is, quod she, 

That breedeth many, deadly smart : 
Which none can feele, nor heere, nor see, 

And yet with greefe consumes the heart : 
For which is founde none other ease. 

But euen the cause of the disease : 
Now this is my desire, (quoth she) 

To be resolv'de what this may be? 


These doubts (Madame) quod I, to skan, 

Requires some time, and that not small : 
They trouble would a wiser man 

Then I, by roode, to deale withalL 
But yet, faire Dame, the doubt of this 

I hope to finde, and not to misse : 
I can but gesse vpon a doubt, 

I will not sweare to find it out. 
But as I judge. Madam, quod I, 

It seemes Appollos sicknesse sure, 
On whom he ayed piteously. 

That neuer any herbe could cure : 
Nor any Phisicke finde releefe. 

To helpe or ease him of his greefe : 
Which plainly, Madam, for to name, 

Is hicklesse loue, Dame Venus game. 

Which spightfiill sporte for to attaine 

Some so doo dull their sences all : 
That in the ende, with to mudi i>aine 

They doo become sore sicke with all : 
And so remaine, vntill they haue 

Some players such as they doo crane. 
For euery Player cannot please 

Eche pacient to playe with all : 
For then, to cure his straunge disease, 

He some should haue soone at his call : 
But he must haue whom eche would crane. 

Els he, poore soule, small rest shall haue. 

This Madam, for ought I can see, 
The meaning of your doubt must be : 

Which, if you like not, good Madam, 
Let it euen passe from whence it came. 

My Lady lawght : Is loue, quod she, 
A spight and sporte, to both at ones ? 

Now thou hast giuen me, credit me, 
A resolution, for the nones : 

Tis loue. in deede : thou hast founde out 
The misterie of all my doubt : 

And for thy paines, as to a fiiend, 

I yeelde thee thanrks : — and there an end. 

f A Letter sent vnto a Gentilwoman in 
verse, wherein he gaue great thanks for 
both good cheere and other curteous 
entertainement he had receiued at her 
hands, beeing in the Country at her 
house. The Gentilwomans name was 
Mistris Lettis. 

First, to thy seemely selfe, 

my selfe I doo commend : 
And for thy friendly cheere & cost 

ten thousand thanks I send : 
Which able to requite, 

I know I shall not be : 
But to my power, I will deserue 

as mudi as lyes in me. 
But yet, of all thy cates, 

one dish aboue the rest 
I euer since doo beare in minde, 

which fare dooth like me best : 
Which deinty dish (my deare,) 

If I mought plainly name, 
Lettys it is, a houlsome hearbe : 

thyselfe doost know the same. 
An herbe that we haue here : 

but yet I plainely finde 
That Lettys, from our Lettys heere, 

dooth much digresse in Idnde : 
For in that Lettys, such 

venues soone I found. 



As fewe or none the like, I finde, 

dooth grow vpon our ground : 
This Lettys sweete art thou, 

in which I so delight : 
And God he knows what griefs I bide, 

for wanting of thy sight. 
No Gates, that I can taste, 

but seeme all gall to me : 
When that in minde I feede Tpon 

the fresh reoorde of thee : 
And so, my Lettys sweete, 

▼nto thy selfe farewell 1 
And thinck no cates like Lettys fine, 

can like me halfe so weU. 

f A Riddle propounded by a Gentleman 
to a Gentilwoman whom he loued, but 
was a suter, but secretly. 

Thk thing on earth yon most desire, 
and yet of all you lest would chuse : 

That often times you doo require, 
and yet I know you will refuse : 

And that here present you may see 
AH this is one : what may it be ? 

If Her aunswer, as prety. 

Good Sir, the selfe same thing that yon 
aboue all things doo most esteeme : 

And that in deede is present now, 
and to your selfe you deerest deeme : 

That doo you take it, out of doubt. 
That I would chtise, yet be without 

If A Ditty in despight of a very olde man, 
who was suter to a very young Gentil- 
woman: written by a young Gentilman, 
who was then (in deede) suter to the 
same Lady. 

Perhaps yon tUnke, that all for spight 

I writ thb running rerse. 
Wherein I doo such deepe dispraise 

of doting fooles rehearse : 
No, no (good fiftith) I hate no man : 

bat yet, to such a snudge. 
Of force I must, I cannot chusc, 

but beare a certalne grudge. 
For as one way I honour agti 

so such olde dotii^ doltes. 
That, at the age of three score yeares, 

woqU fidM SMM bat yoHME ooltH : 

Those crusty chaps I cannot loue, 

the Diuell doo them shame : 
God let them neuer hane good lucke 

of any noble Dame, 
Much lesse th[e] loue : alas, my heart, 

It rendes for veiy greefe. 
To thinke vpon the crabbed crust, 

that vile fM doting theefe, 
That seekes to robbe thee of aU ioyes, 

and me of my delight : 
Wo woorth that so shall seeke, 

to winne a vrorthy wight : 
And seeme to matdi a miching Carle 

with such a pearlesse peece. 
As neuer yet, Appelles fine, 

could paint the like in Greece. 
Well, well, this is the world, (we see) 

tis money makes the man, 
Yet shaU not money make him yong 

againe, doo what he can : 
No, nor yet honest sure, I iudge, 

nay more, for troth I know, 
The older still, the more in crafte, 

his braines he dooth bestow. 
And crafte and Knauery commonly, 

with crooked crabbed age, 
With Auaryce and Jelosy, 

dooth make a mariage. 
These are the fruites of froward age, 

which thou sbalt reape, God wot : 
When thou wilt say, oh, had I wist, 

in faith then would I not. 
Well, say not yet but thou art wamde, 

by him that likes thee well. 
Thou comber not thy comly corps, 

with such a Coystrel : 
Whose crusty chaps, whose Aly nose, 

whose lothsom stinking breath, 
Whose toothles gumms, whose bristled beard, 

whose visage, all like death, 
Would kill an honest wench to view : 

and so it will doo thee, 
If so thou hap to match thy selfe 

with such a snudge as he. 
My oounsaile therefore follow, wench, 

cast of the crabbed knaue : 
And henceforth, not one merry word, 

ne k>oke ytx let him haue : 
But ftx>wne vpon the fitiward foole. 

and when thou seest him glad, 
Knit thou thy browes, hang down thy head, 

& then seeme y« most sad. 
As who would say, the crabbed lookes 

of his old doting age 
Of force you know must needes offend, 

a youthfull personage : 
Let therfore crummes, as fyttest is, 

with crustes then linked be : 
For trust to this, that like to like, 

will euer bast agree. 



U A prety Toye in rime, 



WhS purse grows pOd, & credit cncks, 

& friends begin to liule. 
To comfort then a heauy heart, 

alas, what may prevaile ? 

Audita Tox confortans. 

Yet doo not thou dispayre at all, 

but comfort thou thy minde : 
Though credit, purse, & friends be gone, 

somwhat is Idft behinde. 


Somewhat, alas, oh, tell me now, 

what somwhat that may be : 
That so in this my deepe distresse, 

is left to comfort me. 

Why doost thou craue to know the thing 

wherof y" canst not doubt ? 
Necessity ere long, I wis, 

will make thee finde it out. 


Necessitie, alas, I see, 

too ready is at hand : 
Yet can I not, doo what I can, 

thy meaning vnderstand. 


Why? doste thou not thy selfe assure, 

there is no mallady. 
But physick hath in store for it, 

some kinde of remedy. 


No, credit me, I feare there is 

no meane to cure my greefe : 
If there be any, let me craue 

how I may find releefe. 


Wylt thou doo as I bid thee doo? 

and thou shalt soone finde ease : 
Although thou be not at the first, 

quite rid of thy disease. 


If that thy counsaile well I like, 

I will agree thereto : 
To ease my heart of this despayre, 

I care not what to doo. 


Haue patience then, rage not to much, 

let reason rule thy minde : 
And be thou sure, in little time, 

some comfort for to finde. 


But padence dooth come perforce : 

and what is forst (God wot) 
Dooth more and more torment the minde : 

then pacience easeth not 


Yet pacience procureth hope, 

and hope driues out dispaire : 
And where Dispaire is driuen away, 

there comfort dooth repayre. 


Oh, but hope oftentimes is vaine, 

and dooth deceiue the minde : 
Therefore, in hope I thinke, alas, 

but comfort small to finde. 


Let hope then grow by due desart, 

then foUowes good successe : 
For reason showes, who seekes for ease, 

shal some way finde redresse. 


Oh, but alas, those dayes be past 

for to reward desart : 
And that the more, dooth caus6 dispayre, 

for to torment my heart. 

What though such daies are past, in deede, 

yet daies wil come again, 
Wherein desarts shall reape desyre, 

and pleasure win for paine. 

But while the grasse dooth grow, oft times 

the silly steede he sterues : 
And he, God wot, shall reape small gaine, 

in only hope, that semes. 

Yet seme in hope, and hope in God. 

and seeke well to deserue : 
And let the Horse doo what he Ust, 

be sure thou shalt not sterue. 

Now like I well this lesson thine, 

God well in heart to seme : 
For he, in deede, who hope in him, 

will neuer let them steme. 

U A Gentleman becing in his friends house, 
in the Country, was by hun earnestly 
intreated after Dinner, before his depart- 
ure, to make him some verses. But 
would guie him no tbeame to write 



vpon : he, not knowing what to write 
that best mought like his fande, yet 
willing to graunt his request, wrote as 

Needs must I write, & know not what : 

why then enen as it is, 
Accept the same, and blame me not, 

if ought you find amis. 
On bushy bankes what else, 

but thornes and faryars grow ? 
What looke you for, but raine, 

when stoimy winds gin blowe? 
What looke you for, of me, 

some learned kinde of verse? 
You are deceaude : I cannot I, 

but ragged rimes rehearse. 
But what? me thinkes you say, 

I make too much adoo. 
Considering how little yet, 

I haue done hetherto : 
And since I graunted haue 

so little time to write. 
Some pithy shorter sentence, would 

a wiser man indite. 
In deede syr, true it is. 

my fiuilt I do confesse, 
And since I haue no longer time 

my meaning to expresse, 
Remaine in doubt what I would doo, 

if I had longer time : 
And so, with thanks for my good cfaeare, 

I rudely end my rime. 
But if so be you haue 

some prety kinde of stile. 
Whereon you doo desire some verse, 

if you will stay a while, 
A day or two, or so, 

or till I come agahie. 
Then you shall see, that I hi time 

will temper so my t>raine, 
And whet my wittes a new, 

that I will promise you. 
Some prety peece of verse thereon, 

more then I can doo now. 
And thus, I kaue you here, 

vntil I come agidne. 
This rude and ragged rime to reade : 

and so, in rest remaine. 

U Verses made upon this Theame : 

Little medling, breedes mickle rest 

My youthfiill yeares are spent, 

old age comes stealing on. 
And bids me now, fond Fandes fits, 

no more to thhike vpon. 


Of worthy Wisdome I, 

some lessons now haue leamde. 
Whereby the diflference twizt wit 

and will, I haue discemde : 
Among all which, this one, 

where euer so I be. 
To keepe still secrete to my selfe 

what so I here or see. 
Which, since of lessons all 

I doo not count the worst, 
I doo intend his graue aduise, 

In this to follow first 
Fyrst in thy selfe, quoth he, 

all foults thou must amend. 
Before in other men thou seeke, 

one fouU to reprehend. 
Of Cato eke I leamd, 

it is no little shame. 
To find that fiuilt in other men, 

wherein I am to blame. 
To hold my peace, therefore. 

I count it alwayes best : 
And keep in minde the old sayd saw, 

thereof comes mickle rest 

Y I see a flattering knaue 

is set by, now and then. 
Of greatest heads, as much and more, 

then twenty honest men : 
But let me rue the same, 

since I cannot amende it : 
I mought a witlesse foole be thought, 

to seeke to reprdiend it 
% Some Lawyer sees, at fyrst, 

which way the case will go : 
Although he list not at the fyrst, 

to tell his Clyent so : 
But what meanes he by that ? 

alas, doo you not see. 
Your pence may make you picke it out, 

and so they shall, for me. 
What boote were it, for me, 

their meaning to betray : 
And so, no profile to my selfe. 

to take their gaines away? 

Y The Marchaunt man he sees too, syr, 

by your hye lusty lookes, 
That shortly he shall finde your hand. 

deep in his reckening bookes. 
Bids he you then beware 

betimes, of had I wist? 
No, no, but lets you lash it out 

as long syr, as you list. 
Or as you can, at least : 

and if you aske me why. 
He will no better counsaile giue, 

and what he meanes thereby ? 
Your losse of Lands, ere long, 

shall leame you how to know, 
As wen as I can teach yon Syr, 

and better too, I trow. 




And so shall I offend 

the Marchaunts nere a whit, 
By showing of their silken saaNi. 

that in their shops doo stL 
V Your Tenaont too he sees, 

that by your trim gay Coates, 
Some Lease is shortly to be kt, 

then gets he rp his Groatet : 
And purseth vp his pence, 

and coms with opyne in haaile 
To crane of your good Maystieniyp, 

to hyre a peece of Lande. 
And wot you wherefore Syr, 

your Farmer finds this feate? 
To come with Coyne, ready In hand, 

your freenship to intreaite : 
When that your goods are gone, 

and you Uie losse doo see 
Of brainsick baigaines made i& haste, 

to maintaine brauery : 
The smart thereof, at last, 

shall shew you then their ithlftes : 
Then shall you easely disceme, 

their double dealing driftet : 
Which I dare not descry, 

I am so chargde, you see, 
To make no words of any thing, 

what euer so it be. 
1 Your servaunt last he sees, 

your feathers gin to &11. 
And sees your Famer buy yon o«t. 

of house and land and afl. 
No longer then he likes 

your seruice Syr, adew, 
And if you meane to keepe a man, 

you must go seek a new. 
And aske you me by this, 

what may his meaning be? 
Sitfe, if you see it not your sdfe. 

you shall not know for me. 
1 As for the higher powers, 

they are too high for me : 
What faults are to be found in them. 

I list not seeke to see : 
Let finde their fiuilts themselues. 

so shall they best be pleasde : 
And for my sflence, I am sore 

I shall not be diseasde. 
^ But to the rest againe, 

that are of meaner sorte ; 
Of their fine fetches, secretly, 

I somewhat will reporte : 
For openly, God wot, 

I nothing dare descry : 
Who hurts not me, nor yet ay firlends, 

I will not hurt them, I. 
But they who doo me harme, 

I doo not meane to spare : 
To bid my friends in each respect, 

of such for to beware. 

V Fhmi Cittisens to Qownes, 

what secret shifte they haue : 
It is a sport to see a Clowne 

how he can play the Knave. 
The Badger fyrst, one Knaue 

that hunts the market place. 
When Come is cheape, to buy good store : 

now therfoy lyes a case. 
What should he mean by that ? 

oh syr. when come growes deere, 
I need not tell you what he means, 

your selfe shall know next ycre. 
IT The toleyng Myller then, 

when he hath toUde his sacke. 
He findes a trade to fill it vp, 

if any meale doo lacke. 
Now what meanes he by this? 

this feate how dooth he frame? 
The Milstones greete among y* meale. 

wil make you finde the same. 
IT The Baker then, that sees 

that meale dooth grow so deare, 
He findes a shyfte to hold his gaiiies, 

how euer goe the yeare. 
But what is that his shifte? 

the Bakers man can tell, 
And I say nought, but little loaues 

will show it pretely well. 
IT Some other crabbed Carles, 

of canckred cutthroates kinde, 
That buy whole groaues of woods at once 

and shal I speak my mind, 
What they doo meane thereby ? 

oh no sir, by the roode. 
The Collier & the poore man knowes, 

when they do buy their wood. 

Y The Collyer yet to gaine, 

will play the craitie Clowne : 
He works a knack, yet in his sack, 

when coales doo come to towne : 
But how he works that shifte, 

I pray you aske not me : 
But wh§ you see him shoote his coi^, 

the marke what dust you see. 
^ Another sort of downes there are 

that line by buying come. 
That secretly vse knauish shiftes, 

that are not to be home : 
And these are Maltmen cald : 

but what their shiftes should be, 
I need not tell, by speered Manlt 

the Bruer soone will see. 
^ The Braer then, he findes 

a shifte, to make a gaine : 
But what is that ? small drinke (alas) 
doth show it too too plaine. 
^ Another sort of Clovmes there are, 

that droauers are by name : 
That Heards of Cattell buy at once : 

what meane they by the same? 



Oh syr, although I know, 

I must not say my minde : 
But when the poore man buyes a Cow, 

then he the cause shall [finde.] 
% Another sort there are, 

which some doo Grasiers call : 
And for their secret kinde of gaioe, 

they are not least of all : 
But how they make theyr gaine, 

I list not to descrie : 
The Butcher, when he Buyes his Beefes, 

he better knowes th§ I. 
^ The Butcher too againe, 

he is no foole, I trowe : 
He findes deuice to make a gaine, 

how euer Cattell go. 
But shall I tell you how ? 

oh sir, I must not, I : 
But marke your price & Butchers weight, 

your Beefe when you do buy. 
^ The Chaundler then, y* of 

the Butcher Tallow buies : 
If he buy deere, then wyll he worke 

a feate in secret wise. 
To make a secret gaine : 

but what feate may that be 
I dare say nought, but some the same 

by watry lights may see. 
^ Some wealthy fellowes are, 

that trauell here and [t]here. 
And buy up almost all the WooU 

they can get euery where : 
And doo you seeke to know 

what they may meane by that ? 
The Draper, when you buy your Cloth, 

can quickly tell you what. 
IF Tush, many such things moe, 

I see ofte times, God wot, 
Which I would helpe too if I could, 

but (alas) I cannot 
Therefore, since I cannot, 

I thinke it alwayes best, 
To take good beede and hold my peace, 

for scUence breeds much rest 
If Scflence, then, breede rest, 

why haue I pratled so? 
Yet haue I nothing saide, I hope, 

whereof just gmtch may grow. 
But if against my will 

I any doo offend, 
I pardon craue, I spake in sporte. 

and so I make an ende. 
The iust will Hue upright 

and make an honest gaine : 
And if I thinke to mend a knaoe, 

my kbour is in valne. 
Bui honest men, or els 

what euer so they be, 
Let Comitreyt Prince, and freends nk)ne, 

and lei them be for BM. 


But he that wisheth iU, 

to Coimtrey, Prince and freend, 
I will not keepe his counsaile sure, 

but rather seeke his ende : 
But els, as I am wamde, 

so doo I thinke it best. 
To medle little any way, 

and so to liue at rest 

U A solempne and repentant Prayer, for 
former life mispent 

Oh heavenly Lord, who plain doost 

y« thoughts of ech m&s heart : 
Who sendest some continuall plague, 

& some release of smart : 
Pittie, O Lorde, the wofull state, 

wherein I dayly stand. 
And onely for thy mercies sake, 

now hdpe me, out of hande. 
And as it was thy pleasure fyrst, 

to plague me Uius with greefe : 
So canst thou, Lorde, if thee it please, 

with speede send me releefe. 
I must of force confesse, O Lorde, 

I can it not denye, 
That I deserue these plagues and worse, 

and that continually : 
Yet doo not thou therefore on me 

thy Judgements iust extend : 
But pardon me, and graunt me grace 

my life for to amend. 
And banish (Lord) from me, 

delights of worldly vanitie. 
And lend me helpe, to pace the pathes, 

of perfect pietie. 
And truely so to treade the pathes, 

and in such godly wise, 
That they may bring me to the place, 

of perfect paiadice : 
And not to wander vp and downe, 

in wa3res of weary wo, 
Where wicked wily wanton toyes, 

do leade me too and fro : 
The Sap of Sapience likes me not, 

that pleaseth not my taste : 
But fonde delight, that wicked weede. 

was all my chiefe repaste : 
Wherein, as hooke within the baight, 

so doo I plainly finde 
Some hidden poyson lurking lyes, 

for to infect my minde : 
But wherefore doo I finde it now? 

because, I now doo see 
That, wanting smart I wanted gnoe, 

fior to acknowledge Ihee. 




But now, O Lorde. that I so sore 

doo feele thy panishment : 
I doo lament my foUy great, 

and all my sinnes repent : 
And to thy heauenly throane, O Lord, 

for mercy I appeale. 
To send me (Lord) some heaufily saloe, 

my greevous sores to heale. 
Beholde, O Lord, my sorrowes such, 

as no man dooth endme : 
And eke, my greevous sicknesse such 

as none but thou canst cure : 
And as thou art a gratious God, 

to men in misery. 
So pitty me, that thus (O Lord) 

doo pine in penurie : 

And as thou art a help to all 

that put their trust in thee : 
So (luld in this my deepe distreae) 

some comfort lend to me. 
And hold, O Lord, thy beauy hand, 

and lay thy scourge aside : 
For (Lord) the greevous smart thereof. 

I can no longer bide. 
Forgiue my sinnes, forget the same, 

beholde my humble heart. 
Who, onely Lord, doo trust in thee. 

for to releeue my smart : 
And after this my wretched life : 

Lord, graunt me. of thy grace. 
That I in heauen, at latter daye, 

may haue a ioyfull place. 


Imprinted at London by 

Richard Ihones, dwelling at the Rose 

and Crowne, neere Holburne 

Bridge. 1582. 

[Wood-cut device on verso of last leaf— a female fig^e pointing upward and grasping a fan-like 
mask— legend *QVEL . CHE , MI . MOLESTAVA . ACCENDO . ET . ARDO.'J 


TfTLE-PAGE, 1. 5. ' Com^iUd '— 4ee Gk>ssarial Index, 
i.v.. also Memorial-Introdiicdoii on this vqrd. 

ElPiSTLE-DEDiCATORY, 1. 6, ' Moms * = tn«mma5 : 
1. 10, *vnper/ect* = imperfect — but oddly used : ibid,, 
' muze'si maze, wondering meditativeness : I 14, ' Cox- 
comes Causey' s Fool's road? L x8, ' thriftliSM' s un- 

The Preface, st. a, L a, * woorskippt ' m worship, 
dignity, reverence : L 6, ' LomU ' « bompkia. 

The Schoole op Fanoe, pp. 5-8. 
Page 6, col. z, L 13, *Mtf'« strut about: L 45, 

* gauds ' = trivial pieces of finery : L 47, '^fvaime, little 
worth ' s little worth in valoe : ool. a, L a, ' trace * = 
walk up and down: L 9. *smap' ^WKtep}: L 5, 
' Morse tusi'—we now say 'mars's aest :' L 16^ ' Coxe' 
=. coxcomb : L z8, '/rmr 'asgrcMt : 1. 19^ *£e§tU hoods ' 
s heavy beads, lumpish : L 99» *gn^* ■» grafts. 

P. 7, col. z, L 9, ' mamght ' s might : L zo^ ' carhe ' 
= long-staying ' care :' L 31, ' R^fims ' ss ruffians, or 
as we say now 'roughs :' L 56, */md* » foolish : col. 
a, 1. Z9, *to late* ^Xoo late : L aow '/»' ^ thou. So 
p. 8, coL z, 1. 5. 

P. 8, coL z, L ao, * apaido* s satisfied, repaid. 

The Forte op FAnas, pp. 9-X& 

P. 9, col. z, 1, zo, *gesu ' = guests — ^by stress of 
rhyme with 'dres' (The Argument : {The Fbrte, eU.) 
1. 3, • Thich' =s thicket— see col a, L zz : 1. 5, '/imd' 
= foolish : ool. a, L 8, *Nde' ^ abide. 

P. zo, col. z, L Z9, '/r/f«V— qtt.A pdtizig ^ peltry : 
i»„ * patch ' = fool : L a6. '/if' s faJHih : L 4 (from bot- 
tom), ' A sight ' = a great many — still cuiicot in Lanca- 
shire, pronounced * seet : ' 1. 3 (from bottom), ' ray* s 
array : L a (from bottom), ' ImckooHapat ' ^ monkeys : 
coL a, L az, 'ZVv/iCr' s doka. 



P. II, coL z, L 17, * Btaoles manos* — see Glossarial 
Index. 1. V. .' coL 3, U. 3-4,— on this see Glossarial Index, 
s,n.: L 18, * troad€'—<3^ 'stroade,' ut, strewn — ^the 
's' to be taken from the 'is:' L 46. * Bmttoms' s^ 
bachelor's buttons. 

P. 12, col. I, L a, 'pajme' = pains, painstaking- 
I. 9, (from bottom) : 1. 33, * moughi ' = might : coL a, 
L 8. 'Philbeard* = filbert : 1. 84. ' Sainct lokms wood* 
Glossarial Index, /.»., for fiill note. 

P. 13. coL z, L 25, * tins* = ceases : L a (from bot- 
tom), ' tack ' = instrument for striking : col. a, L 36, 
' keare ' = hair. 

P. 14. coL z, 1. 6, 'Low Exchange' = the old Ex- 
change : 1. 1$, ' gauda ' — see on p. 6, coL z, 1. 45 : 1. 44, 
' met ' = mete : col. a, IL 9-10 — see Memorial-Introduc- 
tion and Glossarial Index, /.»., on this and other books 
named, some being contemporary : L 3 (from bottom). 
' Pofyniay ' s parrot-colour. 

P. Z5, col. z, L Z5, 'weltes' = fringes: 1^., *iagges' 
s cut-vork? L 46, ' kigk Exchange ' = new Exdiange? 
L 47, '/oimtes ' =■ tagged laces used in tying up the 
dress: 1. 49, ' cmhvorhs ' ^ open work in linen: id., 
'partlets ' = rufis : L 50, ' bomgraca ' = bonnet, or pro- 
jecting hat or shade : I 51, 'gorgets* — kerchief, worn 
by females : 1. 52. ' calUi ' = net-work coverings for the 
hair : 1. 53, ' Crispins ' = part of a French hood : L 54, 
' comets ' =s coronets i ib., ' HUamaUs ' s habiliments : 
coL a, 1. 37, 'Mcohe' = Inbber. 

P. z6, coL z, L 14, ' whereas ' ^whereal, ct/refMsmtir : 
1. z8, 'patcherie* = patch-work? coL a, 1. 5, * toulyug* 
s tolling, taking toll : 1. 41. ' Chatting Peascods ' 3 
chewing shells of peas. 

P. Z7, col I, 1. 4, *Saye' sa Idnd of satin: L 6, 
'fopiniaye '—fee on p. Z4, ool. a, 1. 3 (from bottom) : 
L 7, * CrucW 3 ball— stiU in uk in Scotland : L 15, 
' Points ' se e on p. 15, ooL i, L 47. . 

P. 18, col z, I Z5, ' steares*—4ht Lancashire and 
Yorkshire pronunciation of 'stairs* still: ool 3, I aa, 
' thass ' = then — as conversely elsewhere. 

In DisncHT OF Fancie. pp. Z8-19. 

P. z8, col 2, I z, 'Jlaunte a jtaunte ' — see Glossarial 
Index, S.V., for a fiill note : I 7, ' Shales ' s shells. 

P. Z9, col z, I 39. ' mome ' = blockhead : col. 3, 
I 38, ' lust* ss desires. 

The Lamentacion op Fancie. 

P. a6, col z, I Z9, ' moughtst ' = mightest : I 5 
(from bottom), * pache' s get off. 

A Farewell to Fancie, pp. 22-23. 

P. 33, col z, 1. 10. ' PaUh ' = tool : I 12, * catch ' s 
cheating trick : I 13, ' Nodcohe ' s simpleton : ool 3, 
L sa. 'iit'-Hiee on p. 6, col z, I Z3 : I 35, 'Jtammt a 
JimnU '—tee Qk)tavial Index, 1. v. 

The Toyes, etc. 

•A pretty Dittic,' etc P. 24, I 23, * chopping* r^ 9i 
variant of or with ' change. ' 

'A Dolorous Discourse,' etc. P. 35, ool i, I zo, 
'God wot' = 'God he knowes.' p. 26, col z, I x8 : 
I 13, ' mought ' = might, as before, and see col 3, 1 5, 
etc, etc: I zs, ' A/»/ ' = seized : I z6, * descrie* ^ 
describe : I 3z, 'yrkesonu * = worn out ? I 34, ' haU * 
=woe : I 33, *vnnemeath*— underneath : I 38, *way* 
= weigh : col a, I z6, ' nome ' = numb : 1. 38, ' Ar- 
stranght * •= distraught, distracted : I 41, ' sweJte * s 
swoon. Cf., Spenser, F. Q., iv. vii. 9 : I 43, * hiO* ss. 
in— with the luckless 'h ' prefixed : i».» *hoppe* s hope. 

P. 36, col z, I 30, 'w*#/' shot. ' IT A Gentteman 
being,' etc ool 3, I Z5. ' fTikry ' s whey : I 18, 
' mcMled ' = diseased : I 19, ' Tap-worte ' s a kind of 
vegetable soup? I 34, 'care/nil' = full of care. 

' IT In the latter end,' etc. P. 27, col z, I 15, */reat 
at wo my maw ' = did make me fret inwardly : I zy, 
*balke' = bank. ' ^ The same,' etc. I 8. *atu»' 9 
in two : ool a, I 36, ' blau ' » blazon, publish abroad. 

• ^ A pretty gyrd,' etc P. 28, col, z, I Z5, * list ' as 
cboose : I 30, *gaye ' » gay, i.e, gaiety : or qu. ' guy ' 
= any absurdity : ' ^ It chaimced,' etc. ool z, I 3, 
' sinche and syce ' — see Glossarial Index, s.v, : ool a, 
I Z4, ' bye and mayne * — ibid. : 1. 36, * Roysters * = 
roysterers : I 38, ' three trees * = gallows, i.e. H ^ I* 4^> 

* had I wist' — see Glossarial Index, j.v., for other ex- 
amples of this phrase. 

P. 39, col z, 1. 7, ' trouling ' — trolling. ' An other 
Dittie.' etc 1. 6, ' Robin Hoode and Little John '—see 
Glossarial Index, s.n. : \. 7, * heepe,' etc., — a still living 
proverbial saying : I 30, ' cogge ' — cog, cheat : I 35, 

* cutters of a card' — see Glossarial Index, s.v. : col a, 
I zz, ' hob or nab '— have or have not See Nares, s.v. : 
' ^ An other time,' etc 1. 2, ' rechlesse ' — careless. 

P. 30, col z. I zo, 'smally' - little : I 23, 'Ales' - 
Alice: I 36, * partlets '" ruffs : I 38, ' GNTil ' - cock- 
sure, i.e. sure as the crowing of a cock at the break of 
day? {meo periculo): col a, I 3, *Gis' « Jesus (cor- 
rupted)— see Hamlet, iv. Z5. 

P. 3Z, col 3, 1 19, ' Baldictnm ' — balductum, paltry, 

•Not long after,* etc P. 3a, col 2, L 9, ' Scabbe' 
— poor wretch. 

• IF A verse,' etc. P. 33, col. 2, I z (heading), is mis- 
printed ' Extempore ' in the original. 

• IF A comparison,' etc. P. 34, col a, I 5, ' loohes* 
«/Sr.,— another living proverbial sa3ring : I 7, ' toyes,' etc., 
ibid. 'IF A dolorous discourse.' I zs, * Brearu' — 
briars, thorns. ' IF A letter,' etc I z, ' leese ' - lose. 

• IF A Gentleman,' etc P. 37, col z, I 4. ' ^ ' - 
ioon, quickly. ' IF Some other,' etc I zy, 'giglet ' - 
wanton wench : I ai, 'wright* » write. 



•II A pretty,* etc, P. 38, ooL x, L 7, * bid* - 

• II The meaning/ etc. P. 39, coL x, 1. 5, * Plot* - 
plat (aee L 17) : ool a, L a, ' kyidiug* — menial or hire- 

P. 40, ooL X, 1. x6. I have put these ticks to 

indicate that a leaf is here lacking. The catch-word is 
'And,' whereas the next page in the exemplar begins 
' Holding.* The context also shows that the lady 
' holding a Citteme in her hand ' has been previously 
described. Curiously enough, Brydges in the 'Heli- 
conia* reprint did not notice this unfortunate loss: 
L 46, ' coney ' — corrosive. So Ben Jonson, ' I send 
nor bafans nor corsivis to your wound ' (Underwoods, 
xhr. An Ode) : coL a, 1. x8, ' wkireas ' — whereat, et 

P. 41, coL I. 1. 9 (from bottom), * sa/e-amdmci' — 
noticeable verb : cd 2, I a6, ' tang* — strong taste : 
L 48, * say ' — a specimen — see Nares, s.v, 

P. 4a, coL X, I. x8 (from bottom), * owirikwart* — 

P. 43, col, a. L xo, 'Jlat ' — positive, absolute ■e c 
also p. 47, coL I, 1. 35. 

P. 44. col tt L 3$, * Tki tracki of tiwu* 
morial-Introduction and Glossarial Index, s.v. 


P. 45, col. X. L x5, ' Biare ' — ^misprinted in original 
' B4ore :' coL a, L 8, ' staide ' - I tarried at 

P. 46, ool X, L 8 (from bottom), * frttend ' - stretch 
to, or — portend ? See p. 48, coL x, L ay. 

P. 48, col. X, 1. 24, ' PronastUatt ' — prognosticate : 
col. a, 1. 9, ' Horsehiad ' — Inn sign, more commonly 
' Nag's head : ' L 14, ' adnst ' - drest, with affixt ' a.' 

P. 49, coL a, • H A prety toye,' etc, L 16, • CMaict of 
c1umg€*—wit Glossarial Index, s.v. on this : last line, 
'yvris* -I think. 

P. 50, coL X, last line of poem. ' UdU * — like, by 
stress of rhjrme. 

P. 5x, coL X, L 8, * PmpUs ' * pupils : L 35, 
prtsstd* ^ kept quiet and obedient : coL a, L 5, *fay ' 
» re-pay, punish — ^in Scotland still used, pronounced as 
if spelled ' pey ' and as substantive •- pay, pays m' 
punishments, e.g., with strap on palm of hand : L ay. 
' comstir ' — construe. 

P. 53, col, X, L x5, 'lisf'm choose : L X5 (from bot- 
tom), ' Dumsicus ' » dunse— eheu I from Duns Scotns : 
coL a, 1. 17, ' boulder '—see Glossarial Index, s.v. 

P. 53, coL X, L I, * longs ' — belongs : coL a, L xa. 

P. 54, coL X, L 6, '/f«9w»Mt^' -pruning: 'The 
Answer,' 1. 4. • roode ' - cross : coL a, L ao, ' nones' - 
- nonce : • H A Letter,' etc (heading), L 7. • Lettis ' - 
Lettice — a frequent English Christian name. 

P. 55. coL X, 'If A Ditty,' etc, L xx, *snM4ge' = 
curmudgeon : coL a, L 13, ' micking ' - skulking : 
L 36, ' Coystrel* - mean fellow? L 37, *Aly* - red by 
drinking overmuch ale. 

P. 56, coL X, I 4. «/»/^' - polled, i.e. bare, empty. 

P. 57, col 2, 1. 4, * <fMr«r«d;r '—misprinted 'dis- 
cerude ' in the original : 1. 8, ' here ' = hear : 1. 76, ' set 
by* = highly thought of : L 39, 'rae ' = lament. 

P. 58, coL X, L X4, *feate' — feat, contrivance— cf. 
p. S9> coL X. 11. 34, a6, : L 35, ' descry ' - describe 
1. X3 (from bottom), ' diseasde ' — uneasy or troubled 
L 10 (from bottom), * fetches ' = tricks, deceptions 
col. a, L 6, ' hunts ' — runs up and down : or qu. = 
haunts? L X3, 'toleyng' •■ tolling, levying charges: 
1- 19. 'greete ' = grit : L a8, 'pretely ' = prettily : L 30. 
' kinde ' = kin : L 43, ' shoot ' = deliuer by pouring out 
of the waggon down into the cellar : L 51, 'sheered* » 
barred ? i.e. withheld. See Glossarial Index, s.v. 

P. 59, col X, L 4. '/lu^'— supplied instead of the 
misreading of 'see' in the original : L ix, 'Bufes* — 
corresponding to ' muttons ' applied to sheep : I aa, 
« buies ' s= buys : col a, ' H A solempne,' etc, 18, 'out 
of hand * =3 immediately. 

P. 60, col 3, 1 X, ' luld ' =s cast down— see Glossarial 
Index, s.v. G. 

^^ *^.^ 

->. ^<: - ♦ - >^ -c - ♦ - 3^^ 


Pilgrimage to Paradise, 





This ' Pilgrimage to Paradise' is one of various memorials of an interesting friendship between 
Breton and the Sidneys. On this see our Memorial-Introduction. Our exemplar is that in the 
British Museum, bought at JoUe/s Sale for £y^ Heber's copy is now at BritwelL There have been 
curious mistakes of the ' Pilgrimage ' for another of Breton's poems which was published in our own 
day and received as by the Countess of Pembroke, 

' Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.' 

See, as before. Black-letter : 55 leaves. Our Notes and Illustrations to the ' Pilgrimage' are 
as foUow : — 

Epistle-dedicatory, p. 4. L 4/DmcMisst of VrHna ' 
3 Urbino — but which of the illustrious Cunily ? 

To THE Gentlemen shtdunis, p. 4— note spelling 
with ' i : ' col. i, 1. 4, ' i/^^rK«/'= discerning : coL a, 1. a, 
'to«u&'= weighed : Postscript, p. ±. See on this semi- 
disclaimer of Bretons dower of delights our Memorial- 

Letter of Dr. Case to Breton, p. 5, col. 1. 1. 3, 
' Palaces of pleasure ' — a gird at Painters ' Palace of 
Pleasure ' 1566. many editions : col. a, L 15, ' tincture : ' 
defined by Guillim 'a variable hew of Armes.' Dr. 

2'ohn Case, physician, was of Woodstock, Oxfordshire. 
[e is author of ' The Praise of Musicke ' (1586), in 
l^glish, and of an ' Apologia ' of the same ' sweete arte ' 
in Latin (1588) ; also of various Latin treatises on Aris- 
totle, etc. He died in i6oa William Gager wrote 
' Vlysses Redvx' a trag^v (158a), and 'Rivales' a 
comedy (1583), and ' Dido and ' Meleager/ tragedies 
(unprinted),--fdl in Latin. Specimens of a MS. of roems 
by him are given by Dyce in his Greene and Peele (1861, 
pp. 3^-5)* He was vicar-general to the diocese or Ely. 
Henry Price (col a) wrote 'Epicedium in Obitum 
illustrissimi Herois Henrid Comitis Derbiensis.' 1503. 
He vras of St. John's College, Oxford. See MemoruU- 
Introduction on all these further. 

The Pilgrimage to Paradise : p. 6, col. i, L 5, 
'u«<i»</r'= weaned; col. a, 1. 19, ' wiwfvaj's: whereat : 
L ai, 'i!au/'=lest: 1. 30, 'rtft(i^'= causeway. 

P. 7, coL I, L a, • /i>'=too — and vy frequenter : L 3, 
' MrMffTiiir '=shnmk : 1. la, ' wAi'/r '—mark — an archery 
term : L ^o, *perlous' — perilous : coL a, L 9, *vaine* 
= vein : 1. 46, ' over-gonne ' = gone-over. 

P. 8, coL X, L 4, 'nir:' misprinted 'his' in original : 
1. x8, ' /f/'=hindrance : I. ao ' Princes '^princess : L a3, 
' digkt ' = adorned : I. 43, ' charily ' = warily : coL a, 
1. 15, 'Semitaiares'=Ym{-b\iMs or bull-like creatures? 
1. 2a, 'cut'=todn,yf 'cuts' or lots? 1. a8, 'imtv.*' mis- 
printed 'where' in original: L a9, * Cunny'=conj or 
rabbit : 1. 35, ' quechy ' = queachy, swampy : L 38, ' car- 
rein ' = carrion : 1. 4a, ' hofipes ' =hops — plant so named. 

P. 9, coL a, L II, 'So'—qu. 'To'? 

P. 10, coL I. 1. 3, 'fade' — note a feminine term used 
of a male : col. a, 1. la. *fond'={o6^sh : I. a9, *boote' = 

P. II, col. I, I. 7, ' embasid' ^casX down : 1. 39, *with 
hammers of his head,' So Dr. Giles Fletcher in his 
• Rising to the Crownc of Richard the Third ' (1593) twice 
has the phrase, as thus :— 

* So still a crowne did hammer in my head^ 

' Blood and revenge did hammer in my head.* 

(See my editions of Licia, etc, in Fuller Worthies' 
Library Miscellanies and in the just delivered 'Ocotsional 
Issue.') Col. a. 1. 3, * supriser:' jrV=surpriser : 11. 53-4, 

' jilfvii^>l«.'=shrunk, and cf. on p. 7, coL i, L 3 : * tranche 

P. la, coL I, 1. 35, * kindling ra/«'=gathering-ooal, 
placed overnight to be ready tor the morning : L 50, 
' Worthies ' — misprinted ' Worthees ' in the original : 
col. a, 1. 19, '^a»ii'= brawn — muscular parts of the body 
sunken : 1. a8, 'grate '= grind their teeth on [hard] crusts. 

P. 13, col. I, 1. 15, 'to:' misprinted ' of in original : 
L a6, 'gummy' = sticky : coL a, L 14 'minstng's, 
mincing: 1. a6, '^<ir«'=:hair : so p. i^. coL x, L ao 
L 39, 'n'^t<i/f7'= transition-form of 'ribaldry:' L 47, 
' with : ' mispnnted ' which ' in the original : col. a, L 37 
' sight '=si^heid— frequenter: 1. 33, ' patch' ^ fool : L 40^ 
' cease '=^seize. 

P. i^, coL a, 1. 8, 'Buonauenture:' misprinted here 
in original with a small ' b : ' but see p. 16, coL a, L 38. 
=:The Good Adventure: 1. ai, * ri<^ ' =anchor : L 34, 
* heauen '=heaven, frequenter, 

P. 16, col. I, 1. 16 'had Iwiste* =ha,d I foreknown 
— a frequent Breton and Davies of Hereford phrase : 
coL a, 1. 14, ' of ^dR, frequenter : 1. 18, ' rifty tufty' ^ 
apparently = confusedly with clamour: 1. ai, ' boson' ^ 
boatS¥fain : 1. aa. ' cooherowu' =^co6k.-Toom : 'rie'^row, 
fun : ' begane ' is misprinted ' begarre ' in the original : 
L a3, 'all and some '= as a whole and individually — 
frequenter: I 49, '>lan/r'= heard. 

P. 17, col. 1, 1. a from bottom '^<ir>l^z«f'/f '=Machia- 
velli, s. frequenter: col. a, 1. la, 'imitf's: pushes or 
thrusts: L aa, 'a chalke'^d^X chalk-marked on back 
of doors, etc. 

P. x8, coL 1, 1. 10, ' Mopping and mowing' ^grimsLcmg 
and grinning : col a, 1. 3, 'miiiiV7ffj'= flatterers (vicious) : 
ib. 'Mizi«iii>i;^'= addressing themselves to 'men' as m 
the feasts and sports under the ' manning-tree : ' see 
Halliwell s. v. 

P. 19, col. I, 1. 6, ' ouerseene' ^mistaken, deceived : 
I. 33, 'featenes'=neaUiess: col. a, L xo, 'frottaunte'^ 
provision: 1. 34, 'rojitfAfia^^'s stroke in fencing. 

P. ao, col. I. 1. 35, '//(7/'=plan, so 1. 44 : col. a. 1. ax. 
'prefumed: ' note spelling of ' perfumed.' 

P. ai. col. a. 1. 16, 'woll'=vfoo\: 1. a8, ' leehe'=^Uke, 
by stress of rhyme. 

P. aa, col I, 1. a, from bottom, ' Grast'=gnced. 

P. 33. col I, I 36. ' plashes '^puddles : col a, 1. ^8, 
' griexy ' =greezy : or qu. — grizzly or dark ? I 50, 'faraeV 
=burden orpadc : 1. 51, '«vv'=weigh. 

P. 34, col I, I 36, ' candles of the night:' So Shake- 
speare, 'these blessed candles of the night' (Mer. of 
Venice, v. i.) and 'night's candles are burnt out' (R. 
and J. iii. 5). 

P. 36, col 3, I 19, '^M?/^M'=advantageth : L 30, 
' heares' chairs, as before : I 31, ' depts' ^dxhXs : I 45, 
' diseasde ' = disturbed. 

P. 38. col I, 1. 19, • once : ' misprinted ' one ' in the 
original.— G. 




Countesse of Penbrookes loue, compiled 

in verse by Nicholas Breton 


Ctelum virtutis patria. 


At Oxford printed, by loseph Barnes, and are to be solde in 
Paules Church-yeard, at the signe of the Tygres head. 1592. 

may saie, 



Countesse of Penbrooke, continuall health 

with iUrnaU hdfpinesse, 

[GHT noble Lady, whose rare venues, the wise no lesse honour, then the learned admire, and the honest 
seme : how shall I, the abiect of fortune, vnto the obiect of honour, presume to oflfier so simple a present, 
as the poeticall discourse of a poore pilgrimes trauaile? I know not how, but, with falling at the 
feete of your fouour, to craue pardon for my /imperfection : who hath redde of the Duchesse of Vrbina. 
the Italians wrote wd : but who knowes the Countesse of Penbrooke, I thinke hath cause to write 
better : and if she had many followers? haue not you mo seniants? and if they were so mindfiill of their fouours : 
shall we be forgetfull of our dueties ? no, I am assured, that some are not ignorant of your worth, which will not 
be idle in your seruioe : that will make a title but a tittle, where a line shall put downe a letter : and if shee haue 
recdned her right in remembrance, you must not haue wrong in being forgotten : if shee were the honour of 
witte, you are the comfort of discretion, if shee were the fauourer of learning, you are the mainteiner of Arte, and 
if she had the beauty of Nature, you beautifie Nature, with the blessing of the spirite : and in summe, if shee 
had any true perfection to be spoken of, you haue many mo truly to be written of : which amfig all, the least 
able to iudge of, and of all, the very least worthy, in your fsuour to write of, your poore vnworthy named poet, who by 
the indiscredon of his youth, the malice of enuy, and the disgrace of ingratitude, had vtterly perished (had not the 
hftd of your honor reuiued the hart of humility) will not so bury in the graue of obliuion, but that your deserued 
£Eune, shall so sounde in the eares of honourable hearts, that, if I spake, more then I male, the ludgement of the 
wise, and the tongues of the learned, I know will no leise deere me of flattery, then wish, a minde of more perfection, 
to be emploied in your seruice : to condude, I beseech you so &uour my labour, and to looke on the worke, thinke 
not of the mines of Troie, but helpe to builde vp the walles of lemsalem : which figure, if it seeme obscure, let the 
poore pi^;rime, that seeketh Paradise, finde heauen the better by your fauour : to the comfort of which, committing 
vnder heauen, the hope of my hearts happinesse with humble prayer for your etemall prosperitie, I rest in no lesse 
bounden duety, then humble semice 

Your Ladiskipps vfnoorthy namtd Poet 


To the Gentlemen studients and Scholers of Oxforde. 

GENTLEMEN, lam perswaded, yu wiU tkinkt it 
not a littU folly in nu, to haut enired into so 
great a preemption, as, be/ore the eies of so many dis- 
crett iudgements, to aduenture thepresse, with the single 
fruites of my imperfect labours. Yet when I remember, 
that vertue is the honour of all artes, and that my Muse 
hath not altogether straied, from the straine of that diuimt 
humor, I will rather hope of your vndeserued Jauours, 
then looke for my desart in the contrary : the occasion, 
thai made me first enter into this action, loas to acquaint 
the honest mindes of vertuous dispositions, with the 
heauenly Meditations, of an honourable Lady, the weahe 

discourse whereof, farre short of her worthines, in true 
worth truely weide, I haue heere rather aduentured to 
the correction of the learned, then els where woulde hone 
passed to the commendation of the ignorant : giue me 
then leaue, with this boohe to honour her : and for all 
other I will be ready to carie them afttr any of you, in 
witnes whereof, J haue hereto subscribed my name, this 
\2th of Aprill 1591 

A poore well wilier to 
your worthines 


r^ ENTLEMEN there hath beene of late printed in London by one Richarde loanes, a printer, a booke of english verses. 
^^ entituled Bretons bower of delights : I protest it was donne altogether without my consent or knowledge, and 
many thinges of other mens mingled with a few of mine, for except Amoris Lachrimce : an epitaphe vpon Sir Phillip 
Sydney, and one or two other toies. which I know not how he vnhappily came by, I haue no part of any of the : 
and so I beseech yce assuredly bdeeue. 


Master Nicholas Breton. 

IT is a needelesse thing (friend Bftioti\ In these our 
dales to reoiue the olde art of louing, seeing there 
are already so many courts of Venns, so many Palaca of 
pleasurit so many pcunphlets or rather huge volumes of 
wantd loue and dalianoe. lliis were to put fire to flaxe 
and to offer softe bleeding harts as sacrifice to Cupids 
bowe and arrowes. But I miitaVe your meaning, the 
onely title of your booke is ZMf«, and the obiect Htamn, 
Loui is the name, but God is the marke and matter at 
which it aimeth. This Lorn quelleth and Idlleth Loue, 
and yet is Lorn not the Loue of Martha, but the Lout of 
Mary who loued much, who loueth Christ. This Lnu 
made Mary Magdalens teares, and maketh the best Mary 
lining to asoende to lerusaUm and there to seeke her louer 
in the Temple. But finding him not among the Doctors 
shee taketh the wings of an Eagle, and in her sacred 
thoughts flieth abooe the Sunne, neuer ceasing to seeke, 
till shee haue founde her Louer, Loe heere is Loue, and 
heere is labour, but the labour is Ught, where the loue is 

great. For the hart there onely liueth. where it loueth. 
Maruell not therefore if this louelie Lady become a pil- 
grime vpon earth, and passe the sea, and wildemesse of 
this worlde, till shee enioyeth her Loue. But, to be 
short (friend Breton) because this booke of yours touch- 
ing the Loue and pilgrimage of that pearelesse Lady is 
as a ckristal of trutkes wel knowen vnto me, I am both 
in respect of your selfe whom I loue and friuour, and 
also in duty towardes her, whom I seme and honour, 
most willing to subscribe vnto it. Your wit, pen, and 
art therein sounde well together. The song is sweete, 
the ditty sweeter, but that rare Phmmix is the fweetest 
Pkanix, whom your wit, pen and art can bat well 
shadow with all your Muses : for as an image is bat an 
image, and the thicture of anything is not the fflt?tti»M^ 
thereof, so the coulours of her honours are in your booke, 
but the life of her vertue is in her sdfe. 

Your friend in true kindnci 

lokn Case Ai,D. 

Gulielmi Gageri legum Doctoris in Nicolai Bret- 

tom Perigrifumtem carmen, 

T^VM, Peregrinantem cantas, quem non Gula tardet, 
•*-^ Non vrat Liuor, non breuis ira furor : 
Quem non Segnities. non Fastus, & Ardor habendi, 

Non capiat nitidis blanda Libido genis : 
Non aduersa premant, non vitas gaudia fidlant,- 

Recto quflsrentem te, Paxadise, gradu ; 
Mirandum plani cantas. sed carmine tali, 

Vt sit mirandus qui canit. ft canitur. 

In eiusdem AmanUm, 

SIC Peregrinantem singis, sic pingis Amantem, 
Vt Peregrinantis sit Peregriniis amor : 
Ore fauere omnes, sacer est amor bte, pudensque, 

Nobilis, ft vulgi conditione procul : 
Quse tibi Musarum talem dictauit amorem, 
Brettdne, ft tantem suppeditavit opem : 
Quse Dea ? non hominem vox haec sonat, 6 Dea cert^, 
Non miror sacro quod sacra fonte fluant. 

Miraris (res miraj canat tarn muiia Brekmus 
Quomodo tarn facile, 6* tarn heme culta canat f 
InuiiaHte canii, canii imspiramte Minerua ; 

Multa kinc iamfaciU, 6* tarn heme cuUa camit. 
Qui canii inuitd, canii auersanle Minerua, 

Aut nihil, aut nikili, nuda, velvda camit, 
Esto Minerua tuis -Dea tutelaris Atkenis, 
Et tibi vet latitans noctua sacra eames, 

• < 

Some scoffie at all that write, write not al all. 
Some write, but to finde fiuiit with then that write : 
Some ballat-makers scome, and soome by right. 
Except they wince, becaus e they fede the gaO. 

At rimers some, (6 poore worde) cast tbeir gall, 
Cast gall and all in such minde weU they might : 
Some through melancholy, or riuall spite, 
All Poets sdeigne, or some no Poets caO. 

Avaunt such scoffing, sin default, scorning spirits. 
Or let our writers, ballat-makers, rimers : 
In her ovme mony pay Lycambes merits. 

Poets fly higher, then such pety dimers. 
Let this suffice, that Breton is a Poet, 
Shee saide it, we subscribe it, his bookes shew it. 

Mira Guarda* 


dem peregrinantem & amantem nrpooTixoy, 

Henrici Pricei. 

QVM modoftcii iter, iam caepit amartt Tff^ kccestf 
Hoc est. lUud amat quo modo fecit iter 
Huic in dux Brettone via, comes ilia, quid hoc est f 
Hoc est. Inportu est duxq. comesq, suo. 

Ad Lectorem. 

Bella Maro cednit. laviuam Naso puellam 
Dissimili hie canitur miles, amorque modo : 

Non animalis homo est quem sic in pndia tradit 
Non est lasciuus viiginis huius amor. 

Transiius est animae per miUe pericula camis, 
Diuinique nouum tradit amoris opus. 

Idem ad Authonm.. 

Sit pietas victrix, Deus est virtutis amator 
Talia dum reoolis, vine Bretone, vale. 
Sol gloria lucis. 


|ROM all those courses of a vaine conceit 
Where vertue proues her honor hath no 

Vnto the Sonne of that bright shining 
heighte : 
Where all the graces haue their highest grace, 
My Muse is weande by wisedomes sounde aduise, 
To make her pilgrimage, to paradise. 

Which pOgrimage, is not, as poets Htune 

Nor pieuish people, blindely doe concdue : 

A Idnde of walke, that worldly wealth may gaine. 

Whereby the denill, doth the worlde decdue : 

But, tis a walke, of onely vertues will. 

And to be founde, but by the spirits skill. 

Now, they that must this trauaile take in hande. 
Are ondy fiue, ecfa differente in theire nature. 
Which, with consent, doe all contented stand. 
To yeeld theire sendee, to one ondy creature : 
By whom they are vnto theire oomforte led : 
And, as bee fiunes, are found, aliue or dead. 

Now Ues this walke, akmge a wOdemes. 
A forrett, fnl of wild, and cruell beastes : 
The earth vntilde, the fruit vnhappines. 
The trees all hollow, full of howletes nestes. 
The aier vnholsome, or so foule infected : 
Ab» harddy restes, that may not be rdected. 

Bui to goe on with my intended tale 

Fhie leruants, ledde by one chiefe lord, there were : 

Whidi, all were swome in dther blisse, or bale, 

Thdr masters fortune, faithfully to beare : 

And so resolu'de, to see, their seniice done. 

On gods good speed their trauaile thus begonne. 

The lorde and Master, first the Muses called. 
And bad them stay, thdr straying kinde of Musing : 
Whose pure conodte, their spirits so apalled. 
As made them haue, thdr humors in refusing : 
And make thdr state, but on that only story. 
That was the grace, of thdr etemall glory. 

Then gaue a charge to euery one, aparte. 
To keepe the compasse of a true concdte : 

What euery one should haue for her desart. 
That, to her hope, c^d keepe the high waie streight 
And then his seruants, sounddy did aduise. 
How they shoulde finde the path to paradise. 

The first, his charge, was onely but to see. 

What best might please, and what might worst offend 

What obiects might but all as abiects be. 

What harme to scape, what honour to attende : 

A£ure, neare hand, each side, before, behinde. 

How best to guide a pure, and perfect minde. 

The seoonde calde. his charge was but to heare. 
In sweetest sounds, which was the soundest sweete : 
What graces might, in Musickes gnmnde appeare. 
And where the honors of the humors meete : 
What carefiill notes, doe comfort best condude. 
While Sirens songes, doe but the soule ddude. 

The third then calde, was charg'd to take the sent. 
Of euery flower and herbe. within the fidde : 
Which might but grow whereas thdr graces went. 
What fimoure might, the sweetest profit ]redde : 
And what might hurt, least that the braine displeased. 
The body might perhaps be all diseased. 

The fourth then calde, did take his charge, to tast, 
Of euery fruite, that should become their foode : 
What beast might nourish, and might sweetest last. 
And, in their trauaile most might doe them good -j 
How sweete with sower, might best be tempred so. 
As t'one the tother might not well forgoe. 

Then came the fifte. who tooke his charge to feele, 
The grauelde causey from the hollow grounde : 
How best the toe, might trust vnto the heele. 
When settled fidth had surest footing founde : 
And so by leasure finde, where sweetely Ues, 
The loudy path, that leades to paradise. 

When thus ech one, had leamM what to doe. 
Instructed by the guide vnto thdr grace : 
Weying the worth, they were to walke vnto. 
Wishing, and longing, to beholde the place. 
Onwards they passe, but with two poore attendanntes, 
And, (on the earth) but with two poore de fe n d auntes. 


Their cariage was, but an vnwildy tmnke, 
Wberdn to neare their trash, was laied their treasure, 
With weight whereof, their shoulders often thruncke, 
Before they came, vnto their place of pleasure. 
But let that passe, vntill the time be cumme 
To make the reckening of a Roial summe. 

But to goe on as I did first intend, 

To tefl the course of these resoluM creatures, 

To take a trauaile, that should neuer ende, 

A note, aboue the reache of earthly natures : 

Lo, thus it was, at least as he did write. 

That seemde he winckt not, when he hit the white. 

Along the walke, the waike, alas to long, 
Amidde the haples hils, and dolefull dales : 
Where sigfaes and sobs, doe sound but sorrows song, 
While sweetest truthes are crost by sorie tales : 
And daricest doudes, are dapt before the sunne, 
These wary creatures, haue their wale begunne. 

A path vnpleasant where no pleasure was. 
That earthly people easely might percdue : 
A passage harde, and narrow for to passe, 
Bitt for the life, that of his life tooke leaue : 
To passe the lake where death, and sorrow lies, 
And kill them both to come to paradise. 

Wberehi no sooner were they all set forth. 

With resolution neuer to retume : 

There did appeare a light of little worth, 

A mocking ioie, whose ende was but to mome : 

Vpon the left hand, of this selly creature, 

Venus, Csdre painted with her finest feature. 

Who, wanting nothing that might wd adome 
A cimning dame, to compasse her desire : 
With looke askaunce, as if shee had in soome. 
A meaner hope, then might a heauen aspire : 
With strange deuises of a world of toies. 
Would stoope his passage to his ftuther ioies. 

And vp she standes a tipto, in her state, 

As, if the earth too base were for her feete : 

With such a glaunce, as if shee had in hate. 

That lesse then Monarches, should her presence meete : 

When, with such smiles, so neare this waUce she went, 

As made them wonder what the vision ment. 

When he, that first had taken charge to view, 
What might thdr trauaile hinder or auaile : 
Finding that in his sight a dimnes grew. 
Whereby the cleemes of his sence might fiedle : 
Feding the humor, growe vnto an itche, 
Beganne to feare the wonder was a witch. 

When of the sodaine, holding vp his hande, 
Betwixte his sight, and this same perlous thing : 
Hauing no leasure, on his thoughtes to stande. 
What issue would, of this ill humor spring. 
Went on alonge and kepte his walke aright, 
Vntill this vision vanisht out of sight. 

When on the right hand fourthwith did appeare, 
Diana, shee of whom the poets writ : 
A dame of state, yet with such smiling dieere. 
As shewd, where kindenes did with honor sit : 
Who with her nimphes, appardd all in white. 
Did seeme to pure an obiect for his sight. 

When fearing, that the poets did not faine. 
That did set forth Diana for diuine : 
When in her Beauty was so bright a vaine, 
As seemde, that Phoebus on her fiice did shine : 
Betwixt his sight, and this oonoduM sunne, 
Hdde vp his hande, ere any hurte was donne. 

And thus betwixt first Venus then Diane, 
Onwardes he goes, his right intended way. 
And noting well what he had vndertane. 
And that a stoppe might cause to ionge a staie. 
Keeping the path, looking on neither side. 
He foUowes on his best belouM guide. 

When, walking on, his hopM happy way, 
Vpon the left hande rose a sodaine soonde. 
Which might haue beene a most vnhappy staie. 
But that a sodaine remedy was found. 
For he that knew her Musicke was a charme, 
His hearing stopt, for feare of further harme. 

And this was he that had the charge to heare. 
And harken soundly to each secret sounde. 
What noise might not by any meanes cum neare, 
And where the Muses soone woulde be aground, 
Who hauing heard but how her harpe was stronge, 
Would not vouchsafe the hearing of her songe. 

But when shee saw how hardly shee was vsed. 
Her Beauty first barde from the walke of blisse. 
And then her Musicke so in skome refused. 
As idle noise, wherdn no honor is, 
Awaie shee went all angry as shee was. 
And left the poore man, on his waie to passe. 

When, on the right hand of the soddne rose. 
An other sound, but of a deeper sweete. 
Where sure Diana, with her Nimphes had chose 
The ground of grace where all the Muses meete. 
To shew the world the heauenly harmony, 
Where Nightingales, doe make a company. 

When hee that heard the sweetnes of the sound, 
Fearing what hurt might quickly growe vpon it, 
If once his Muse, vnhapply might be drownde, 
In worides delight, ere wit had ouergonne it. 
The hearing stopt, of his vnworthy senoe : 
Of such a sound, of such an exoellenoe. 

But when Diana plainly gan to find, 

That one of all the world, had warning tooke : 

For oomming neere vnto Acteons kinde. 

And that her siluer sound was so forsooke. 

Away shee went, but yet, with this sweet blessing, 

Vertue it plac'd where pride may not be pressing. 



When these were gon, that might haue stopte his waie, 

Had he not kepte the course of better care, 

A new devise, againe to breede his staie, 

Came Flora forth, with all hir fairest ware,- 

Laying abroad the wardrope of her wealth, 

Her fairest flowers, and fittest herfoes for health. 

But he that had the charge to take the sente. 
Of euerie sauoure, both the sower and sweete. 
Knowing what best might oomforte or contente. 
How, weedes were all to tread bot vnder feete. 
The holsome sauoure to his seruioe vsed. 
And (aire flourd weedes, as poison foule refused. 

But when that Flora, saw her great disgrace : 
WitherM with griefe, she shrunke into the ground. 
And, (as it seemed) displeasM with the place. 
For that so little £EUK>ur their she (bund : 
She lets him goe, vntUl anone he met, , 
An other Lady, with an other let. 

And this was she, of whom the Poets writ, 
Ceres the Princes of the Pesaunts treasure. 
Who both for tast, and eke for hunger fit. 
Did onely worke, but for the belUes pleasure : 
Who, with a oomu copia, sweetely dight. 
Would staie the spirit with the flesh delight. 

But he that had the charge, to take a tast 

Of every fruit, whereon they were to fisede. 

What soone would rot, and what would longest last. 

And what would proue the sweetest foode indeede : 

Vpon his lippe his little finger plas't : 

As if her gift were vtterly disgras't. 

Not that the present seemM of no price. 
But that their comforts were of other kinde. 
And that (God wot) it was a base deuise, J 

With belly pleasures to abuse the minde : 
Which Ceres seeing, parted in a rage. 
And left the pilgrime to his pilgrimage. 

Which, selly creature, softly going on, 

Enoountred with more crosses than before : 

A world of fooles, and deuils many a one. 

In shape of men, in shape, and somewhat more : 

Which labourd sore, to make some stoppe, or stay. 

To hinder loue, in hitting vertues waie. 

But he, whose charge, was charily to lieele. 
What grounde was best to grounde his footing on : 
Spumde with his toe, and kkkt of with his heele. 
Their stumbling stones, till all the stops vrere gone : 
Which, when they saw, his blisse they could not balke. 
They ranne away, and left him to his walke. 

By which good howre, when heauens had happly tried. 
How constant care, his passage, truely past : 
And in the harte, no vile desire did bide. 
While patient will, was with discretion plac't : 
They rockt the rules of native sence asleepe, 
While Angels songs, the soule did waking keepe. 

But, waking wit, that had no will to rest. 
Till ioie might come, vnto her ioumeies ende : 
And that the spirit was not fully blest. 
Till humble faith, might see her heauenly firieade 
Awakte this pilgrime, from his penshie vaine, 
And set him sweetely on his waie againe. 

When, passing on, they fell into a wood, 

A thicket full of brambles, thomes, and briers : 

A graceles groue, that neuer did man good. 

But wretched endinges of the worldes desires : 

Where Snakes, and Adders, and such venumd things, 

Had slaine a number, with their cruell stinges. 

Some, Metamorphosde, like Acteon, were, 
Diana smiling at their lewde desires : 
Some Semitawres, and some, more halfe a Beare, 
Other halfe swine, deepe wallowing in the miers : 
All beastly mindes, that could not be reformed. 
Were to the shapes of their owne shame transformed. 

There might he see, a Monkey with an Ape, 
Climing a tree, and cracking of a nut : 
One sparrow teache an other how to gape, 
But not a tame one, taught to keepe the cut : 
And many a jacke daw, in his foolish chat. 
While parets prated of they knew not what. 

There might he see Beares baited all with dogges. 
Till they were forst to fly into their dennes : 
And wUde Bores, beating of the lesser hogges. 
While cocks of game, were fighting for their hens : 
A little ferret, hunting of a Cunny, 
And how the olde Bees, suckt the yodg Bees hony. 

There might he heare the lions in their roaring. 
While lesser beastes, did tremble at the sounde : 
There might he see, Buls one an other goaring. 
And many a harte sore bunted with a hounde. 
While Philomene, amid the quechy springe, 
Woulde cease her note, to heare the Cuckoe sing. 

There might he see a faulcon beaten downe 
By carrein crowes, that croste her in her flight. 
A russet Jerkin, fiace a veluet gowne. 
While base companions, braude a noble Knight : 
And crafty foxes creepe into their holes. 
While little hoppes were climing lofty poles. 

There might he see the Satyrs in their daunces, 
Halfe men, halfie beastes, or deuils in their kindes : 
There might he see the Muses, in their traunoes, 
Lie downe as dead, as if they had no mindes : 
There might he see, in all, so little good. 
As, made him wish, he had bene through the wood. 

Yit in the path, wherein he sweetely past, 

No euill thing, had power to take a place : 

No venumde serpent, might his poison caste, 

No filthy monster, nor illfauourd fiace : 

No lyon, Beare, dogge, Moncky, foxe, nor Crow, 

Could stoppe the waie, where vertue was to goe. 


When, farwardes, on they had not trauailde fimre. 
Bat that they met, a monster fowle, and fell : 
Annde, as it seemde, with all the world to wane, 
And none but heauen, could of his conquest tell : 
Senen were his heads, seuen taUes, ech taile a sthig» 
And but one body : oh most beastly thing. 

Now, on the left hand of this passage stoode. 

This ougly horror, hate of al good nature : 

When on the right hand glaundng through the wood. 

Through sunny beames came downe a blessed creature 

Angell at least, fay heauenly Mercy sent. 

To comfort vertue, where discretion went 

White was her weede, and shining was her &oe. 
Her fetherde winges, did glister all like golde : 
And in her eie shee caried such a gxace. 
As was on earth, too glorious to beholde. 
Which made the pUgrime on his knees adore her. 
As one Tuworthy once to stande before her. 

But when shee saw humilities affection, 
Wonne from the world to seeke for heauenly fiuiour, 
And that the soule by wisdomes sound direction 
In sacred flowers, should finde the sweetest fuioar : 
Shee raisde him vp, and badde him there receiue. 
The true deUghtes, should not the soule difcriur. 

When lifted vp, by that feire hande of loue. 
That brought the hart an rnknowne happines 
And euery servant, sweetly did approue, 
A blessing in their Masters blessednes : 
With silent thoughtes, they humbly did attende 
The words, that did their comfort oompiefaende. 

Pdore wretch quod shee, thy ftdthfull patient hart 
The highest powers in pitty doe regarde : 
Where true repentance plcades for no desart 
But bounties grace, where Mercy giues rewarde : 
The heauens haue harde thy humble happy praier. 
To helpe thy hope, and keepe thee from desqpaire : 

The labour that thy loue hath tane in hande. 
Thy trauaOe. minding neuer to retire : 
The happy stale, whereon thy hope doth stande. 
Where humble praier but pitty doth aspire : 
Hane got thee grace in Merdes glorious eies. 
To finde the path that leades to paradise. 

This is the path, that patience onely treades, 
Where life doth goe on pilgrimage to loue : 
Whose humble hart, the holy spirite leades, 
Vnto the height of blessed hopes behoue : 
Whom gnoes garde, tiU perils al be past, 
And feith resolu'de, doe finde her rest at last. 

Since thou hast scapta the vaunt of Venus vaine, 
And not presumde Diana to approch : 
Since Flora coulde no further fauour gaine. 
Nor Ceres coulde thy carefull thought encrodi : 
Since fboles, and deuils, all are driuen awaie. 
Bide but a night, and thou shah see the 


Since thou hast scapte the way of wretchednes; 
Where shamrWs mindes to shamefuU shapes are 
And founde the waie of feirest Mrsiprinra 
Where hart enflamde, with vcrtues fire hath burned 
Keepe on the pathe, and tu^ on neither skle^ 
Grace to thy hope wiU be a happy guide, 

Thinke it not long to cumme to heauen al last. 
Nor linger time to hinder happy speede : 
Feare not the sunne, though sides be ouercast. 
And let a canddl stande the night in steede : 
So marke the light that Hues in Vertues eies. 
And loue shall leade thee straight to paradise. 

Feare not the foes, nor forces thou shalt meete, 
For thou shalt meete with monsters, many a one : 
But faith resolu'de treds fortune vnder feete, 
Where vertue comes, will vices all be gone. 
Hell cannot hurt, whom heauenly powers defend. 
Where grace begins, hope makes a happy end. 

Lo neere at hand, he that would hurt thee most. 
An ougly Monster, full of all oorruption : 
By whose illusion many soules haue lost. 
Their liuely hopes, by lewdenes interruption. 
A Uer, Theife, and master of all evill. 
The sier of sinne, the fiende of heU, the douilL 

Seauen are his heades, as many are his tailes. 

Each head a tongue, and eoery taile a sdng : 

And woe to them, with whom his tongues prevailes. 

Within the compase of his tails to bringe. 

But skome his wordes, or quite him with disgnoe. 

And thou shalt kill, or make him fly the place. 

His body is the very sinke of sinne. 
Into whidi hole, all hellish filth doth runne : 
A plague of pride, presumption did b^ginne. 
An endles plague, that was in pride begunne : 
Where every head the body standes in steed. 
With poisoned soules, the filthy paunch to feede. 

His swordes, are wordes with which he is to fight. 
Whose forces can but feithles hartes offende : 
For, if hee looke but once at vertues hght. 
He feintes for fieare, and feeles his forces ende : 
But heare him speake and neuer feare his spight. 
When vertue kuighes at vanites delight. 

His greatest head, and that doth gape most wide. 
Is proude Ambition, swallowing worldly wealth : 
Which faithles soules infectes with filthy pride. 
Killing the spirit for the bodies health : 
Vpon which head, he beares a triple crowne. 
That, (Vertue sees) is neere his tumbUng downe. 

In whidi great head, his tongue is all vntruth. 
Lies, to bewitch the worlde vnto his will : 
The ease of Age, the high conceit of Youth : 
Are greatest groundes of his vngratious skil : 
To goueme States, is such a stately thinge r 
What slaue is he diat would not be a King? 




And thus the viUaine would the world perswade. 
To prowde attemples that may presume to high : 
But earthly ioies wil make him proue a Iade» 
When vcrtne speakes of loues diuinity : 
Where humble hart, doth to that heauen aspire. 
Where is no place for any proude desire. 

The seconde heade, is wicked avarice. 
Choking itselfe. with trash in steade of treasure : 
Whose tongue* is treason that can best deuise, 
To hurte the spirite, with the bodies pleasure : 
But talke of vertues ioie in misery. 
And he wil pine to death in penury. 

The thirde foule head, is fihhy Gluttony. 
Deuourmg more then it can wdl digest : 
I reading the harte to loathsome villany. 
And of a man doth make an ougly beaste : 
But, answere him with fasting, and with praier. 
The very wordes will IdU him with their aier. 

The fourth bad head, is beastly slothlulness» 
Sleeping, and snorting, like a filthy swine : 
Loosing the time in loathsome idlenes, 
Dreaming of that, which neuer was divine : 
But answere him. with vertues carefiill watching. 
He £untes. and fttlls. to finde his ouermatching. 

The fifte vile heade. is filthy lechery, 
Which leades the hart, to hateful wickednes : 
His tongue, a forge of iSimcies treachery, 
To bring the soule, to all vnhappines : 
But. answere him, with vertues chaste desire. 
And. he will bite his very taile for ire. 

The sixte is enuy, full of malice fraught. 

Feeding on snakes, that £sine would vertue stinge : 

Which, where they finde their forces oome to nought. 

Into his mouth they backe their poison bring : 

But say how patience, leades to paradise. 

He frets, and fumes, and in impatience dies. 

The seventh is murtber. most accursM head 
Whose tongue is blasphemy, all dide in blood : 
Which, with the harts of harmeles creatures feade, 
Lappes in the broath of an infemall foode : 
But. saie how vertue doth for vengeance crie. 
And dead he falles, or els awaie doth file. 

Now. beare these heauenly lessons all by harte. 
And take these bookes to benefite thy minde ; 
In each of which is hidde a secret arte. a 

Whose proper vse. male profite in his kinde : 
But chiefly doe this holly booke peruse. 
Where speciall comfortes. maie thy spirit chuse. 

When, hauing giuen into his humble hande. 
Seuen sundry bookes, whereon to vse his wit : 
And last, the stale, whereon the sute did stande. 
Of happy life, where heauenly loue doth sit. 
The holy booke, of vertues blessM vaine : 
Home shee retumes vnto her heauen againe. 

Which, when the pilgrime humbly did beholde, 
Carrying in minde. the comforts of his hart : 
Which, to his £uth. her fauour did vnlbkle. 
To keepe the soule from an infemall smart : 
Against the fury of this fiende of hdl 
Onwardes he goes, God speede his passage well. 

When, not to stand on circumstance too long, 
He meetes anon with this same monster thing : 
Who, by illusion, of the Sirens song. 
Would seeke a worlde in bondage how to bring. 
Turning himselfe into a thousand shapes. 
To feare fond children, and to oosen Apes. 

And first, he looks like to fiery light. 
Which would consume, what so did crosse his waie : 
But soone was donne the force of his despight, 
Where vertue came he had no power to stale : 
And then, he would become a speaking birde. 
But God once namde, he durst not speake a worde. 

And tiy and by, he would become a Beare, 
To feare young children with a foolish noise : 
But when a man, a beast can neuer feare, 
He founde it prou'de olde children were no boies : 
When, by and by, he woulde become an Ape. 
Oh beastly thing, too neare a humaine shape. 

But, when that vertue founde the vile effect 
Of Apish humors, with the Monckish mindes, 
Shee wholy did the vermins iestes rdect. 
And forst him seeke for shapes of other kindes : 
When all his sleightes. cotdd doe him little boote. 
For, vertue knew, the deuil by his foote. 

No, though into an Angell Ceure of light. 
He coulde tiansforme him selfe. for to deceiue : 
Yet coulde he not his foote keepe out of sight, 
But. vertue coulde his filthy clawe peroeiue : 
So by his foote. shee plainely did descrie him, 
Bidding auaunte foule fiende, shee did defie him. 

Whenas the pilgrime lifting vp his eies. 

To heauenly powers from hell for to defende him : 

Sweete Christ once namde, awaie the Serpent flies. 

And, for a while vnable to offende him : 

TU once againe the heauens had giuen him leaue. 

To doe his worst, sweete vertue to deceiue. 

When in the shape whereof t)efore I spake. 
With his seuen heads, the wicked Serpent standes : 
With such a sounde, as made the earth to shake. 
As halfe the worlde were subiect to his handes : 
When first, his head of pride began to speake, 
And, to this pilgrime did this poison breake. 

Thou little wretch, quod he, of lesser worth. 
In humaine shape I know not what to name : 
Whom honors spirit, neuer coulde bring forth, 
To seeke the fortune of imperial £une : 
How didst thou fal into this forlome path. 
Wherein the worlde so little pleasure hath. 



Where, see the ground of euery secret giiefe 
Which mortifies the body with the minde : 
Subiect to euery crosse, and for reliefe, 
Pitty, the whole that thou must hope to finde : 
Patience a paine set downe, life but a death. 
Where care, and sorrow draw a sickely breath. 

Where eies must be embosid to the ground, 

Their pleasing humors, barrM to beholde : 

And bended knees, to cappe and oourtsy bounde. 

While barfed head, must bide the bitter oolde : 

The minde must stoupe.the hande must loose his strength. 

The hart must droupe, and life must yedde at length. 

Is this the reach of Reasons noble wit ? 

To see a world, and seeke for nothing in it. 

In such a chaire doth charie humor sit ? 

To know a worke of worth and not beginne it : 

Who could of power conceiue of kingly pleasure, 

Would no conceit in such a comfort measure. 

Humility ? a ioUy creeping thought. 
Patience, a prety puxgatory : 
Sorrow, a fit, for the phisitian wrought 
And death a gentiU ende of misery : 
Fasting and praier, al the spirits pleasure. 
Notes for a King, to looke vpon at leasure. 

No, stoupe no thought, seeke only to subdue. 
Set no conceit in honor with a crowne : 
In begger minde, true conquest neuer grew. 
The village is a cotage to the towne : 
The Monarchy, doth shew the noble minde. 
He hath no life that cummes of lower kinde. 

What slaue wil seme, that easely may conunaunde ? 
What Sence wil stoupe, that may be set alofte? 
Who wil desire, that needes not to demaunde ? 
Who loues the boordes may haue his bedde made softe? 
Or who regardes the rascail beggers teares ? 
That may haue Musidce to oontente his eares. 

What poore conceit, wil begge for crQmes of bread ? 
May haue his table fumisht all with cates 7 
Or breake his hart with hammers of his head ? 
B4ay passe his humors with his pleasing mates : 
Faire, wise, rich, learned, valiant, young, and olde, 
Power is the hande, doth at commandement holde. 

And so he stopt, but swelling with such pride. 
As if his braine would haue with poison burst : 
To whom, the pilgrime presently replied, 
Avaunt foule fiende, and Monster most accurst : 
Thou hate of heauen, and greatest hagge of hell. 
What wicked tale hast thou presumde to tdl. 

Wretched, blasphemous spirit of presumption, 
Ougly in shape, and horrible in sence. 
Thou cursM substance of the souls consumption. 
The heauens displeasure, and the worlds offence : 
That knowst no worth, and art not worth the knowing, 
Rot in thy roote, ere thou haue further growing. 

Thou wicked witch, fonde fortunes first deniser. 

To bring a desperate spirit to defiune, 

And by illusion, first the soules supriser. 

That heares thy wordes, and wil beleeue the Mme : 

How durst thou once presume so neere this path. 

Where batefiill humor, neuer passage hath. 

Thou grounde of griefe, heere is the grounde of grace. 
Thou foule infection, heere is £Edrest health. 
Thou crosse of crosses, heere is oomfortes place. 
Thou pitties want, and heere is pitties wealth. 
Thou dire impatience, dole, and deadly strife. 
Curst be the death that stoppes the waie of life. 

Whose blinded eies, are barde all blessed light. 
Whose crooked knees, are crampt for cnUky creeping : 
Whose triple crowne, in vertues humble sight. 
Will breake thy necke, and rest in better keeping : 
Whose hart subdued, by hande of heauenly strength. 
Must line in paine of neuer ending length. 

Canst thou the rage of wil, the rules of wit ? 
Is all the world, ought els but vanitie ? 
Who in the chaire of cbaunging choise doth sit, 
Knowes nothing of diuine humanity. 
Nor in conceit, can comfort truly measure. 
That knows not pride the plage of high 

Humility, high Angels happy thought. 
While patience, is the deuils purgatory : 
Sorrow a fit, for iaithes phisitians wroughte. 
While high heauens mercy, endes worldes misery : 
Fasting, and praier, happines procuring, 
While true repentance is but hope enduring. 

Then stoupe foule pride, whom heauens did full subdue. 

Know that thy crowne is cimuning tumbling downe : 

Vertue doth see how by ilusion grew. 

The worldes disgrace, to grace thee with a crowne : 

Monarch of mischiefe, such is all thy minde. 

Nor hath he life that cummes of sudi a kinde. 

His seruioe, freedome, that made thee a slaue. 
His seate alofte, that makes thee lie fiill lowe : 
His wante a welth, that sees thee nothing haue. 
His boorde a bed, that makes thee watch for woe : 
His alroes sweete, that saues the beggers teares. 
While thou hast nought but cries to fill thine eares. 

A poore conceite, that starues for lacke of cnims. 
And yet will tell the worlde of delicates : 
Who ofte for hunger feedst vpon thy thombes, . 
When death and sorrowe, are thy hellish mates : 
Faire, wise, riche, learned, valiant, olde, and young. 
Take heede of pride, and of his poisned tongue. 

And with what worde I knowe not how it fell. 

But, downe the crowne, came tumbling oo the gronode : 

Whenas the head, with anger seemde to swell. 

Like an Aposthume, of a poisoned wounde : 

Which breaking inwarde, of the sodaine shroncke • 

Into the body : ph mosLbeiutly troncke* 



The heade of pride thus suddainely oonnimde, 
Or shroDcke into this fihhy sincke of siime : 
The second head, foole Anarioe presomde, 
With wicked woides, the miser mindes to wiane : 
Ah, begger, worme, and needy wretdi quod he. 
What dost thou thinke that will become of thee. 

Hath patience bred in thee this poore oonoeite, 
That colde and hunger be thy harts content ? 
Doest thou not see, how manie thousandes wahe, 
In honors fidde, vpon the golden tente ? 
Or knowest thou not. power, wisedome, wit alid 
All haue their Essence, in the golden treasure. 

What fiftoe ao faire, that is not grac't in golde, 
What wit of worth, but hath in gdde his wonder ? 
What learning, but with golden lines doth holde. 
What state so high, but gold will bring him vnder ? 
What thought so sweete, but gold doth better 
And what rule best, but in the golden reason. 

Be lorde of landes, and cram thy chest with coine, 
Feare nought but neede, raony will make a friende : 
Let oonsdenoe leame the cunning to purloine, 
Wit without welth, hath but a wofull ende : 
The golden scepter, and the golden crowne, 
Doth make the subiect on his knees come downe. 

The grounde is iat, that yeeldes the golden fruite, 
The study high, that hits the golden state : 
The labour sweete, that gets the golden suite, 
The recknlng right, that makes the golde rate : 
The hap is sure, that golden hap doth holde. 
And rich is gaine, that serues the god of golde. 

And with that worde the wicked thing did cease. 
When presently the pilgrime thus replied : 
Oh cuned cancker, crosse of conscience peace 
Whose hatefiin harte, doth all ill humors hide : 
Thou kindling cole of an infemall fire. 
Die in the ashes of thy dead desire. 

Impatient sphite lining all by spoile, 
Drunke like the dropsy, and yet euer drye : 
Consumde with care, and tbM out with toyle, 
Seeminge to Uue, and yet dost ever die : 
How durst thou so the name of god blaspheme, 
To giue to drosse so great a Diademe. 

Thou stone^xMe hart, with hungring after coine. 
My care in heauen, doth seeke my haites content : 
Thou scnipst for pelfe, I seeke not to purloine, 
In Vertues field, I seeke but mercies tent 
When wisedome findes, hi power of highest pleasure, 
The worid al trash, compared to heauenly tre a sur e . 

Fowle is the fafa« that hath in gold her grace. 
Worthies the wit that hath in wealth his wonder : 
VnleamM lines, put gold in honors place. 
Wicked the state, that will to coine cnme -mder : 
Base the conceite, that seasonde is with golde, 
And b^ger rules, that such a reason holde. 

Thou plodst £ar landes, I aeeke a 
Thou fearste but neede, I, mony make no frinde : 
Thy conscience, cunning, and my care is grace. 
Thy wits wdth. wo, my harts wish heanen at ende : 
Thy golde is drosse, and vertue is my crowne. 
Where hartes submission, puis ambition downe. 

Earth giues thee golde, heauens giue me higher 
Men study wealth, but Angels wisedomes state : 
Labouie seekes pence, loue hath a higher place. 
Death makes thy reckening, life is all my rate : 
Thy happe is hell, my hope of heanen doth holde, 
God giue me grace : die deuill with thy gokle. 

And with that worde, the heade b^ganne to shrincke. 
The face dead pale, and hoQow grew the eies : 
And so, at laste, did all, and wholy sincke 
Into that hell, that heade of Anarice : 
When vp did start the heade of Ghtttooie, 
Vomiting out tbeese wordes of viUany. 

Poore braun £sdne begger, whereon dost thou feede? 
Well fare the mouth, that feedes the belly fiill : 
What staruing humor standes thy wit in steede. 
The want of victuaile, makes the body dull : 
I finde it true no triumph to a feast. 
The belly full the bones will beat rest. 

Some feede their eies with staring on the starras. 
And starue the body to content the minde : 
Some with their wittes will be so long at wanes, 
They grate on crusts, when other men haue dinde : 
But let the franticke so their humor please, 
Giue me the life, of meate, and drinke, and ease. 

When that the earth doth giue vs pleasing foode. 
What reason is it nature shoulde refuse it ? 
If reason finde, what wil doe nature good. 
What bootes to haue it, if we doe not irse it ? 
Then let me feede, while I haue power to eat. 
The mouth was made to giue the body meat. 

Oh when the tongue is pleasM with a tast. 
The stomacke feeds vntil the heart do laugh. 
And then a cnppe with a carowsing cast. 
And then a health out of a firinddy quaffie : 
Then workes the bcame in such a blessed wise. 
As if the body were in 

When thinking more to speake, his mouth ranne ouer, 

With beastly humors, loathsome to befaoMe, 

And in such sort, as he coulde not reoouer, 

nil that he did, his filthy senoe Tnfolde : 

When stopping so, the pilgrime gan repUe, 

Die ougly venum in thy viOany. 

Thou filthy, fist, and ouerfoggy flesh, 
Foule bagpipe-cheekes, eies starting from the head : 
Whom heauenly humors neuer can refresh, 
That all in hd, hast made thy hateful bedde : 
Hcaueas let me fest, from suefa a loadisome feast, 
Where to much feeding makes a man a beast. 



Earth fill thine des, hetoens feede my hmnble hart 
Drosse fil thy belly, Grace content my minde : 
Of worldly Innckets take thy pleasing part, 
Grace, giue my soule, one crmn, and I hane dinde : 
So with thy frensies, doe thy Ituiiie pleaae, 
Heauens be my rest, whom earth can neuer 

Earth feedes of earth, heanens gine the spirit Ibode, 

Natuv corrupted lost the key of reason : 

The body knowes not of the spirits good, 

Vse is abuse, where truth is saust with treason : 

Then role, and tumble in thy beastly riot, 

The dish of mercy, be my spirits diet 

O when the tongue is toucht with crud fire. 
The stomacke feedes, of an infernal flame : 
A cuppe of coles to quench a foule desire, 
A curdes hart, consuming in the same : 
Then workes the spirit with such woful cries. 
As proues in hd, was neuer paradise. 

When this same filthy hedde of Glotony, 
Beastly bedight with his abhorrid diet : 
ChokM with venum of such TiUany, 
As breedes the ground of natures most desquiet : 
Soncke backe into the bdly of the beast. 
Which of socfa spirites made his spedall feast 

When started vp the head of slouthfuh&es. 
With ougly dawes picking his gummy eies : 
Who with the noddes of witures heuines. 
Did in few wordes, this filthy speech deuise : 
What humor wretch, doth thee so waking keepe. 
That thoa canst feede vpon so little sleepe. 

Sleepe is the pride of ease, the height of pleasure. 

The Nurse of nature, and the rule of rest : 

The thougfates attonement, and the sences treasure, 

The bedde of loue, that likes the body best : 

Against vnrest the only remedy 

And ondy medicine to ech mailady. 

And therewithal! Yuwilling more to speake. 

Such heauy qualmes his hart had oueroome : 

V^th stretching yawnes, as if his lawes would breake. 

He stopt his speech, as wholy stroken dumme : 

When nodding of bis head from side to side. 

To his deafe eares, the pilgrime thus replied. 

Thou conkd serpent, grounde of al 

By Idlenes begetting Ignorance : 

Which dost the sprigges of fidrest rootes defiue. 

With loathsome course of liles discountenaunoe : 

And makst a pleasure of the spirits patne. 

Die in thy drcame, and neuer wake againe. 

Sleepe is the soules disease, the mindes dispigfat. 
The Curse of Nature, and the crosae of rest : 
The thoughtes disquiet, and the darkesome night. 
Wherein the spirit likes the body lest : 
A losse of time and reasons malladie. 
Where death is fbuad bvt to trowe s remedy. 

The watching virgins kinddy were reodued. 
When such as slept did loose thdr happy houre : 
In dreames, the sences often are deoduisd. 
When waking wiu finde shadowes haue no power. 
Then sleepe thy last, where life hath neuer place, 
God graunt my soule, to watch, and praie for grace. 

When thus the head of hatdul slouthfubes. 
Was soncke into the filthy sincke of Sinne : 
The harmeful head of al vnhappines. 
Did lechery, this loathsome tale beginne : 
Alas poor pilgrime, childe of cbast desire. 
Hast thou bin burnt thou canst not bide the fier? 

A gentle iest, a man to be a maide. 

What minsing humor doth the sences measure ? 

That Nature can of beauty beafraide, 

And loose her prime bdore she know her pleasure : 

Fleshe hath no iauour in diuinity. 

Nor Nature, pleasure in viiginity. 

The childe that knowes not how to make his choice. 

Must be a babe, so babishe let him bee : 

But he that knowes, how better to reioioe. 

Will seeke a worlde, where sweeter thoughtes •pm : 

No, thinke of loue to be that pleasing thought. 

That, for his will sets all the worlde at nought 

What figure findes not loue out of a fece? 
What humors notes be not, in euery heare? 
In beauties eies, what stars doth he not place. 
What roses in her checker doth he not beare? 
What hony in her lippes, and sweeter worth? 
In her faire ground but he can gather forth. 

It whets the wit, and doth embolden will. 
And maketb Arte to worke beyond her selle : 
It maketh nature, study reasons skill. 
And in her humors, play the pretty die : 
It bringeth fancy to a deinty feast. 
And makes a man, that woulde be ds a beast 

What deinty glaunces passe from eies to eies? 
When sweete concdtes, are secretly conceiued? 
What comfortes can the kissing hearts deuise? 
Where kinde effectes of feuour are receiued : 
Age can reporte, and youth doth daily prooue. 
Their is no oomforte to the course of loue. 

And with that worde, did ende his wicked charme : 
Vnto which sounde, the pUgrime gan reply. 
Thou hateliill bead, and grounde of euery harme, 
Venum, compounded all of villany : 
A foule infection of the feirest creature. 
Die in the filth of thy corrupted nature. 

Thou sleepy skMith. that figurste out the swine. 
With grouding humors, tumbling on the grounde : 
Thou canst not thinke, vpon a thought diuine. 
But liu'st in dreames, where all deceits are fwade; 
How durst thou speake in that fouk thoofbts ^t ^r ^f ^a 
Which bfeedeth nothing but the soules offence. 



Vertue and vice, were neuer fnendes in deede, 

Diana knowes that Venus is no maide, 

But faith, that doth on heauenly blessing feede. 

Of foolish beauty male be well afraide : 

When Natfiies pleasure in viiginitj 

Shewes flesh- hath fauoure in diuinity. 

And, where the spirit doth the sences measure. 
There is no place to let thy poison in : 
When Natures pride, is but in vertnes pleasure. 
Life only endes, that did in loue beginne : 
Where temperftce rules in reasons chast desire. 
Will keepe the harte, from thy infbmall fire. 

Thou wretched childe, of natures wicked choice, 
AocursM bable, and so euer bee : 
That makste the flesh in filth for to reioice, 
Wherein the spirite doth but sorrowe see : 
Calst thou it loue, that is but lewde conceite ? 
Die in thy lust, that art the soules deceite. 

Ciphers the figures, found in beauties face, 
Humo^ of heares, illusions of the minde : 
The heauenly stars in earth haue neuer place. 
Where painted roses, haoe no perfect kinde ; 
Her hony, gall, and what shee can brin^ forth. 
The best, and all, is worse then nothing worth. 

It blunts the wit, with to much boldning will. 
And forceth Arte, for to forget her selfe : 
It draweth Nature, quite from vertnes skill. 
When wilfuU reasone plaies the wicked eUe : 
Where, better fest, then fell to such a feast 
As makes a nnan in deede become a beast. 

What deuilish glannces passe twixt graceles eies. 
When base contents, most beastly are conceiued : 
What crosses more, can kissing hartes deuise. 
Then when the spirits mine is recehied, 
Age may repent, and youth with sorrow iMt>ue, 
Who foUowes lust, can neuer come to loue. 

Oh, what a fire is filthy lechery. 
Whose substance is bat all of gluttony. 
Whose sparcles are, but only ribaudry. 
Whose filthy snooke. is foulest infamy. 
Whose ashes, are but aU vncleanelines. 
Whose hatefull ende is hellish beastliness 

Which true description, did so discontent 
The harmefull head of hatefull lechery, 
As when she saw of the ende of her intent 
Crost, in the course of all her trechery, 
Shee bit her taile, with such vnholsome breath. 
As with her biting, stung her selfe to death. 

When spake the head of enuy all infected, 
With ougly Snakes, whereon shee seemd to feede : 
Thou foole quod shee. what hath thy hart affected. 
Wilt thou endure, thine ABC, to reede ? 
Canst thou abide to see an other goe, 
Townrdes the wealth, that thou dost wish for so ? 

Equality is but a childish humor. 
He is alone, that keepes the lofty seate : 
What voice is hard ? where al are in a runoor, 
Or who is seru'd, where euery one is great ? 
Why, patience is the pateme of a villaine, 
That neuer came neare to a Kings pauilion. 

And with that word she fed vpon her Snakes, 
As if her heart, did like none other foode : 
Whereto the pilgrime soone this answere makes, 
Vgratious grifte, and voide of heauenly good : 
Feede on thy Snakes, vntill the poison fill thee. 
And thine owne cancker with corruption kill thee. 

Equality is childrens blessednes, 

Where many brethren are but one in loue : 

The voice hard SMreete, whose sounde is holinesse, 

And God wel seru'd, where graces glory proue : 

And he that patience patemes for a villaine, 

Shal neuer know the King of heauens pauilion. 

Thou neuer readst the booke of Christ his Crosse, 
Nor canst endure so sweete an ABC : 
But thou art bounde to liue with labours losse, 
Where al the woes of al the world nude be : 
God giue my spirit, grace to seeke no more, 
Then goe the vraie his Sainctes haue gone before. 

When, (as it seemde) the venum wrought so sore. 
Within the hart, as poisnM so the heade, 
As shrinking downe, it sight, and spake no more. 
But with the rest the filthy body fedde : 
When started vp the head of murthring wrath. 
As newly cumme from out simune bloody bath. 

Who gratting of his teeth with knitting brow. 
Shaking his fist, as if he mente to fight : 
Thou patch quod he, where art thou plodding now ? 
Hath patience thinkst thou, such a princely might : 
That shee can thee against my force defende. 
And bring thee safely to thy loumeies ende ? 

My life is most to lay me downe in blood, 
I can endure no daunting of mine eie : 
I onely loue to feede on bloody foode, 
Whom I once cease on, they are sure to die : 
How durst thou then approch so neere my sight, 
Whose fury standes withal the worlde to fight. 

Poore patient hartes are tost firom post to post, 
When bloody swordes doe walke the worlde with wonder 
Poor patience many a patrimony lost. 
While will resolu'de, put wit and reason vnder : 
Patience is oft from princely seate puld downe. 
While bloody mindes, do brauely beare the crowne. 

Pitty is knowen sometime to marre a citty. 

And Anger, oftentimes is cause of quiet : 

Sometime as good be wilftil as be witty, 

When bloody dishes make a dainty diet : 

What armes of honor to a bloody field? 

Where Angers hande, make patient harts to yeeUle. 



When (as it seemde) balfe stufiM vp with blood. 
Stopping his tale the pilgrime thus replied : 
Choke vp thjr throat, with that foule batchers food, 
That neuer couldst the sounde of mercy bide : 
But dost consume the hart of many a creature, 
Die in the fury of thy filthy nature. 

Fret, fiime, and chafie, I feare not of thy force, 
I plod with patience where thou canst not cumme : 
My patience hath such power in her remorse. 
As furies sences quickely wil benumme : 
And by her prowesse, stoutly so defende me. 
That thou, nor thine, nor ought els can offende me. 

Then lie, and bath, and tumble in thy bloode. 

And stare, and stampe, til thou hast donne thy worst. 

Thy foule adherents, I haue all virithstoode, 

And thou, art but a spirit all accurst : 

Who though thou makst a number know thy might. 

Where patience cums, thou hast no power to fight. 

Poore patient harts, are tost from paine to peace. 
When bloody swords, do breede but hellish woes : 
And patience patrimony is no leaoe, 
But in a grounde, where grace and wisedome growes : 
And patience sits with an immortal crowne. 
Where tiraunt heads to hel are beaten downe. 

Pitty must be the princesse of a citty. 
And Anger breedeth nothing but disquiet : 
Wilful is good, so that the wil be viritty, 
Where bloode is bard the dish of mercies diet ; 
What Armes of honor, to that beauenly fielde, 
Where patience force, makes angers fiuy yedde. 

At which last worde, the fretting furious head, 
Fel with the rest, into that sincke of sinne. 
And with the body fel downe stroke as dead. 
When patience did this pilgrimes ioy beginne : 
With pra3rsing heauens, and vsing humble praier. 
To comforte hope, and keepe of al dispaire. 

When leauing so the ougly Monster slaine, 

Onwardes she leades him on his happy way. 

Where ioif ul pleasure after feare of paine. 

Had set his sences at so sweete a staie : 

That now, he thought no Monster could offende him. 

He had such proofe, that patience woulde defende him. 

But when the heauens that pitty haue of nature. 
And know that sences, woulde be gladde of rest : 
Although the spirite. waking keepe the creature, 
Vnto such worke, as like the wisedome best : 
Into their garde, did will the Angels take him, 
Vntill they wilde the spirite shoulde awake him. 

BVT when the spirite little time coulde spare 
Vnto the harte, to giue the senses rest : 
And reason founde that vertues happy Cure, 
Was in the hande, wherewith the soule is blest : 
He wilde the sences from their sleepe arise. 
And follow patience to their paradise. 

When hauing past the path along the wood, 
They came vnto a shore, neare to a sea : 
Where lofty waues did threaten little good. 
When rocks with patience make a drowning plea : 
Where stormes, and tempests, flawes, and rocks, and 

The perils shew, wherein the seaman standes. 

With patience heere the pilgrime must imbarke. 
Within a shippe the Buonauenture named : 
When in a Mappe he found out many a marke. 
Whereby oonceite his course most happly framed : 
And to be shorte, with a resoluM minde, 
They hoist vp sailes, God sende a merry vrinde. 

When as they founde the tide would tary none, 
And little wit it was to loose the winde. 
What grounde was best to cast their ancker on, 
And how they might their surest passage finde : 
To scape the rockes, and to auoide the sandes. 
And keepe their carriage out of pirots handes. 

And so, along the surging seas they slide, . 
Till passing by capa di buon speransa. 
Not farre fix>m thence, they did intende to ride 
Till some sweete winde that vertue ben auansa : 
Would bid them hoice their sailes and to be gone, 
Towardes the heauen they were to hope vpon. 

Where, after sounding, casting ancker out. 

And striking saile, and winding vp the cable. 

Setting in order all thinges rounde aboute. 

As well as such young Mariners were able : 

With such good thoughtes as might the time beguile. 

They fell to walke vpon the boordes awhile. • 

And riding but a while, an one they spied, 
A fisher man, all in his boate alone. 
With euery billow tost from side to side. 
As made them feare his last farewell anone : 
When moued with the pitty of good nature 
They calde aboorde this silly wretched creature. 

With much adoe, the creature came aboorde. 
And tooke the pilgrime humbly by the hande : 
And onely sight, but did not sale a word. 
But, as a man that halfie amasde did stande ; 
Till by entreaty of sweete patience, 
Hee was content to haue some conference. 

Alas quod hee good Masters, heere yee see 

A selly creature in a sory case : 

A wof ull story to be tolde of mee. 

Borne to the death of sorrow and disgrace : 

Curst firom my cradell, with a thousand crosses. 

Where fortune tumes my labours all to losses. 

I have not alwaies liu'de a fisher man. 

Through other courses, I my course haue ninne : 

It is but late, that I this lifie beganne. 

Where little good, hath yet my laboure dome : 

But yet I like the kinde of life so well, 

I woiilde not chauoge it with a king to dwell. 



For first I was a gallant in my youth, 

And then I courted youthfiiU kinde of people : 

But when my tale was tolde, to tell a truth, 

I founde although the sexton kept the steeple, 

The bds sometimes against his will were rong, 

When talking clappers could not holde their tongue. 

I founde that cost was often kindely taken, 

And costly kindnes was a common thing : 

I found the needy friend was soone forsaken. 

And he that had the crownes was halfe a king : 

I founde that flattry was a fine oonceite. 

And gold was seru'd, where better gifts did waite. 

I found fiure beauty like a biasing starre. 
But oftentimes, the moone was in a mist. 
And many a one, was with his wits at warre. 
While reason reade the rules of had I wiste : 
I founde sweet musicke sounde in many a place 
While empty purses were in weeping case. 

I founde a thousande prety foolishe toies. 
That were too tedious now for to redte, 
I founde againe that there were further ioies. 
Then I coulde see but by the sunny Ught : 
Which for mine eies could neuer come to see. 
Ha done quod I, this is no life for me. 

Then to the warres forsooth a little while. 

To followe drummes, and trumpets to the fidde : 

But oh how will doth wofull wit beguile. 

When want of comfort makes the oonsdenoe yeeld : 

And yet, when peace doth make an ende of sttife. 

Surely the souldiers is the prinody lifie. 

But, for I did but little time bestow, 
Amidde the fielde to seeke for honors fiune : 
And fortune sought my com fort es ouerthiow. 
Before my hart had entrance to the same : 
I lefte that life, and to the seas I gat. 
Where, how I liu'd I neede not tdl yon that. 

I thinke your selues can tel as wd as I, 

If not, alas, it is no ease to leame : 

So many labours in the life doe lie. 

As are not in a dale for to disceme : 

A daie, a month, nor many a yeare, God wot, 

As I could tel. if I haue not forgotte. 

First I did leame to set my compasse right. 
And by my compasse, how my course to run 
To marke each point, as wd by day as night. 
By night, to maike the stars, by day the sunne : 
Then take the Mappe, to look for rodces and aandes. 
Of which fill ofte, the shippe in daunger standes. 

Then narrowly to lo<^ to euery kake. 
And when the winde did aerue to hoiae my sailes : 
To sounde the depth, where seas beginne to breake, 
And strike my saile, when once my searoome fiulet : 
To arme my fightes, and plant nine ordnaunce so, 
I might not standee in fcm to meete my foe. 

Then did I leame to stande and guide the tteme. 
And now and then to hdpe to hoise vp andEer : 
And otherwhiles the cunning to disceme. 
To dresse hir sides to keepe hir from the cancker : 
My termes of arte, and patient to be paineluQ, 
And how to hope to make my voiage gainluL 

To lie fill colde, and harde. and fore full thinne. 
To frame my carkas to vnkindest natures. 
To beare of stormes, and in a calme beginne 
To leame to kill the little creeping creatures : 
To eate a fiisty cake, and teinted fish. 
And one fresh morsell, make a deinty dish. 

To make no oonsdenoe, so there came in galnCr 
When siluer crosses, keepe of many a curse : 
A pitteous case to see the Merdiant slaine. 
For his owne goods to fil the pirots purse : 
To sweare, and stare, vntil we come to shore. 
Then rifty tufty, each one to his skore. 

The Master, he sometime would fall asleepe. 
The Masters mate to much vpon the can : 
The boson, he his cabin tooke to keepe. 
And in the oookerome, there the rie begane : 
When all and some, in halfe a drondcen swowne, 
Woukl Jeaue the shippe, to sincke, themsdues to drowne. 

But, when I saw the Idnde of liiie was such. 
The griefe to great for any true good minds : 
The labour sore, the sorrow was too much. 
To seeke for that which but repentance finds : 
I left the shippe, with manie a sortie note. 
And tooke me sweetdy to my little boate. 

And heere, my trade is poore, yet fill of peace, 
And peace is riches, though my trade be pooce : 
The sea is large, whose landlorde makes no lease, 
I toUe for fishes, and I seeke no more : 
When stormes arise, vnto the heauen I high me 
And in the sunne-shine, set me downe and drie me. 

But, for I see the barke, wherein you ride. 

Of Buonaventure hath the blessed name. 

And patience is a pure a perfect guide 

Vnto the fauour of eternal fiune : 

I hope the course is good that you intends, 

Heauens bring you happly to your loumies end. 

This poore mans tale when thus the pOgrime harde. 
He did along his company entreate. 
Promising him, a pOgrnne poore rewarde. 
Besides his hope, his comfort woulde be great. 
If he auens did fiuioure vertues enterprise. 
Humbly to passe the path to paradise. 

But, when the fisher harde that fairest worde. 

Of paxadise, once sounding in his eare ; 

He gaue consent and hoist his boat aboarde. 

And casting of al sorrow, care, and feare : 

They hoist vp sailes, windes sera'de, what would yew 

Onwardes they goe. God sende them wd! a shore. 



When leauing SdUa to those silly guides. 
That careles are to keepe their course aright : 
By curst Charibdis, on he smoothly slides, 
TiU by good happe they had a land in sight : 
To which they made with might and maine as fiut 
As windes woulde seme, and got to shore at last. 

Yet, let me tel you, ere they came a shore. 
As through the Ocet they did make their way : 
Tempests arose, and many a winde blew sore. 
That threatened ofte the course of their decay : 
Besides the pirots that they put to flight. 
Which chrost their course with many a cniell fight. 

One where they saw wrakes lie without reliefe. 
An otherwhere, whales tumbling in the wanes : 
An other while, vnto their deadly griefe, 
Stormes threaten sore, the fishes maws their graues : 
Yet when the worst of all these ills were past. 
Safely arriu'de they came to shore at last. 

Where, wethring of themsehies against the sunne, 
First praising God, by his almighty power, 
That guided them since first their course begunne, 
And brought them safely to that happy howre : 
The hart laide downe, the sences all to rest. 
While angels watch the waking sp^t blest. 

BVT. when the spirit had but little time, 
To giue the sences leaue to take their rest, 
Nor was the laboure little for to dime. 
The fiery ashes, of a Phoenix nest : 
Hee bad them sweetely from their sleepe arise 
And set them in their path to paradise. 

Where walking on, they met on their right hande. 
A worlde of people, making pitteous mone : 
Some lost tbdr goods, some other lost their knde. 
Their parents some, and some, their friends were gone: 
Not one of all, but some way were oppressed. 
When all, and some, in some, where al distressed. 

The Courtier, hee complainde, of looes disgrace, 
The souldier, he cried out, of lacke of paie : 
The lawier, lacke of hearing of his case. 
The client, how his ooine went to decaie : 
The merchaunt, of the losse of his aduenture, 
The prentice of the bandes of his Indenture. 

The landlorde, of his tenaunts beggery, 
The passinger of lacke of amity : 
The tenaunt, of the landlordes misery. 
The begger, all, of lacke of charity : 
The churchmen, of their small possessions. 
The laiemen, of the church transgressions. 

Now, on the left hande, went another cnie, 

A hatefiill sort, of hellish company : 

Which, to their welth, and wortheles honor gnie. 

By wicked workes, of woftill villany : 

Which, by the trades of Machauile instructed. 

Were by the deuill, to his hel conducted. 


One, he blasphemde, and murthred many an othe. 

Another, made of honesty, a iest : 

An other made a tush, at faith, and troth. 

An other boasted of a bloudy feast : 

And some, in power, how will did goueme reason. 

And other, of their pollicy in treason. 

The Courtier, boasted of his braue attire. 
What lordshippes, he had laid vpon his backe : 
The souldier bragde what townes he set on fire, 
How many dtties he had helpt to sadce : 
The lawier, of his quidities, and quirkes. 
The client, of the knowledge of his ierkes. 

The landlorde, of his tenants slauery 

And, how hee kept the pesauntes all in awe : 

The tenant of his cunning knauery, 

When with his landlorde he could go to law : 

The Merchant, how his gaines were brought about. 

The prentice, how he got his freedome out. 

The churehmen, they wente boasting on their tenthes, 
And twenties too, and yet they would haue more : 
The Laiemen, of thdr laying lines at lengthes. 
And how a chalke did make a pretty skore : 
The passinger, of ftdn^d amity. 
The begger, of the bagge of charity. 

After all these, vpon the right hand went, 
A selly foole, for so I tearme him right : 
With wringing hands, that seemM to lament 
Some crossing humor to a vaine delight : 
For, loue forsooth, and nought but loue it was, 
That made a woman make a man an Asse. 

Of Venus frailty and of Cupids blindenes 
He cried out, oh, that euer they were borne : 
And of his mistris more then most vnkindnes. 
That did so much his truest seruioe skome : 
Yet, still he lou'de her, and he did so loue her. 
It was his death, he neuer coulde recouer. 

And then he sight, and sobde, and houg the head. 
And wept, and wailde, and cast vp both the eies, 
And in a trance, as if a man were dead. 
Or did some djring Unde of fit deuise : 
Vntill he walkte, and then he cried oh loue. 
That euer louer shoulde such sorrowe proue. 

And then he redde his verses and his rimes, 

Wherdn he praisde her to to, out of reason. 

And then he sight to thinke how many ttnaes, 

He watcht, the day, the night, the bower, the season : 

To finde some fruite of her desemtd hnoan. 

But al his flowers, were weedes that had no aaaoar. 

And then furewell, and then againe fiunewell. 
And forewell loue, and fiuvweU kwdy sweeie. 
And farewel sweete, where loue doth sweetly dweL 
And fiauvwell dwelling, for loue sweeCenes roooti : 
And ferewell meeting, with kxies statdy stoce. 
And fiurewell loue, for bee ooukle Uue no nsore. 



And dm thi pOgrime let the poore 

To kx>te his will, and leeiDe his benar wiu : 

Whidi be had kitt with following fncf so, 

Vnto the fury of these frantidce fits : 

That in his hart, had wrought that maUady, 

That he must die, there was no remedy. 

Now on the left hande went another creature, 
Or rather spirit in an oogly shape : 
HoUow dead eies, and most iUanoarde feature. 
Mopping and mowing, like an olde die-Ape : 
Which in the foiy of youtbes firensy. 
To crosse loues loie, is called leloosy. 

Cursing that euer Venus was so fure. 
Or Cupid bad the power to bende his bow : 
Or eoer worde had passage through the aier. 
TfOBk ftnsies tongue, to beauties eares to go : 
When triddiag humors, in afiections brest, 
By feare of ioies is lelonsies unrest 

Then winckt* and pinckt, and leerde and honge the 

And seemde to start, at euerie sodaine breath : 
And grounde her teeth, as though some priuy nip. 
Within her head, did fret her hart to death : 
When out she mumbled* most vnhai^ loue. 
That makst the minde, these passions to approue. 

But when the pilgrime saw her agony. 

And, in what taking, wretched thing, she was : 

Littk contented, with such company. 

He giues her leane vpon her way to passe : 

And keepes his course, vntil anone he came, 

Vnto a dtty, — needles is the name. 

Where entring in, on eadi side of the gate. 

He found it poorely al with beggars garded : 

And by the forefront of that feeble sute. 

He thought smal wealth where poore were so rewarded : 

Til entered forther in the streetes he founde, 

A worlde of wealth in euery streete abounde. 

I meane sudi wddi, as worldly people chuse, 
To malte the comfort of their chiefest kinde : 
And such a bait as widced spirites vse, 
To blinde the sight of a bewitcbM minde : 
In euery shoppe, or silner golde or wares, 
To stame the poore, and fill the ridi with cares. 

When noting wd, by euery doore he went, 
He saw each hoose was with a pkge infected : 
Where, though they hu'de content with discontents 
Were In the rules of better cares reiected : 
For, though the poison did not kill at first 
Vet dki they swd, Tntfl at last they burst : 

One house was plagkl with a widced master, 

Another, with a most aocnrsM dame: 

An other with a chikle that was a waster, 

An other, with a seruant out of frame : 

The rich men, most were plagfed with disease, 

The poore men, with smal vermin, and with fleas. 

One house was plagda with caning aad wldi banning. 
An other house with swearing, and binaphsadng : 
An other, where fonde minions idl to iDaiiDiBg, 
An other frighted, alter foolidi dreaming : 
Some plagde with sorrow, for their losse of treasure, 
And some with tonnent after to much pleasure. 

A number plagues to tedious to redte 

In euerie oomer, oompast all tlie dtty : 

Where power did wrong, and poore men had no right. 

And golden purses had to little pitty : 

When many a creature in fhl pitteons case. 

Did prone the dtty an vuhappy place. 

But, when the pilgrime saw on euery side 
Their outwarde wealth so ful of inwarde wo : 
And in that state, there was no Uisse to bide, 
Where euery house, alas was plagM so : 
Knowing withal, hte tnuiaile wisht no staie, 
Thorough the streets he hastdy made his way. 

Vntil at last be came vnto a lane. 

That ledde him to an Tuiuerstty : 

Where, by the notes that he had quickdy tane, 

He founde a wonderful diuendty : 

In young opinions, toudiing points of arte. 

And how one Kholer, tooke on others part. 

Now, heare the plague, he found but in ooncdt, 
Where some were pght and other some were wrong : 
Some foUowde wil, and wrought ypon deodt. 
Some kmM truth, and songe none other song. 
When leaning soolers to thdr leamM case. 
Ruing the plague, with reuerenoe lefte the place. 

When passing on, ledde all by patience hande. 

The happy guide vnto his hopid grace : 

WhDe reasons state, did all resoluM stande. 

In paradise to seeke his resting place : 

WhDe heaoealy powers, the hart did waking keepe, 

In vertues annes, the sences Id a sleepe. 

BVT stil, the spirit, that had care to keepe 
The hart awake vnto liis happy way. 
Had little time, to let the sences sleepe. 
Lest smallest stoppes, miglit cause to long a staie : 
And therefore wakt them Iran thdr sleepy vaine. 
And sweetdy set them in their path againe. 

Where, walking on, vnto a oourt they came, 
Where they bdielde a woride of beauties weith . 
A statdy prince, and many a prinody dame, 
Disoourshig, more of pleasure then of health : 
Where honors p r es ence was so highly garded. 
As each conceit of base desire discarded. 

The Counsaile, graae, as best beseemde thdr place, 
The Courtiers, gallant, faU of fine oonodte : 
The Ladlei^ foire, and foil of honoois grace. 
The Seruantes, wise, that humbly dkl awalte : 
Nothing amisse, that Nature ooukle deuise. 
To please the humor of Aflectxxis des. 



And, let me not* to sUgfatlj ouerpuse. 
The pleasing ground of enery prhiate grace : 
Where euery senoe, so sweetdjr plessid was, 
As brought the wits into a w ondro u s case : 
And such a case» as had not veitue ben, 
To garde their senoe they had ben oueneene. 

To see the presence of a prinody Queene, 
To marke the course of grane discretion care : 
To note the sightes that are but seldome seene» 
Where youthes desartes in beauties fiuiouie are : 
To heare the musicke of most sihier Toioes, 
And finde the restes wherein the song reioioes. 

To see what pleasure, power hath in her hande, 
To heare how youth, can courte his kinde desire, 
To see, how wisedome doth in power commannde. 
And finde how beauty sets the hart on fier. 
While hiunble seruauntes, shewe their diligence : 
Are not these notes for sweete e x perience? 

To see how vertues are in honor placed. 
To see the agM all with reuerence seraed. 
To see the humble by tlieir seruice graced. 
And beauties fame hf (aithlull loue pieserued. 
To see peace, plenty wisedome, honour, hsue : 
Are these not pleasures, for the hait to prone? 

Now heere the pilgrime did beginne to feare, 
Some of his seruants woulde be stolne awaie. 
Either the Sente. the Tast, the Eie, the Eare. 
Or ds the Feeling woulde be forst to stale : 
Yet. for they sware their seruice to his will. 
He fearde the lesse, to leade them from their ilk 

And when he sawe, what perill was in greatnes, 
What idle thoughtes, in youthfull humors sit. 
And what a folly, was in to much featenes. 
Where beauties wonders did but blinde the wit : 
And what long suites, did gaine but little grace. 
And last what daungers doe passesse the place. 

With humble praier vnto the powers on high, 
To blesse that prince and all those princely peeres. 
Which in the honour of discretions eie. 
Were calde the wonders of these latter yeeres : 
From care, and cost, fancy, and wisedomes folly. 
He tooke his walke vnto a waie more holly. 

WHERE ere they came, they came yet by the way. 
Vnto a Campe. or rather, kingly fielde : 
Where, many a stop, did feare too long a stay, 
Such choice of honors, did such humours yedde : 
Where horse and foote, were so in order planted. 
As. no direction, in discretion wanted. 

The chiefe commaunder in his stately tente. 

With noble mindes of MartiaU men attended : 

For euery doubt of euery ill intent. 

With strongest gardes of watche and warde defended : 

Whose graue discretion rulde by sounde aduise. 

Pcrforrode the plot of many a rare deuise. 

To see the carefuU CoUonds directed, 
Ech to his quarter, and his regiment : 
And how edi Captaine, valianntly effected. 
The wonder grace of warlike gouernement : 
To see the true discharge of euery office. 
And then the honor of adoemnres seruice 

To note the greate prouision eoery waie 
For victuaile first, munition, armor, shot ; 
For forrege for their horse, for grasse and hay, 
And such prouaunte, as cheapest may be got : 
For euery grounde, for euery quarter fit. 
Are not the workes for euery simple wit. 

To heere the drummes and fife the lanim strike, 
The horses neie, and then the trumpets sounde. 
To see the horsemen charge vpon the pike. 
And then the pikemen laie the horse on grounde. 
To heare the Canons roar, the small shot rattle. 
And see their triumph, that doe winne the battaile. 

To marke the ordering of a court de garde. 
To note the rules in walking of the rounde, 
The Sdntenils, and euery watch, and warde. 
And of the mines, and working vnder grounde : 
To marke the planting of their Ambuscados, 
And in the night, their sodaine canuassados. 

To see a Qtty sende her bullets out. 

Against the force of all her cruell foes. 

To see her wals, all fortified about, 

To beare the force of all their cruell blowes : 

To make her foes, perforce their siege to raise. 

And through the world to winne a wonder praise. 

Are heere not sights of force to staie the eie? 
Or soundes, of power for to incfaaunt the eare. 
Nay, male not wel the hart be drawn awry. 
From all conceites, to keepe his compasse there : 
Sure, so it had, had not the spirit stiU, 
Preseru'de the senoes from a secret iU. 

For, then againe, to see a chty sackte. 

Her buildings ruinde, and her people slaine : 

Her wals. al razM, and her castles crackt. 

And al her welth, but in a wofiil vaine : 

Her olde men mourning, and her young men dying. 

The mothers weeping, and their children crying 

To see her streetes, al runne with streames of blood. 

Her houses burning, al in flames of fier : 

To see her state, that al in honor stoode. 

Yeelde to the forces of their foes desire : 

Her roial strength, become a ruful storie. 

And death, and sorrow, ende of al her glorie. 

To see the fielde, with dead men ouerspread. 
To see the aire infected al with smoake : 
To see, the valiaunt Caualieros dead. 
And many a soldiour hurt with many a stroake : 
To see the steedes. lie tumbling on the earth. 
And through the campe a Sickenes or a dearth. 



To lee the Krtdiotir name, whh lake oflbode, 
And, in hii march, to die with lacke of drincke : 
To aee the ridi men line on poore mens bkxxle, 
And one dose humor, at another wincke : 
To see each Captaine, euerie waie anoied, 
And, by disorder, all the campe destroied 

Did make the pilgrime willing to depart 
The place so fol of daunger and distresse : 
Where wits might worke but woful was the arte, 
Where one mans health, bred many heauines : 
And therefore making there but little stale 
He foQowes patience on another way. 

AND on they walke, vntil anone they came, 
Vnto a Church, not built of lime or stone 
But that true Church, of that Immortal £une 
That is worldes vronder, and heauens loue alone : 
Whote head is Christ, whose Martirs are his pillers 
And al whose members, are his wordes wel-willers. 

The gate, is Grace, Contrition, is the key, 
The locke, is loue, the porter. Penitence : 
Where himible fidth, must heauenly lauour stay. 
Till pity talke with vertues patience : 
While angels sighes, the sinners waie deuise. 
To haue his entraunce into paradise. 

Which is in deede the plot of al perfection, 
Dimwne by the compasse of diuiae conceite. 
Whote line, is life laide by his loues direction 
Who makes al flesh vpon the spirite waite : 
Whose flowers are fruites of faithes eternal fauour, 
Sweete to the soule. in euerliuing sauour. 

Now in this grounde, doth liue this glorious King. 
Of mercies life, amklde the fire of loue. 
Who, as the sunne, doth cause the flowers to spring. 
So, by his fire, makes fiuth her comfort proue : 
When heauenly ruth doth vertues roote so nourish, 
That« her faire flowers shall grow and euer floorish. 

Now heere the herbes were wholsome sentences. 
Which puige the hart, of euery idle thought : 
And for each grasse, a grace of wit and sences, 
By heauenly blessing from the spirit brought : 
In midst whereof the well of life doth spring. 
About the which the Angels sit and singe. 

Heere is the light that makes the sunne to shine, 
Heere is the brightnes of the morning light, 
Heere is the sunne. that neuer doth decline, 
Heere is the dale, that neuer hath a night, 
Heere is the hope of euerliuing blisse, 
And comforte, that beyonde all knowledge is. 

Heere neoer weedst had ensr power to ipnowe, 

Nor euer wonne ooukle make an hertie to wither. 

But in the path, where all perfections goe, 

Vertue and Nature, kinddy went togither. 

And heauenly dewes, did al the firuites so cherish. 

That, ndther fruit, nor heibe, nor flower could perish. 

Heere neoer torrow for the thought of losses, 
Heere euer labour and yet neoer weary ; 
Heere neoer feare, of any fetal crosses, 
Heere neoer mourning, and heere euer merry : 
Heere neoer hunger, thurst, nor heat, nor cokl, 
But take enough, and stil the store doth holde. 

Heere is the sky, the sun, the moone, and stars. 
Set for a dial, by the heauens direction : 
Heere neoer doude their brightest shining barres. 
But show their brightnes in their best perfection : 
Heere, is in some the sweetest light of al. 
From which al lightes haue their original 

Heere neoer foote of wicked pride presumed. 
But is excluded heauenlie paradise : 
Heere is the aier with sweetest sweetes prefemed. 
WhDe sinners sighes is blessed sacrifice : 
When faithful soules in Angels armes embraced. 
Are in the de of glorious feuour graced. 

Heere are the viigins playing, Angds singing 
The Saintes rdoidng, and the Martirs ioying. 
Heere sacred comfortes to the co n science springing, 
And no one thought of discontent anoying : 
Heere htut was none, and feare of death is neuer. 
But heerfe is loue, and heere is life for euer. 

Heere sonowes teares, doe quenche the heate of Sinne. 

And fire of loue, doth kindle life againe : 

Heere doth the grounde of glory first beginne. 

And heere is Vertue, in her highest vaine : 

Heere, is in some the state of honours story. 

And of all goodnes, the etemall glory. 

And heere is, lo that heauenly paradise. 
Whereto the pilgrime, made his pilgrimage : 
Where sacred mercy first did solempnize. 
The spirite to the fleshe in mariage : 
And here the hart did finde his spirit blest. 
To bring the aenoes to etemall rest 

Gloria in excelsis Deo. 

IN this true plot of reasons highest pleasure. 
The heaunly court, of the high King of Kings : 
Where sacred sf^ts, haue their spedall treasure 
And sweetest comfort, of contentments springs : 
God bring your sences, by your harts desire. 
To feel the comfort of his kingly fier. 


brookes loue. 

FAIRE in a plot of earthly paradise, 
Vpon a hill, the Muses made a Maxe : 
In midst whereof within a Phoenix eies, 
There sits a grace, that hath the world at gaae : 
Which Phoenix is but name vnto a nature 
That shews the world hath scarcely such a creature : 

This true loues saint, by worthy beauty crowned. 
Did seeme to wish but not expresse her will : 
When stiaunge desires were in deuises drowned. 
To finde out wonders farthest from her wil : 
The worlde came in, with presents many a one, 
But, 3ret alas, her loue could like of none. 

Cleare was the day when Phoebus shonne ful bright, 
But her hartes eie did higher light aspire : 
Aprill, brought in both earth and aires delight. 
But earth, nor aire, could answere her desire : 
Fortune ? shee skomde : friendes 7 who durst be a foe ? 
Seriiants? a worlde would serue her will or no. 

Welth, was but trash, and health was natures ioie. 
Honour, a Title, beauty, but a blast : 
Power, but a trouble, pleasure, but a toie. 
Youth, but a time, to quickely ouerpast : 
Learning, alas, it liueth in her schoole, 
Wisedome. her will, knowes worldly wit a foole. 

Yet still she wisht, but saide not what shee woulde. 
When still the worlde, did worke, but still in vaine : 
Care with conceite, did all the best he coulde, 
Brought in his giftes, but bare them backe againe : 
When welth, helth, beauty, honor, power nor ease 
Wit, youth, nor learning, could her humor please. 

Some brought in pearles, most orient to beholde, 
Shee knew them pearles, and so did shee regarde them 
Some brought in gemmes, of diamondes set in golde, 
Shee knew their worth and so did she rewarde them. 
Some brought in workes, of weomans rare deuises. 
She knew their paines, and so did giue the prices. 

Some brought in musicke of most siluer sounde. 
Which all woulde cease, if shee but tucht a string : 
Some brought in first the fairest flowers they founde, 
Shee tooke them as the comforts of the Spring : 
Some brought in this and some woulde bringe in that, 
But yet her wish was still shee knewe not what 


The souldiers came, and brought in all their armes, 
Shee smilde to see, how beauty made a peace : 
The pesants came, and offired vp their farmes, 
But, shee saide loue did neuer make a lease : 
The merchants, came with all their mony trtasure, 
Shee put it off, it did her minde no pleasure. 

The lawiers came, and laide downe all their bookes, 
Shee knew, that truth was all in yea and no : 
The courtiers came with all their lofty lo<dces. 
But when she kx^ she made them curtsy low : 
The scholars came and brought in all their artes, 
Shee knew their practise ere they learned their partes. 

The sailers brought their rubies fitmi the rockes, 
But, of such toies, her treasure was to full : 
The shepards brought the fieurest of their flockes. 
But shee coulde weare no cloth was made of woU : 
Thus euery one did bring in what they coulde. 
Yet still she wisht, but knew not what shee woulde. 

The poets came, and brought in their inuentions. 
But well shee knew their fancies were but &ined : 
The muses brought the truth of their intentions. 
Which in their kindes were kindely entertained : 
But yet the best, with all her worthines, 
Toucht not the humor of her happines. 

But when the world could not come neare her wish, 
And saw in vaine it was, her will to seeke : 
The earth coulde yeelde no fruite, the sea no fishe. 
That coulde be founde, that might her fancy leeke : 
Some with a sigh, other, with pitteous mone. 
All went awaie, and left her all alooe. 

Now when she saw the worlde was gone indeede. 
Her selfe alone, saue but my selfe vnseene : 
Oh Loue quod she, this world is but a weede, 
Who lines on earth, that in the heauens hath beetle? 
Thou knowest I know the world did know thee neuer. 
But I do know, heauens know, thou knowest the eoer. 

Thou art a name that nature neuer knew, 
Thou art a knowledge for the earth too high. 
Thou art the triall of affection true. 
Thou art the truth, that cannot make a lie. 
Thou art the sweete, that cannot be oonoehied. 
Thou art the hope, that neuer haite deoeiued. 

C 2 



The Diamond is to thee but dimmM glasse, 
Gold is but drosse, pearles are but fishes eies : 
The wisest head, to thee is but an Asse, 
What life so proud? but in thy presence dies : 
Thou art the Beauty that can neuer fade : 
Thou art the sunne, what euer be the shade. 

Thou leadest the eie vnto his harts delight, 

Thou leadest the hart vnto his soules desire, 

Thou leadest the soule vnto that lining light. 

Which shewes the heauen wher hope can go no higher : 

Thou art the height aboue all heights so high. 

As giues the life, where loue can neuer die. 

And since I see, such is thy sacred Essence, 
As giues the being to each secret blisse : 
And vertue hath her highest excellence. 
In but i)erforming what thy pleasure is : 
Some heauenly Muse, let my poore spirit moue. 
To make the world to wonder at my loue. 

Thy face my Loue, is fairer then the sunne : 
Thy beauty sweete, is brighter then the daie : 
Thy shining light before the world begunne. 
And cannot £ade, though al the world decay : 
Where wisedome findes. in state of vertues story. 
The grace of Beauty hath her brightest glory. 

Thy wisedome doth all wonder comprehend, 
Thy valure is aboue all power victorious. 
Without beginning, and can neuer ende. 
Thy vertue is in heauen and earth al glorious : 
Thy prayses are aboue all praise raysM, 
Where mercy is, in highest glory prays^ 

Health is no health, but in thy happy hand. 
Life is but death, that thy loue doth not cherish. 
Earth hath no fruit except thou blesse the land, 
Thoughts prosper not wher thou wilt haue them perish. 
Power, is no power, but where thou doest assist, 
Downe goes the world, that doth thy will resist. 

Thy wil. sweete loue, is but the summe of wel, 
Thy weU, is well, wel, better, and the best : 
That, with thy loue, thy lining soules may dwell, 
Safe, in the hope of their eternal rest : 
Thy rest the ioie, the soule cannot oonceiue. 
Thy soules, the Saintes* thy Mercy doth reoeiue. 

Thy comfort is the tuchstone of true kindenes, 
Thy kindenesse is the very life of loue : 
Thy loue is light, all other light but blindenesse, 
Thy light is life, that death can neuer proue : 
Thy death, was life, thy life is ioie for euer, 
Vnto the soules, that loue and leaue thee neuer. 

What was? or is? or, on the earth shall be, 
But that thou knowst, and knowst al what they are 
And that they haue, their beeing but in thee. 
Made by thy hande, and gouemd by thy care : 
Which thou dost prosper, comfort, or defende. 
And when ihou wilt, shal wholy make an ende. 

Grast is the king, whom thou dost only crowne, 
And wise the wit, that only knowes thy wil. 

Happy the State, where thou dost blesse the towne. 
And blest, the hart, that thou dost keepe from ill : 
But yet the soule, doth in her fEuth approue 
The life, the life, is onely in thy loue. 

Shall I describe thy sweete and glorious seate? 

But, as thou art vnto thy seruanu seene, 

Or shall my spirite himibly else entreate ? 

Some Angels help, that in the heauens hath beene? 

That to the worid such glory may vnfolde. 

Or, sale it is, too glorious to beholde. 

Thy throne is ludgement, lustice is thy sworde, 
Mercy and Truth are still before thy face : 
Loue, is thy law, and Wisedome is thy worde : 
Vertue thy loue, and Bounty is thy grace : 
Pitty thy state, wha% patience is the story, 
Grace is thy gift, and Mercy is thy glory. 

Thus in the seate of sacred excellence. 

With Virgins, Saints, and Angels all attended, 

Dost thou possesse that princely residence : 

Till ludgement passe and loies be neuer ended. 

When all the host of heauen and heauens doth sing. 

An Alleluia, to their heauenly king. 

Where trembling loyes distill the teares of loue, 
And louing feare doeth bring forth blushing fiices, 
And blushing faces, in their faith approue, 
Vnworthy creatures, to behold their graces. 
Whidi graces doe this glorious musicke moue, 
The life of life, is in thy heauenly loue. 

Now for thy loue, it cannot tume to hate, 
Thou hatest the life, that once doth alter loue : 
It is the stale of an etemall state, 
A mansion house, that neuer can remoue : 
Whidi, on the rocke of true Religion standes. 
And neuer feares the seas of errors sandes. 

Now, thy Religion is the rule of life. 
Whose chiefest blessing is the ioie of peace : 
Where loue, cuts of the cause of euery strife, 
And sweete accord, doth bring out loues encrease : 
And loues encrease is such a ioie to see. 
As bring the soule vnto his life in thee. 

Alas, alas, all treasure is but trashe. 

Where loue is banisht by the state of strife : 

The sweetest wine, is but as swinish wash, 

Vnto the water, of the well of life : 

No, no, the pleasures, that the world can proue. 

Are all but sorrowes to thy heaunly loue. 

But, let me see what fruite, thy fauour yeeldes. 
Or in thy loue, what happy life is founde. 
When sea, and lande, hils, dales, and fairest fieldes, 
Doe all, but in thy blessed giftes abounde : 
Besides the peace, wherewith the hart is blest, 
To bring the soule to thy etemall rest. 

Thou dost not ioie to see a sinners death, 
But true repentaunce pleaseth thee farre better : 
Yea, thou wilt helpe at latest gaspe of breath, 
To make the soule confesse it selfe thy debter : 



And where the soule, such comlbits doth appnme. 
Can there be thought a comfort like thy loue ? 

No, no, this worlde is full of wanton toies, 
Which oft keepes backe the comfort of thy care : 
And many waies doth worke the harts anoies. 
When fortunes hope doth prone but heauy £ue : 
Oh heanens, who knew but halfe thy blessednes, 
Woulde hate the worlde with all his wretchednes. 

Where shew of faith doth shape but falshods doke, 
When &ncies teares, proue drops of fonde desire : 
Where free conceites, will yeeld to kindenes yoke. 
When sonx>w paies repentance foir their hire : 
While in thy loue male lining Ccuth vnfolde, 
Hart, may her hope, hope may her heaucn bdiolde. 

What shadowes here doe ouershroude the eie? 
While Masking thoughts doe March before the winde : 
Where loues conceite, doth but illusion trie. 
When careles wit becometh the wilfiill blinde. 
And Nature findes herselfe still misconceiued. 
Where forme, for matter hath the soule deceiued. 

Where night for dale, for light is darkenes taken, 
Treason for truth, and hate indeede for loue. 
Where death is followed, and the life forsaken. 
While ioies mistaken, doe but sorrowes proue : 
When in thy loue this life is sweete set downe. 
The faithfull soule receiues a roiall crowne. 

The swanne is white, but whiter is the snow. 

The dale is bright, but brighter is the sunne. 

But he that coulde but thy loues lustre know. 

And where the &« of phebus first b^^nne, 

Woulde sale, to see thy sweet loues shining brightnes. 

The sunne hath lost his light, the snow his whitenes. 

Fooles, of the earth (alas) could neuer know thee. 
And thou dost know, the wisest are but fooles : 
Thy glorious workes doe in such wonder, show thee, 
That greatest powers, are plashes to thy pooles : 
Height, depth, length, breedth, are in thy k>ue declared. 
Yet are they nothing to thy loue compared. 

Aboue all height, thy loue doeth Hue on high. 

And who can sounde. the depth of thy loues treasure? 

Or limit out the length of thy loues de. 

Which heauen and earth doth in thy mercy measure : 

No, let all height, depth, length, and bredth confesse. 

Thy loue is blessM, in all blessednes. 

Thy loue giues light, vnto the inwarde eie, 
Thy loue giues life, vnto the dying hart : 
Thou giu'st, the comforte, that can neuer die, 
Thou giu'st, the comfort, that can neuer part : 
Thou giu'st, but all, that all in all doth proue. 
All, all, in all, is onely in thy loue. 

But, what shoulde I ? shall I ? or can I giue ? 
To thee : for all, that thou hast giuen to me : 
Whe, by thy loue, my soule doth only loue. 
And hath her being wholy but in thee : 
Nothing I haue, but, if that ought be mine. 
All doc I giue vnto that loue of thine. 

And though my sinnes, haue bard me of thy blessing, 
By great offences to thy grace diuine. 
Yet let my soule, with humble harts confessing, 
Purchase againe, that gratious loue of thine : 
And, let my teares vnto such pitty moue thee, 
That I may know, that thou dost know I loue thee. 

And while my soule doth to thine honor sing, 
The heauenly praises of thy holy name, 
Oh, let the sounde throughout the world so ring, 
That, olde and young, maie ioie to hcare the same : 
And on our knees, al humbly fall before thee. 
With hart, and minde, and soule for to adore thee. 

Not that my wits can touch the smallest worth 
Of that high wonder worthines of thine : 
For, from a sinner, what can issue forth ? 
And who more sinner then this soule of mine ? 
Which doth with teares of true repentance moue, 
Thy gratious helpe to glorifie thy loue. 

For, as vnto the sea, a water droppe, 
And to the sandes, a little pibble stone. 
And as a come, vnto a haruest croppe. 
And vnto infinite, the number one : 
So are my Muses in their Musicke short. 
Thy kingly prayse of prayses to report. 

But, as a scholer that doth goe to schoole. 
To make a letter, ere he leame to write. 
And as the wit, that knowes it selfe a foole. 
Till higher wisedome teach it to endite : 
So let my soule in her submission fntMie 
Hate of the world, ai^d honour of thy loue. 

For, what is heere that can content the hart ? 
That knowes content, or what it doth containe : 
What thought so sweete but brings as sowre a smart. 
Or pleasure such ? but breedes a further paine : 
What thing so good ? but proues in fine so euil. 
As, but for God, woulde bcare men to the deuill. 

What is the Earth ? the labour of our life. 
What is the sea ? a gulfe of griezy lakes : 
What is the aire? a stuffe of filthy strife, 
What is the fire? the spoile of what it takes : 
When these are al, whence euery thing doth springe. 
What is the woride ? but euen a woful thing. 

What thing is man ? a clodde of miry claie. 
Slime of the Earth, a slaue to filthie sinne : 
Springes like a weede and so doth weare awaie. 
Goes to the earth, where first he did beginne : 
Oh heauens thinke I, when man is wholy such. 
What is in man ? that man shoulde loue so much. 

What hath the worlde, to leade the minde to loue ? 

In true effect, a fardel ful of toies : 

Where, wey the pith, what euery one doth proue. 

The perfectst gems are most vnperfect ioies : 

Consider al what fansie bringeth forth. 

The best conceite will fal out nothing worth. 

What worldely thinges doe follow finnsie most ? 
Welth, beutie, loue, fine diet, honor, fiune : 



What findes affect ? both loiie and labour lost, 
Disdaine, disease, dishonor, death, and shame : 
Where care, and sorrow, death, and deadly strife. 
Doe rule the rost, in this accursid life. 

What thing is Beauty? colour quickely gon. 
And what is wealth ? when riches faX to rust : 
What thing is kme? a toy to thinke vpon. 
Fine diet ? drosse, to feede a filthy lust. 
What worldly honour? oft vnworthy praise, 
.What ease? the cause whereby the life decaies. 

What is disdaine, the skome of proud conceit, 
And what disease? the death of discontent : 
Dishonour next ? the fruite of foule deceite, 
And what is death ? but ende of ill intent : 
Now what is shame ? a shamefull thing to tell, 
And thus the world but euen the way to heU. 

For beasts and birds, for fishes, flowers and trees. 

And al such things created for our vse : 

What thing is man ? to take such things as theese. 

By want of grace, to tume vnto abuse : 

Oh wretched world, when man that should be best. 

In beastly things proues worse then al the rest 

But when I see the wretched state of man. 
And al the world at such a woful passe : 
That since the course of himiane care began. 
More fill of wo, good nature neuer was. 
When this my soule, doth with her sorrow see, 
Lord sales my Loue, that I might liue with thee. 

And leauing so the world with all his woes. 
And looking vp to heauen and heauenly ioies. 
And to the grace where vertues glory goes. 
Noting the life, that neuer loue anoies : 
When in my soule, I doe this sweetnes proue. 
Lord sales my soule, how sweet art thou my k>ue. 

I see the sunne, the beauty of the skie. 

The moone and stars, the candles of the night : 

They haue their essence in thy heauenly de, 

That blindes the proude, and giues the humble light : 

I see the raine-bow, bended by thy hand. 

That doth both heauen, earth, sea and heauen command. 

Thou gauest the sunne, the moone and stars a course. 
Which they obserue according to thy will : 
Thou makest the tides to take their due recourse, 
And setst the Earth, where it doth settle stil. 
Thou framdst the substance of each Element, 
And settst thy foote vpon the firmament. 

Thus dost thou sitte in glory of thy throne. 
With al the hoast, of highest heauens attended : 
Who. in thine ire, hast kingdoms ouerthrowen 
And in thy loue hast little things defended^ 
Whose glory more then may by man be knowen. 
And glory most, is in thy mercy showen. 

Thus thou dost sit in honor of thy power. 
Calling the poore vnto thy rich reliefe. 
Sowing the sweete, that Idlleth euery sower, 
Giuing the salue, that healeth euery griefe : 

Making them liue, that long were dead before. 
And lining so, that they can die no more. 

Thou madst the worlde and what it doth oontaine. 
Onely but man, thou madst vnto thy loue : 
And mans good wiD was thy desirM gaine, 
TQl proude attempt did high displeasure nioue : 
Thou plagst his pride, yet when thou sawst his paine. 
Thou gau'st the salue, that heald the wound againe. 

VngratefuU man, whom thou didst onely make. 
In loue to loue, and with thy loue preseniest. 
And for his loue, enduredst for his sake. 
Such death of life, as dearest loue deseruest : 
What cursed hart woulde to displeasure moue thee. 
That giuing all, askes nothing but to loue thee. 

Oh kme, sweete loue, oh high and heauenly k>ue. 
The onely line, that leades to happy life : 
Oh loue, that liu'st, for louing harts behoue. 
And makst an ende of euery hatefiill strife : 
Happy are they that kindely can attaine thee. 
And how accurst, that dare but to disdaine thee. 

Thy loue was cause, that first we were created, 
Loue is the life, that thou wilt haue vs leade : 
Loue is the cause, we neuer can be hated, 
Loue is our life, when other life is dead : 
Loue is thy grace, that highest good doth giue 
Loue me then lorde and I shall euer liue. 

And with that worde proceeding from her hart. 
The trickeling teares distiUM downe her eies : 
As if her sence possest in euery part, 
A secret ioie that did the soule suprise : 
When lifting vp her handes, oh loue quod sbee. 
My soule is sidce she can not be with thee. 

And from the mercy of thy maiesty, 
Beholde the sorrowes of my wounded soule : 
Let pitties care of loues calamitie. 
My ruthfull teares, thy register enrowle : 
And thinke vpon the passions that I approue. 
For, truely. lorde. my soule is sicke of loue. 

And sicke it is, and so well male it bee, 

A sweeter sickenes then a worldly health : 

A healthfull sickenes, to be sicke for thee. 

Where Natures want doth proue the spirits wealth : 

While hart hath set her highest happines. 

But to beholde thee in thy holines. 

But, I am sicke, and sicke, in euery vaine, 
Sicke to the death, but not to die to thee : 
For why thy loue assures me life againe, 
And there to liue where death can neuer be : 
Oh sweetest sicknes, where the soule may see 
The way through death, to come to liue with thee. 

To liue with thee, oh euerliuing loue, 
Oh let me die, that I may liue no more. 
Till in thy loue, I may the life approue. 
That may confesse I neuer liu'de before : 
Life is but death where thy loue shineth neuer, 
Onely thy loue, is happy life for euer. 



My sinnes my sinnes with lorrow and with shame, 
Of fiuiltes and follies oouered haue my &oe : 
Death is my due, I haue deseru'd the same, 
Wo to the hart, in such vnhappy case : 
But if repentance mercy may obtaine, 
Looke on me loue, and I am well againe. 

Vnhappy hart, that euer thee offended, 
Vnworthy eies, thy blessings to beholde : 
Vncarefiill eare, that euer tale attended. 
But to the truth that hath thy mercy tolde : 
Vnfaithful soule, that euer thought did moue 
From euerliuing, with thine onely loue. 

But, now the hart is dead to worldes delight. 
And des in teares, pronounce repentanoe truth : 
The eare is deafie vntill the hart be right, 
To see the life, that of thy loue ensueth : 
The fisithfull soule of pleasure is depriued. 
Dead, till her life, be by thy loue reuiued. 

Nor, let me tempt that truest loue of thine 
To hasten time beyonde thy holy will : 
But only looke, rpon this soule of mine. 
Thai in thy loue may be her lining still : 
Till shee may heare this ioiiiill sounde of thee 
Come away loue, and euer Hue with me. 

But, yet my loue, me seems I see thee looke. 
As though my soule had thee displeasM sore : 
But, hath my loue so high displeasure tooke ? 
That he will looke vpon my loue no more : 
Oh, yes, my loue will not be angry euer, 
And where he loues, he vrill be angry neuer. 

Then, though thou chide, yet be not angry loue, 
But in thy kindenes glue thy sweete correction, 
That humble hart male in repentanoe proot. 
The dearest passage of thy loues dire^ion : 
Whose blessed ende may in this only be, 
To Hue to die, to die to line to thee. 

To line to thee, in thee, and but with thee. 

My dearest life, and onely truest knie : 

Where heauen and earth doe all the comfort see. 

That fiaithfiill passions in the soule may proue : 

Come lambe, come loue, come ly betwixt my biests 

Where sealous loue, and true repentance rests. 

Some say sweete loue, there is a Phoenix birde, 
Of which there was, is, nor will be but one : 
Which Phoenix sure, I thinke is but a worde. 
For such a birde, I thinke is surdy none : 
But that it doeth, in figure ondie tuch, 
Some heauenly thing ; on earth was neuer such. 

For why the birde, is saied to bee alone, 
And thou didst male, and femaO all crette : 
And as for birdes were neuer two in one. 
That euer trueth in reason did relate : 
No. no, the figure surely doeth intende. 
More then the world can easily oompreheod. 
They sale she hath a kinde of fiery ndne. 
For that she Ihies and dies but in the sam^ 

Consumes with heat, and so reuiues againe, 
But, by the heate, whereby her death begunne : 
Which strflge conceit makes me c<yiecture this 
Some high construction of the figure is. 

And high it is, that to the heauens doth reach. 
And heauen it is, that such a readi intendeth, 
And high intent, doeth such a reason teach. 
That onely faith this figure oomprehendeth :. 
When in thy passion patience doth approue. 
The rising Ufe, of euerliuing loue. 

For by the sunne, is surely vertue ment, 
Which doth enflame the soule with sacred loue : 
The flying high, the £Euthfiill heartt intent 
Where loue must worke, but for the lines befaone : 
The ashes, are olde Adam, dead and gon, 
The new life, Christ, thy loue anew put on. 

And didst thou die, to compasse thy destn ? 
And thy desire, but to preserue thy loue ? 
And, could in thee, loue, kindle such a fier? 
To leaue thy life ? thy constant kme to prone ? 
Then of thy loue, let this the figure be. 
If euer there were Phoenix, thou art he. 

And since thou didst, that sweete example giue, 
By thine owne death to show thy dearest looe : 
That we might leame the ondy way to Uue, 
Is, by thy crosses comforts to approue : 
Oh let my soule, beseech her sacred rest. 
But in the ashes of the Phoenix nest 

Me thinkes, I see, that glorious seate of thine. 
Whereto thy Saints and Angds al assemble. 
And in the presence of thy power diuine. 
With ioifull feare, how euen the highest tremble : 
And when those spirits, doe such passions proue. 
Shall I presume, to think vpon thy loue? 

Oh sweetest loue, that carries sudi a force. 
As keepes the hart of humble hope in awe : 
And sweete againe, that caries such remofse. 
As hath cut off, the curses of the lawe : 
And sweetest yit, that in the soule doth proue 
There is no sweete indeede, but in thy loue. 

Whidi feeds the hflgry with a heauenly brand. 
And oooles the thirsty from the lining Rocke, 
Which heales the sicke, giues life vnto the dead. 
And wakes the careful, with the rooming oocke : 
Whidi breedes the peace, that stinteth euery strife. 
And giues the fountaine of the well of life. 

It is the key that opes the dooie of giaoe, 
Vnto the care that thou hast constant prooed, 
And shewes the feuour of thy ■hinitig Unot, 
Vnto the blessed of thy deare bdoued : 
It is in summe, the infinite sweete pleasure. 
Of tried faith, and true Repentanoe treasure. 

Oh toy of ioies, what hart can comprahend thee? 
Oh sweeteofsweeu, what sence that can oficdue thee? 
Blest be the haru that truly doe attend thee. 
And ten times blest, that in tbdr loales reoehie tbee : 



And Cairely blest, whom thou hast faithful prooed. 
But chiefly blest whom thou hast chiefly loued. 

Me thinkes I see, how sweetly thou dost ride, 
Aboue the heauens, vpon the Cherubs high, 
With all thine angels set on euery side, 
With all the sound of sweetest harmony : 
Where all and some, their sweetest notes do frame 
To sing the praises of thy holy name. 

Me thinkes I see the holy Martjrrs crowned. 

On hQble knees cast down their crowns before thee : 

And cry alowd, be thou alone renowned, 

l^t heauen and earth, and all the world adore thee. 

When, my poore soule, with sinne oppress^ sore. 

Can say Amen yet, though it say no more. 

Oh that my soule could see that sacred light. 

That might but leade me to thy holy will, 

And leame the rule, that keepes the soule aright, 

In perfect faith thy precepts to fulfill : 

And might so neere vnto thy hand abide. 

As from thy loue, might neuer steppe aside. 

But. what am I ? a worme and wTetched thing, 
V'nworthy creature, made of earth and dale : 
Once to presume to speak vnto my King, 
On whom the state of highest heauens doth staie : 
\jex no presumption thy displeasure mooe. 
But in thy pitty looke vpon my loue. 

For I am sicke, oh Sauiour sende me health. 
My hart is hurt, come heale my deadly wounde : 
And I am poore, relieue me with thy wealth. 
Yea, I am dead, oh raise me from the grounde : 
My health, my wealth, my only resurrection. 
Let my soule liue, but in thy loues perfection. 

Beholde the teares of my repentaunt truth. 
And wey my sorrowes, by my sighing sobbes : 
And in the rule but of thy heauenly ruth, 
Feele my poore hart in horror how it throbbes : 
And when thou seest my soule thus wo begun her, 
In thy sweete mercy, sweet loue looke vpon her. 

And from the dew of thy deare blessed loue. 
Let fall one droppe vpon my driM hart : 
Wherein my soule such comfort may approue. 
As may asswage the rigour of my smart : 
And being so by thy sweete hand relieued, 
Male so rdoice, as neuer more be grieued. 

Ix>rde who dare looke against thy lining power ? 
Or what doth Hue ? but onely in thy loue : 
The sweete of sweets where there was neuer sower. 
But ioies of ioies, that can no sorrow proue : 
Oh purest proofe, of kxie and lifes perfection. 
Blest be the soule, that liues by thy direction. 

But my heart pantes, my soule doth quake for feare. 
And sorrowes paine possesseth euery part : 
My heape of sinnes, to heuy for to beare, 
Presse downe desire with terror of desart : 
And in great dread, of deepe dispcure doth crie. 
Grace giue me life, for in my sinnes I die. 

For still the flesh is subiect to offende, 

While yet the spirit, groneth Cor thy gnoe : 

But thou hast power the weakest to defende. 

That vnto thee, reueale their heauy case: 

Then from that hande, and mighty aime of thine. 

Strengthen, this weake and wounded soule of mine. 

Thou that hast saide prowde Esaw was thy hate. 
And humble lacob, was thy chosen kme : 
That doth the power of worldly pride abate. 
And workst the heauen of humble hartet behoiie : 
Make Esawes life with laoobs kxie agree : 
Or kill the flesh, the soule maie Ihie with tbee. 

And from despaire, that poisned sting of death, 
Deliuer Lorde, the sorrowes of desire : 
And at the latest houre, and gaspe of breath. 
Let bumble hart, the hope of heauen aspire : 
Where faithfull soules maie in thy fiuiour see. 
That onely loue, doth onely line in thee. 

What booteth me the worlde for to ponene. 
And want the iewell of my heauenly k)ie : 
What earths delight? but is to me distreoe. 
When natures health, doth proue the soolet aaoyc : 
No, my sweete loue, let this poore soole of miiie, 
Neuer haue life, but in that loue of thine. 

One precious droppe of thy pure oill ofgnce. 

Power downe, sweete loue into my wounded hart : 

And to my faith, to tume thy loning face. 

That from thy fauour I maie neuer part : 

Looke on thy Mary with her bitter tearet. 

That washt thy fieete and wipte them with her henrei 

The greater depts forgiuen, the greater knw^ 
Thy worde hath saide, and it sales euer true : 
When patience life, in pitties lone doth pvoue. 
In greatest mercy, greatest glory gnie : 
Where one mans sinne procurM all mens paine. 
And one mans grace, gaue all men life againe. 

Oh high creator of all creatures lining, 

Wlio nothing wantst that all thinges dost pnffirtficr : 

What hath the world that may be worth the giniiv, 

Vnto the honor of thy holines : 

But onely thankes, that thy true spirit mouetb. 

In that true hart, that thy true mercy loueth. 

But still I see my loue is sore Hicpi#^^^ 
And tels me of my great vngiatefrilnes. 
When so my soule, with sorrow is diseasde. 
As in my hart, Andes nought but hatefiilnea : 
And with the teares of true repentance crieth, 
Lorde saue the life, that in thy mercy lieth. 

For, thou art loue, the euerliuing God, 

And onely God and onely of the lining. 

Who, though thou smitst thy children with thy rod, 

Sweete is the care of thy corrections giuiQg : 

In which thy sweete and kindest care cociect me. 

But in thy mercy, neuer doe rdect me. 

Let neuer death against thy life prenalle. 
Nor euer hate, once looke against thy tone. 



Nor faithfuU hope thy heauenly firaour £aile. 
But harts contrition happy comfort prone : 
And let the soiile, euen at the dore of death. 
Line by the aier bat of thy heauenly breath 

Mine eies are dimme, my flesh, bare skin and bone, 
My sinewes shroncke, and all my hmmes are nam, 
Mine eares are deafe, but to the aonnd of mone. 
My speech, is but to sorrow stroken dum : 
My blood dried vp, my heart with sorrow soken. 
Oh hdpe the soule, bdfoie the heart be broken. 

Behold the sorrowes, that my soule doeth make. 
And see what torments teare my heart asunder. 
Where euery tearo, doth other ouertake, 
Where fearefull care, puts £uthfuU comforts vnder : 
Oh my sweete life though I be deadly wounded, 
Let not my fiuth be vtterly confounded. 

And since oh king, that thou art onely able, 

To hdpe the helples, onely but in thee, 

And by one crumme, firom thy true roerdes table. 

The wofiill soule may well relieuM be : 

Of that sweete foode, oh let my foith so tast. 

That by thy loue, my life may euer last. 

What life is this, that wretches here we leade ? 
Caring and carking for our fleshly Hues, 
Neuer wel fild, when we are too mudi fedde. 
Where strange conceits for true contentment striues : 
Tearing our harts, and tiring out our minds. 
For that, in fine, which but repentance findes, 

Where Idndnes proues a kinde of leude concdte, 

Leading the heart to lothsomnes of loue. 

While wisest wits on wanton humours waite, 

And wilfiill fancies doe but follies proue : 

Where power and pride, so plage the world with woes, 

That peace and vertue, all to mine goes. 

Where gold is bdde a God, siluer a Saint, 
And durt and drosse, are dearest in regarde : 
Where friendship fiiiles, and faith beginnes to Caint, 
And curses rule, while blessed thoughts are barde : 
And all and some, doe in conclusion proue, 
Wo to the world, that liues not by thy loue. 

Where valure proues but foolish hardines. 
And greatest wit, is wicked wilines. 
And honoitf gotten by vnworthines, 
Fils all the world with all Tnhappines, 
While Tertue sigfaes, at sinners wickednes, 
And Angds moume for our vngodlines. 

Where parents griue at childrens stubbomes. 
And children smile, at parents cfaildishnes, 
Where masters sigh, at seruants idlenes, 
And seruants laugh at masters wantonnes, 
While faithfull soules in aoii o we s wretchednes. 
Looke but in heauen to haue their blessednes. 

Where subtle heads, are simple harts illusion, 
While tyraunt thoughts vniustly make intrusion, 
And outward shewes, are inward thoughts allusion. 
While strange delightes, are strong desires delusion : 

And heedles care, doeth make vp this conclusion, 
That lacke of grace, is all the worlds confusion. 

Where brightest truth, by treason often blamed is. 
While faithles hart, vrith falshood all inflamed is. 
And carefiill age, vrith sorrow all ashamed is, 
That careles youth so long at large vntamed is, 
That, where good nature, all (alas) misnamed is, 
The fEuth of honour, vtterlie defiuned is. 

Where sore decaies the care of true Gentility. 
And strong disquiet standeth for tranquility, 
And vertue is of too much imbecility : 
Where faith is found but fill of al fiagility, 
When honors loue, that liues by hopes humility, 
Must walke among the beggars for ability. 

Oh wicked fhiit, of vroful hearts affection. 
When once the soule is toucht by sins infection, 
And wil not learae, by care of thy correction. 
To leade a life, but by thy loues direction, 
Where in the fire of Uiy bright sunnes reflexion. 
They male behold of height of their perfection. 

But, what is Earth? and what but earth are we ? 
A goodly brag, b^gunne and endes in dust. 
Where old and young, and all the world may see. 
From whence we came, and whetherto we must : 
Short time we line, no sooner dead then rotten. 
And scarce wd buried, but wee are forgotten. 

O Lord thou knowest, this wrorld is all but wo. 
Where sinne doth seeke to get the vpper hand : 
The flesh would Caine the spirit ouerthrow. 
But that her stay doth in thy mercy stand : 
But, since the soule may conquer sinne by thee. 
Lord let thy mercy onely fight for me. 

Let me but looke vpon thy holie loue. 

And sucke my honie from that heauenlie hiue : 

Wherein my soule such sweetnes maie approue. 

That with that foode shee maie for euer liue : 

And feeding so vpon thy sacred will. 

When shee is fedde, yet maie shee hunger still. 

Oh bring me home, that long haue beene abroade. 
And leade me streight, that long haue gone astraie 
And raise me vp that haue beene ouertroade, 
And on thy merde, let me onlie stale : 
That my poore soule, maie in thy comfort proue 
Lo, what it is, to liue but in thy loue. 

Some wish for golde, and some for golden graces. 
Some wish for wit. and some for worlddy pleasure. 
Some wish for power, and some for stately places. 
And some, alone, doe vdsh for woridely treasure : 
But, let my will, those wishes all displace. 
And wish alone, thy fauour, and thy grace. 

Some in their chariots, some in horses trust. 
But, be thou still a strong defence to me : 
Some heere desire but to possesse thdr lust. 
Let my soules loue, be but to liue to thee : 
Some wish, but here to purchase worldly fame, 
Let me but ioie, to glorify thy name. 



And not, alone in sweetest wordes to moue, 
The worldly eares to wonder at the same : 
But in my workes thy praises I maie proue, 
I doe but seeke the honour of thy name : 
That all true soules maie iustly saie with me, 
All that is good, directly comes of thee. 

Let me but tudi the garment of thy grace, 

I shall be heaUd of my sickest sore : 

Let me but looke vpon thy louing &ce, 

Such health will come, I shall be sicke no more : 

Yea, if thy mercy mitigate my paine. 

If I were dead ; I should reuiue againe. 

Forget, oh lorde the follies of my youth. 
And giue me not the death of my desart. 
But of the treasures of thy heauenly Truth, 
Bestow an alm^ on my needy hart : 
That in the secrets of thy saovd loue 
My carefull soule, her comfort may approue. 

Let not mine eare once listen to the sounde 
Of vaine conceits, that but deceiue the minde. 
Nor, let the worlde so giue my hart a wounde, 
That, in my soule, mine eie be stroken blinde : 
But, let my spirit onely make her choise, 
But, in thy loue and mercy to rdoice. 

Oh, that my wales, were all and whole directed, 
Vnto the seruice of thy sacred will. 
And, that my £uth, had in my soule effected. 
The happy comfort, of that heauenly skill : 
That, in true loue, might euer so attende thee. 
As, in defiuilt, might neuer more ofiende thee. 

That I might leaue this lothsome worid of ours. 
And chuse the honor of thy children awe, 
And in thy heanen, and with' thy heauenly powers, 
Leame, but obedience to thy blessed lawe : 
And with thy Saints and holy Martyrs sing. 
All lawde, and glory to my heauenly king. 

Then, should my hart finde out my heauenly rest, 
And sorrow then should tuch my soule no more. 
But hart and soule, both in thy mercie blest, 
Should dale and night thy holy name adore : 
And make the worlde, by some effectes to see. 
It is thy loue hath wrought this life in me. 

And with that worde, she sweetly fetcht, a sigh. 

And then a sobbe, and then a bitter teare. 

As who should saie. that either death was nigh, 

Or else her hart, was stroken with a feare. 

Or else the spirit might be ouercome. 

That for the time her tongue was stroken dumme. 

But, let it be, all blessed is the traunce. 
When so the soule is ouercome with luue, 
That vertues choice, doth finde it is no chaunce. 
When humble fiaith doth heaunly fauour proue : 
And when the senoes from their sleepe arise, 
The spirit findes the life that neuer dies. 

So, when it seemde shee wakM fix>m her sleepe. 
Or sodaine traunce, for so I tearme it right. 
When sudi high care did so her senoes keepe. 
That shee awakt, with glory of the Ught : 
Oh sacred loue, and sweetest life, quod shee. 
What happy figure hath appearde to me? 

Did I beholde. that fairest shinhig light? 
That made me shake for feare to see thy fiioe. 
And weepe for ioie. that in thy blessed sight. 
My sinful! soule. might come, and sue for grace : 
And did I see thy loue so sweetdy vse mee ? 
That, in thy mercy thou wouldst not refuse me. 

And did thy mercy so thy loue entreate? 
That iustioe gaue her sworde to merdet hande. 
And did thy meroy sit in iustice seate? 
And did the iudgement in thy mercie stande ? 
Oh blessed loue, where mercie doth approue. 
The fruite of loue, is mercie, mercies loue. 

I must confetie my conscience did condemme me 

Of such offence, as I could not denie : 

And of such crime, as thou mightst well contSne me. 

When by my due, I had deseru'd to die : 

But when thy mercy did my sorrowe see. 

How in thy pitty she did pleade for me. 

Beholde, quod shee, the true repentant hart. 
Which bleedes in teares with sonrowe of her sinne : 
What passions haue perplezM euery part, 
Where penitence doth pitties suite beginne : 
Where true confession, doth submission proue. 
And true contrition, cries to me for loue. 

Beholde the faith that hath her fiurest holde. 
Vpon the gift of thy espedall grace : 
Thy word of truth, that to the world bath told 
The faithful soule. in heauen shall haue a place : 
And true repentance shall by me obtaine. 
The freM ioyes from euerlasting paine. 

When that vile serpent, euery soule accuser. 
That sought to bring my comforts to decay : 
That ougly deuil, al the worldes abuser, 
In furies rage, methought did fly awaie : 
And to the life, but of thy mercy leaue me, 
Who to thy seruice, sweetely did receiue me. 

When all thy Saintes, and martyrs came vnto me. 
And in their armes thine Angels did embrace roe, 
And all were glad what comfort they could doe me. 
And in a seate of paradise to place me : 
That al with ioie surprisde these ioies to see, 
I wake, and praie the vision true may bee. 

For, this is it, sweete Lorde, that I woulde haue. 
The world is short, in sounding my desire : 
It is thy mercy that I onlie craue, 
Thy vertues loue, that set my hart on fire ; 
And in thy loue, that ondy lining blisse. 
That world may wish, but know not what it is. 


The Countess of Pembroke's Passion, 

N. D. 



Postponing to our Memorial-Introduction a full statement with critical proofs, of the Breton 
authorship of the present Poem, these memoranda may at present suffice, mainly taken from the 
original prospectus of the Chertsey Worthies' Library (1875) s,n. The 'Countesse of Penbrook's 
Passion' was first printed by (now) Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps in the following volume: *A Brief 
Description of the Ancient and Modem Manuscripts preserved in the Public Library, Plymouth : to 
which are added, Some Fragments of Early Literature hitherto unpublished. Edited by James 
Orchard Halliwell, Esq., F.R.S., F.S.A., Hon. M.R.I.A., Hon. M.R.S.L., &c. London. Printed for 
Private Circulation only.' 1853. (4^0.) The Poem is herein headed : * An Unpublished Poem by 
Nicholas Breton, From the Original Manuscript' (pp. 177-210). Probably this MS. had at one time 
been in the possession of George Steevens, for in his list of the Writings of Breton in his copy of 
' The works of a young Wyt trust up* (Steevens* Sale Catalogue, 997, s,n,) the Poem is assigned by 
him to Breton. Notwithstanding all this the Poem was published in 1862 (London, John Wilson, 
Publisher, N. G. B., Editor) as ' A Poem on our Saviour's Passion. By Mary Sidney, Countess of 
Pembroke. From an Unpublished MS. in the British Museum. With a Preface by the Editor' (8vo. 
pp. 32). I regret to need to say that corrections of readings in the Sloane MS. which N. G. B. prints 
from, that are only found in Mr. Halliwell-Philipps' MS. as printed, betray his knowledge and use of 
the prior publication, though there is a studious avoidance of acknowledgment of either. The Poem 
as by the illustrious sister of Sidney, has received high praise from Dr. George Macdonald in his 
' Antiphon ' as it was earlier Quoted from by Walpole in his ' Royal and Noble Authors ' and by 
Lodge in his ' Portraits of Illustrious Personages.* The title given by N. G. B. of ' Our Saviour's 
Passion ' is without authority. The Poem is entitled ' The Countesse of Penbrook's Passion ' 
exactly as Breton named another of his productions 'The Countesse of Penbrook's Love' and 
another ' Marie's Exercise' and as Sidney named his * Arcadia' after her. My accomplished friend 
Dr. Brinsley Nicholson called my attention to the woridng into this Poem of two stanzas from Thomas 
Watson's ' Teares of Fancie.' He has since put the matter before the public in an interesting letter 
to the Athenaum; and is about to follow it up with detailed evidence of the Breton authorship in the 
same JoumaL By his kindness the MS. of this after-letter is now before me ; but as stated above, it 
seems expedient to reserve the discussion for the Memorial-Introduction, wherein all the semi-anony- 
mous though equally genuine Breton books, will fall to be examined and his authorship of them made 
good. Watson will abo be shown to have appropriated Gascoigne very largely and literally. 

My text is substantially that of Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps ; but as the somewhat considerable Notes 
and Illustrations will show, every line and word has been collated with the Sloane MS. No. 1303 
(formerly the property of ' Johannis Botterelli, Anno Domini 1600, Novembris 27 ') and a number oi 
readings from it accepted. N. G. B.'s text is fairly creditable, albeit our collation reveals important 
errors of reading. In each case the variations are given. The Halliwell-Phillipps MS. is self- 
evidently a revised and improved text as compared with the Sloane MS. ; but nevertheless its 
mistakes make it manifest that Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps is in error in regarding it as autograph. It 
may be recorded that the Halliwell-Phillipps MS. spells ' angel' as ' angle' and ' angels' as ' angles,' 
and otherwise has some odd spellings — ^the two former have not been adopted in our text ; nor have 
I divided into cantos, e,g,^ I., st 1-46 : IL, st 47-66 : IIL, st. 67-80 : iv., st 81-92 : v., st. 93-1 la 
Neither of the MSS. has a very intelligent punctuation. Let any one who imagines that editing 
our old literature is a very easy matter, study the Notes and Illustrations appended to the present 
Poem. I must here gratefully acknowledge the invaluable help of John Shelly, Esq., Plymouth, 
and Dr. Brinsley Nicholson, in the critical preparation of our text and notes.— G. 

The Countesse of Penbrook's Passion, 

I HERE shall I fiAde that melancholy muse 
That never hard of any thinge but mone ? 
And reade the passiones that her pen doth 


When she and sorrow sadlye sitt alone ; 
To tell the world more then the world. can tell? 
What fits, inded most fitlye figure bdL 

Lett me not thinke once of the smalcst thoi^t, 
Ne speake of less then of the greatest gref ;, 
Wher every sene« with sorrowes overwrought, ■ ■ 
Lives but in death, dispayring of r^ef ; , 
Whilst thus the harte with torments tofne asunder, 
Maye of the worlde be cald the wofoU wonder. 


The dayes like nighu all darkned by distresse, 

Pleasure become a subject all of payne ; 

The spirit overprest with heaviness, 

While hopdesse horror vexeth every vayne ; 
Death shakes his darte, Grief hath my grave prqMied 
Yett to more lorrowe is my spirit spared. 

The owlie eyes that not endure the light, 
The night-raven's songe, that sounds of nought but 

The cockatrice that kHeth with her sight, 
The poysned a3rre, that chokes the sweetest breath, 
Thunders and earthquakes, altogether mett ; 
These teO a litte how my life is sett 


Where words desohre to sighes, sighes into teax€S, 
And everye teare to torments of the mjmde ; 
The mynd's distresse into those deadlye leares, 
That finde more death, than death it selfe tan finde ; 

Death to that life, that livinge doth descrye, 

A litle more yett of my myierye. ' 

Put all the woes of all the worlde together, 
Sorrow and Death sitt downe in all ther piyde ; 
Lett Miserye bringe all her muses hether. 
With all the horrors that the harte may hyde ; 
Then reade the state but of my rufull storye, 
And saye my gref hath gotten sonrowe'i glorye. 

1 . - 

For nature's sicknes. sometime maye have ease. 
Fortune, though fickle, sometime is a:firiende ; 
The m]mde's affliction patience maye appease, 
And death is cawse that manye torments ende ; 
But ever sicke, crost, grevid and livinge-dyinge, 
Thinke of the subject in tiiis sorrowe lykige^ 

8.' ; 

To shew the nature of my payne, aJas 1 
Payne hath no natttfe tp. fUflvye: my p«yne ; 
But where that payne it selfe in pa]me doth 
Thinke on vexation so in every vayne. 
That hopeles, helples, endlcs payne maj tell : 
Save beU it selfe, but mynt, ther is no beH • 

If sicknes be a ground of deadlye grefe, ' - *>^ 
Consuminge care fanth caught me by the hute ^ • '^ 
If wante of comforte, hopeles of relef, 
Be further woe : so weye my inwarde smarte ; 

If fiiendes nnkindeaes, so my gref ir grounded ; 

If cawsles wronged, so my harte is wounded. 


If love relused, so reade on my niim,' 
If truth disgrac'd, so my sorrow moved ;: 
If fisjfth abused, the ground my torment grew in. 
If vertue scorned, so my death approved ; 
If death delayinge, so my harte perplesed, 
If livinge-dyinge, so my spMte vexed. 


My infimt's yeares myspente in cfaihUshe toyes, 

My riper age in rules of litle reasone ; 

My better jreares in all mistaken joyes, 

My present time,— Oh most unha]^ seasooe 1— 
In fi:uiteles labours and in ruthles love : 
Oh what a horror hath my harte to prove. 


I sighe to se my infimde myspent, 

I mome to finde my youthfull life misled ; 

I weepe to feele my further discontent, 

I dye to tryc how love is livinge dead ; 
I sighe, I mome, I weepe, I livinge dye. 
And yett must live to shew more miserye. 



The htmted harte lometymes doth leave the hound, 

My harte, alas, is never out of chase ; 

The lime-hound's lyne sometymes is yett unbound. 

My bands are hopelesse of so high a grace ; 
Sumer restores what Wimtes doth deprive, 
But my harte wythred, never can revive. 

I cannot figure Sorrow in conoeite, 
Sorrow ezoeedes all figures of her sence ; 
But on my woe, even sorrowes all may wayte. 
To see a note exceed their excellence ; 

Let me conclude, to se how I am wounded. 

Sorrow herself is in herself confounded. 

But whereof groweth the passion of this payne. 
That thus perplexeth every inwarde parte ? 
Whence is the humore of this hateftdl vayne 
So dampes the spirite and consumes the harte? 

Oh lett my soule with bitter teares confesse. 

It is the grounde of all unhapines. 

If lacke of wealth? I am the note of need. 
If lacke of firiendes? no fayth on earthe remaynet ; 
If lacke of health ? se how my harte doth bleed. 
If lacke of pleasure ? looke upon my paynes : 
If lacke of wealth, of friendes, of health, and pleatuie 
Saye then my sorrowe must be out of measure. 

Measure ? no measure measure can my thought. 
But that one thought that is beyonde all measure ; 
Whidi knowinge how my sorrowes have been wrought. 
Can bring my harte unto her highest pleasure ; 

Which eyther must my Sorrow cutt of quite. 

Or never lett me thinke upon ddight. 


Ther is a lacke that tels me of a life, 

Ther is a k>sse that tels me of a love ; 

Betwixt them both a state of such a strife 

As makes my spirite such a passion prove ; 
That lacke of t'one, and th' other's lotse. 
Makes me the woefulest wretche that ever 


My dearest love, that dearest bought my love. 

My onlye life, by whom I onlye live ; 

Was never &yth did suche affection prove. 

Or ever grace did such a gk>rie give ; 
But such a lacke. and suche a losses aye me 1 
Must neds the sorrowe of all sorrowes be. 


My love is fiiyre, yea fayrer then the sune» 
Which hath his light but fit>m his fayrest love ; 

fayrest love, whose light is never done, 
And fiiyrest light doth such a love approve ; 

But suche love loste, and suche a light obscured. 
Can ther a greater sorrow be indured ? 


He came from highe to live with me bekiwe. 
He gave me life and shewed me greatest love ; 
Unworthy I so high a worth to knowe. 
Who left chefe blisse, a baser choyse to prove ; 
I sawe his woundes, yet did I not beleve him. 
And for his goodnes with my S]mnes did greve him. 


1 aawe him fimltles, yett I did offend him, 

I aawe him wronged, yett did not excuse him ; 
I sawe his foes, yet sought not to defend him, 
I had his blissinges, yett I did abuse him : 

But was it myne. or my forfiathers* deed ? 

Whose ere it was, it makes my harte to bleed. 


To se the feett, that travayled for our good, 

To se the hands, that brake the livlye bread ; 

To se the head, wheron our honor stoode. 

To se the fruite, wheron our spirits fedd : 
Feete pearc'd, hands bored, and hisheade all bledinge, 
Who doth not die with suche a sonrowe readinge. 


He plast an rest, yett had no restinge place. 

He healed ech payne, yett lived in sore distres ; 

Deserved all good, yett driven to great disgrace. 

Gave all harts Joye, himself in heavines ; 
Suffered them live, by whom himself was slayne. 
Lord 1 who can live to se such love agayne? 

A virgine's child by vertue's power conoeyved, 
A harmles man that lived for all mene's goode ; 
A fiaythfuU frend that never fayth deceyved. 
An heavenly fruite for hart's espedall food. 

A spirite all of excellence devine ; 

Such is the essence of this love of myne. 


Whos mansion 's heaven, yett laye within a manger, 
Who gave all foode, yett suckte a virgine's breste ; 
Who could have kOed yett fledd a threatned danger. 
Who sought our quiet by his owne unrest ; 
Who died for them that highly did offend him. 
And lives for them that cannot comprehend hiuL 

Who cam no further than his Father sent him. 
And did fulfill but what He did commande him ; 
Who prayed for them that proudley did torment him. 
For tellinge truth to what they did demand him ; 
Who did all good that humblie did entreat hime. 
And beare ther Uowes, that did unkindlie beat hime. 



A sweet phisidon for the bod je cnued, 

A heavenlye medicine for the mjnd diseased ; 

A present comfort for the witts amased, 

A joyefiill spirit to the soule displeased : 
The bodie, m]md, the witts, and spiritts' joye, 
What is the world without him but annoye. 


He knewe the sicknes that our soule infected. 
And that his bloude must onelye be our cure ; 
When so our fayth his sacred love affected. 
That for our lives he would a death endure ; 
He knew his passion, yett his patience bare it. 
Oh 1 how my soule doth sorrowe to declare it 

He heal'd the sicke, gave sight unto the blinde, 
Speache to the dumbe, and made the. lame to goe ; 
Unto his love he never was unkinde, 
He loved his firende, and he forgave his foe. 
And last, his death for our love not refused : 
What soule can live to se such love abused. 

To note his words, whatt wisedome they oontayne 1 
To note his wisedome of all worth the wonder ; 
To note his workes, what glorie they do gajme 1 
To note his worth, world, heaven and earth, came under ; 
To note the glorye that his angells gave hime : 
Fye that the world to suche disgrace should drive hime. 


Unsene he came, he might be sene unto us, 

Unwelcome sem'd, that came for all our wealth ; 

He came to die, that he might comfort do us ; 

We slewe the subjecte of our spirits' healthe ; 
The subject ? noe, the kinge of all our glorie : 
Weepe harte to death to teU the doUull storye. 


A lion wher his force should be effected, 
And yett a lambe in myldnes of his love ; 
As true as turtle to his love electted. 
Sure as Mounte Sion that can never move : 

So mylde a strength and so fast truth to prove ; 

What soule can live and lacke so sweet a love. 

He preacht, he prayed, he fasted, and he wept, 
The sweet Creator for the synfiill creature ; 
The carefull watchman warelye he kepte, 
That brake the necke, even of the fowlest nattu« ; 
And when he did to hapie state restore us. 
Shall we not weep to make him then abhofe us ? 


To hate a love, must argue lothsume nature ; 
To wronge a frend must prove too foole a deed ; 

To kill thyself will show a cursed creature ; 
To alaye thy soule no more damnation nede ; 

To spoile the fruite whereon thy spirit feedeth ; 

Oh what a hell within the soule it bredeth. 


He thought none ill, and onlie did all goode. 
He gave all right and yett all wronge reoeyved ; 
The fiende's temptatione sttmtley he with^ood, 
Yett lett himself by synners be deoejrved ; 
And so at last when he was woe begone him, 
Howe trayter worlde did tiranyse iqx>n hime t 

His &ultles members nayled to the crosse, 
His holye head was crowned all with thomes ; 
His garments given by lots to gayne or losse. 
His power derided all with soofes and soomes ; 
His bodie wounded and his spirit vexed : 
To thinke on this iHiat soule is not pcqdezed? 


Pore Peter wept when he his name denyed, 
And Marye Mawdlen wept for her offence ; 
His mother wept when she his death espied, 
But yett no teares could stand for his defence ; 

But if thes wept to see his waylefiill case ; 

Why dye not I to thinke on his disgrace? 

Happie was he that suffined deaths so n^gfae hime 
Thai at his end repentance might behould hime ; 
Thrise hapie life that did in love so trie hime, 
As to his fayth sudi favour did vnfould hime. 
As cravinge comforte but in merde's eyes 
That selfe-same daye did live in paradiie. 


Would I had ben ordeynd to suche a death. 
To dye with hime, to live to hime for ever I 
And from the ayre but of his blissed breath. 
To sucke the life whos love might fayle me never ! 
And drinke of that sweet springe that never waatelb, 
And feede of that life's bread that ever lasteth ! 

Oh would my soule wer made a sea of teares, 
Mjm eyes might watch, and never more be sleapinge ; 
My harte might beare the payne all pleasur weares. 
So I might se hime once yett in my weepinge ; 
When, joyfull voyoe, this songe might never cease : 
My Savioure's sight hath sett my soule in peace. 


Should I esteme of anye woridlie toye. 
That might behould the height of suche a treasure? 
Could I be Judas to my chefest joye. 
To gajrne possession of a graceless pleasure ? 
Noel could my soule in comforte once oonoejrvehiroe, 
I hope his mercye would not lett me leave hime. 



Best was the fishe that bat the figure swallowed, 

Of my swete Jesus, but in Jonas' name ; 

More blessed tombe by that sweet bodie hallowed, 

Fjrom whence the ground of all our glorie came ; 
Might not my soule be synner, I could widi, 
That I were suche a tombe or soch a fishe. 

But Jonas left the wtk, and came to lande, 
And Jesus firom the earth to heaven ascended ; 
Why shoulde I then upon more wishes stande. 
But crye for mercye wher I have offended ; 

And saye my soule imworthye is the place 

Ever to see my Savioore in the Osoe. 


Yett lett me not dispayre of my desire, 

Although even heO do tlnswer my desarte ; 

Where humble hope that pitie doth aspire. 

Proves patience the padfyinge parte ; 
Wher mercye sweet that sees my soule's befaavioure, 
Blaye graunte me grace to se and s^rve my Savionie. 


Whom tiU I see in sorrowe's endles anguish, 
All discontent with all that I can see, 
Resolv'd in soule, in sorrowe's looke to languish, 
Wher no conceit but discontent may be ; 

I will sitt downe, till after this world's hell. 

My Saviour's sight maye only make me weQe. 

But shall I so my grypfaig grief give over, 
With hope to se the glorie ofmy sight ? 
Or can my soule her sacred health recover 
While no desarte doth looke upon delighte ? 

No, no, my harte is too, too full of grefe. 

For ever thinkinge to receyve relefe. 


The sune is d6rwne» the gloiie of the daye ; 

The Springe is paste, the sweetnes of the yeaie ; 

The harvest in, wherein my hope did staye. 

And wethering Whiter gives her chillinge cheare ; 
And wtiat such grefe can death or sonxme give, 
Tosee his death whertiy his soule doth live? 

Methinkes I se, and seinge sighe to see. 
How in his pasion patience playes her parte : 
And in his death, what life he gives to me. 
In my love's sorrowe to relive my harte. 
But what a care doth 4hia eonduston trie. 
The bead must of, or els the bodie dye. 

He was my head, my hope, my harte, vKf health, 
The speciall Jewell of my spiritt's joye ; 

The trustie treasure of my highest wealth, 
The onlye pleasure kept me from annoye ; 
He was, and is. and. ever more shalbee. 
In life or death, the life of life to me. 

And lett me se how sweetelie yett he lookes, 
Even while the teares are trickling downe his fisce ; 
And for my life how well his death he brookes» 
While my desarte was caw^ of hia disgrace ; 
And lett me wishe yett while his deathi see, 
I could have dyed for hime that dyed for me. 

Had I but sene him as his servantes did. 
At sea, at land, in dtie, and in fidde ; 
Though in himselfe he had the glorie hid. 
That in his grace the light of gk>rie helde ; 

Then might my sorrowe somewhatt be appeased. 

That once my soule had in his sight ben pleased. 

But not to se him till I se him dye, 
And that my deed was cawser of his death ; 
How can I cease to weepe and howle and crye. 
To se the gaspinge of that, glorious breath ? 
That purest love unto the soule app^ved. 
And is the blissinge of the soule beloved. 


Am I not one of that nnhapie broode. 

The pdlican doth figure in her neste ? 

When I muste live but by his only bloode ; 

In whose sweet love, my life doth only rest 
O wretched bird, but I more wretched creature 
To figure such a birde in such a nature. 


Did God himself ordayne it should be so. 
To save my life my Saviour should die ? 
His will be done, 3rett lett me weep for woe, 
To be the subject of this miserie ; 

That though he came to mende what was amise. 

He should be so die author of my blis^. 

Shall I not wash his bodie with my tenes. 

And save the blood that issues fix>m his syde? 

That keeps my harte fix)m all infemall feares. 

Unto my soule in penitence applied ? 
Shall I not strive with Joseph for his oofse. 
And malce his tombe in my soule's true remorse ? 


...... 57- -• ' 

Shall I not curse those hatefiilliieUish fiends. 
That led the worlde to worite such wickednes? 
And hate all them that have not ben his friends. 
But followed on that work of wretchednes ? 
Cut of the head, firste hands upon him layde. 
And hdpe to hange the dog that hime betrayed? 



Shall I not drive the watchmen firom the grave, 
And watehe the risingeofthe sune renowned? 
Or goe mjaeif aboe mto the cave, 
To kisse the bodie wher it lies entombed ? 
What shall 1 doe ? or shall I not approve. 
For my soule's health that so my soule did love? ' 




love 1 the ground of Uie ; oh livlye love ! ' 
Why doe I live that did not dye with the[e]. \ 
When in my^faarte- 1 do such horror prove, ^ 
As lets mye care no thought of comforte see? 

How my poore soule might once such sendee do the[e], 
To give me hope bow I might come unto the[e]. 


No, I have rune the waye of wickednes, 
Forgettinge that my &yth should follow moste ; 

1 did not thinke upon thy holines. 

Nor by my syne what sweetnes I have loste : 
Oh syne, so close hath oompaste me aboute, 
That, Lord, I knowe not wher to finde the[e] out 


If in the heaven, it is too higfae a place, 

For wicked bane to bct>e to dime so highe ; 

If in the worlde, the earth is all too base, 

To entertajme thy glorious majestic ; 
If in thy Word, unworthy I to read 
So sweet a senc to stande my soule in stead. 


If in my harte, syne sayth, thou arte not there. 

If in my soule, it is too foule infected ; 

If in my hope, it is too full of feare, 

And fearefiill love hath never layth elected : 
In soule nor bodye, hope nor feare i Aye me 1 
Wher should I seeke wher my soule's love may be ? 

Alas the daye that ever I was borne. 
To se how synne hath bar'd me from my blisM 1 
And that my soule is so in torments tome. 
To knowe my love, and com not where he is : 

O yet, if ever heavens hearde creature crie, 

Lord« looke a litle on my miserey t 

Let mercy plead in true repentante's cawae, 
Wher humble pra3rre may heavenlye pit]re more ; 
That though my life hath broken sacred lawes, 
My hart's contrition yett may comfort prove ; 
That till my soule maye my sweet Savioure see, 
Meroey may caste one lovinge looke on lae. 


And while I sitt with Maryc, at the grave, 
As full of grefe as ever kuve maye live ; 

My wounded harte som sparke of hope may have. 
Of such relefe as glorious hand may give ; 
To make me fele, though syne hath death deserved. 
In heaven for me there isa place reserved. 

66. -• 

Which sacred truth untiH my soule doth taste, 
To slake the sonowe of this harte of mjrne ; 
My wearye life in wofiiU thought must waste. 
While soule and bodye humblie I resigne 

Unto those glorious holye h^nds of his ; 

Who is the hope of my etemall blisse. 


Butt can I leave to thinke upon the thinge. 
Thai I can never put out of my thought ? 
Or can I cease of his sweet love to singe. 
Who by his blood his creature's comfort wrought ? 
Or can I live to thinke that he shpukl dye 
In whom the hope of all doth lye? 


No, lett me thinke upon his life and death. 

And after death his ever-life agayne ; 

He breathed our life, and giving up his breath. 

Revived our soules that in our synes were slayne : 
His life so good, as never d^th deseryed. 
And by his death our ever-liyes preserved. 


Did he not wash his pore Apostles' feett? 
Cam he not rydinge on a sillye asse? 
Did he not heale the criples in the streett? 
And feed a world whear litle victauU was? 

Did not his love most true affection trie? 

To dye for us that we maye never dye? 

Was never inDemt shewed such humblenes. 
Was never man did speake as this man did ; 
Was never lover shewed such faithfiiUness, 
Was never trew man, such a torture bid ; 

Was never state continwed such a storie. 

Was never angel worthy such a glorie. 

Oh glorious glorie, in all glorie glorious t 
Angels rejojrced at his incarnation ; 
O powerfiill vertue, of all pow'r victoriows I 
In true redemption of his best creation. 

O glorious life that made the divels woodcr ! 

Oh glorious death that trode the dhrds under 1 

Thus in his birth, his life, his death, all gkvie 
He did receyve, who was himself the same ; 
The statlye substaunce of that sacred storie, 
From whence the ground of highest glorie came ; 
Whom highest power to highest glorie raysed, 
And an the hoste of heav^ with gk)de pcaysed. 



Was ever such a gratitude approved, 
Sinoe heaven and earth for man, and man was made ? 
For onlje God, who held him his beloved, 
Till graceles syne did make his glorie fiade ; 

That he whom angels with such reverenc used 

Should be by man so cruellye abused. 

O livlye image of thy Father's love I 
O lovlye image of the Father's life 1 
O pure oonceite that doth this concord prove 1 
That all augmented breeds no thought of stryfe I 
But that the Sonne in state of all the storye. 
Is found the brightnes of the Father's glorie. 

Could ever such a glorie be refused. 
By those that wer in dutie to adore it? 
Or could so great a glorie be abused, 
When angels tremble when they stand afore it? 

Oh man, woe man 1 to wounde thy soule so sore, 

To lose thy glorie so for ever more. 


Behould the heavens what sorrowe they did shewe. 
And how the earth her doller did discrie I 
The sune was darke, and in the earth belowe, 
The buried bodies shewed their agonye ; 

The Temple rent, the heavens with anger moved. 

To se the death of the divine beloved. 

And yett thou man, fuUe litle didst rpgarde 
What thou hadst done unto thy dearest love ; 
Thou madest more reckninge of the worlde's rewarde 
Then of the blissinge of thy soule's behove ; 
But wretched man, descend into thy thought, 
And with thy sorTx>we weare thyself to nought. 

Yett some ther were, to[o] smalle a some wer they, 
That Joyed to see the sume of all ther Joye ; 
They watched the night, and walked in Uie daye, 
And wer not choked with the world's anoye ; 
But followed on ther heavenly love alone : 
WouU God in heaven, that I were such a one. 


But aye me, wretch, all wretched as I am, 

Unworthye all to followe such a friend; 

In sweet rememberaunce of whos sweetest name. 

The joyes begine, that never make an end ; 
Lett me butt weep, and sorrowe, tUlI see 
How mercye's love will cast one looke on me. 


And lett me heare but what my Savioure sayth ; 
* He once did die that I might ever live ;' 

And that my soule by her assured fayth 
May feele the comforte that His grace doth give ; 
That for his love, who sorrowes here so sore. 
May joye in heaven, and never sorrowe more. 


O Joye above all joyes that ever were t 
Coulde I conceyve but half thjrne excellence, 
Or howe to hope to have attendaunce there. 
Where thou dost keepe thy royall residence ; 

And on my knees thy holye name adore ; 

Wer my soule well, she should desyre no more. 


To se the daye that from on high is springinge, 
To guide our feett into the waye of peace ; 
To heare the virgines pla]ring, ang'Us singinge 
The psalmes of glorie that shall never cease ; 
To heare the sounde of suche an heavenly quere, 
Would it not joye the soule to se and heare? 


To se the Saints and Martirs in ther places. 
By highest grace with heavenlye glorye crowned ; 
To see the kisses and the sweett embraces, 
Of blessed soules by constant iajrth renouned ; 
To se the ground of all this sweett agreinge, 
Were not these sights all sweetlie worth the seinge ? 


The diamounde, ruble, sapliire, and such like 
Of pretious gemmes, that are the worldlinge's joyes. 
And greatest princes for ther crownes doe seeke ; 
To hoavenlye treasures are but triflinge toyes : 
Wherwith the holie citie all is paved. 
And all the waUes are round about engraved. 


Nol He that sits on the supemall throne. 
In majestic moste glorious to behould, 
And holdes the septer of the worlde alone ; 
Hath not His garments of imbroydred goulde, 

But He is clothed with truth and righteousness ; 

The garments of true fayth and holynes. 


Oh, would my soule out of some angel's winge. 
By humble sute might gaine one heavenlye penne 
Might Wright in honor of my glorious Kinge i 
The joye of angels, and the life of men ; 
That all the worlde might fiaJl upon ther fi^es 
To heare the gk>rie of his heavenlie graces. 


But since I see his wondrous worth is suche, 

As doth exceed all reache of human sence ; 

And all the earthe, unworthie is to touche, 

The smaleste title of his excellence ; 
Lett me refere unto some angel's glorie, 
The hapie writtinge of this beavenUe storye. 



Wher heavenlye love is cawse of holye life, 

And holie life encreaseth heavenlye love ; 

Wher peace establisht without feare or stryfe. 

Doth prove the blissinge of the soule's behove ; 
Wher thirst, nor hunger, grefe, nor sonowe dweDeth, 
But peace in joye, and joye in peace ezoelleth. 


Wher this sweett kinge that on the white hone rideth, 
Upon the winges of the oelestiall winde ; 
Neare whose svireett ayre no Uastinge breath abideth. 
Nor stands the tree that he doth fruitles finde ; 

Doth make all tremble wher his glorye goech ? 

Yea, wher his mildnes most his mercye sheweth? 


O joyfull fear I on vertue's love all founded ; 
O vertuous love t in mercie's glorie graced ; 
O gratious love 1 on foythe in mercy grounded ; 
O foythfull love I in heavenlye iavoure placed ; 

O setled love I that cannot be removed ; 

O gratious love 1 of glorie so beloved. 


Wher viigines joye in their virginitie ; 

The virtuus spouses in undefiled bedd ; 

The true divines in true divinytie ; 

The gratious members in tber glorious heade ; 
The synners joye for to escape damnation, 
And &ythfull soules rejoyce in ther salvation. 


Wher sicke men joye to se their sweetest health, 
The prisoned joye to see ther libertie ; 
The pore rejoyce to se ther sweetest wealth, 
The verteous to adore the Deitye ; 

And I unworthye most of all to see 

The eye of mercye cast one look on me. 

Bttt can my harte thus leave her holye love, 
Or cease to singe of this her highest sweett ? 
Hath patience no more passiones for to prove? 
Hath fiuicye laboured out both hands and feett ? 
Or hath invention strayned her vayne so sore. 
That witt nor will, hath power to write no more? 


No I heavens forbid that ever fiiythfull harte, 
Should have a wearye thought of doinge well ; 
But that the soule maye summon everye parte. 
Of everye senoe wher anye thought maye dwell ; 
That may discharge the dutie of this care. 
To pen his praise that is without compare. 


But since no eye can looke on him and live. 
Nor harte can love, but lookinge on his love ; 


Behould the glorye that his grace doth give. 
In all his workes that dothe His wonders prove ; 
That all the world maye finde ther witts too weake 
But of the smalest of his prayse to speake. 


Behould the earth how sweetlie she bringes forth 
Her trees, her flowers, her hearbes, and every grasie ; 
Of sundrye nature and most secrett worth. 
And how ech branche doth others' beawtie passe ; 

Both beastes, and birds, and flashes, wonnes and flies. 

How ech ther high Creator glorifies. 


The lyon's strength doth make him stand as Unge, 

The unicome doth kill the poyson's power ; 

The roaring bull doth make the woods to ringe. 

The tiger doth the cruell wolfe devoure ; 
The elephant the weightie burthen beares, 
And raveninge woulefes are good yett for ther heares. 

To see the grayhounde course, the hounde in chase. 
Whilst litle dormouse sleepeth out her time ; 
The lambes and rabbots sweetlie rune at base. 
Whilst highest trees the litle squiriles clime ; 
The cralinge wormes out creepinge in the showers. 
And how the snayles do clime the lofty towers. 

To see the whale make fuirowes in the seas. 
Whilst soddenlye the dolphine strikes him deade ; 
Which havinge founde the depth of his disease. 
Upon the shore doth make his dyinge bed ; 
Where heavens doe worke for weaker harts' behove : 
Doth not this grace a worke of glorie prove ? 


But since that all skyt, sea, or earth contaynes. 

Was made for man ; and man was onlye made 

For onlye God, Who only glorie gaynes ; 

And that one glorie that can never fode ; 
Shall man forgett to give all glorie due 
Unto his God, from whom all glorie grew? 


But lett me come a litle higher jrett. 
To sune and Moone, and everye stare of light ; 
To see how each doth in his order sitt, 
Wher everye one doth keep his course aright ; 
And all to guide these darkned eyes of ours : 
Give these not glorie to the highest powers? 


No, lett not man shew himself so ungratefull 

Unto his God, that all in love did make him ; 

By thankles thoughts, to make his spirite hateful! 

Unto his kinge that never will forsake hime ; 
But lett his soule to God all glorie give. 
In whome doth all love, life, and glorie live. 





And lett me wretch, unworthy most of all. 
To lift myne eyes imto his lonelye seate ; 
Before the feett, but of his mercye, lalle. 
And of his mercye but the leave entreate ; 

That with his servants I maye sitt and singe 

An alleluiah to my heavenlye kinge. 


Come all the worlde and call your witts together, 
Borrowe some pens from out the angell's winges ; 
Ekitreat the heavenes to send ther muses hether. 
To helpe your soules to write of sacred thinges ; 

Prophane conceits must all be caste awaye ; 

The night is past, and you must take the daye. 


Speake not of synne, it hath no partie heare, 
But wright of grace, and whenc her glorye grew ; 
Thinke of the love that to the life is deare, 
And of the life to whome all love is due ; 
And then sitt downe in glorie all to singe. 
All to the glorye of your glorious kinge. 


Firste make yoMigrottndt of faythfull holynes 
Then your dtvisions of divine desyres ; 
Lett all your restes be hopes of happynes. 
Which mercye's musicke in the soule requires ; 
Lett all your sharpes be feares of faythfull hartes. 
And all youijlatts the death of your desarts. 


Yett rise taAfali, as hope or feare directes, 
The nature of ech noUt in spacer or lim; 
And lett your voyces carrye such effectts. 
As maye approve your passions are divine ; 
Then lett your amsorts all agree in one, 
" To God above all glorye be alone." 


Then lett your dittie be the dearest thought, 
That may revive the dyinge harte of love ; 
That onlye mercye in the soule hath wrought. 
The happie oomforte of the heavens to prove ; 

Then lett your sounds unto the heavens assend. 

And lett the closes all in glorie end. 


Glorie to him that sitteth on the throne, 
>^th all the hoste of all the heavenes attended ; 
Who all thinges made, and govemes all alone, 
Vanquisht his foes, and all his flocke defended ; 
And by his power his chosen soules preserveth. 
To singe his prayse that so alle prayse deserveth. 


And whilst all soules are to his glorie singinge, 
Lett me pore wretch not whollye hould my peace ; 
Butt let my teares from mercye's glorye springinge, 
Keepe time to that sweett songe maye never cease ; 
That while my soule doth thus my God adore, 
I maye jrett singe Amen, althoughe no more. 

Gloria in Excelsis Deo, 


Stanza i. line i. 'shall' of Sloane MS. preferable to 
Halliwell-PhimppsMS. 'should:' L 3, *the 
passiones* preferable to 'her passion' 
of the Sloane MS. : L 6, 'figure' similarly 
preferable to ' figured ' of Sloane MS. 
Cf. kindred thoughts in opening lines of 
An Extreame Passion, in MeL Humours, 
p. 8 ; and on I 6, the same, L xa 
a. 1. a. ' Ne' (Sloane MS. ) better than ' Maye' of 
HaUiweU-Phillipps MS., looking to 'thinke' 
and 'speake ': L 3, ' sorrowes * is in Sloane 
MS. and in Thomas Watson (see Introduc- 
tion) 'sorrowe:' L 5, 'torments' is in Sloane 
MS. ' torment. ' Of course the singulars are 
collectives (as required in construction of 
1. 5) : t3. ' Whilst ' of Sloane MS. better 
than ' WhUe ' of HalliweU-PhiUipps MS. 
,, 3. I. I. 'nights' and 'by' preferable to Sloane 
MS. 'night' and 'in.* Cf. thought in 

Stansa 4. 

A Dolefiill Passion, pp. 6, 7, 1. a, and An 
Extr. Passion, L 33, MeL Humours, as 
before : 1. 3, ' become ' (Sloane MS.) better 
than 'became' of Halliwell-Phillipps 
MS. : 1. 4, ' hopelesse ' of Sloane MS. 
better than 'helpless' of HalliweU-PhU- 

1. I, ' eyes . . . endure ' preferable to Sloane 
MS. ' eye . . . endures : ' I 2, ' night-raven's 
. . . soimds of ' preferable to Sloane MS. 
'night-crowes . . . soundeth,' albeit the burd 
is the same in either case. I have inserted 
the hyphen. 

1. I, 'words desolve . . . into * preferable to 
Sloane MS. 'woes dissolu'de . . . and 
sighes to.' Watson agrees with former, 
but has ' dissolv'd : ' L a, ' torments ' 
better than ' torment ' of Sloane MS., and 
is so in Watson : so too, 1. 3, ' into ' for 






* onto '—also Watson's : L 4— Cf. L 18 of 
An Extr. Passion, as before : 1. 5, ' doth ' 
preferable to ' can ' of Sloane MS. 

6. La, ' sitt ' preferable to ' sett ' of Sloane MS. 

Cf. 'bringe' (L 3) : L 4, 'horrors' better 
than Sloane MS. 'sorrowes.' Cf. Extr. 
Passion, as before L 10 it freqntmUr: 
1. 5 — Cf. ibid,^ and A Sol. Sonnet 1. 3, 
MeL Humours, p. 8, as before, and else- 
where : ' state ' is better than ' Date ' of 
Sloane MS. 

7. L 5, ' crost ' preferable to ' erased' in Sloane 

MS., albeit it does not signify crazed in 
mind : ib, ' grevid ' is spelled ' grdv'd ' in 
Sloane MS. : ib, I have deleted comma 
(,) after 'living' and inserted hyphen. 
Cf. An Extr. Passion, L 17, and page 9, 
L 97 : and this poem, St. 12, IL 4 and 5 : 
L 7, 'of and ' this sorrowe' better than 
'on 'and 'the.' 

8. L 4, 'vexation' preferable to 'vexations:' 

1. 5 in Sloane MS. reads ' That hopelesse 
helpes, this endlesse payne may telL ' This 
is meaningless ; but the insertion of ' this ' 
shows that ' helpes ' was intended and is 
no mis-reading. For the thought of IL 
5, 6 cf. What is Hell, U. 3,4 Mel. Humours, 
as before, p. 6 : An Extr. Pass., L xo and 
p. 9, L 97, etc., etc. 

10. L X, 'reade'— Halliwell-Phillipps BiS. has 

' weed ' erroneously : 1. 2, ' disgraced ' of 
Sloane MS. better than Phillipps' 'dis- 
grac'd ' as in L X ' refused ' and in L 4 
' scorned ' and gives better rhythm : 1. 4, 
'vertue' is preferable to 'vertues' of 
Sloane MS., and agrees better with 'love,' 
' truth,' ' faith : ' 11. 5, 6 cf. An Extr. Pass, 
as before, p. 9, IL 26-7 : L 5 * mine ' better 
than ' crime ' of the Sloane MS. , though hi 
the printed text of 1863 it is given ' ruin.' 

11. L 5, 'labours' preferable to 'labor,' and 

' nithles ' to ' endlesse ' of Sloane MS. 
13. L 6, ' shew : ' Sloane ms. ' knowe.' 
13. L X. 'sometymes' from Sloane MS. prefer- 
able to ' sometime ' of Halliwell- Phillipps 
MS., and so in L 3 cf. An Extr. Passion, as 
before, p. 9, L xo: L 3, ' line-houndes ' Sloane 
MS. , ' Ume-hounds ' Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 
—former accepted as better agreeing with 
the 'lyne' that follows, which is miswritten 
'life ' in HaUiweU-PhillippsMS.. as is 'un- 
bound ' miswritten ' vnfonnde ' hi Sloane 
MS. : L 5, 'restores' is mis-written 're- 
store' in HalliweU-PhOlipps MS. 
X4. L X, ' Sorrow ' is mis-written ' sorrowes ' in 
Sloane MS. se e L a, 'sorrowe' and 'her:' 
L a, 'ezoeedes' miswritten in Halliwdl- 
Phillipps MS. 'exceed:' L 3, 'wayte'— 
Hamwen-PhilUpps miiwrites 'wayste:' 


'even' in Sloane MS. is erroneously 
Stanza X5. L x, 'whereof preferable to Sloane M8. 
'wherefore,' as agreeing better with 
' whence ' (L 3) : ib, * groweth ' of Sloane 
MS. prefersible to Halliwell-Phillipps MS., 
as agreeing better with ' perplexeth '(La): 
ib, ' the ' better than 'this' of Sloane MS., 
though the latter is so much after Breton's 
manner that it may be taken as his first 
,, x6. L 4, ' pleasure' preferable to 'pleasures ' of 
Sloane MS. , albeit the latter perhaps agrees 
best with ' paynes : ' but see IL 5, 6, and 
St X7, L X : IL 5, 6. Sloane MS. reads 
'health . . . wealth, of pleasures,' and 
L 6, 'measures'— Halliwell-Phillipps text 
preferable. Ct An Extr. Pass., MeL 
Hrmiours, as before, IL 3, 4 from end. 

17. L 4, 'unto' better than Sloane MS. 'into :' 
L 5, ' Sorrow ... of preferable to ' sor- 
rowes ... out ' of Sloane BCS. 

X9. L 4, ' a glorie ' more alliterative and more 
Bretonesque than Sloane MS. ' an honor :' 
L 5, ' losse ' is miswritten ' foe' in Sloane 
MS., though again in x86a text printed 

aa L X, 'yea' of Sloane MS. better than ' and* 
of HalliweU-Phillipps MS. 

ax. L 4, ' Who left chefe ' preferable to Sloane 
MS. ' Left my cheife ; ' but it is open to 
the reader to apply it either to God, or 
earth, or the man (' I') : L 5, ' woundes' 
is miswritten in Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 

* wonders :' L 5, ' yet did I not * of Sloane 
MS. better than 'yet did not I' of Halli- 
well-Phillipps MS. 

23. L 4, 'sought' preferable to Sk>ane MS. 

* fought.' 
33. L a, 'the livelye* better than 'that' of 

Sloane BiS. : L 4, 'spirits' better than 
'spyrite* of Sloane MS., but Halliwell- 
Phillipps MS. miswrites 'feed' for 'fedd' 
in this line : L 5, ' Feete pearc'd, handes 
bored ' of Sloane MS. preferable to ' Thes 
feett hands bored ' of HalUweU-Phinipps 
MS. : ib, so too 'his' better than 'this.' 

84. L X, 'yett' better than 'and' of Sloane MS. : 
L 3, ' driven to ' preferable to Sloane MS. 
'liv'de in' as the latter is ahready hi L a. 

35. L 4, 'food' is miswritten in Sloane MS. 
'goode,' which is a repetition of rhyme 

afi. L 3, 'threatned'— Sloane MS. 'threatinge:' 
L 4, 'oar 'mis-written hi Stoane MS. 'alL' 

ay. L 4, 'truth to' pieliersble to Sk)ane MB. 
'truly of:' L 6, 'beat' of Sloane MB. 
better than ' treate' of HalUweD-Pbilllpps 
MS., especially with 'intxcate ' in L 5. 

• > 

f I 



f * 






Stanza 28. L 3, 'comfort for the' of Sloane MS. prefer- 
able to ' comforter to that ' of Halliwell- 
PhOlipps MS. : 1. 4, ' displeased ' is mis- 
written * diseased' (caught from L a) in 
HalliweU-Phillipps MS.: 1. 5, 'witts' is 
preferable (as in Sloane MS.) to ' witt' of 
Halliwell-Phillipps MS. It is doubtful 
whether the Poet means the bodyefs] 
mynde['s] &c. joy, or whether he means 
the Saviour is the (true) bodye, &c. (see 
' joyfuU spyritt '). But ' witts,' at all events, 
agrees with L 3 better than ' witt' 

., 99. L 4, 'he would a death' better than 'a 
death he would ' of Sloane MS. 

,. 30. L 4, 'frende' is preferable to Sloane MS. 
' frendes.' It better agrees with ' foe,' and 
does not, as ' frendes ' does, place ' foe ' 
in the singular instead of as a collective : 
1. 6, 'can' stronger and better (as in 
Sloane MS.) than 'could' of Halliwell- 
Phillipps MS. : ib. 'abused' in Halliwell- 
Phillipps is ' misused.' 

,, 31. L 4, ' world' (=the world?) is obscure, but 
' would ' of Sloane MS. yields no meaning : 
U, 'came' is better than 'come:' L 5, 
' the ' better than ' his ' of the Sloane MS., 
though ' his ' is more Breton-like, perhaps: 
ib, ' gave ' is required instead of ' give ' of 
Halliwell-Phillipps MS, : L 6, ' the world ' 
seems to return on ' world ' in L 4. and so 
world is = heaven and earth. Yet is L 4 
doubtful and ambiguous. 

,, 32. 1. I, 'unto' preferable to 'to' of Halliwell- 
Phillipps MS., and so ' do ' in 1. 3 to drop- 
ping it : L 6, ' the ' of Sloane MS. better 
than ' this ' of HalliweU-Phillipps MS. 

,, 33. L 5, ' and so fast ' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 
clearer, though ' so fast a truth ' of Sloane 
MS. more rhythmicaL 

,, 34. I 3, 'the' of Sloane MS. better than *kys 
sinful ' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS. : 1 3, for 
the text (which is Sloane MS.) the Halli- 
well-Phillipps has 'He careful! watches 
full warelye he kept ;' both seem confused: 
L6, ' to make him then ' better than Sloane 
MS. ' then-to make him.* 

" 55* !• 3' ' ^^/ ^^ Sloane MS. ' must/ which was 
doubtless the original word, as in IL z, 9, 
but ' will ' seems to have been substituted 
that it understood [' will '] no more, &c. 
to give sense to L 4. which otherwise seems 
nonsense : L 5, ' To spoyle ' better than 
' Than spoyle ' of Sloane MS. : L 6, 'the' 
is in Sloane MS. ' thy, ' and the repetition of 
' thy ' is more like Breton, but ' the ' takes 
the whole more clearly out of some par- 
ticular 'thee,' and makes it more general 
36. 1. I, ' none ' preferable to Halliwell-Phillipps 
MS. ' no : ' I 6, ' Howe . . . tiianyze ; ' in 



Sloane MS. ' How traytors wordes tyron- 
Stanxa 38. L 3, ' Mawdlen ' is in Sloane MS. ' Magde- 
lene ' — the former required by rhythm and 
scansion : L 5, ' those ' of Sloane M8. pre- 
ferable to ' thes ' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS. : 
L 6,i'on his' is miswritten in Hilliwell- 
Phillipps MS. ' of this.' 

„ 39. L 9, ' his ' preferable to ' the ' of Sloane MS. : 
ib, ' repentance ' is (poetically) a spiritual 
being ; ' repentant ' of Sloane MS. is non- 
sense : L 3, ' Thrise ' of both MSS. is mis- 
printed in i86a text ' Twice : ' L 4, ' vn- 
fould ' is in Sloane MS. ' enfold : ' IL 5, 6, 
one of various examples in this poem of 
confused construction, leading to the be- 
lief that it was an early production. 

,, 4a L 3, ' to :' in Sloane MS. ' with ' — ^the former 
an evident second-thought : 1. 5, ' that 
never ' is in Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 'which' 
— the former preferable by rhythm, and the 
' that . . . that ' agrees with the same re- 
petition in next line : L 6, ' feede '—erro- 
neously omitted in Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 

,. 41. L 9, 'Myn' is in Sloane MS. 'My,' and 
'watch' is in Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 
'wake'— the former the stronger and 

42. L I, 'Should' is in Sloane MS. 'Shall :' ii, 
' toye ' is in Sloane MS. ' joye ' — the latter 
a mistake, as it ends 1. 3 : L 2, ' height ' 
is in Sloane MS. ' sight ' — the former much 

43. I 5* ' I could ' is in Sloane MS. ' for a : ' L 6, 
' That ' preferable to Sloane MS. ' Would. ' 

45* la, ' do ' is in Sloane MS. ' doth : ' ib. 
' desarte ' is in the same ' deserte : ' L 3, 
'humble' of Sloane MS. is miswritten 
' humblie ' in HalliweU-Phillipps MS. : 
L 5, * that sees ' is miswritten in Sloane 
MS. 'to see.' 

46, 1 3. ' k)oke '--In itself, ' lake ' of HaUiweU- 
PhilUpps MS. (with which cf . in An Extr. 
Pass, as before, (L 4, from end) ' Sorrow's 
seas ') is a clear instance of revisal ; bat 
looking to the context. ' looke' agrees best 
therewith, as U. i and 95, 'I wiU sitt 
downe : ' L 5, ' sitt ' is miswritten ' sett ' 
in Sloane MS. : t^. ' this woride's heU.' 
Cf. MeL Humours, What is HeU and A 
DolefuU Passion (last Une), and An Extr. 
Pass. U. 10, 19. 

47, L I, 'so my gryping,' another evident 
revisal of Sloane MS. ' see my secreate.' 
The repetition of ' see ' is one of Breton's 
most marked characteristics of style. 

48, L 3, ' in wherein'— another trick of Breton's 
style and, on the whole, preferable to 
HaUiweU-PhUUpps M8. 'whereon': it. 






' hope' better than 'harte ' of Sloane MS. : 
L 4, 'her' preferable to 'but' of Sloane 
MS. : L 6, ' His ... his '—the same pecu- 
liarity of style, but altered by Breton in 
Halliwell-Phillipps MS. to 'The . . . the,' 
on account of the ambiguity. But the 
change was hardly a happy one ; for it 
speaks of generals, while the previous lines 
refer only to himself. The H and k 
prevent any real difficulty. 
Stansa 49, 1. a, ' playes her ' preferable to Sloane MS. 
'play'd his' : I 3, 'gives' is in Sloane 
MS. 'gave' : 1. 6. ' But' better than 'O* 
of Sloane MS. 
.1 50, 1. 5. ' and is '—Sloane MS. ' he is' : L 6 'life 
of life ' U in Sloane MS. ' light of life '— 
former stronger. 

5a, L 3, ' his ' of Sloane MS. preferable to ' the ' 
of Halliwell-Phillipps MS.— for there is no 
' the glory ' spoken of but ' his ' : 1. 4, 
'light' is in HaUiwell.Phillipps MS. 
' height ' — the former (Sloane MS.) agrees 
best with 'hidde' and 'helde' and 

53* !• 3» ' and houle ' — Sloane MS. ' to houle : ' 
1. 6. ' be-loved ' preferable to Sloane MS. 
'he loved.* 

54. 1. a, — See a similar simile in MeL Humours, 
An Ebctr. Pass. , U. 6, 7, p. 9, as before : 1 4, 
—See Mel. Hum., A Sol. F. to the World, 
L 5, from last : L 5, ' bird ' agrees best 
with ' peUican ' (L 3), and so is better than 
' byrds ' of Sloane MS. \ ii, *l more ' is in 
Sloane MS. 'over.' 

55, 1. a, ' should die ' preferable to Sloane MS. 
' so to bee ; ' and L 4, ' this ' to ' his,' 
because it refers to IL 5, 6, That though 
etc : I 5, ' what ' in Halliwell-Phillipps 
MS. is ' that,' because it repeats the ' Tlua 
though,' etc., but 'what' gives better 
rhythm : L 6, ' author ' in Sloane MS. is 
'Saviour' in Halliwell-PhiUipps MS. I 
prefer the former as better English, not- 
withstanding ' Saviour ' of 1. a. 

56, 1. 3, ' keepes ' of Sloane MS. is in Halliwen* 
Phillipps MS. 'keep'— a clerical error, 
for the nominative is not ' the body and 
the blood ' (U. i, a) but the latter only. 
SeelL 5, 6. 

57, L 3, 'have' preferable to Sloane MS. 'had ' : 
L 6, 'helpe' is hi Halliwen-Phillipps MS. 
mis-written 'helped.' In L 5 supply 
mentally ' head ' [of Him who or who] — 
best of several examples that could be 
given from this poem of omission of the 
rdatives wA^, thai, etc. 

58, 1. 3, 'alsoe . . . cave '^in Sloane MS. ' alive 
. . . grave.' The former change in Halli- 
well-Phfllippt MS. is a reference to St 

• i 


Peter and St John, instead of the first 
conceit of 'alive' in contrast with the 
' dead ' body. ' Cave ' is required by the 
rhyme of L i. 
Stanxa 59' ^ 4* ' °o thought ' is poorly in Sloane Ms. 
' nothinge:' IL 5, 6, 'dothe[e] ' and 'unto 
the[e] ' preferable to Sloane MS. ' service 
see,' and ' to thee' as otherwise ' see ' ends 
U* 4t 5i while its use or meaning is not the 
same: 1. 6. 'might' in Sk)ane MS. is 

60, L a, ' that ' is more full and distinctive than 
' what ' of Sloane M.s. : 1. 4, ' syne ' agrees 
better than Sloane MS. 'sinnes' with 
context : L 5, ' so close ' in Sloane MS. 
mistakenly ' for sinne.' 

61. L a, « harte ' isin Sloane MS. ' hartes.' See 
•I'St 60, L6: I. 5. 'thy Word., to' is 
in Sloane MS. erroneously ' the world . . . 
doe.' Ct ' reade,' and the 'worid' has 
been already mentioned. 

60. L 3, ' fuU of ' U in Sloane MS. badly « foule 
a : ' L 4. ' love ' is in Sloane MS. ' hope '— 
the former agrees best with the sequence 
repeated in IL 5, 6, where we have ' soule's 
love : ' 1. 4, ' nor ' in Sloane MS. ' or : ' U. 
' Aye' in Sloane MS. 'save : ' L 6, ' should 
. . . may' in Sloane MS. 'shall . . . should.' 

63, 1. 4, ' To knowe ' in Sloane MS. is ' And 
knowes : ' L 5, ' O yet, if' of Skxme MS. 
preferable to 'Yett if that' of Halliwell- 
Phillipps MS. : ib, ' creature ' better than 
' creatures ' of Sloane MS. 

64, L I, ' repentantes ' better than Halliwell- 
Phillipps MS. ' repentance* : ' L 5, ' That ' 
better than ' Then ' of Sloane MS. : L 6 
in Sloane MS. is, ' My eye may cast one 
louinge looke on thee'— misprinted in 
i86a ' longinge.' Cf. St 79, L d 

65, L a, 'As' preferable to ' And ' of Sloane MS. : 
1 3, ' sparke ' better than ' sparkes ' of the 
same: L 5, 'fele' [sfeel] much better 
English than 'well' of Sloane BiS. : L 6 
is from Sloane MS. and is preferable to 
Hallhvell-PhillippsMS. 'MySaviour's death 
hath my soule's life preserved,' which is 
nearly identical with St 68, L 6. 

66, L I. 'Which' is miswritten in Halliwell- 
PhiUipps MS. 'With:' L 3, 'thought' 
better than 'thoughts' of Halliwell-Phil- 
lipps MS. as agreeing with other singu- 
lars: ib, 'waste' is miswritten 'passe' 
in Sloane MS. : L 5. ' those ' of Sloane MS. 
better than 'thes' of HalliweU-Phillipps 


67, 1. a, ' putt ' of both MS8. is misprinted in 

i86a 'part' 
68, L 3, ' our ' is hi Sloane MS. blindly 'cot : ' 

ib, 'us' for 'up.' 







Stanxa 69, L 4, ' victoall ' — Sloane MS. ' victualls : ' 
L 6, ' maye ' — Sloane MS. ' might' 

.• 70* !• 5f 'continued' in both MSS., though 
printed in 1862 ' contayned ' — probably a 
clerical misspelling of 'conteined' or 
71. L 6, ' Oh 'preferable to 'And' of Halliwell- 
Pbillipps MS. See rest of Stanxa : L 6, 
'trode' is in HalliweU-Phillipps MS. 

., 7a, L i» 'birth * is in Sloane MS. 'breath 'and ct 
St 68, L 3 : f^. 'his' of Sloane MS. better 
than *and': L 3, ' that ' better than ' the ' 
of Sloane MS. , because there is a reference 
to the story in L 4 : L 5, ' Whom ' better 
than ' From' of Sloane MS., being required 
in L 6, And [whom] all, etc. : L 6, ' hoste ' 
better than ' rest ' of Sloane MS., as being 
a well-known phrase, though 'rest' has 
its contrast. 

.. 73* 1* 6, ' man so cniellye abused' is in HaUi- 
well - Phillipps MS. 'men refused and 
abused.' The change of 'man' into 
* men ' is on accoimt of ' angells ' 1. 5 ; but 
as ' man ' is used in L a it seems better to 
retain it here. The rhythm of the Sloane 
MS. as printed is better than HalliweU- 
Phillipps MS. 

. . 74, L a. ' the ' — for ' thy ' of Sloane MS. a better 
after-thought : 1. 4, ' augmented ' is in 
HalliweU-Phillipps MS. ' agreement : ' ib. 
' breeds ' better than ' bredd ' of Sloane 
MS. : I 5, 'that the Sonne' is in Sloane 
MS. ' yet the same : ' ii, * the storye ' is 
needed to prevent the rhyme being ' glorye 
I glorye ; ' but not a good alteration in 
7511- I* 'Could' better than Sloane MS. 
'Should': L 4, 'afore' in HaUiweU- 
PhiUipps MS. is 'before,' and the latter is 
perhaps better in itself, but does not rhyme 
so perfectly with ' adore it ' (L a). 

,. 76,1.4, 'these' is miswritten in HaUiweU- 
PhillippsMS. 'the.' 

77, L a, ' hadst ' is also miswritten in the same 
MS. ' haste : ' L 6, ' this sorrowe ' much 
preferable to Sloane MS. ' thy sorrowes.' 
It is the incomparable 'sorrow' of the 
Man of Sorrows that is to occupy 
' wretched man.' 

78, L I, 'to[o] smaUe a some' [=sum] better 
than ' the smaUer summe ' of Sloane MS. : 
1. 3, ' the ' more after Breton's manner 
than ' by ' of Sloane MS. 

80, 1. 4, ' feele . . . grace ' in Sloane MS. reads 
'seeke . . . grace ' mistakenly : L 6, 'May' 
in HaUiweU-Phmipps MS. ' ShaU.' 

8z, L a, 'thyne' of Sloane MS. more rhyth- 
mical where it stands than 'thy' of 


f I 


HaUiweU-PhilUpps MS. : L 3. ' howe to . . . 
have ' is in Sloane MS. ' have a . . . give.' 
Stansa 8a. L 6, ' the ' preferable to ' thy ' of Sloane 
MS., as there is no antecedent to ' thy ' for 
a long way back, and the pronoun in 
preceding St. has been ' I.' 
.. 83, L 3, ' kisses' is in Sloane MS. ' kissinges' — 
the former more appropriate, the latter 
having a more material not to say las- 
civious sound : L 5 is a curious line. 

85, 1 z. ' No I' better than ' Where ' of Sloane 
MS. ; L 3, ' holdes ' of Sloane MS. is mil- 
written 'hould' in HaUiweU-PhUUpps 
MS. : 1. 5, ' with ' more Scriptural than 
' in ' of HaUiweU-PhiUipps MS. : L 6 much 
preferable to the Sloane MS. 'Where 
angells aU doe singe with joyfulnesse.' 

86, L I. * Would ' of Sloane MS. preferable to 
' could ' of HaUiweU-PhiUipps MS. as more 
expressive of a wish : L 2, ' sute ' prefer- 
able to ' fate ' of Sloane MS., but the rest 
from Sloane MS. preferable to ' obtaine . . . 
onlye:' L 3, 'Might' is in Sloane M8. 
' And : ' L 5, ' Might ' in HaUiweU-Phil. 
lipps MS. ' may ' erroneously. 

87, 1. I, ' wondrous ' of Sloane MS. better than 
' wonder ' of HaUiweU-Phillipps MS., even 

• wonder-worth ' were poor : 1. 3, ' And * 
is in Sloane MS. ' That ' : L 4, ' titie s 
tittle, as in Sloane MS. 

88, L 3, ' or ' in HalUweU-PhiUipps MS. 'of.' 

89, 1. z, ' this ' — looking to preceding St ' this ' 
is better than ' the ' of Sloane MS. : L 5, 
' Doth make ' better than ' But makes ' of 
Sloane MS. : U. 5, 6 'goeth . . . sheweth ' as 
agreeing with IL i, 3, preferable to ' goes ' 
and ' showes ' of Sloane MS. 

90, 1, a, ' vertuous ' is miswritten in HaUiweU- 
PhilUpps MS. • vertue's : ' L 3, ' in ' prefer- 
at)le to ' and ' of HaUiweU-PhiUipps MS. 
since the ' faith ' is in one and ' mercy' in 
the other, viz., Christ. But the St is 

9Z, L 5, ' escape ' in HaUiweU-Phillipps MS. 
''scape,' and omits 'for' (L 5), and 
' rejoyce ' (L 6) by blimders. 

9a, L 5, ' And ' not quite satis£Eictory, but better 
than ' But' of Sloane MS. 

93' ^ 3* ' ^or ' of Sloane MS. is in HaUiweU- 
PhiUipps MS. ' left,' which is specious ; 
bat how can patience have passions ? L 6, 

* nor ' is miswritten in HalUweU-PhiUipps 
MS. 'or.' 

94, 1. a, 'Thought' better than 'harte* aXbdt 
the latter repetition from L z is more in 
Breton's manner : I 4, 'anye' is miswrit- 
ten in HaUiweU-PhUUpps MS. ' my.' 

95, puzzles one as to its construction and 
sense. Line 3 seems to require the ' nor ' 





of 1. a to be understood before it ; but 
what is the meaning of 'That all/ etc. 
1. 5? The same confusion appears in XL 
I, a, especially if we read 'live' with 
Halliwell-Phillipps M& ; whence I prefer 
' love ' of Sloane MS. and in 1. 4 prefer its 
' His ' to ' suche wonders : ' L 5, * witts ' is 
in Sloane MS. ' wills.' 
Stanxa 96, L 3, ' nature ' in Sloane MS. better than 
'natures' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS., but 
'and' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS. better 
than ' of ' of Sloane MS. But again ' most 
secrett' of Sloane MS. preferable to 'of 
greatest ' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS. There 
is nothing for it but thus to elect when 
two readings are before us. Had Breton 
printed the poem it would have been dif- 
ferent : L 6, ' beastes ' of Sloane MS. agrees 
with other plurals, and therefore better 
than ' beaste ' of Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 
,, 97. 1. a, 'poyson's power' — the horn of the 
unicorn had mythical properties of healing 
in ancient ' Vulgar Errors : ' L 6, ' heares ' 
is spelled in Sloane MS. 'heires.' It is 
intended for ' hairs ' = skin — not ' good ' 
for their ofiEspring, as might at first seem : 
' woulfes ' = wolves. 

98, L 9, ' Whilst ' of Sloane MS. here and m 
L 4, and St 99, L a, better than ' While ' 
of HalUweU-Phillipps MS. : L a, 'time' 
rhymes better with ' clime ' than Sloane 
MS. ' eyne :•' 1. 3, ' base ' — ^game so called. 

99, L a, 'dolphin's sword-fish, rather: 1, 5, 
' doe ' better than Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 
'thus,' because all the instances cannot 
' thus ' be referred to. 

xoo, L I, 'sea, or earth' more rhythmicall than 
Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 'earth, or sea:' 
L 3, ' Who . . . glorie gaynes ' preferable 
to Sloane MS. 'that . . . giveth grace.' 
The St. is a poor one. 

loi, L 4, 'course aright' preferable to 'order 
right ' of Sloane MS. : L 5, ' to '—Sloane 
MS. 'these.' 

loa, L 3. ' to '—Sloane MS. 'that.' 

103, L a, ' myne . . . lonelye ' preferable to Halli- 

• • 


well-Phillipps MS. 'my . . . lovelyc:* 
Halliwell-Phillipps MS. miswrites 'list' 
for ' lift ': I 3, ' feett ' better than £EUilty 
repetition of ' feat ' in Sloane MS. 
Stanza 104, 1, a, ' firom out ' seems better than HalUwell- 
Phillipps MS. ' out of : ' L 3, ' ther ' =their, 
preferable to ' the ' of Sloane MS. 

.. 105, L a, 'has'andl. 3 'the' preferableto 'our' 
and 'his' of Sloane MS., though the 
changes alter the sense. 

,, 106, L I, 'grounde' agrees best ¥rith 'faithfull 
holynesse' and therefore preferred to 
' groundes ' of Sloane MS. : L 6 better than 
Sloane MS. ' And lett the flatts be deathes 
of your desertes.' ' Desartes,' as before, 
more rhymes with 'hartes.' = 'let your 
flats (which are used for mournful music) 
tell the want of all your deserts.' 

,, 107,1 z, 'or' required by 'directes,' not as 
Sloane MS. ' and : ' 1. 5-6 better than 
Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 'in one agre' 
and ' all-onlye glorie be.' 
108,1.3, 'the'— 'thy' of Sloane MS. is sing, 
whilst all preceding is the plural ' your ; ' 
wherefore I prefer ' the : * L 4, ' of' — the 
repetition of ' in ' in Sloane MS. is as usual 
after Breton's manner; but here 'of' 
seems better as in Halliwell-Phillipps MS. : 
L 5, 'sounds' can be objected to. 
because in all points before spoken of 
they are supposed to ascend, and the 
word 'soules' of Sloane MS. does not 
accord with all the technical musical 
terms used. On the whole, 'sounds' 
seems preferable : L 6, ' lett ' of Sloane 
MS. better than ' all ' of Halliwell-Phillipps 


,, X09, L a, 'heavens' better than Sloane MS. 
' heaven. ' So just above. 

, , no, L I, ' are ' of Sloane MS. better than ' doe ' 
of HalliweU-PhiUipps MS.: ib. 'his' 
better than ' their ' of Sloane MS. : 11. i 
and 3 Halliwell-Phillipps MS. end ' singe ' 
and 'springe' — inferior. 
Gloria in Exulsis Dm —in Halliwell-Phillipps MS. 
only. G. 

•••••••• **aM««* ••••••• "•••«••• •••••••• •»•«•••• •••••••• •••••••• ••••«••• *«MM** •••••••• *•«••••* •••••••• •••••••• ••^•••* •••••••• ■••••••* *••••••**••»•«* ••»•••• •^••••* 

The Arbor of Amorous Deuices. 


,••••••, ,••••••, »»«»»»«, ,••••••» ,••••••,,••••••, ,••—*•, «•••■••• »••••••• ,••••••, ,••••••,,••••••, «••••••« •••••••• ,»•••••, ,••••••« ,•••••», ,••••••, ,••••••, ,»•••••, ,••••••, 



The only known exemplar of * The Arbor of Amorous Deuices * is that preserved 
in the Capell collection in Trinity College, Cambridge. Unfortunately it wants the 
title-page and several leaves, and a number of half lines, etc. While grateful for so 
much as is preserved in the Capell collection, it is disappointing to be compelled 
to reprint so bright and intrinsically rich and musical a book with these deficiencies. 
1 am indebted to Mr. W. C. Hazlitt's * Hand- Book * {s,n,) for the following title- 
page : — * The Arbor of Amorous Deuices : Wherein young Gentlemen may reade 
many pleasant fancies and fine deuices : And thereon meditate diuers sweete Con- 
ceites to court the loue of faire Ladies and Gentlewomen : By N. B. Gent Im- 
printed at London by Richard lones, at the Rose and Crowne, neare S. Andrewes 
Church. IS97-* 4^} iS leaves. This title-page is apparently derived from 
Beauclere*s Sale-Catalogue (1781), in lot 3241. If this was a second copy it has 
disappeared utterly. See our Memorial- Introduction on the other Writers besides 
Breton, in the * Arbor ' — as announced in the Printer Jones's Epistle, and for the 
relation of * The Arbor * to Mr. Cosens' MS., which so enriches our ' Daffodils and 
Primroses,* or the scattered minor poems of Breton. In the Capell unique 
exemplar there is a manuscript note signed P. P., which doubtless refers to Mr. 
Cosens' MS. It runs thus : — * I have an ancient quarto MS. which contains many 
of the Poems entituled The Arbor of Amorous Deuises, with little or no variation 
except in point of Orthog^phy, which in the MS. is more obsolete and antique.' 
Were it only for * A sweet Lullabie ' (page 7) which ought long since to have found 
its way into our choicest Selections and Collections — the ' Arbor ' had been a price- 
less gift ; but there are others in it of beauty and tenderness. — G. 

To the Gentlemen 

Readers : health, wealth, and 


I^A/ curUous Gentlemen^ your absence^ this long time of vacation hituUred my fioore Presse 
from publishing any pleasing Pamphlet^ to recreate your minds, as it was wont : yet now, 
to giue you notice that your old Printer forgetteth not his best fricndeSy he hath thought it 
meet to remember his duetifull good wil he beareth to you all, publishing this pleasant Arbor for 
Gentlemen, beeing many mens workes excellent Poets, and pnost, not the meapiest in estate and 
degree : attd had not the Phenix preuented me of some the best stuffe she fumisht her tiest with of 
late : this Arbor had bin sotnewhat the more handsomer trimmed vp, beside a larger scope for gentle- 
men to recreate them selues. Please it you {sweete Gentlemen) to take it in worth as it is, though 
nothing comparable with your pleasant Arbors of the countrie : view it ouer I pray you, and praise 
it as you find it : in the meane time (/ beseech you) pardon me, and protect me against cauilling 
Finde faults, that neuer like of any thing, but what they doe thefnselucs, and that, for the most part, 
is nothing at all : so shall I acknowledge my selfe most bounden vnto your flourishing degree, and 
pray vnto God to keepe you all in health : and such as are in the countrey, God send them a happy 
and speedy returne to London, to the pleasure of God, their harts content, and to the reioyciftg of all 
Citizens, and specially to the comfort ofalipoore tnen of Trades. 

Yours, most bounden. 

K I. Printer. 

The Arbor of Amorous Denises, 

A Lovers Farwel 

To his Loue and ioy. 

I Due mine onely ioy whose absence breedes my 
whose parting did amaze my minde & 
damped much my hart. 
Adue mine onely loue, whose loue is life to me, 

whose loue once lost, no life can tast within my 
corps to be. 
Adue mine onely friend whose friendship cannot fade, 
whose faith is firme, vpon the which my health and 
hope is stayed. 
Adue the vitall spirits of these my sences all, 

for dead each parte will still remaine vntiU I heare 
thee calL 
Farewell my selfe and all, farewell more deare then life : 
Farewel the constant dame on earth : &rewel 
Vlisses wife. 
Sith Spite hath playde his parte, to parte vs now in 
my helpe shal rest in happy hope, till we two meet 
againe : 
Which hope doth heaue my heart aboue the hauty 
and carrieth me with good successe aboue the 
Plannets seouen, 
Sith that the Sunne must lodge within the Ocean seas, 
As oftime as the houres be within foure compleat 
dayes : 
So must Ssnuf face be rownd and homed thrise 

and for her light a debter be vn to Sir ^^Ijrinui wise : 
Before I shal enioy the presence of my choyce, 

till which time comes, He cloy the skies with plaints 
& bitter voyce. 
That Fortune now which frownes with all her fatal 
shal haue for prayse most piteous plaints, and 
infamie for names : 
Vntil the time that she doth tume her face againe. 

and give me her that may redresse my . . . ous 
pinching paine : 
God graunt that none beholde thy fa . . . 
thy comely corps and feature .... 

Thy haires in tresses tyed 

thy Lilly with the [^Defective lines.'] 

Thy eyes with 

by dim 


The graces all attend the Muses make request, 

still for to waite vpon my deare, and be at her 
behest : 
Blush now you bashles dames that vaunt of beautie rare, 
for let me see who dares come in, and with my 
deare compare : 
No, no, you are all fled, you walke like owles by night, 
my deare so fayre. that of the world she is the onely 
wight : 
Then farewell heart and ioy, till time hath run her 
farewell delight, welcome annoy, till that I see thy 
Which wil delight my heart, which wil reuiue my minde 
which will delight my senceles corps, which ioy 
none else can finde. 
Take heere my speech last spent, vntill thy home re- 
take here my heart, but leaue the corps which shal 
in torments bume. 
My scalding sighes He send throughout the skies to thee, 
my teares shall water still my couch, vntill thou 
beest with mee. Finis. 

A Ltmers Complaint, 

THe restles race that I haue run, 
the peril and the paine 
That I from time to time haue past, 

and dayly doe sustaine. 
Doth make me dreme, that when I first 

this light began to see. 
The starrie skie no planet had, 
that happy was for me. 


\_A leaf missing Aere.] 

The chattering Pie, the Jay, and eke the Quaile. 
The Thrustle-Cock that was so blacke of hewe. 

All these did sing the prayse of her true heart. 
And moumd her death with dolefull musick sound : 
Each one digged earth, and plyed so their part. 
Till that she was close closed vnder ground. 


The counsell of a friend to one in hue. 

CLime not too high, for feare thou catch a fall, 
Seeke not to build thy nest within the Sunne, 
Refraine the thing which bringeth thee to thrall, 


l^east when too late thou findste thy selfe vndone : 
Cause thy desires to rest and sleepe a space. 
And let thy fancie take her resting place. 

The Tiger fierce cannot by force be tamed, 
The eagle wilde will not be brought to fist, 
Nor womens mindes at any time be framed, 
To doe ought more than what their fancies list : 

Then cease thy pride, and let thy plumes downe fall. 

Least soaring still thou purchasts endles thralL 


A Ladies complaint for the iosse of 
her Loue, 

COme follow me you Nymphes, 
Whose eyes are neuer drie, 
Augment your wayling number nowe 
With me poore Emelie. 

Giue place ye to my plaintes. 

Whose ioyes are pincht with paine : 

My loue, alas through foule mishap, 
Most cruell death hath slaine. 

What wight can wel, alas, 

my sorrowes now indite ? 
I waile & want my new desire 

I lack my new delite. 

Gush out my trickling teares 

Like mighty floods of raine 
My Knight alas, through foule mishap 

Most cruell death hath slaine. 

Oh hap alas most hard, 

Oh death why didst thou so ? 
Why could not I embrace my k>y, 

for me that bid such woe ? 

False Fortune out, alas, 

Woe worth thy subtill traine, 
Whereby my loue through foule mishap. 

Most cruell death hath slaine. 

Rock me a sleepe in woe, 

You wofiill Sisters three 
Oh cut you off my fatall threed, 

Dispatch poore Emelie. 

Why should I liue, alas. 

And linger thus in paine ? 
Farewell my life, sith that my loue 

Most cruell death hath slaine. Finis. 

The lamentable complaint of a Louer, 

Accord your notes vnto my wofull songs. 
You chirping birds which hant the cloudy skie. 
Cease off your flight, and come to heare my wrongs 
Compeld by loue, mixed with crueltie : 
Leave off I s^y, and help me to lament 
My wofiiU dayet, vntill my time be ipent. 

With sorrow great I passe away the time. 
The which too long I feele vnto my paine. 
Too childish is this fond conceit of mine. 
That voyde of hope doth helpelesse still remaine : 
Yet wil I rest til time doth further seme, 
That Atropos doth me of life bereaue. 

But fie fond foole. I complaine of disease, 
And faultlesse Fortune I begin to blame, 
Venus her selfe doth seeke me for to please, 
In causing me to loue so rare a dame : 

But if (faire Nimph) I might enioy thy sight, 
Thy fouour fiure would force in me delight. 

But I am bannisht fix>m thy comely hew, 
Oh thy sweet loue, but yet I wil remaine 
For euer thine as perfect louer true, 
Without all guile, although thou me disdaine : 
And thus I end, although not rest content, 
Vntil such time my wretched dayes are spent. 


A Poeme both pithie and pUasant, 

IF right were rackt and ouer-runne. 
And power take parte with open wrong. 
If force by feare doe yeeld too soone. 
The lack is like to last too long : 
If God for goods shalbe vnplac'd. 
If right for riches leaues his shape. 
If world for wisdome be imbrac'd, 
The guesse is great much hurt may hap : 
Among good thinges I prooue and find, 
The quiet life doth most abound, 
And sure to the contented mind, 
There is no riches may be found : 
Riches doth hate to be content. 
Rule is enmie to quiet ease, 
Power for the most part is vnpadent 
And seldome likes to liue in peace : 
I heard a Shepheard once compare. 
That quiet nights he had more sleepe. 
And had more merrie dayes to spare 
Then he which ought his Flock of sheepe. 
I would not haue it thought heereby. 
The Dolphin swim I meane to teach, 
Ne yet to leame the Faulcon flie, 
I roue not so farre past my reach. 
But as my part aboue the rest, 
Is wel to wish and good to will : 
So till the breath doth fayle my brest, 
I shal not stay to wish you stilL 

A Poeme. 

THe time was once that I haue liued finee. 
And wandred heere, and where me liketh best. 
Bat in my wandiing I did chance to see 
A Damsel (aire which caus'd in me small rest : 
For at her sight mine heart was wounded sok, 
That liued firee and voyd of loue before. 


Which when I felt, I got me to my bed, 
Thinking to rest my heauie heart : but then 
There came strange thoughts into my troubled hed. 
Which made me thinke vpon my thoughts agen : 
And thus in thinking on my thoughts did sleep, 
And dreamed that another did her keepe. 

With this same dreame I sudainly awoke, 

And orderly did maiice it euery poynt : 

And with the same so great a griefe I tooke, 

That as one scard, I quaked euoy ioynt : 
Yet at the last supposd it but a dreame, 
My troubled spirits did reuiue againe. 



IN fortune as I lay, my fortune was to finde 
Such fancies as my carefuU thought, had brought 
into my minde. 
And when each one was gone to rest, full soft in bed to 
I would haue slept, but then the watch did follow 
still mine eye : 
And sodainly I saw a sea of sorrowes prest. 

Whose wicked waues of sharpe repulse brought me 
vnquiet rest. 
I saw this world, and how it went, each state in his 
And that from wealth graunted is both life and 
libertie : 
I saw how enuie it did raigne, and bare the greatest price, 
Yet greater poyson is not found within the CocksOrice : 
I also saw how that disdaine, oft times to forge my woe, 
Oaue me the cup of bitter sweete, to pledge my 
mortall foe : 
I also saw how that deceit, to rest no place could finde, 
But still constraind an endles paine, to follow 
natures kinde. 
I also saw most strange, how Nature did forsake 

the blood that in her womb was wrought, as doth the 
loathed snake, 
I saw how fiancie would remaine, no longer then her lust, 
And as the winde how she doth change, and is not 
for to trust : 
I saw how stedfastnes did flie, with winges of often 
A bird, but truely seldome scene, her nature is so 
strange : 
I saw how pleasant Time did passe, as Flowers in the 
To day that riseth red as Rose, tomorrow lyeth dead. 
I saw my time how it did run, as sand out of the Glasse. 
Euen as each bower appoynted is, from tide to tide 
to passe : 
I saw the yeares that I had spent, and losse of all my 
And how the sport of youtfafull playes, my folly did 
retaine : 

I saw how that the little Ant in Summer still doth nmne 
To seeke her foode, whereby to line in winter for to 
come : 
I saw eke vertue, how she sate the threed of life to spinne. 
Which sheweth the end of euery thing before it doeth 
And when al these I saw, with many moe perdie. 

In me my thoughts each one had wrought a perfect 
propertie : 
And then I sayd vnto my selfe, a Lesson this shalbe. 

For other that shal after come, for to beware by me. 
Thus all the night I did deuise which way I might con- 
To forme a plot that wit might worke the branches 
in my braine. 


The complaint of one being in love, 

T Eaue me O life, the prison of my minde, 

•L^ Since nought but death can take away my lotte, 

For she which likes me wel is most vnkinde. 

And that which I loue best my death doth prooue. 

Loue in her eyes my hopes againe reuiue, 
Hopes in my thoughts doe kindle my desires. 
Desire inflam'd through loue and beauty striue. 
Til she (displeased with loue) my death conspires : 
That loue for me, and I for Loue doe cal, 
Yet she denies because she graunts not aL 


A Loners resolution, 

T^Rue, though vntried, desirous in despaire, 
-L Patient with paine, feithful though yet not sound, 
In cares vnknowne my youthliil dales I weare. 
More sure then safe my youth and beauty bound. 
What shal I say ? the time semes not to waile : 
Let it suffice* my &ith shal neuer £ule. 


A Loners amplaifU, 

T He fire to see my wrongs for anger bumeth, 
The aire in raine for mine affection weepeth, 
The sea to ebbe for griefe his flowing tumeth 
The earth with pittie dul the centre keepeth, 
Fame is with wonder blazed. 
Time runnes away for sorrow. 
Place standeth still amazed. 
To see my nights of euin which bane no moirow. 
Alas, onely she no pitty taketh 

To see my miseries, but chast and cruel, 

My fall her glorie maketh 

Yet still her eyes giues to my flames their fuel. 

Fire bume me quick, till sence of burning leaue, 
Ayre let me dinwe my breath no nuxre in asgnish, 


Sea drowne me in thee, of teadious life bereaue me, 
Earth take this earth, wherein these spirits languish : 
Fame same I was not borne. 

Time draw my dismall hower. 
Place see my graue vp-tome. 
Fire, Aire, sea, earth, Fame, time, place, shew 
your power : 
Alas, from all their helps I am exiled, 

For hers am I, and death feares her displeasure : 
Oh death thou art beguiled, 

Though I be hers she makes of me no treasure. 


A sweet iullabie. 

COme little babe, come silly soule, 
Thy fathers shame, thy mothers griefe, 
Borne as I doubt to all our dole, 
And to thy selfe vnhappie chiefe : 
Sing Lullabie and lap it warme, 
Poore soule that thinkes no creature harme. 

Thou little thinkst and lesse doost knowe, 
The cause of this thy mothers moane, 
Thou wantst the wit to waile her woe. 
And I my selfe am all alone : 

Why doost thou weepe ? why doost thou waile ? 

And knowest not yet what thou doost ayle. 

Come little wretch, ah silly heart, 

Mine onely ioy what can I more : 

If there be any wrong thy smart. 

That may the destinies implore : 
Twas I, I say, against my ¥rill, 
I wayle the time, but be thou still. 

And doest thou smile, oh thy sweete itEice, 
Would God himselfe he might thee see, 
No doubt thou wouldst soooe purchaoe gmoe. 
I know right well for thee and mee : 

But come to mother babe and play, 

For father false is fled away. 

Sweet boy if it by fortune chance. 

Thy father home againc to send. 

If death do strike me with his launoe. 

Yet mayst thou me to him cdmend : 
If any aske thy mothers name, 
Tell how by loue she purchast blame. 

Then will his gentle heart soone yeeld, 

I know him of a noble minde, 

Although a Lyon in the field, 

A Lamb in towne thou shalt him finde : 
Aske blessing babe, be not afrayde, 
His sugred words hath me betrayde. 

Then mayst thou ioy and be right glad, 

Although in woe I seeme to moane. 

Thy father is no Rascall lad, 

A noble youth of blood and boane : 

His glancing lookes if he onoe smile. 
Right honest women may beguile. 

Come little boy and rocke a sleepe, 
Sing lullabie and be thou still, 
I that can doe nought else but weepe, 
Wil sit by thee and waile my fill : 
God blesse my babe and lullabie. 
From this thy fathers quaHtie. 



A Poeme. 

THe work of worth that Nature finely firam'd, 
Hope of the heart, that highest harts aspire : 
Reason set downe that secret wisdome nam!d, 
Onely the sweete that honour can desire, 
Grace of the earth, and natures onelie glorie 
More then most faire was spoke of long agoe : 
Oh heauenlie starre that is the ahephecrds stay : 
Read who it is, but one there is no moe, 
This is the Saint that Wit and Reason seme, 
Of such account as vertue doth regard. 
Note who it is that doth this fame deserue, 
Excellencie giues each honour his reward. 



A Poeme. 

MVses attending all on Pallas traine. 
Amongst the rest was one, though not the 
C Carrying the minde that most might honour gaine, 
K Kinde yet with care that might become her best, 
W Wise as a woman, men can be no more : 
I Judge who it is, I may not tell her name, 
L Loue of the life that vertue doth adore : 
L Life of the loue that gaines the higbeit ftme. 
I Joyne but the thought of loue and life together, 
A And one may finde anothers e x oeH enoe, 
M Meere loue, deare Ufe can sorrow nener wither, 
S Such is the power of heanenly prouid c noe. 



S QlUy poore swaine pul down thy simple pride, 

A ^ Angelles are not for beggars to behold, 

R Reach not too high for feare thy foote doth slide, 

A And haples hope doo prooue a slender hold. 

H Hold downe thy head, thy hand is not thine owne, 

A A sunne, a sunne hath put out both thine eyes, 

S See in thy selfe how thou art ouerthrowne : 

T There is no comfort in extremities, 

I In high good-wil let honour be thy guide, 

N No cruell thought can rest in kinde aspect, 

G Good nattu% sees that reason cannot hide, 

S Sweet be the ends that foUow such effect. 





K 1^ Nowledge doth much in care of most content, 

A •'^ And reason sees, when loue hath lost his eyes, 

T Time hath his course, and vertue her intent, 

H Honor her selfe when other fancies dies. 

A A wonder lasts but onely for a day, 

R Reason regards but honors worthines, 

I In vertues loue can honor not decay ; 

N Nothing but heauen is perfect happines. 

R Rare is the eye that neuer lookes awry, 

A And S¥reet the thought that neuer sounds amis, 

T Tjroe is the heart that guideth such an eye, 

C Careful the minde where such discretion is, 

L Long is the life where loue doth draw the line, 

I Joyliill the hope that such a heart vpholdeth, 

T Time is the threed no fancie can vntwine, 

F Faire is the hap, that such a face beholdeth. 



C /^ Vrtesie carries all the world to loue. 

A v^ AffiBCtion semes, where vertue fauour giues, 

N Neere to the heauens of highest hearts behoue, 

D Deer is the thought whereby discretion lines, 

I Joy of the eye, and Jewel of the heart, 

S Sidnt of the shape that seruice doth adore, 

H High of the honor of Mintruaes art : 

E Except, excepted but one there is no more. 



S O Weet is the flower that neuer fadeth hue, 
V ^ Vnmatcht the mind that neuer means amis, 
T Tresure the heart that cannot prooue vntnie 
H High sudi a saint in whom su6h honor is, 
W Where sudi a flower, as faire as sweet doth spring 
E Except but one, behold the onely ground. 
L Loue such a ground, a Garden for a King : 
L Looke in the world, the like is hardly found. 


A prettie Poeme. 

A Trembling hand, but not a traitor's heart 
Writing for feare and fearing for to write. 
Loath to reueale. yet willing to impart, 
Such secret thoughts as fit not euery sight 

Must leaue to you in sweet conceit to know them. 
For I haue swome that I will neuer shew them. 

I know not what, but sure the griefe is greene, 

I know not when, but once it was not euer, 

I know not how, but secretly vnseene, 

And make no care if it be ended neuer, 

And yet a wound that wastes me all with woe, 
And yet would not that it were not so : 

But oh sweete God, what doe these humors moue ? 
Alas, I feare, God shield it be not loue. 


A Louer in despair e. 

BVme bume, desire, while thy poore fuel lasteth. 
Young wood enflam'd doth yeeld the brauest fire, 
Though long before in smothering heat it wasteth 
With froward will to conquer his desire : 

But fire supprest once breaking into flame, 
Doth rage till all be wasted in the same. 

Most tyrannous and cruel element, 
So to Enuie the Substance of thy life, 
As to consume thy vital nourishment. 
Till death it selfe doe end this mortal strife : 

Yet worke thy wil on me O raging fire. 

And leaue no coales to kindle new desire. 

Ne let the glowing heat of ashes left, 

Yeeld to my fainting sences fresh reliefe, 

But as my soule from comfort thou hast reft. 

So end my life in this consuming griefe : 

For wel I see, nor wit nor wil now seruetb. 
To recompence desire as he deserueth. 


A Dreame of the arraignement 
of Desire. 

A Court was lately kept in secret of conceit. 
To cal desire vnto his death, or deare him of 
Fayre Beautie was the Queene, and loue was all her 
Who had appoynted perfect sence to sit vpon the 
The wretches that accus'd desire of ill desart, 

Where Enuie, packt with Iniurie, to kil a careful 
The whole Inditement read against desire, was this. 
That where he most auowed best he ment not least 
The Lawyers that did plead against this poore desire. 
Where wicked wit with eloquence, whom hate and 
wrong did hire. 
But to defend desire was plaine simplicitie, 

Who knew the bounds and kept the bonds of perfect 
A grand Inquest in haste was panneld by the Court. 
Of whom Tom-troth was foreman made, and so 
begun the sport. 
Suspect did halfe affirme, that witnes should not neede. 
And yet selfe-will would faine haue swome that a 
was true indeed. 
But reason wild regard, the treason should be tryed. 
And deepe conceit should be the man that should 
the tmeth decide. 


Suspect in Natures sence layd shrewdly to his charge, 
But care had brideled Natures course, loue neuer 
liu'd at large. 
And conscience plaine replyed in reasons secrete thought, 
That good wines need no luie-bush, and eloquence 
is naught. 
To sound the depth of all did sences all assemble. 

And poore goodwill came swearing in, that lone 
could not dissemble, 
When patience fully heard the pleading of the case, 
She call'd to reason to reueale who had deserud 
Good-wil was earnest still, and sware that liue or die. 

Suspect did sore abuse desire, for louers could not lie. 
With that the people laught, and reason chargd Tom- 
To giue vp vnto perfect sence the verdict of his oath. 
The lurors were the thoughts that did posse the minde. 
Where flatterie was but fancies foole while faith did 
fauour finde. 
Who when they had at fill considered of the cause, 

Gaue Entiie vp for enimie to loue and al his lavres. 
And wit was but a foole to follow false suspect. 

And eloquence was little worth to carrie such effect. 
And hate and enuie both were had in great disgrace, 
And eloquence for taking parte, was hissM out of 
And sweet desire was cleare, in Reasons secret sence. 
And perfect sence gaue iudgement so, and quit him 
of offence. 

And beautie that before was thought did quite disdaine 
Did graimt him fauour by desert, and loue did enter- 
taine him. 
Suspect to silence put, good Nature gan to smile, 

To heare them iudge to loues disdaine that would 
desire beguile. 
And sweet desire the force of enuies ouerthrow. 

And therewithal the Court brake vp, and I awakM 
so. Finis. 

Brittons Diuinitie. 

"P Rom worldly cares and wanton loues conceit, 
•■• Begun in griefe and ended in deceit : 
I am coniur'd by hope of happie blis, 
Where heauenly faith and highest fauour is. 

To call my wits and all my thoughts together. 
To write of heauen, and of the high-way thither. 

The holy spirit of etemall power, 
Vouchsafe his grace to guide my soule aright, 
That patient heart may finde the happie hower. 
When I may see the glorie of that sight, 
That in conceit so fully may content me. 
As nought on earth be able to torment me. 

I aske no ayde of any earthly muse, 
Far be my fancie from such fonde affect : 


But in the heauen where highest Angels vse, 

To sing the sweet of faithful loues effect, 
Among those spirits of especiall grace, 
I wish my soule might haue a sitting-place. 

Where first the teares of true repentant hart. 
With faithful hope may happy fauor moue. 
And sighing sobs of sorrowes bitter smart. 
May see the life of vndeseru^d loue : 

Thence would I craue some excellence deuine. 
To set my foote in this discourse of mine. 

To iudge of heauen it is a place of ioy. 
Where happy soules haue their etemall rest, 
Where sweet delights doe suffer no annoy. 
But all things good and onely on the best 

Where comforts moer then man can comprehend. 
And such contents as neuer can haue end. 

It is the Throne of high Jehouak sweete. 
The God of power, of glorie and of grace. 
Where vertue dwels, and her adherents meete, 
In ioyful feare to see his heauenly face. 

Where holy saints and highest Angels sing. 

An Alleluia to their heauenly King. 

There is the day, and there is neuer night, 
There euer ioy, and there is neuer sorrow. 
There neuer wrong, but there is euer right. 
There euer haue, and neuer need to borrow. 
There euer loue, and there is neuer hate, 
Neuer but there was euer such a state. 

There all the graces doe agree in one. 
There liueth brethren in one linke of loue. 
There all the saints doe seme one King alone. 
Who glues the blis of highest hearts behoue. 
There is the place of perfect paradice, 
Where conscience lines and comfort neuer dies. 

There is the Sun, the beautie of the side. 
The Moone and Starres, the candles of the night. 
There is the essence of that heauenly eye. 
That blinds the proud and giues the humble light. 
There is the rainebow bended by his hand. 
Who doth both heauen, earth, sea, and hel oOmand. 

There sitteth God in glorie of this throne. 
With Virgins, saints and Angels all attended. 
Who in his Ire hath Kingdomes ouerthrowen, 
And in his loue hath little things defended, 

Whose glorie more then may by man be knowen. 

And glorie most is in his mercy showen. 

There doth he sit in highest of his power. 
Calling the poore vnto his rich reliefe, 
Sowing the sweete that killeth euerie sower, 
Giuing the salue that healeth euery griefe : 

Making them liue that long were dead before, 
And liuing so, that they can die no more. 

By him alone the dumbe doe speake againe, 
Of him alone the blinde recdue their seeing. 




With him alone is pleasure without pain 

In him alone haue blessM hearts their beeing : 

To him alone and onely but vnto him. 

All glorie due that al the world may doe him. 

Now haue I writ, though far beneath the worth. 

Of highest Heauen. what happk hart oonceiueth 

Nor wil I trie in order to set forth. 

Direction such as neuer hope deodueth. 

How oare may dimbe the hill of happines 
Where is the heauen of highest blessednesse. 

Grace is the ground of euery good that is. 
The ground once good, how can the work be ill ? 
Then that the mind may not be lead amisse. 
Beseech the helpe of his most blessM will : 

Whose onely word sets downe the passage best 
Of humble soules to their desirM rest. 

Begin to leaue, and make an end to loue» 

Such wanton thoughts as wofiiU sorrow giue, 

Be once resolu'd and neuer doe remoue. 

To live to die, as thou mayst die to liue : 

Which hell to hate, aud seeke for heauenly blis 
Read of the world, and tell me what it is. 

The world (in trueth) is but a wofull vale. 
Where griefe for grasse, and sinnes doe grow for seed, 
Where substance, sence and soules are set to sale. 
While hoorders heape that naked people need : 
And for the gaine but of a simple groat, 
One man wil seeke to cut anothers throate. 

What is there here that can content the hart ? 
That knowes content or what it doth containe : 
What thought so sweet but brings as sower a smart ? 
What pleasure such but breeds a greater paine? 

What thing so good but prooues in fine so euHl ? 

As (bat for God) would beare men to the deuilL 

What is the earth ? the labour of the life. 
What is the sea ? a gulfe of grislie lakes, 
What is the ayre ? a stuffe of filthie strife : 
What is the fire ? the spoyle of that it takes. 

Since these are al whence euerie thing doth spring 
What is the world, but euen a woful thing ? 

What thing is man? a clod of mirie clay, 
Slime of the earth, a slaue to filthie sinne. 
Springs like a weed, and so doth weare away, 
Goes to the earth where first he did begin : 

Thinke with thy selfe, when thou thy selfe art such 
What is in Man that man should be so much : 

What hath the world to leade thy minde to loue ? 
In true effect, a fardle fuU of toyes. 
For wey the pith what euerie man doth prooue. 
The perfect Gems are most vnperiect ioyes ; 
Consider all what Cancie bringeth forth. 
The best conceit will fall out nothing worth. 

What workllie thinges doe follow fiuide most ? 
Wealth, beautie, k>ue, fine diet, honour, fiune : 

What finds affect ? both loue and labour lost, 
Disdaine, disease, dishonour, death and shame. 

Where care and sorrow, death and deadlie strife, 
Doo rule the roste in this accursed life. 

What thing is beautie ? a colour quicklie gone. 

And what is wealth when riches fkll to rust ? 

What thing is loue ? a toy to think vpon : 

Fine diet ? drosse to feede a filthie lust. 

What worldlie honor? oft imworthie praise : 
What ease ? the cause whereby the life decayes ? 

What is disdaine ? the scome of proud conceit, 
And what disease ? the death of discontent : 
Dishonor next ? the fruit of fond deceit, 
And what is death ? the end of ill intent. 

Now what is shame? a shameful! thing to tel : 
What is the world but wickeds way to hel ? 

For beaste, for birds, for fishes, flowers and trees. 
And all such thinges created for our vse, 
What thing is man to take such things as these, 
By want of grace to tume into abuse ? 

Oh wretched world, when man that shuld be best. 

In beastly things prooues worse then all the rest. 

Thus have I sbew'd the world and what it is, 
A wicked place and ful of wretched woes, 
A sincke of sinne shut out from heauenly blis. 
Where lacke of grace doth wit and reason loose : 
So vile a thing as who in kinde doth prooue it, 
Will soone confesse he hath no cause to loue it. 

Now how to leaue this loathsome life of ours, 
The hatefiill hel the groimd of euerie griefe. 
Implore the helpe of those assurM powers. 
Who neuer fEiile the iaithfull soule reliefe : 
Laye by these thoughts that are to be abhord. 
And sett thy heart vpon thy heauenlie Lord. 

First knowe thy God, and what a God he is. 

Without beginning and can haue no end. 

Who in His loue created onely his, 

And by his hand doth euer his defend : 

Whose glorious essence of his excellence. 
Makes highest powers to tremble at his presence. 

He made the world and what it doth containe, 
Onely but man he made vnto his loue. 
And mans good-will was his desirM gaine. 
Till proud attempt did high displeasure mooue : 

He plagu'd his pride, yet when he saw his paine, 
He gaue the salue that heald the wound againe. 

He gaue the rules to guide the soulc aright, 
What it should doe, and what it should not doe, 
He shew'd the siunme of his desires delight, 
And what the heart should set it selfe vntoo : 
And in the good of his most gracious will. 
He shew'd the good that heaXhd euerie ill. 

He gaue the sunne, the moone and starres a course. 
That they obseme according to his will : 



He makes the tides to take their due recourse, 
And sets the earth where it doth settle still : 

He made the substance of each element. 

And sets his foot vpon the firmament. 

He giues vs knowledge and we will not know him 
He bids vs aske, and we wil neuer mooue him : 
He bids vs come, and we are running from him : 
He giues vs hfe. and yet we neuer loue him : 
He is our King, and we doe not respect him, 
He is our God, and yet we doe neglect him. 

And nought but man that can or dare deuise. 

How to offend that holy wil of his. 

In onely man that cursM humor lyes. 

That makes no care to run his course amis, 

But day by day doth more and more offend him 
Whose onely hand doth from all hurt defend him. 

Vngrateiul man whom God did onely make. 
In loue to loue, and with his loue preserueth. 
And for his loue endurM for his sake 
Such death of life as dearest loue deserueth : 

What cursM hart would in displeasure mooue him 
That gitiing all, askes nothing but to loue him. 

Oh loue, sweet loue, oh high and heauenly loue. 

The onely loue that leads to happie life. 

Oh loue that hues for lovinge hearts behoue. 

And makes an end of euery hateful strife : 
How happie he that kindly can attaine it, 
And how accurst that dare for to disdaine it 

Loue was the cause that first we were created, 

Loue is the life that we haue giuen to lead, 

Loue is the cause we neuer can be hated. 

Loue is our life when other life is dead, 

Loue is the grace that highest good doth giue, 
Leame but to loue, and t'is enough to liue. 

First loue thy God that taught thee how to loue. 
Then loue the loue that he in loue hath taught thee. 
That loue so fixed as nothing can remoue. 
The hope of life that highest loue hath wroght thee. 
Thus if thou loue, thy loue will be a friend, 
To gaine the life where loue wil neuer end. 


A Loners complaint. 

. . O loue, alas, what may I call thy loue, 

Thy vncouth loue, thy passions wondrous strange 
.... mischiefe deadly such as for to prooue, 
rt would shun if power I had to change. 

ge said I : recant againe that sound, 

must, recant it shall indeede. 

[Four pages missing.] 

She sware, as she a woman was, no loue she did 

Alas, then grew my paine, it greu'd me to the heart, 
My sences then so sencelesse were, as that I felt no 


And standing in a max, as Aspis on the charme. 

She said and swore (to saue my life) she wisht no 
good nor harme. 
Alas, what bitter sweet, aku what pleasant paine. 

What shiuering heat, what chilling cold, did passe 
through euery vaine? 
And when I would haue swome her heart would neuer 
By Jesus Christ she tooke that oath, that she did 
neuer loue. 
Alas what was I then ? alas what am I now? 

Too weake to loue, too strong to die, quick, dead. 
I know not how? 


A Poeme. 

W£Sare happie I as others are, 
Then might I liue as others doe : 
But fortune giues a sundrie share, 
And more to one then others too. 

The mind doth yet content it selfe. 

What euer fortune doe befall. 
And makes no count of cankred pelfe. 

Nor cares for any care at alL 

For health it is the gift of God. 

And giue him thankts, and so haue done. 
And want of wealth a heauenly rod. 

To punish natures eldest sonne. 

If frdnds doe frowne, then farewel they. 
This worldlie loue wil neuer last. 

And if it be a rainie day. 
The sunne wil shine when storme is past, 

If troubles come a thwart thy minde. 

Why tis a rule, there is no rest. 
And he that seekes and cannot finde. 

Must take a little for a feast 

If Ladies loue, they laugh for ioy. 
And if they doe not, farewell loue : 

If thou be lost, tis but a toy. 
And if it hold, it will not mooue. 

Faire beautie soone will fade away. 
And riches quicklie fall to rust. 

Thy youthfull yeares will soone decay. 
And age will soone giue ouer lust. 

The greatest horse is but a beast. 
The highest Hawk is but a bird. 

The sweetest banquet but a feast. 
The brauest man is but his word. 

To promise much doth please the eare, 
But to performe contents the heart. 

And where performance commeth, there 
A vowM loue can neuer parte. 



But they that haue the world at will 
And shrinketh at a shower of raine. 

May hap to wish and want there will. 
Vnles tbeir hands haue greater gaine. 

But hap what will my heart is sette. 

I am resolu'd of this conceit. 
If by desert I cannot get, 

I loath to liue vpon deceit. 

For stayM minde is of that state, 

As euerie fortime cannot finde, 
. . hope nor feare, nor loue, nor hate, 

Can euer change an honest minde. 

. . . her die in secrete griefe, 
. . . ete care can euer be conceald, 

{Six pages mUsing.'] 

Of his Mistresse loiu, 

TO trie whose art and strength did most ezcell, 
My Mistresse, Lout and faire Diana met, 
The Ladies three foorthwith to shooting fell. 
And for the prize the richest Jewel set. 
Sweet Lout did both her bowe and arrowes gage, 
Diana did her beautie rare lay downe, 
My Mistresse pawnde her crueltie and rage. 
And she that wanne had all for her renowne : 
It fell out thus when as the match was done, 
My Mistresse gat the beautie and the bowe. 
And streight to trie the weapons she had wonne, 
Vpon me heart she did a shaft bestow. 

By beautie bound, by Loue and Vigor slaine, 
The losse is mine where hers was all the gaine. 

Of a discontented minde, 

POets come all, and each one take a penne. 
Let all the heads that euer did indite. 
Let Sorrow rise out of her darkest denne. 
And helpe an heart an heauie tale to write. 
And if all these or any one can touch, 
The smallest part of my tormenting paine : 
Then will I thinke my griefe is not so much. 
But that in time it may be healde againe. 
But if no one come neere the thought. 
Of that I feele, and no man els can finde. 
Then let him say that deare his cunning bought, 
There is no death to discontented minde. 

Of his Mistresse Beautie, 

WHat ailes mine eies, or are my wits distraught, 
Doe I not see, or know not what I see : 
No marueil though I see that wonder wrought, 
That on the earth another cannot bee. 
What ment the Gods when first they did creat you, 
To make a face to mocke all other features, 

Angels in heauen will surelie deadlie hate 3rou, 
To leaue the world so full of foolish creatures : 
Cheekes that enchaine the highest hearts in thrall, 
Is it set downe such faire shall neuer fail you. 
Hands, that the hearts of highest thoughts appall, 
Was not Minerua made when she had made you : 
Faire : looke on you, and farewell beauties grace, 
Wise : why your wits the wisest doth abash. 
Sweet : where is sweet, but in your sweetest face. 
Rich : to your will all treasure is but trash. 
Oh how these hands are catching at those eyes, 
To feed this heart that onely liues vpon them. 
Ah, of these hands what humors doe arise, 
To blind these eyes that liue by looking on them. 
But hearts must faint that must be going from you. 
And eyes must weepe that in you loose their seeing, 
Heauens be your place, where Angels better know you. 
And earth is too base for such a Goddesse-beeing. 
Yet where jrou come among those highest powers, 
Craue pardon then for all these great ofifences. 
That when you dwelt among these hearts of ours, 
Your onelie eyes did blind our wits and sences. 
Now if you see my will aboue my wit, 
Thinke of the good that all your graces yeeld you : 
A maz^d Muse must haue a madding fit. 
Who is but mad that euer hath beheld you. 

A Sonnet, 

THose eyes that hold the hand of euerie heart. 
That hand that holds the heart of euerie eye, 
That wit that goes bejrond all Natures art. 
The sence too deepe for wisdome to discrie. 

That eye, that hand, that wit, that heauenlie sence. 
Doth shew my onely Mistresse excellence. 

Oh eyes that pearce into the purest heart, 

Oh hands that hold the highest thoughts in thrall. 

Oh wit that weyes the depth of all desart. 

Oh sence that shewe the secret sweet of alL 

The heauen of heauens with heauenlie power pre- 
seme thee. 

Loue but thy selfe. and giue me leaue to serue thee. 

To serue, to liue to looke vpon those eyes. 
To looke, to liue to kisse that heauenly hand. 
To sound that wit that doth amaze the minde, 
To know that sence, no sence can vnderstand. 
To vnderstand that all the world may know, 
Such wit, such sence, eyes, hands, there are no 

A pastorell of Phil lis and Coridon. 

ON a hill there growes a flower, 
Faire befall the daintie sweet : 
By that flower there is a bower. 
Where the heauenly Muses meete. 

In that bower there is a chau-e. 
Fringed all about with golde : 



Where doth sit the fairest faire, 
That did euer eye beholde. 

It is Phillis faire and bright, 

She that is the shepheards ioy : 
She that Venus did dispight, 

And did blind her little boy. 

This is she the wise, the rich, 

And the world desires to see. 
This is Ipsa qua the which, 

There is none but onely shee. 

Who would not this face admire, 

Who would not this Saint adore. 
Who would not this sight desire, 

Though he thought to see no more : 

Oh faire eyes yet let me see, 

One good looke, and I am gone. 
Looke on me for I am hee, 

Thy poore sillie Corridon. 

Thou that art the shepheards Queene, 

Looke vpon thy silly swaine : 
By thy comfort haue beene seene. 

Dead men brought to life againe. 

The complaint of a forsaken Louer. 

LEt mc goe seeke some solitarie place. 
In craggie rocks where comfort is vnknowne : 
Where I may sit and waile my heauie case, 
And make the heauens acquainted with my mone, 

Where onelie Eccho with her hallow voyce. 
May sound the sorrow of my hidden sence : 
And cruel chance the crosse of sweetest choyse, 
Doth breed the paine of this experience. 

In mourning thoughts let me my minde attire, 
And clad my care in weedes of deadlie woe : 
And make disgrace the graue of my desire. 
Which tooke his death whereby his life did growe : 

And ere I die engraue vpon my tombe. 

Take heede of Louc, for this is Louers doome. 

A pretie fancie, 

AX 7" Ho takes a friend and trusts him not, 
' » Who hopes of good and hath it not 

>\^o hath a Item and keepes it not. 

Who keepes a Ioy and loues it not. 

The first wants wit, the second will, 
Carelesse the third, the fourth doth ill. 

An epitaph on the death of a noble 

Sorrow come sit thee downe, and sigh and sob thy 
And let these bleeding bitter teares, be witnesse of 
thine ill, 

See, ^see, how Vertue sits, what passions she doth 
To thinke vpon the losse of him, that was her 
dearest loue. 
Come Pallas carefull Queene, let all thy Muses waite, 
About the graue, where buried is, the grace of your 
Poets lay downe your pennes, or if you needs will write, 
Confesse the onely day of loue hath lost her dawn- 
ing light 
And you that know the Court, and what beseemes the 
With griefe engraue vpo his tombe, he gaue al 
Courts a grace. 
And you that keepe the fields, and know what valure is. 
Say all too soone was seene in this vntimelie death 
of his. 
Oh that he liu'd in earth, that could but halfe conceiue. 
The honour that his rarest heart was worthie to 
Whose wisdome farre aboue the rule of Natures reach, 
Whose workes are extant to the world, that al the 
world may teach. 
Whose wit the wonder-stone, that did true wisdome tuch, 
And such a sounder of conceipt, as few or neuer 
Whose vertue did exceed in Natures highest vaine. 

Whose life a lanthome of the loue that surelie hues 
Whose friendship faith so fast, as nothing could remooue 

Whose honourable curtesie made all the world to loue him : 
What Language but he spake : what rule but he had 
What thought so high ? what sence so deep but he 
had in his head : 
A Phoenix of the world, whom fame doth thus com- 
Vertue his life, Valor his loue, and Honour was his 
Vpon whose tombe be writ, that may with teares be red : 
Hcere lies theji<ru)er of chiualrie that euer England 
Oh heauens, vpon the earth was neuer such a day. 

That all conceits of all contents should al consume 
Me thinkes I see a Queene come couered with a vaile. 
The Court al stricken in a dumpe, the Ladies weepe 
& waile. 
The Knights in careful sighes bewaile their secret losse. 
And he that best coceales his griefe, bewraies he 
hath a crosse. 
Come Scholers bring your bookes, let reason haue his 
Doe reuerence vnto the corse, in honour of the 
Come souldiers see the Knight, that left his life so neere ye, 
Giue him a volley of your harts, that al the world 
may heare ye. 



And ye that liue at home, and passe your time in peace. 
To helpe ye sing his doleful! dirge, let sorrow neuer 

Oh could I moiune enough, that all the world may see, 
The griefe of loue for such a losse, as greater can- 
not bee. 
Our Court hath lost a friend, our Countrie such a Knight, 
As with the torment of the thought, hath turnM 
day to night : 
A man, so rare a man, did neuer England breed, 

So excellent in euerie thing, that all men did exceed. 
So full of all effects, that wit and sence may scan, 

As in his heart did want no part to make a perfect 
Perfection farre aboue the rule of humaine sence. 

Whose heart was onely set on heauen, and had his 
honor thence, 
Whose marke of hiest aime, was honor of the 
Who both at once did worldlie fame, and heauenlie 
fauour find : 
Whom Vertue so did loue, and Learning so adore, 

As commendations of a man, was neuer man had 
more : 
Whom wise men did admire, whom good men did affect, 
Whom honest men did loue and seme, and all men 
did respect. 
Whose care his Countries loue, whose loue his Countries 
Whose careful loue considered wel, his Countrie 
could not spare. 
Oh Christ what ruthfull cries about the world doe 
And to behold the heauie sighs it is a hellish 
The campe, the dolefiiU campe, comes home with aU a 
To see the Captaine of their care, come home in 
such a sort 
The Court, the solemne court, is in a sudden trance. 
And what is he but is amazde to heare of this mis- 
The Cittie shakes the head, as it had lost a piller. 

And kind Affect is in such care, a little more would 
kill her: 
Sweet Oxford sits and weepes, and Cambridge cries 
To loose the honour of their loue, and loue of their 
The Qeargie singing Psalmes, with teares beblot their 
And all the Schollers follow on, with sad and heauie 
Tlie Muses and the Nimphes attirM all in blacke. 

With tearing heares, & wringing hands, as if their 
hearts would cracke : 
The father, wife, and friends, and seruants in degrees. 
With blubbred eyes bewaile the life that faithfiill 
loue did leese. 

My self that lou'd him more then he that knew him 
Wil leaue the honour of his worth, for better wits 
to tutch : 
And sale but what I thinke, and that a number know. 
He was a Phanix of a man, I feare there are no 
moe : 
To set him downe in praise with men of passM fiame, 
Let this suffice who more deseru'd : I neuer read 
his name. 
For this he was in right, in briefe to shew his praise, 
For Vertue, Learning, Valor, Wit, the honour of 
our daycs. 
And so with honor ende, let all the world goe seeke, 
So young a man, so rare a man, the world hath not 
the like. 
Whose onelie corps consumes, whose Vertue neuer dies. 
Whose sweetest soule enioyes the sweet of highest 

The sum of the former infoure lines, 

GRace, Vertue, Valor, Wit, Experience, Learning. 
Art, Reason, Time, Conceite, Deuise, Discretion, 

All these in one. and but one onely prooue. 
Sorrow in age, to see the end of youth. 

/;/ the praise of his Mistresse, 

POets lay downe your pennes, let fiancie leaue to faine. 
Bid al the Muses goe to bed, or get a better vaine. 
There musicks are to base, to sound that sweet consaite. 
That on the wonder of the world, with wonder may 
awaite : 
But if as yet vnknowne, there be some daintie Muse. 
That can doe more then al the rest, and will her 
cunning vse. 
Let her come whet her wits, to see what she can doe. 
To that the best that euer wrote, came neuer neere 
For Venus was a toy, and onely feignM &ble. 

And Cresed but a Chawcers ieast, and Helen but a 
My tale shalbe of trueth, that neuer treason taught, 
My Mistresse is the onelie sweet, that euer Nature 
Whose eyes are Uke those starres that keepe the highest 
Whose beautie like the burning Sunne, that blinds 
the clearest eies. 
Whose haires are like those beames that hang about the 
When in the morning furthe he stepps before his 
course to runne : 
And let me touch those lips, by loue, by leaue, or lucke, 
WTien sweet affect, by sweet aspect, may yet some 
fauour sucke. 



They are those little foldes, of Natures finest wit. 

That she sat smoothing while she wrought & wilbe 
smacking yet : 
And for that purest red, with that most perfect white, 
That makes those cheeks the sweetest chains, of 
kmers high delite. 
What may be said but this ? Behold the onely feature. 
That al the world that sees the face, may wdder at 
the creature. 
I wil not stand to muse as many writers doe, 

To seeke out Natures fittest stuffe to like her lims 
For if there were on earth that could in part compare : 
With anie pert of anie part, wherein her praises 
are : 

Either for Natures gifts, or Vertues sweetest grace : 
I would confesse a blinded heart, were in vnhappie 
But where both Nature, Sence, and Reason doth 
She is the onely saint on earth, whom God and 
man doth loue. 
Let this in summe suilice for my poore Muse and mee. 
She is the Goddesse of the earth, and there is none 
but she. 



Page 3. Printer's Epistle, line 6. *kad not tht 
Pkenix preuenttd me of somt the best stufe 
she fumishi her nest with 0/ late:' This 
refers to 'The Phoenix Nest. Built up 
with the most rare and refined Workes of 
Noble men, woorthy Knights, gallant 
Gentlemen, Masters of Arts and braue 
Schollers. Full of Varietie, excellent In- 
uention and sTngular Delight. Never be- 
fore this time published. Set foorth by 
R. S. of the Inner Temple, Gentleman. 
1593 (4to) :' last line, R. /., i.e. Richard 
lones — on whom see our Memorial-In- 

,, ^, ' A Loners Farwell,' 1. 20, 'cloy' = over-ask, 
as 'glut* the appetite: 1. 23, 'time:' 
misprinted in original ' rime.' 

,, 5, ' The lamentable complaint of a Loner:' 1. 13, 
' disease ' = discomfort, not bodily ailment. 

., ., '^ Poeme both pithie and pleasant:' \. 90, 
' onght ' = owned. 

, , 7-8. The acrostic names of these two pages can- 
not now be traced — ^probably all private 

., 8, '^ Dreame of the arraignement of Desire :' 1. 
4, ' Who had appoynted perfect sence : ' Cf. 
page 9. L 12 (from top). In the original 
it is nonsensically misprinted ' per sem : ' 
L 10, 'posse ' = pose : L 17, 'vnld'=^ will'd. 

P^e9, 'Brittons Dininitie:' 1. 14, ' j^/ '= desire : 
col. 2, I 36, * candles of the night.' Cf. 
Merchant of Venice, v. i. : ' these blessed 
candles of the night. ' 

.. xo, col. X, I 26, ' While hoorders heape that nahed 
people need.' Earlier and later very pas- 
sionate are the complaints against such 
farmer-' hoarders ' as took advantage of 
bad harvests and bad times : 1. 7 (firom 
bottom), 'fardle' = burden. 

,. XX, col. a, L I, ' as Aspis on the charme' = aspick 
or serpent ? 

,, 11-12, 'A Poeme:' p. ix, 1. i, ' Weare' = were : 
p. X2, col. I. L 3, 'there' = their. 

., 12, 'A Sonnet:' 11. X3-14: a comma alter 'Hue' 
in both lines I have removed, as obscuring 
the thought 

,, 13, • An epitaph^ &c. = Sir Philip Sidney : col. 2, 
1. 3, • carefull ' = full of care : 1. xs, ' inch ' 
= test as by a touch-stone : p. 14, col. i, 
1. 6 (from bottom), 'boohes:' misprinted 
' booke : ' 1. 3 [ibid.) ' heares ' = hairs. 

,, 14, ' In the praise of his Mistrtsse : ' 1. 2, ' vaine ' 
= vein : 1. 3, ' A? ' = too : L 10, • Cresed' 
= Cresseid or Cressida : ibid., ' Chawcers 
ieast' — a noticeable early allusion : 1. 16 : 
the latter half is ill^ble : supplied from 
the Cosens' MS. 



Poems of the • Arbor ' in the Cosens* Manu- 
script : Various Readings, &c. 

Page 9, • Britions Diuinitie :' 1. 5, •thoughtcs* for 

• wits ' and * wittes ' for * thoughts : ' col. 2, 
I I, • heavnes' for ' heauen : ' L 13, * And 
where'— the 'And' superfluous, spoiling 
the scansion ; as also in next line ' where 
things ' is dropped, and so ' is ' in 1. 46 : 
L 23, 'the* for 'their:' L 39, 'the* for 

,, 10, col. X, 1. 5, 'that' for* the:' 1. 7, 'Nowe' 
for 'Nor:' I 15, 'hoUie' for 'onely:' 
L 38, ' what ' for ' that : ' coL 2, L 20, 

• vnto ' for • into : ' 1. 23, ' shewne ' for 
' shew'd : ' 11. 29-37, defective in ' Arbor ' 
have been supplied from MS. : 1. 5 (from 
bottom). • sinne ' for ' summe : ' L 3 (from 
bottom), 'good that hateth euy (= every) 
' yll ' for ' good that healed euerie ill' 

,, II, col. I, L 24, 'lyne' for Moue:' L 25, 
' lovinge ' for ' living ' — adopted in text : 
1, 35i ' thy ' for ' to ' — adopted : L 37, 
'Then loue so fixe as nothinge may re- 
move ' for ' That loue so fixed as nothing 
can remoue.' 


,. 12, *Ofa discontented minde;' 1. 4, 'aharte' for 
an ' heart : ' 1. 9, ' But if no one can once 
come nere the thought.' 

Ibid, * Ofkis Mistresse Beautie .• ' L i, ' bestroughl,* 
stupidly for ' distraught : ' L xo, ' fade ' for 
'fair (a mistake): 1. 21, 'harte' for 
' hearts : ' 1. 25, ' when ' for ' where : * I. 
28. 'aU* for 'our.' 

Ikid, *A Sonnet:' 1. 10, 'shewes' for 'shewe:' 
L II, • powres ' for • power. ' 

Pages 12-13, ' ^ pastorell of Phi His and Coridon : ' 
A closing stanza is not found in the 
* Arbor,' thus : — 

Make him liue that dying looge 
Neuer durst for comfort seeke ; 

Thou shall heare so sweete a sooge 
Neuer shepperde sounge the like. 

Page 13, ' The complaint of a forsaken Louer:' 1. 5, 
' hollowe' for ' hallow.' 

Ibid, * A pretU fancie r L 3, 'Jem* for 'Item'— 

Ibid. *An epitaph,' &c. : L xi. ' And you that kept 
the feilde ' for ' you that keepe the fields : ' 
1. 13, • on ' for * in : ' L 19, ' vertues ' for 
' vertue : ' 1. 21. ' faithe ' in the MS. as in 
' Arbor : ' qu. — error for ' sate ' or ' fixed? ' 
or is ' faste ' = ' fastened ? ' 1. 32, ' stroken ' 
for ' striken : ' page 14, col. 1. 1. 3, ' might ' 
for ' may : ' 1. 16, ' commcndacon ' for 
for ' commendations : ' 1. 21, ' ruifuU ' for 
• ruthfull : ' 1. 23, ' wofull * for ' dolcfull : ' 
ib. , * runnes ' for * comes : ' col. 2, L 3, 
•sale' for 'said' of 'Arbor* — adopted in 
text : 1. 4. ' feare ' for ' state : ' 1. 9. 
' sorrowe ' for ' honor : ' last line, ' sence ' 
for ' soule.' 

,, 14, The sum,' &c. : 1. i, ' Valuer ' for ' Valor : ' 1. 2. 
'Tunc 'for 'Time.' 

Ibid. ' In the praise of his Mistresse : ' 1. 7, ' with ' for 
' what : ' 1. 8, ' Do ' for ' To '—not adopted 
in text : 1. 9. ' an onelie fiuiced ' for ' and 
onely feigned.' 

Page 15, 1. 6, 'shall* for 'may:' L 8, 'stuffes' for 
' stuffe ; ' 11. 9-10. text adopted from MS. in 
preference to the following as printed in 

For if thou wert on earth that could in part compare : 
With enerie part of euerie part, Ac. 



Pasqvils Mad-cappe. 




On this and related ' Pasquil ' satire-verse, see our Memorial- 
Introduction, as before. ' Pasquill's Mad-cappe ' is from the extremely 
rare original in the British Museum, sm« 4*, 24 leaves. The Epistle 
' To the Reader ' is a literaHm et puncioHm reproduction ; but in the 
Poems I have deemed it expedient greatly to reduce the capitals, which 
in the original are out of all reason super-abundant— G. 



Tbrowne at the Corrvptions 

of these Times. 


His MESSAGE to Men 

of all Estates 

Tempore Patet Occulta Veritas, 

London : Printed by A. M. for Francis Falkner, 

and are to be sold at his Shop neere vnto S' 

Margarets^iSX in Southwarke. 1626. 

Co tl^e tSeaDev. 

WHAT you are that reade this I know not, and 
how you like it I greatly care not ; the honest 
will keepe their condition in spight of the deuill, and for 
them that are of the foure and twentie Orders, God 
amend them, for I cannot : what I haue written was in 
a madde humor, and so I hope by your reading you will 
imagine ; a gallde hackney will winch if he heare but 
the noyse of a curri-combe, while a better Horse will 
abide dressing and be quiet : call a foole a foole, and he 
will either crie or scratch ; and yet an Oxe cannot hide 
his homes though he were clad in a Beare's skinne. To 
be short. I wish well to all honest Professions ; I honor 
the Souldier, I reuerence the Diuine, I commend the 
Lawyer, and I obsenic the Courtier : The Merchant I 
hold a man of worth, the Farmer a rich fellow, the 

Craftesman no foole, and the Labourer worthy his byre ; 
but for the Beggar, he dwelles so neere my doore. that 
I am weary of his company : and therefore let Souldiers 
march, Diuines preach, Lawyers pleade, Mardiants 
trafficke, Craftesmen follow their trade, and Worke-men 
take paines. Fencers play and Players thriue, I say 
nothing to them all but when they goe well to worke, 
God speede the plough : He that cannot abide the 
weather, let him lay by his feather, the Wise will liuc in 
his wisedome and the Foole will dye in his foUy ; of 
which number hoping you are none, I leaue my labour 
to your pleasure, to consider of as your patience will 
giue 3rou leaue, and so rest, your Friend, 

* . Pasquill. 

A n Inuectiue against the Wicked of the Worlde. 

|HY should man loue this wretched woild so 
In which is. nothing, but all worse, then 
nought ? 

Shadowes and shewes of things are nothing such, 
While strong illusions haue too weake a thought. 
With wicked humors too much ouer-wrought. 
The witch of Will and ouerthrow of Wit, 
Where gracelesse sinnes doe in their glory sit. 

Beauty is but a babie's looking-glasse, 

While Money eates into the Miser's heart, 

And guarded Pride, all like a Golden Asse, 

Makes Lechery kiy open euery part. 

Sloath lies and sleepes, and feares no waking smart, 

While froth and fatte in drunken gluttony 

The venome shew of Nattuv's villany. 

Patience is counted but a poet's foncie, 

While Wrath keepes reakes in euery wicked place. 

And fretting Enuy falne into a franzie. 

While tyrant Murther treades a bloody trace, 

And blessed Pitty dare not shew her face : 

Pride, power and pence march in such battle ray. 

As beares downe all that comes within their way. 

The wealthy Rascall be he ne're so base. 

Filthy, ill-fauor'd, vgly to behold, 

Moale-eie, plaise-mouth, dogges-tooth, and camel's face, 

Blinde, dumbe, and deafe, diseased, rotten, olde, 

Yet, if he haue the coffers full of golde, 
He shall haue reuerence, curtsie, cappe and knee, 
And worship, like a man of high degree. 

He shall haue Ballads written in his piaise, 

Bookes dedicated to his patronage. 

Wittes working for his pleasure many wraies, 

Petigrees sought to mend his parentage, 

And linkt perhaps in Noble nfturiage. 
He shall haue all that this vile worlde can giue him. 
That into pride, the deuill's mouth may driue him. 

If he can speake, his Wordes are Oracles, 

If he can see, his eyes are spectacles. 

If he can heare, his eares are miracles, 

If he can stand, his legges are pinacles : 

Thus in the rules of Reason's obstacles. 
If he be but a beast in shape and nature, 
Yet, giue him Mrealth, he is a goodly creature. 

But, be a man of ne're so good a minde, 

As fine a shape as Nattuv can deuise ; 

Vertuous and gratious, comely, wise, and kinde. 

Valiant, well giuen, full of good qualities. 

And almost free from Fande's vanities : 
Yet let him want this filthy worldly drosse. 
He shall be sent but to the Beggars Crosse. 

The foole will scoffe him. and the knaue abuse him, 
And euery rascall in his kinde disgrace imn. 
Acquaintance leaue him, and his friends refrise him : 
And euery dogge will from his doore displace him. 
Oh this Ndle world Will seeke so to ddace him ' 
That vntill death doe come for to releeue him. 
He shall haue nothing heere but that may greeue hini. 

If he haue pence to purchase pretty things, 
She that doth loue him will dissemble loue ; 
While the poore man his heart with sorrow wrings 
To see how want doth womens loue remooue, 
And make a iack-dawe of a turtle-doue : 

If he be rich, worldes seme him for his pelfe. 

If he be poore, he may goe serue himselfe. 

If he be rich, although his nose doe runne. 
His lippes doe slauer, and his breath doe stinke, 
He shall haue napkins faire and finely spunne. 
Pilles for the rhewme, and such perfrmiM drinke 
As were he blinde, he shall not seeme to winke : 

Yea, let him cough, halke, spit, fart and pisse, 

If he be wealthy, nothing is amisse. 

But with his pence, if he haue got him power, 

Then halfe a god. that is more halfe a diuell ; 

Then Pride must teach him how to looke as sower. 

As beldam's milke that turnM with her sneuill ; 

While the poore man that little thinketh euill, 
Though Nobly borne, shall feare the Beggar's frowne, 
And creepe and crowch vnto a filthy clowne. 

Oh, he that wants this wicked cankrsd coyne, 
May fret to death before he finde reliefe. 
But if he haue the cunning to purloyne 
And ease the begger of his biting griefe, 
Although (perhaps) he play the priuie thiefe : 

It is no matter if the bagges be full. 

Well fare the wit that makes the world a Gull. 


The Chuffe that sits and champes vpon his chaffe, 
May haue his mawldn kisse him like a mare ; 
And on his barne-doore-threshold lye and laugh, 
To see the swagg'rer with the beggars share, 
Follow the hounds, till he hath caught the hare : 
Oh tis the purse that guildes the buUocke's home, 
And makes the shrew to laugh the sheepe to soome. 

Who bath not seene a logger-headed Asse, 
That hath no more wit than an old ioynd-stoole, 
Prinking himselfe before a looking-glasse. 
And set a (ace as though he were no foole, 
When he that well might set the calfe to schoole, 
Must be attentiue to the gander's keake, 
Or giue a plaudite, when the goose doth speake. 

Let but a dunce, a dizard. or a dolt 

Get him a welted gowne, a sattin coate ; 

Then though at randon he doe shoote his bolt, 

By telling of an idle tale by roate, 

Where Wisedome findes not one good word to note \ 
Yea though he can but gruntle like a swine 
Yet to the eight wise men he shall be nine. 

But for a poore man, be he nere so wise, 
Grounded in rules of Wit and Reason's grace, 
And in his speedies neuer so precise. 
To put no word out of Discretion's pbice ; 
Yet sbaU you see, in shutting vp the case, 
A pesant slouen with the purse's sleight. 
Will humme and haw him quite out of oonodt. 

Looke on a souldier that hath brauely serude 
And with discretion can direct a campe ; 
If he haue nothing for himselfe reserude. 
To warme his ioynts when he hath got the crampe ; 
He shall haue little oyle vnto his lampe. 
But in a iacket and a paire of broages 
Goe passe among the company of roages. 

But, if he can make money of his men, 
And his lieutenant to supply his place. 
Although the oocke be of a crauen henne. 
And dare not meete a capon in the face ; 
Yet if he can be garded with gold lace. 
And sweare and swagger with a siluer sword. 
Who would not feare a stabbe for a foule word ? 

And yet this swappes, that neuer bloodied sword. 

Is but a coward, braue it as he list : 

And, though he sweare and stare to keepe his word, 

He will but loose his armour in the list. 

Or take the cuffe, and kindely kisse the fist ; 

Stolne honour is a iest of chiuahy, 

And vnto valour open iniury. 

While he that ventures landes. and goods, and life. 

To shew the vertue of a valiant heart, 

And leaues his house, his children and his wife. 

And from his countrie's quiet will depart, 

To passe the pikes of Danger's deadly smart ; 

He is the souldier, be he ne're so poore. 

May write disgrace vpon the coward's doore. 

But for the Lords and Genends of fields. 
The serieant-maiors, colonels, and such, 
Marshalls and captaines, that in Vertue's shields 
Doe beare the trueth of Valour's honours' tuch ; 
In good of them I cannot say too much. 
If all their armour were of pearle and gold. 
That by desert the due of knighthood hold. 

Take an odde Vicar in a village-towne. 
That onely prayes for plenty and for peace ; 
If he can get him but a threed>bare gowne. 
And tithe a pigge. and eate a goose in grease. 
And set his hand vnto his neighbour's lease. 

And bid the dearke on Sondayes ring the bell. 

He is a church-man fits the parish well. 

But, if he get a benefice of worth. 

That may maintaine a good hospitality. 

And in the pulpit bring a figure forth. 

Of faith and workes with a formality. 

And tell a knaue of an ill quality ; 
If with his preaching he can fill the purse. 
He is a good man, God send nere a worse. 

But yet this simple idle-headed asse. 
That scarce hath leamd to spell the Hebrew names. 
Sir lohn Lack-Iatine with a face of brasse, 
Who all by roate his poore collations finames. 
And after seruice iailes to ale-house games, 

How ere his wit may giue the foole the lurch. 

He is not fit to goueme in the Church. 

WhUe he that spends the labour of his youth. 
But in the Booke of the etemall blisse. 
And can and will deliuer but the trueth. 
In which the hope of highest comfort is, 
That cannot leade the faithfiill soule amisse : 

Howeuer so his state of wealth decline, 

Deserues the title of the true diuine. 

I doe not speake of bishops nor of deanes. 
Nor leamM doctors in diulnity ; 
For they are men that rose by godly meanes, 
Who with the world haue no affinity, 
But in the worship of the Ttinity, 

Their times, their brains, their loues, and liues do 

To gaine the honour that shall neuer end. 

Take but a petti-fogger in the Law 

That scarce a line of Littleton hath read. 

If he hath leamd the cunning how to daw 

His clients back and bring a foole to bed. 

With beating toyes and trifles in his head ; 
His golden fees will get him such a grace 
A better lawyer shall not crosse his case. 

But be a Poore man neuer so well read 
In all the quirkes and quiddities of Law, 
And beate his braines and weary out his head 
Till he haue prou'd a dunce to be a daw ; 
Yet will his skill be hdd not worth a straw, 


And he perhaps in pleading of his case 

With floutes and scoffes be shouldred out of place. 

Bat let that pidling petti-fogging laclce. 
That faine would seeme a lawyer at the l^ast, 
Be ne're so busie in a begger's packe. 
And light vpon the carde that likes him best, 
Yet shall you see in setting vp his rest : 
In all the game who so doe loose or saue, 
His luck will allwaies fiiU vpon the knaue. 

While he that hath the honest case in hand, 
And learnedly can iudge twixt right and wrong, 
And doth vpon the care of conscience stand, 
And knowes that sorrow's the afflicted's song ; 
Bids Justice not the poore man's griefe prolong. 

But hateth bribes to heare the trueth approoued ; 

He is the lawyer worthy to be loued. 

But for the Lords and ludges of the Law, 
They looke into the matter not the men : 
They know the mettall if they see the flaw, 
And iudge the marish if they see the fenne : 
They know both what, and how, and where, and when. 
And are as gods on earth to the distressed, 
To giue the right, and see the wrong redressed. 

But for our gentle Justices of Peace, 

That but the chaire of charity doth keepe. 

By whose great wisedome many quarrels cease, 

And honest people doe in quiet sleepe, 

While their command both watch and ward doth keepe : 
I say no more, but God preserue their health, 
They are good members in a Common-wealth. 

Say coyne can make a painter draw a faxz. 

He cannot giue it life, doe what he can : 

And though that coyne can giue an outward grace. 

It cannot make a knaue an honest man. 

It cannot tume the cat so in the pan : 
But he that hath his eyes may easily finde 
The difference twixt the body and Uie minde. 

Take him that is disfigurM in the &ce, 
And worse in minde and euery where to blame ; 
He shall be but the subiect of disgrace : 
How euer fortune doe his shadow frame, 
And in Loue's triumph but a laughing gante : 

For neuer mastiffe curre will be a beagle. 

Nor euer owle will grow to be an eagle. 

Looke on a fellow with a filthy face. 
Snow on his head and frost vpon his beard. 
And euery where so fumisht with disgrace 
As well might make a seely foole afeard. 
And like a smith with sea-coale all besmeard ; 
Yet if he haue his working toole of golde, 
Vinus will helpe to strike, if Vulcan bolde. 

Let but a feUow in a fox-furd gowne, 
A greasie night-cap and a driueled beard, 
Grow but the baliffe of a fisher-towne. 
And haue a matter fore him to be heard ; 
Will not his frowne make halfea streete afeard? 
Yea. and the greatest Codshead gape for feare 
He shall be swallowed by this vgly beare. 

Looke but on beggars going to the stockes. 
How master constable can march before them. 
And while the beadle maketh £ut the lockes. 
How brauely he can knaue them, and be-whore them. 
And not afford one word of pitty for them. 
When it may be poore honest sedy people, 
Must make the church make curtsie to the steeple. 

Note but the beadle of a beggars Spittle, 
How (in his place) he can himselfe aduance. 
And will not of his title loose a tittle, 
If any matter come in variance. 
To try the credite of his countenance : 

For whatsoeuer the poore beggars say, 

His is the word must carry all away. 

Why let a begger but on cock-horse sit. 
Will he not ride like an ill-fauourd king? 
And will it not amaxe a poore man's witte. 
That cuckoes teach the nightingale to sing ? 
Oh, this same wealth is such a wicked thing. 
Twill teach an owle in time to speake true latine. 
And make a frier forsweaie our Ladle's mattine. 

Take but a peasant newly frx>m the cart, 

That only lines by puddings, beanes, and pease. 

Who neuer leamM any other arte. 

But how to driue his cattle to the leas. 

And after worke, to sit and take his ease : 

Yet put this asse into a golden hide. 

He shall be groome vnto a hansome bride. 

Take but a rascall with a rogish pate. 

Who can but onely keepe a counting-booke. 

Yet if his reckning grow to such a rate. 

That he can angle for the golden hooke. 

How-euer so the matter he mistooke. 
If he can deerely couer his deceite, 
He may be held a man of deepe conceite. 

Finde out a Villaine, borne and bred a knaue. 
That neuer knew where honesty became, 
A drunken rascall and a doggM slaue. 
That all his wittes to wickednesse doth frame, 
And onely lines in infamy and shame ; 
Yet let him tinke vpon the golden pan. 
His word may passe yet for an honest man. 

Why. take a Fidler but with halfe an eye. 
Who neuer knew if Ela were a note. 
And can but play a Round or Hey-de-gey, 
And that perhaps he onely hath by roate. 
Which now and then may bap to get a groate ; 
Yet if his Crowde be set with siluer studdes, 
The other minstrels may goe chew their cuddes. 



Giue mistris Fumkins (lohn Anods his wife, — 
The filthiest queane in fifteene countrey townes, 
Who neuer had good thought in all her life) 
But one fring'd kertle, and two wosted gownes, 
And 'fill her leather powch with a few crownes, 
She shall haue more fine suters for her marish, 
Then all the fairest maidens in the parish. 

Olde Gillian Tume-tripe lacke an Apes his trull 
That scarce can chew a pecoe of new made cheese, 
Swelld with the dropsie, foule and farting fuU, 
With feeding on the fiitte of scullions fees ; 
Yet if she haue the golden hony-bees. 

She shall be kept as cleanly, fine, and firesh 

As if sbee were a sweeter peece of flesh. 

Let prinking Pamell with a paire of Thumbes 

That well might serue a Miller's tolling dish ; 

Who thicks her pottage but with brown-bread cnunmes, 

And neuer car'd for butter to her fish, 

Haue but the mettall of the miner's vrish ; 

Twenty to one, but she shall quickly marry. 

When finer wenches will be like to tarry. 

Looke on old Betresse with her beetle browes. 

Begot betwixt a tinker and his Tibbe, 

And but of late a ^lly coblers spouse ; 

If she haue playde the thrifty prowling scribbe. 

To purchase grasse to greaze the bullocke's ribbe ; 
She shall be fedde with fine and dainty fare, 
And woo'd and wedded, ere she be aware. 

But for a poore wench, be she nere so fayre, 
Gratious and vertuous, wise and nobly borne, 
And worthy well to sit in Honor's chaire ; 
Yet, if her kertile, or her gowne be tome. 
All her good gifts shall be but held in scome, 

And she (poore soule) in sorrow and disgrace, 

Be forc'd to giue a filthy baggage place. 

So that by all these consequents I see. 
It is the money makes or marres the man ; 
And yet where iudges will indifferent be. 
The hobby-horse best fittcs ^2i6it-Marrtam, 
While greedy dogges may licke the dripping pan ; 

For though that money may doe many thinges. 

Yet Vertue makes the truest Queenes and Kings. 

Oh what a world it is to see what wiles. 
A silly foole will finde to gather wealth : 
And how he laughes, when he himselfe b^;uiles. 
With getting of the cukoes note by stealth. 
And thinke all well, it is a signe of health : 

When Patience hath the vaine to gather pence. 

It is a fault to trouble conscience. 

Who doth not see what viUanies are wrought. 
To gather wealth, the ground of wickednesse : 
How many scholers Machauell hath taught, 
To fill the earth with all vngodlinessc, 
While Witte doth onely worke for wealthinesse : 
Who lines in ebbes. and may let in the floods, 
But will betray his father for his goods ? 

But what auailes vnto the world to talke ? 
Wealth is a witch that hath a wicked charme, 
That in the mindes of wicked men doth walke. 
Vnto the heart and soule's etemall harme. 
Which is not kept by the Almighty arme : 
Oh, tis the strongest instrument of ill 
That ere was knowne to worke the deuill's will. 

An honest man is held a good poore soule, 
And kindenesse counted but a weake conceite. 
And loue writte vp but in the wood-oocke's sowle, 
While thriuing Wat doth but on wealth awaite. 
He is a fore-horse that goes euer streight : 
And he but held a foole for all his wit. 
That guides his braines but with a golden bit. 

A Virgin is a vertuous kind of creature 
But doth not coine conunand virginitie ? 
And Beautie hath a strange bewiching feature. 
But golde reads so much world's diuinitie. 
As with the heauens hath no affinitie ; 

So that where Beautie doth with Vertue dwell. 

If it want money yet it will not selL 

The market doth not serue to looke on mindes. 
1 'is mony makes the way with euery thing ; 
Coyne alters natures in a thousand kinds,- 
And makes a begger thinke himseUie a king. 
The carter whistle and the cobler sing : 
Money, oh God, it carries such a grace 
That it dare meet the diuell in the fisux. 

And he that wants this wicked Idnde of drosse, 
May talke of nuttes but feede vpon the shales ; 
Insteede of grasse be glad to gather mosse. 
And steed of hilles be glad to keepe the dales. 
With chilling blasts insteede of blessed gales : 

Valour, wit, honor, vertue, beautie, grace. 

All little worth if wealth be out of place. 

The golden tale is euer soonest heard, 
The golden suter soonest bath dispatch. 
The golden seruant hath the best regard, 
And what such marriage as the golden match ? 
And who so wise as is the golden patch ? 

Sweet musicke soundes it in a golden vaine. 

The sweetest stroke is in the golden straine. 

And yet for an this, by your leaue awhile, 
Ejcamine all and giue each one his right. 
I^t not selfe-will a better wit beguile, 
To take a candle for the sunny light : 
There is a diffrence twixt the day and night. 

So is there twixt the riches of the minde. 

And the base drosse in beggar-thoughts to finde. 

The wealthy beggar with his golden bagges. 
Is yet a beggar, maugre all his golde ; 
And noble Vertue, though it be in ragges. 
May well desenie a better place to holde 
Then many a one that is for money soldc : 

And tis not wealth can make an ape a man. 

Cut out his coate the best way that you can. 


Wealth will not make an old man yong againe. 
Howeuer so elixtrs do abuse him. 
Nor wealth can take out a dishonest staiiie» 
Howeuer kindnetse for a time excuse him, 
Wealth can make the wise but to refuae him : 
Wealth cannot sweeten an old stincking breath, 
Nor sane a miser finom the dart of Death. 

A knaue in graine can take none other hue, 
The counterfeit will quickly shew his kinde, 
A traitor in his heart cannot be true, • > 
The weather-oocke goes euer with the wind. 
He hath no eies that can no colours fiode t 
Fooles maybe blinded witha wilfiill mist 
But wise men will beware of had-I-wist. 

For he that were as rich as Crmsuc was. 
Yet if he haue a pare of Midas caret, ' 
He shall be counted but a Golden Asse; 
Whateuer worship in the world he bearet : 
For Thith herselfe by all her triall swcares 
In all the rules where reason hath his right, 
A shadow doth but onely mocke the sight. 

WhUe he that hath a manly comely feature 
And wisedome's grace to guide the spirite's will. 
And with the outward ornaments of Nature, 
To heauenly comfort bends his inward skill, 
Although he cannot clime the golden hill. 
How bare soeuer here be his abode 
He shall be gratious in the sight of God. 

He that walkes wanton vith his head aside. 
And knowes not well how he may see hisfeete ; 
And she that minceth like a maiden bride, 
And like a shadow slideth through the streete ; 
Howeuer so their mindes in money meete. 
Measure their humours iustly by the middle. 
He may be but a foole and she a fiddle. 

She that hath a round table at her breech. 

And like a puppet in her 'parrell dight ; 

He that is all formalitie in speech. 

And like a rabbet that is set vpright ; 

Howeuer so their purses be in plight, 
He may be wise, but in his owne opinion, 
And she accounted but an idle minion. 

He that with fiEtt goes wallowing like a beare. 
And puffes and blowes, and gapes to gather ajrre ; 
She that all day sittes curling of her hayre, 
And paints her £ace to make the fowle seeme faire ; 
Howeuer so their wealth encrease, kx paire. 
He may be held for a butcher's weather. 
And she a bird but of an idle feather. 

He like a crane that stalkes along the streete. 
And ouer-lookes the moone, and all the starres ; 
She that doth softly striue to set her feete, 
As though her ioynts had lately been at iarres ; 
How-e're their purses breede their peace or warres. 
He may be counted but the sonne of pride 
And she perhaps haue an vnwholesome hide. 


He that doth set his wicked wittes to worke, 
To coosen and to oony caldi his friend ; 
And she that doth in secret comers lurke. 
To bring young humours to a widced end ; 
Howeuer so their purses paire or mend 
She may hap prooue as good as euer twangd 
And he & rasoUl, worthy to be hangd. 

He that doth bring men into bonds of dept. 
And feede their humors with a card of tenne ; 
She that can mump, and mince, and ierke, and iet 
As though she were old ckautkUeUrs chiefe bene ; 
How ere their purses build the golden penne. 
In the best rules that wit and reason haue. 
She may be thought a queane and he a knaue. 

He that can fleere, and leere, and looke aside. 
As though he studied on some weighty case ; 
She that can kindely oounterfet the bride. 
On woridng dayes to make a Sondaye's face ; 
Howeuer so their purses be in case. 

He may perhaps haue but a knauish wit, 

And she perhaps be but a foolish tiL 

He that will drinke. and sweare, and stabbe, and kill, 

And will be brought vnto no better stay ; 

She that will brawle, and scold, and haue her will. 

In spight of whosoeuer dare say nay ; 

Howe're their wealth do beare the world away, 
He may be fit to keepe the diuels court, 
And she a match to make a mad-man qxMt. 

So that I can see I finde myselfe deoeiued. 
To thinke that mony should monarch it so ; 
Although I thinke I might be well concdued, 
To thinke that money make a goodly show, 
Vnto a minde that doth not mettall know ; 

But he that knowes the flower from the mosse. 

Will finde it but a necessary drosse. 

But he that can with conscience and with kindnesse. 

Ftom a small mole-hil to a mountaine rise ; 

And she that will not with Discretion's blindenesse 

Lead a poore friend into Poole's Paradise ; 

Let crownes and angels follow them like flies. 
If they get golde, on God's name let them Weare it, 
He hath a peeuish humour cannot beare it. 

But let him yet acknowledge what he is. 
That by his wealth his onely worship getteth ; 
And let her that is such a misteries, 
Thinke her but fond that so herselfe forgetteth, 
As labour's lucre euen with honor setteth. 
Let them, I say, confesse but what they be, 
And they shall be stil as they are for me : 

But if King Pippin ouer-looke his basket, 

I wish a rotte among his apples fall ; 

And if dame Laundresse doe forget her flasket,. 

I wish her losse her crippin, or her cawle, 

I can not make a parlour of a halle : 
Let euery rabbet to her borough runne. 
And then the hunting will be quickly done. 


Bui K the bildingi care not how tber rone. 
Nor where ther lange in fetching «tthdr leede ; 
If they be met with in their Bolug home. 
I can not pitty their mhappy ipeede \ 
Who cnllet ihdr fingera must abide then) bleede, 
Wfaa wilfully wiU Teelun for a murt, 
I can not helpe ibem, If it breake their bean. 

A tbeife a viUaloe, and a diurle a hogge ; 

A minkes a menion, and a rogne a slaue, 

A irall a til, an vnirer a doKge, 

A lobbe a toate, a heauy loll a logge : 
A«d euery binle goe rows In her owne nesl, 
And then perhaps my Mum will be at rest. 

But if a lacke wiU be ■ gentleman, 
And miitclt Noedeni lady it at leut. 
And eueiy goose be saucy with the iwatine, 
While the Bue thinkei he U a goodly beast. 
While so the fbole doth keepe ambitlan'i fsut ; 
My Muse in conscience thai cannot be qniel, 
Will glue them this good *awee mto their diet. 

But I doe hope I am hot in a dreams, 
Foolei wiD be wiser then to loose their wlttes : 
The ooonlrey wench will looke vnlo ha- creanK. 
And wor kem en see, but whoe their ptuGle fits. 
And leame (antastickes to their idle fits : 
Pride shall goe downe, and vcrtue shall encr^ue. 
And thai my Muse be still, and hold ber peace. 
Bat if I see the world will not amend. 
The wealthy b^gar cotmterfeite the king. 
And Idle splrilei all their humours spend. 
In seeking how to make the cuckoe sing ; 
If Fortune thns doe daunce in Follie's ring, * 
When contraries thm go against their kinde*. 
My Mtue resolnes to tell them what she Bndes. 
Par she cannot be partlall in ber speech. 
To smooth, and Batter, to nlogue and lie ; 
She cannot make a treast-plaie of a breech. 
Nor praise his slg^l that hath but balfe an ele, 
Sbe cannot doe herselfe such iniurie ; 
For she was made out of so plaine a molde. 
As doth but Trtieth for all her honor holde. 


His Message. 


|OE Muse abroade, and beate the world about, 
Tell tnieth for shame, and hugger vp no ill ; 
Flatter no follie with too plaine a flowt, 
Nor on a buzxard set a iiEdcon's bill : 
Doe no man wrong, giue euery man his right, 
For time will come that all will oome to light. 

Doe not persuade a foole that he is wise, 

Nor make a begger thinke he is a king ; 

Say not a mole can see that hath no eyes, 

Nor Starke dead stockes haue any power to spring ; 

For while that logicke would maintaine a lie, 

Tis easely found out in philosophie. 

Tell idle eies that know not how to looke. 

Their wanton thoughts will worke them nought but woes. 

Tell addle wittes that haue the worlde mistooke, 

Vnbridled willes are Reason's ouerthrowes : 

While onely Trueth that walkes by Wisedome's line, 

Happieth the heart, and makes the soule diuine. 

Qoe to the Court and tell your gratious king. 
That in his loue his Land hath blessed been ; , 
And tell his Land that you haue truely seene. 
No Court on earth more gracM in a King ; 
Where Vertue giues a kind of heauenly crown 
That all the world can neuer tumble downe. 

There tell the lordes and ladies in their eares. 
They must be loyall in their humble loues ; 
The fietirest badge that honor euer beares. 
Is. in a crowne a nest of turtle-doues ; 
The crovme of lawrell that can neuer wither. 
The birdes in loue that liue and die togither. 

There tell the courtier he doth kinddy seme. 
That of his curtsie cannot make a doake ; 
Where Bountie's hfid doth honor best deserue. 
That giues reward before the word he spoke ; 
And tell the gallants that will seeke for graceSi 
Chaste modest eies best figure angels' faces. 

Goe bid the lawyers looke their Common-places, 
And where they know the tnieth, there giue the right : 
For God Himselfe who heares the poore mens cases. 
Will giue a day vmo their darkest night. 
When in the Booke that doth all thoughts disck»e. 
Their soules shall see whereto iniustice growes. 

Goe to the leamM Vniuersities, 

And teU the schollers of the losse of time ; 

Bid them beware of too much liberties. 

Best thriuing plants are tended in their prime ; 

And bid them first goe read the rules of grace, 

That lower blessings may come on apaoe. 

Tell country Players, that old paltry iests 
PronouncM in a painted motley coate, 
Filles all the world so full of cuckoes nests. 
That nightingales can scarcely sing a note : 
Oh bid them tume their minds to better meanings. 
Fields are ill sowne that giue no better gleanings. 

Goe tell the Fidlers that doe haunt the Faires, 
They are but coales to kindle wicked fire ; 
Where only pence doe make vnequal paires : 
Performe the actions of vndeane desires : 
When in an ale-house in a drunken pot, 
The diuell daunceth though they see him not. 

Goe tell the Swaggrers that doe yse to sweare, 
Heere, or in hell, their mouthes will sure be stopt ; 
And tell the thieues that robbe without a feare. 
That Tibome trees must once a month be topt ; 
And tdl the duster of the damnM crue. 
Such hell-hounds heauen out of her mouth doth spue. 

Bid each Diuine goe closdy to his booke. 
And trudy teach the comforts of the soule. 
And to his life to haue a carefiill looke ; 
Knowing what actions angels doe enroule. 
And tell them trudy that diuinitie 
With worldly loue hath no afiinitie. 

Feede not the Souldier with ddight of blood. 
While Mercy is the honour of a fidd ; 
And tdl the Merchant, that ill gotten good, 
A wretched life a wofuU end will yedd ; 
And tell the Miser vsurer of money. 
His soule is poysned with his bodie's hunney. 

Goe tell the Craftesman of his crafty worke. 
And that his coosoning one day will decay ; 
For long the foxe may in his burrow lurke. 
That may be catcht in hunting of a pray ; 
And whaieas Trueth can only beare a blame 
Falshood must runne and hide her face for shame. 



Qoe tdl the Fencer with his deadly foyne, 
T^tfit CMn4 and AMi yet are currant weight, 
Where is more easie for to part then ioyne 
The soule and body by a wicked sleight ; 
While secret murther in the sinner's brest 
Will neuer let the soule to be at rest. 

Goe teU the wretch that would and cannot thriue, 
That his endeauor standeth for a deed ; 
And bid the sick man in his soule reuiue, 
While angells ioyes on sinners teares do feede : 
And tell the soule that moumeth for her sinne 
Heau'n gates stand open for to let her in. 

Tell not a crow^, that she is lilly white, 
Because a painter colourd hath her ooate ; 
Nor say a cuckoe hath in musicke rij^te, 
Because in Maye she hittes vpon a noate ; 
But say the crow is bladce, the cuckoe's horse ; 
The finest carkasse vrill be but a corse. 


Tdl Aesop's pie, that flies with peaccocke's feathers 
They are but stolne, or borrowM, not her owne ; 
And tell the shippe that sailes in roughest weather, 
Vpon a rocke she may be ouerthrowne ; 
And tell the hart that wiU not keepe the wood. 
To graae too iarre, will doe him little good. 

Qoe ten the beggar at the rich man's gate, 
That LoMorus in Abraham's bosome hues ; 
And tell the rich, that Diues' wofull state, 
Doth shew what almes lacke of pitty giues ; 
And tell the wise that Salomon is diead. 
While wOfiill Fande brings a fool to .bedde. 

Goe bid the laOour looke vnto his charge. 

And not be cruell where he may be kinde ; 

For though a prisoner be not set at lazge, 

Yet in his sorrow let him comfort fii^ ; 

That when the soule at Merde's dooire doth knocke, 

PitKy on euth nay ope the beauenlj lockou 

Goe to the prisoner that doth liue opprest. 
And tell him patience is a heau'nly power. 
That in all troubles giues the -spirit rest, 
And makes it happy in a heau'nly hawer ; 
When True Remorce that Vertue's griefe doth see, 
Fjrom care and sorrow soone will iet him free. 

Goe tell the PoeU that their {Hdling rimes 
B^gin apace to grow out of request i 
While wanton humors in their idle times. 
Can make of Loue but as a bmgkiilg test : 
And tell poore Writers, stories are so stale. 
That penny ballads make a better «2e. 

Goe tell the Authors of high Tragedies, 

That bloudlesse quarrells are but merry fights ; 

And such as l^est coBoeite their Comedies, 

Doe feede their fandes but with fond delights ; 

Where toyes will shew that figure Trueth's intention. 

They spoyte their spirits with loo much inuention. 

Goe bid the Scriuener looke in his indentures, 
^That'.no Ulcouenant a ponueiance Qiarve i 
And tell the Sailer that in sea aduentures, 
A shippe ill guided splitts vpon a barre ; 
And tell the Fisher when he layes his nets, 
He fisheth ill that but a gudgin gets. 

Go tdl the luglers that their iests are toyes, 
Where wisedome seeth the worth of little wit ; 
Thdr exercises but for girles and boyes, 
That watch the gander while the goose doth sit ; 
Their trickes but trifles, bred by wickednesse. 
But to deodue the eye of simplenesse. 

Go tell the pander and the parasite. 

The one his tongue is like Uie other's minde ; 

The parasite without a tooth can bite, 

The pander hues m a more loathsome kinde ; 

The one, his fiscultie is flattery. 

The otherr hues by filthy lechery. 

Go tdl the traitour, if thou hitst of any, 

That ludas is a prologue to their play ; 

And tell the world that hsdassts too many, 

In secret comers spring vp enerie day \ 

Who, since both heau'n and earth may well abhorre, 

Goe hang themsdues as he hath done before^ 

Go to the Countrey, where the £Burmers dwdl. 
And bid them brii^ thdr come out to the poore ; 
Tdl them the sexton comes to ring the bdl. 
Whs death will fetch the richest out of doore ; 
And they too late to thdr sorrow shall see. 
How cfaurks on earth in hdl shall plagu&d be. 

Goe teU the Labourers, that the lade bones 
That will not worke, must seeke the beggar's gaines 
And tdl the beggar that his fainM gxoaoes^ . 
Must haue a whippe to ease him of his paines ; 
While workemen's labour, and the lame man's woe 
In wisedome's eye cannot vnpittied goe. 

Thus, not in order seeke out euery'one, 
But as thou meetst them, tell them what I bid thee ; 
But if thou seest thou canst doe good of .none. 
Of graodesse schcdlers quickly seeke to.rid thee ; 
Such as determine in thdr sinnet to dwdl. 
Thou canst .not-hdpe them if they, nm to heU. 

But lest thy worke be all to mudi to doe, 
Beginne againe and I will make aa end ; 
But haue a care of that I set thee to, 
Lest I disoarde thee euer for a friend ; 
But take good heed, begin where I begun. 
And make an end, and I will soone haue don. 

Goe bid the Courtier that he be not prowde. 
The Soldier bhx>dy, nor the Lawyer blinde ; 
And bid the Merchant, that he doe not shrowde 
A subtle meaning in a simple kinde ; 
Goe bid the SchoUers leame, the Doctors teach. 
And haue.ft€ai« to line as they doc preach. 



Goe bid the Farmer bring abroad his graine. 
The Craftesman, that he soundly make his 
The WoriKman, that he labour for his gaine. 
The Beggar that he waite for pittie's share ; 
Then if the Sexton come to ring the bell, 
Where Faith is fizt, there is no feare of Hell. 

Forbid the Poets, all fentasticke humors, 
The Players, acting of vnlawfull iests. 
The Prose-men, raising of unduiU rumors, 
The Fidlers, playing but at Bride-ale feasts, 
The Fencers, fight but onely to defende. 
That easie quarrels soone may haue an ende. 

Goe teU the Spend-thrift that doth sell his land. 
Money will mdt like snow against the sunne ; 
And he that takes his rent vp afore-hand. 
May hap to want before the yeare be done ; 
And tell a Foole, that plaies on better wittes, 
A lowzie head will quickly shew his nittes. 

Goe bid the Scriuener looke he tniely write, 
And tell the lugler, that his feates are stale ; 
And bid the Sailer looke his shippes be tight. 
And take the blowing of a merry gale ; 
And bid the Fisher lay for bigger fish, 
A worid of gudgins will not fill a dish. 

Goe tell the Rich Man, that his store of wealth, 
Wil purchase him no place in Paradise ; 
And bid the strong man boast no more of health, 
For as the lambe we see the lyon dies ; 
And bid the wise man boast not of bis wits. 
Lest vnawares he fall to madding fits. 

Goe bid the laylour looke vnto his lockes. 

And keepe his keyes, and feare no prisoners flight ; 

And keepe his rackes, his tortures, boltes and stockes. 

To make a traitor bring a trueth to light ; 

But to his power to helpe the poore oppressed. 

For God is pleasd in pittying the distress^. 

Goe bid the Poets studie better matter. 
Then Mars and Venus in a tragedie ; 
And bid them leaue to leame to lie and flatter. 
In plotting of a Louer's Comedie ; 

And bid Play-writers better spend theh- spiriu, 
Than in fox-burrows, or in oony-ferrits. 

Do not allure a wanton eye to loue. 

Nor seeke with wordes to witch an itching eare ; 

Play not the turky with a turtle-doue. 

Nor fray a baby with a painted beare ; 

Finde better worke to set thyselfe vnto, 

As good be idle, as haue nought to doe. 

Follow not follies, shadowes, nor oonoeites. 
For in the end they will but ill deceiue thee ; 
Practice no i^tings, nor no iugling sleights. 
For in the endxliscretion will perceiue thee ; 
And when that woe and want doth ouertake thee. 
Fortune will faile thee, and the world forsake thee. 

Loose not thy time with looking after toyes. 

Nor fall to building castles in the ayre ; 

Let Nature's ieweils neuer be thy ioyes, 

But loue the beauty of the inward faire ; 

Where e're thou goe, let trueth and vertue guide thee. 

And then be sure no euill can betide thee. 

Spend not thy patrimony in apparrel]. 

In cardes nor dice, in horses, hawkes, or houndes ; 

Maintaine thy right, but make no idle quarrell. 

And keepe thyselfe within Discretion's boundes ; 

Abuse no friend, nor trust an enemy, 

And keepe thyselfe from wicked company. 

Reuenge no wrong, excei>t it bee too greate, 
Tnie valour lines in sparing, not in spilling ; 
Deny no truce that Mercy doth intreate, 
A cruell conquest that doth end in killing : 
For Patience findes that poison's wrath to death. 
An angry word is but an angry breath. 

Bid them feare God that roeane to shun the deuiU 
And hate the deuiU that would come to God, 
And say, when children are endinde to euill 
Parents sometime of force must vse the rodde ; 
For sinne is hatefull in Ithcmah's eyes. 
And Man his life but in His mercie lyes. 



p. 4, To THE Reader, col. x, 1. 4, 'tht fomre and 
ttoentie Orders:' whether by jocular reference to the 
twelve companies of London, or the 'orders four' of 
mendicant friars ; or whether because the names added 
up came to twenty-four, — I know not ; but there were 
said to be twenty-four orders (or species) of rogues in 
the Rogues' Commonwealth : L 7, ' a galldt kackmey 

will wituk ' = a sore-backed or hurt hired horse will 
wince. Cf. Shakespeare — 

' Let the gaUed jade wince' {H^mtUt, UL s) : 

1. 14. • obseme* = mark or watch : coL 2, 1. 1, ' LaboMrrr,' 
etc. So St. Luke z. 7. 





P. 5, col 1, 1. 6, • The toitck of Will,' etc. Reminds 
us of Breton's 'Wa of Wit,* etc. : I. 15, *reaka' = 
pranks : 1. 16. 'franne : ' by stress of rhyme for 
• frensie : ' 1. 17, ' lrac€ ' = course : 1. 19, ' ray ' = 
array : 1. 37/ ' worship ' = honour or respect : L 31, 
' Petigrtti ' = pedigrees : a not obsolete flattery : col. a, 
1. 7, ' Btggan Ctosst" = stocks : L 97. ' haUu ' = hawk, 
i,e. force up phlegm. 

P. 6» L z, ' Ckuji ' = an old miser : cf . Breton's 
' Longing of a. Blessed Heart,' p. 8. col. a, 1. aa. ' The 
Churle that sits and champes vpon his chaffe : ' L a, 
' mauiim,' or manikin = a hare : = maid or mistress : 
I 8, 'li^gtr-Aeaded' ^zbUxkbesLd: 1. 10, 'primkimg' 
3s adorn : 1. 13, ' keakt ' == cackle : L 15, ' dizard ' s 
cloKm ! L 16, ' welted* =s border-adorned : 1. 17, ' bolt ' 
s arrow : L 90, *gruntU ' = grunt : 1. 34, ' broages ' = 
brogues, shoes : L 43, ' swappes : ' a word not recorded 
apparently ; the meaning is plain : col. a, L 11, 'goose 
im grease' = well sauced : 1. 44, * Littleton:' the great 
law authority : 1. 47, ' toya' = trifles : 1. 49, * crosse' = 
k>se him : L 51, ' quiddities ' = a scholastic term : the 
proper answer to quid est f See Bailey, s. v. 

P. 7. L 7. ' rest : ' game-at-cards term : 1. 90, ' marisk ' 
=s marsh ; L aa, * gods on eartk:' Psalm Izxxii. 6 : L 35, 
' tume the cat:' there is a cunning which we in England 
call ' the turning of the cat in the pan ; ' which is, when 
that which a man says to another, he lays it as if 
another had said it to hinL Bacon in Bailey, s,v. : 
col. a, L 6, ' Coifs head' = foolish fellow : the ' cod ' has 
a huge head and small brains: L 15, * spittle' ^ 
hospital : 1. 51, ' Ela,' the highest note in music, I 
suppose =3 to si of our present scale : 1. 5a, * Round' 
or ' Hey-de-Gey : ' dance-music : ' heydegives ' were 
frolicsome dances. 

P. 8, col. z, 1. 4, ' wasted' » worsted : L 6, ' marisk ' 
s marriage : L z6, ' tolling dish ' s measuring : L aa. 

'Betresse' = Beatrice: 1. as, * prowling' = prowling 
and plundering : L 35. ' baggage ' = worthless woman : 
L 39, ' Afaide-Afarrian ' =■ Marion of Robin Hood 
Ballads celebrity : L 5a, ' MachaueW = Machiavelli : 
ooL a, L zo, * wood-cocke :' 'Springes to catch wood- 
cockes ' preserves this love term : 1. 30, ' shales ' = shells : 
L 40, * golden patch ' s= rich fooL 

P. 9, coL z, 1. 8, ' in graine' = in substance : I 14, 
* kad-I-^wist' = had I known.— frequent in Breton: 
1. 37, "parreW = apparel : 1. 48, 'weather' = wether, 
sheep : col. a, L a, * cony catch :' slang phrase adopted 
by Rowlands, etc. = to entrap : L 8, ' dept ' = debt : 
L 9, * carH of tenne: This was a card that by the rules 
of the game counted as ten. It was also called a ' cool- 
ing card,' apparently because it cooled the courage of 
the adversary. Here = give them all they desire or that 
which they would have : L zi, ' chaunteclers' = cock : 
L ao. ' /*/• or titty = a smart girl, yet * foolish : ' L 99, 

• monarch :' note the verb form : 1. 39. ' angels ' = coin 
so called: L 45, */ond' = foolish : L 5a, * crippin' = 
golden net caul, as * cawle ' explains : L 54, * borough ' 
= burrow. 

P. zo, col. z, L z, ' hildings' 3 low person or idle : 
1. zo, ' minkes ' = our minx ? See our Memorial-Intro- 
duction on this : ib., ' menion ' = minion : L zz, ' tit,' as 
supra : L za, ' lobbe ' = clown : so ' hute,' a dowmish 
fellow : I. za, ' loll' = idle fellow : coL a, 1. z6, ' cologne ' 
= confederate. 

P. zz, col a, I aa, ' Tibome : ' =Tybum or gallows. 

P. za, coL z, L z, '/sjne ' = thrust, in fencing : 1. 17. 

* horsf ' = hoarse. 

P. Z3, col z, IL 37-43. See on this our Memorial- 
Introduction : col. a, 1. aa, misprinted — 

' In cardet, nor dice, in horses, nor hawkes, houndes.' — G. 

Pasqvils Fooles-Cap. 



The only copy known of 'Pasqvils Fooles-cap' is that in the Bodleian— our text. On it 
and 'Morphorivs' see our Memorial-Introduction. The Notes and Illustrations find most fitting 
place here :— 

Epistlb-dbdicatory, Edward Conquest— p. i8. 
See Memorial-Introduction on this special friend to 
Breton. CoL z, 1. 17, ' Cognisaunce.' Cf. p. 90, col. 2, 
1. 7 : s badge. 


' beetU-^Uaded.' Cf. p. 19, col. 2. 1. 94, etc., = stupid, 

MORPHORIUS TO THE READER — COl. 2. L 2, *fr€M»y ' 

=s Irensy : 1. 14, ' GulUs ' s fools, with the sub-idea of 
licentiousness : itid.^ ' Gugim ' =■ gudgeon. 

Pasqvils Fooles-Cap— -p. 19, col. I, 1. 4, *had I 
wist:* frtquenitr here and in Breton generally, See 
Glossarial Index, s. v. : 1. 5, * hammtring skonca.' 
' Skonces ' s= skulls or heads, i.e. brains. See Glos- 
sarial Index, s. v., for parallels : 1. z8, *JlddU/addU' = 
trivial, as ' fiddlededee ' = nonsense : L 19, *gnen, 
Chustfor Chalke.' One of many proverbs in Breton : 
coL 9, 1. 4, * koodt ' — as a hawk in sporting or a scholar 
in fnU dress : L zo, ' iist' = boundary line : 1. z6, * scare ' 
^touch-hole of a pistol— used metaphorically: I 97, 
' RewUs ' = rolls : ibid. , * reede ' = judge : 1. 38, ' cog- 
ging' s cheating. 

P. 90, col. z, 1. Z5, • Huffua^e ' = swaggerer : 1. 43, 
' Babies ' = the little likeness seen in the pupil of the 
eye when eyes are brought near : 1. 5Z, ' Bawe ' = ewe, 
and so 1. 53. 'deavfe' sdew, — the contemporary and 
later spelling : col. 2, 1. 6, ' vtoodcockes ' = simpletons : 
ibid., * Marris-daunce' = an ancient dance in which the 
performers were grotesquely dressed. See Halliwell, 
J. V. : L zz, ' Rie Dowe' = dough : L 99, * SorrelV = 
chestnut colour : I. 35, * Dcwd' = slattern, and laxy : 
1. 3Z, 'rt^/ff^' = cheating, as before znd frequenter : 

I. 4Z, 'i9«Man/' = night-moth : ibid., ' hawlke* ^ 
hawk: 1. 49, * Tities' 9Jid frequenter : = smart girl: 

II. 44-45, — another proverb. 

P. 9z, col. z, L 9, ' Cuckoe ' =■ makes a cuckold : 1 1^ 
*Drabbe* = sbittem ; ibid., * queans* — slut: 1. z8. 
* Rasc€Udry* ^ TtacaMery: I. 3Z, * Fortunes share' ^ 
the chapter of accidents, which is the Bible of the Fool : 
col. 9, 1. z, ' G^^rr ' = coffers : 1. Z4, * Hielding' ^ 
hilding or hinderling, i.e. idle jade : 1. 93, ' Rujin-like ' 
= rufiian-like : 1. 97, ' Kittes ' = Katies— a slang name 
for light women : L 45, ' swearde ' = sword : L 46, 
'^^eere ' = grin. 

P. 99, ooL z, I. 39, 'partes' zzgSLtts: L 49, ' Tit,' 
See on p. 90, ooL 9, 1. 49 : col 9, L 40, ^peake ' = 
ascendant : 1. 49, ' Moris-daunce.' See on p. 90, ooL 9, 

P. 93, col. z, L 3, * Nannicocke.' Same as nanny- 
hen, i.e. affected, over-nice : 1. Z5. * lennet' = Genet — 
a small Spanish horse : 1. 96, ' Shelf* = sunken shoal or 
reef : L 99, ' loynt-stoole : ' misprinted ' joyne : ' = folding, 
Jointed stool or seat : 1. 47, ' Ganders woolV ^ feathers 
— by stress of rhyme : col. a, 1. 94, ' nijles' = nothings, 
trifles. See Glossarial Index, j. v. : 1. 95, ' Bunting ' s 
woodlark : and a shrimp : L 40, ' Noddy ' = noodle : 
L 50, * Conny borough ' = rabbit burrow : 1. 53, ' Afuce ' 
= muse or mused, i.e. hole in a hedge through which 
game passes : 1. z6, 'gate' = gait : 1. 94. ' neere.* See 
Glossarial Index, s. v. 

P. 94, col. z, L 5, ' If m/S^mk/ '=: befooled : 1. 38. 
' leamts ' » ceases : L 48, ' Coches combe ' = Fool's head- 
gear— as *of a boastftil-crowing cock: L 5Z, * slappe' 
s hypocrite : col 9, 1. 94, ' Icwte' = lout.' 

P. 95, col z, I 8, * Machauile* See Glossarial 
Index, s, n, 

Pasquils Passion— p. 96, col z, I 99, 'htahe'^ 
cackle : col 9, 1 z, ' Curtail' = docked : 1 4, * KatrelV 
ss Kestrel : called also stannel and windh4fver,—o{ the 
hawk tribe: I 5Z, ' Fonde ' ^fooUsh: I 59, 'distas'd' 
= infected,— or qu. — troubled or disturbed ?— G. 

P A S Q V I L S 


keepe their weake braines warme) 

as are not able to conceiue aright 
of his Mad-cap. 

With Pasquils Passion for 

the Worlds waywardnesse. 

Begun by himselfe, and finished by his 


Imprinted at LONDON, for Thomas lohnes, dwel- 
ling neere Holborne Conduit 1600. 


friende,' Edward Conqvest, 

as muth happintsse from Hea- 

uen, as his worthy heart can wiih.. 

SIR, to forget -joai vrnJeiemed BdndiKue, were a 
note out of my iiature : & yet hov kiDdeljr lo 
TaqaiU it, la nuay nolea aboue mj alrillty. Bat ai a 
lame man, thai striuea lo sue, shewea hee would 
nmne, if bee had legg;ei : so, in the humour of m;/a)tf 
triU, imagla a Dtsirt of a greater matler. Bui leaaing 
the«e complemenU, and lo come to- my purpose ; as I 
haiie tbond you a kiade Sptctalor at my Lataurj, to 
let mee enueal you, at my hands to accept this 
treatise, with a foolish Hllr. Where, if (Tif haue plaid 
the IV^gi, let him not haue his name for notblng ; 
and where you fiode a head fit for Ihli Cafpi, diba 
beilowe It vpon him in charity, or send bim where be 
may haue them for his money. I know that you are 
:d with many that well desoue Ii : whome, 
t should be mistaken for belter men, I piay 
you giue them the Ca/ft for their Ci>gtiiiaiiiici. And 
so, hoping thai your Jiscrtlieti will beare vrllb my 
iw^trftctiati, to finde no belter worke, lo giue notke 
of my good will ; I rest, with much Ihankfulnesse, in 
toon Afittian than Pntatatiim, 

Yma-s aaurtd. i 

<^a t\t %eatiec. 

OV Ihal Rtad, lo ItanKi jBK Gentle a»d it 
nol.yOK vieuld Matt I did modttyeu; &• 
Ourtfirt gitti nu Uatu le Ikini4 o/yoti, at I ' 
I findi yam. But la IMt matter : Mad-c^> 
hatk fait ant jit and naa is fallm into amtlier; tatkt 
it ii, you may partly gnau by tkt Title. Far, in a 
Foole, isluddt a gnat dtaU efvaint malitr: wiiiAyau 
iHaU kttrtjiadi nniu aatr. tn a /not Vims ; not tit 
ttit tiiat titr yet nddt, narptrkaf) tit aortt that ja% 
may mtttt vritk. But ia it short, what PasqulQ ttgun, 
Moiphoriux hatk tadtd : hoa wtll 1 say mot ; imt Iht 
tttltr, if jam Hit it; ta tmkau iiadmtiii, in heft a/ 
fatitmtt, leammilit; ami u atrmflly I baut it. 

Your friend: 


friende Pasquillm all haste. 

iRiende Paifmill, hearing of late of the paines 
thai Ihou hast lakcn in reprehending of the 
nithtd (among the spirits of best condition, 
not a little commended) I haue thought 
good (finding the corruption of this Agt) lo pot a Ftati, 
to |hy Knamt. Among which weak wilted brains, I 
haoe Dot lei slip such Beetle headed Aists. as taking 
vpoD them the worke of thy Wit (in seeking to rob 
Ibee of thy Wortkiiitssi\ haue shewed the height of 
their Faaliihmtat. Who, among other such wise 
pecqile, .finding Uidr names but In their Naiuies, will 
(I hope) like good children, rather mend their faults, 
then be angcy with their maisters ; if nol. let tbem 
sinke In their owne sorrowe : giue the Mad-wtait his 
Mad-C^pt. and the Faalt hii FaaUs-Cafft i ihou and I 
be friends, and the worU bre as it lisL And so bre- 

Tkimt, ashiiamu, Mobfhorio. 

Morphorius to the Reader, in the 
behalfe of kit friende PasquilL 

TTBB. IhMoflaltVHa in a Madding Jit. 
J~£ IMkfiam afranrf te afilly/aU: 
And which it ttUtr, nuddt. arfotiisht with t 
I tiimtt at gaei, al—eil hamt momt al ail. 
Wtll, Smgar nouti, Br hitttr as Iht gall, 
Tis Patqnib hmmour, so / fray yon tail it: 
And atyom liht it, ckmn it, orfarsakt it. 

Hit mtanimg w^ lafltast ment but himitlfi, 
Ner la disfltatt imi thest that mtll dtstmt it: 
Hi doth mat (an thomgh Em my play tht lift .- 
His disht is dnsl. and ktt mil mol Sistrat it .■ 
Bnt to tht werld, fir smck peort ditt ttnu it. 
'As art centtnt with ordinarit dishts, 
.wait Nicir Guilts an ckeait ml* Gmgimjlthts. 
Wim ht mu Maddi. htt Ra^d against Iht hnant .- 
Now idtfy/llid, failts vfem tht Foelt, 
In haft thai Declan httUr misdemt kami. 
Than Carft at tihoUtrt that detgotto ithealt 
Amduisht a werhtman Imt te invait hit taalt : 
For Graues-end Barge cam ntmtrpassagt hami, 
TiUil btfuTnUht Vith a Fatlt or Knant. 


P A S Q V I L S 

|Hat meanes this world, that Musts can not 
But one or other will be working still ? 
Tfs no time now to breake too broad a iest ; 
Least, had I wist, repent a heedlesse will, 
While hammering skonoes haue vnhappy skill 
Which in their Cradles, being borne accurst. 
Will euer construe all things to the woorsL 

But since the Wisd4niu of the world I finde. 
Before Heauens WisdanUt Poolishnesst indeede, 
While such Illusions doe the spirit blinde. 
As onely growe vpon vngratious seede : 
Which wicked Humours in the heart doe breede. 
While truest Wisdomt hues aboue the Sunng : 
Let me but play the FooU, and I haue done. 

But some, perhaps, in pieuish spight will say, 
The fielde is large, whorein I am to walke : 
Where I may wander many an idle way, 
And make a deale of fiddle faddle talke : 
But say, my Muu mistake greene Ckeest for Chalke, 
This is the worst (to hide her idle braines) 
She shall haue but the FooUs-capft for her paines. 

But let her weare it, itince it is her due, 
Who hath no Wisdifm, can not speake of Wit: 
Who neuer came where Wit and Reason grue. 
Must needs shoot wide, when that they aim at it. 
For, while the GamUr by the Gcose doth sit, 
Tis ten to one, how euer prooue the weather, 
But that the birds will all be of a feather. 

Then, good Wise Man, if such a one thou bee, 
That dost the lines of little matter reade, 
I pray thee be not in a chase with mee. 
Although a /adi be spurred till hee bleede : 
Keepe thou thy Sia^U for a better Steedt : 
Who hath beene well brought vp in Reasons Stkoole, 
May haue the patience to goe by the FooU. 

But, if it bee, you cannot goe along. 
But that you needes will stumble at a strawe ; 
If that your selfe will doe your selfe such wrong, 
To let the Worme vpon your Wits to gnawe, 
Vntill a Crowe be come to be a Dawe: 
Then do but thinke how some the least will smother, 
Why should one Foole be angry with another ? 

Then be not angry, let the PooU alone. 
Except thou be a bird of his owne broode : 
For trust it true, it will be ten to one, 
If once thy heade be couerd with his Hoode, 
It will so heate thy braines, and staine thy bloode, 
That thou wilt fall into such Extasies, 
As while thou liu'st, thou neuer vrilt be wise. 

Beware therefore |n time of Had I wist : 
Let not Impatience shewe thy pieuishnesse : 
Keepe thy Conceipt within Discretions List : 
Where thou maiest looke vpon that Idlenesse, 
That fils the world too full of Foolishnesse : 

Seeke thou to knowe but where true wit doth dwell. 

And leame to laugh at Fooies^ and all is well 

And if thou chaunce to meete an idle Mate, 
Whose tongue goes all too glibbe vpon the seare, 
And chiefe delight is so much in his prate. 
As where hee comes, will be chiefe Prater there : 
In friendly kindnesse teU him in his eare. 
That in the Rules of Wit and Reasons schoole, 
He will be counted but a prating foole. 

And if you hap to light vpon a Gull, 
That is conceipted of his Mother wit. 
And doth apply his beetle-beaded scull 
But to an humour of an idle fit ; 
In honest kindnesse let him heare of it. 

That in the Rowles of Wisdomes Rules you reede. 

Lesse hope of him, then of a Foole indeede 

And if you chaunce to see the Sonne of Pride 
Looke fifteene thousand mile aboue the Moooe, 
And lye abedde vntill his idle hide 
Must make a Morning, of an after-noone : 
For feare his Worshippe should be vp too soone ; 
Least that the Ayer should happe to doe him harme. 
Lend him the Fooles-cappe for to keepe him warme. 

And if you chaunce to spy a Snbtill Slaue, 
That hath a world of Simple wits beguilde. 
And, like a cunning cogging, ooosening knaue. 
On other harmes, his helpes doth onely builde : 
Tell him that Satkan is a subtill childe, 
That while the wicked golde for drosse doe sell. 
Makes Fooles seeme wise, vntill they come in hell. 



Hee that doth murther twentie thousand men, 
And sacke their cities, and their townes defoce : 
And, with a dash but of a wicked Penne, 
Bring a poore world into a pitious case, 
To gaine himselfe a kinde of Monarchis grace : 
Tell him what Angels read in Virtues schoole. 
That bloudy Pride doth breede a hellish FoqU, 

Hee that doth couet more then is his owne. 
And scrapes and scratcheth for a little drosse : 
And, all with ease is like a Bladder blowne. 
And neuer cares for any neighbours crosse. 
For his owne gaine, to giue a thousand losse : 
Tell him when Wisdowu beates the world about. 
The Foole will quickly lay the Miser out. 

The swaggring Huffecappe that wrill stai^ and sweare. 
That hee will cut through the whole piece of doath ; 
And face to fieioe, will meete the olde blinde Beare, 
And breake the Canne, that's fillM vp with froath, 
And cares not how he throwe away an oath : 
Let him be sure when Virtues Honours fall. 
In Wisd4>wus Court he hath no place at all. 

The sneaking Coward that doth closely creepe. 
And feareth euery shadowe where hee goes : 
And of himselfe both watch and warde doth keepe, 
For feare his FHendes should growe to be his Foes : 
Doth so much title of true Manhoode lose, 

That hee may reade what Trutke in honour tries, 

A Coward neuer can be tniely wise. 

The Idle Spendthrift that wiU sell his land. 
To feede the humours of an addle heade : 
And sowes his seede vpon the barren sand. 
Till late Repentance liue to begge his bread : 
I/Ct him beleeue what many a one hath read, 
Howeuer Fancy make excuse for it. 
Such Had I wist had neuer happy wit. 

Hee that doth thinke that Wit is but in Wealth, 
And plots to purchase kingdomes with a Purse, 
And neuer thinketh of the Spirits health : 
But doth his heart with wicked humours nurse. 
And for a blessing, folles vpon a curse : 

Let him confesse, if in heau'ns blessings blot. 

Hee finde himselfe a wicked Foole, or not. 

Hee that lookes Babies in his Mistris eyes. 
And beates his braines to tell an Idle tale : 
And thinkes himselfe, that hee is wondrous wise, 
That breakes a least, though it be nere so stale : 
And for a Nut, crackes nothing but a Shale: 
How ere hee thinke of his owne wit amisse, 
Wisdome will tell him, what a Foole hee is. 

She that is neither noble, liEure, nor wise, 
Nor scarce so rich as a newe shomM Eawe; 
And yet, conceited in her owne foule eyes, 
When shee is dabbled three foote in the deawe, 
That shee may seeme a prettie handsome shrewe : 
Let her not thinke, but such a Shut the doore 
Is halfe a Foole, and if she be no more. 

Hee that hath neither Trueth nor Honestie, 
Good hand, good legge, good body, nor good face, 
Nor any such exceeding qualitie 
As may aduaunce him vnto Honours place : 
Yet, thinkes himselfe a man of spedall grace. 
When mad-men treade the Woodcocha Morris daunce, 
Giue him the Fooles^appe for his Cognisaunoe. 

Shee that is fifteene mile about the waste. 
And all with fax vnable is to goe, 
Yet makes her &oe vp in a piece of paste 
As though she were an Image of Rie Dowe ; 
Tell her but trueth that Wit and Reason knowe. 

That this is an, that Fawu doth her affoorde, 

A filthie Owle is but a foolish Birde. 

Hee that doth hit vpon a printed booke. 
And findes a name neere fitting to his owne, 
And of his owne poore wit hath vndertooke 
The ground of all hath from his humor growne, 
When euery Bird is by her feather knowne, 
Pasquill doth tell him that poore yEsops Pie 
Will sbewe him how his Wit hath gone awry. 

Hee that doth marry, all for Wanton-loue, 
And hath no Reason for Yas/ond action : 
But all too late doth with Repentance proue 
The wofull fruites of wretched wils direction. 
While Want and Sorrawe are the SouUs correction : 
Tell him, such babies may the dugge goe sucke : 
While louing Fooles haue neuer better lucke, 

Shee, in a glasse, that sees her Sorrell haire. 
And straight will put it to the Painters die. 
And then doth thinke that shee is wondrous faire ; 
When flatt'ry feedes her humour with a Lie, 
Oh, let her not in such an errour die ; 

But bid her kindly cracke this friendly Nut, 

So fowle a Dowd^ is but a foolish Slut, 

Hee that delights to tell an idle tale, 
Vpon the prattle of a cogging Mate, 
And cardessely his credit set to sale : 
Which being noted for his foolish prate. 
He shall be sure to finde although too late 

That Wisdom reades these Rounds in Reasons schooles ; 

Newes'Carriers are next Ndgfabours vnto Fooles. 

She that doth file her tongue for Eloquence, 
To entertaine a world with Idle talke : 
And thinkes shee hath the very Quintescenci, 
Of quicke conodte, wherein her witt do walke 
Yet doth not knowe a Bustard from a Hawlhe : 
Let her beleeue, such giddie headed Tittes 
Are not commended for the truest Wittes. 

Hee that doth loue to talke of RoHn-Hoode, 
Yet neuer drewe one Arrowe in his Bowe : 
And yet doth thinke his skill is wondrous good, 
That scarce the compasse of a marke doth knowe 
When such a Goose-cappe doth a shooting goe, 
Tell him, that in the aime of Wisdomes eye, 
Wide handed Wits will euer shoote awry. 



Hee that doth put his stato vpon his friendes. 
In hope of grace, when all his good is lost^ 
Shall finde his Wii not worth two puddings endes, 
When want of pence to reckon with the Hosttt 
Doth make the Bigger cbalke vpon the poste : 
Whose base condition doth too plaindy sbowe, 
Hee was not wise, that plaide the WoidcoclU so. 

Shee that doth thinke, shee hath a lare concdte. 
That giues-the Cuckoe to her kindest firiend ; 
And laughes to tUnke vpon that dose deceit, 
That doth but breede Rtpentanct in the ende ; 
Tell her, if shee the sooner not amend, 

Wisdom sets downe, that knows what Wit doth meane 
A wicked Draibt is but a foolish qmatu. 

He that Is proud of his concdpted wit. 
When he can cogge, and cozen, prate, and lie : 
And place himselfe with better men to sit, 
Then may beseeme so base a Rascaldry, 
As is too Cure from thought of Ckyuahy / 
When euery Asst his due reward shall haue. 
The Foolei<afp€ is too good for such a Knaue, 

Hee that fai heart dOth say there is no God^ 
And neither thinkes of Htatfn^ nor yet of Htll: 
Nor hath a feeling of that hieau'nly Roddi, 
That makes the Sowli, in Sorrowes teares to tell 
How Aierei€ doth within the Spirit dwell : 
Within the booke of Wisdotius blessed SckooU 
The Lord of Heauen hath set him downe a Po^, 

Hee that will lende more then he well may spare 
And he that spendes all that he hath and more ; 
And onely trusteth vnto Fortunes share, 
And cares not how he runne vpon the score, 
Vntill the Begger meete him at his dore : 
Wisdotne will tell him truely in the end, 
Hee is a Foole that is not his owne friend. 

She that can looke as mlldely as a LawAe, 

Yet is a Tigre inwardly in hearte ; 

And cares not how, nor where she leaue the Ramwu, 

When she hath gotten once the rutting parte : 

It is a Rule, in WU and Reasoms Arte, 
That she,, that hath no better natur'd Wit 
The WiuwM tearme a doggiM foolish Tit, 

Hee that is brought vp idly hi his Youth; 
And scomes to labour in his elder yeeries. 
And neuer thinkes vpon the day of Futke, 
Went want (entangled in the Beggers breers) 
The heauie sound of helpelesse Sorrowe heares : 

Let him beleeue, that Truoth doth plainely wright ; 

The Fooles^appe fits the Idle heggor right 

Hee that can plot a woHd of vittuiy. 
And neuer cares what Vertmes loue desemeth : 
And sortes himsdfe with wicked company, 
That fromthe way of perfect Wisdoiu swarueth 
While Mercia hand the gratious heart presenieth 

That sinfull wretch will finde in Sathans schooU, 

A damnM villaine is a cursed Fook, 

Hee that doth fill his Gophers fiill of Goulde 
Yet will not weare good Cloathes on his backe 
But doth a kinde of Clownish humor houlde 
To haue his Garment cut out, like a sacke 
And thinkes Redd4 Herings haue a daihtie smacke : 
Tell him in kindenesse (that he may not quarrel) 
The Fooles-eafpe will be fit for his Apparrdl 

Shee that is giucn to Rmse and ShUtieks^sse, 
And trifles out the time in Trompery: 
And yet will thinke it is no pieuishnesse, 
To feede her selfe with Idle Foppery ; 
May hap to finde in Sorrowes Misery, 

That when the Graskopper doth leaue to sing. 

An idle Hieldistg \% n, foolish thhig. 

Hee that doth studio twenlle things at once. 
And hath intent for to performe them all : 
And yet his beetle addle-headed skonce, 
In full conclusion can doe none at all : 
If that the Fooles<appe to his fortune fall. 

Let him not thinke but it will finely fit. 

The Idle Meade, that hath no better Wit 

Shee that is giuen to Fride and Brmsury, 
And R^n-VOe^ will sweare, and swash it out ; 
And studies nothing els but Kntmery 
To bring a wicked kinde of world about ; 
And cares not whome she foUowes with a flout : 
Such foolish KitUs of such a skittish kinde, 
In Bridewell booke are euery where to finde. 

Hee that is here ta day, yonder to morrowe 
And cares not how hee ranngeth here and there : 
Nor careth what hee can or begge, or bdrowe. 
To spende or spoile, be cares not how nor where : 
Oh, teU that Idle Fellowe in his eare. 
If that hee doe not take the greater care, 
The Foole will catch him, ere hee be aware. 

Shee that doth loue to gossippe, and to tattle. 
And leanes her house to keepe it adfe alone : 
And cares not how she spend the time fai prattle, 
Till shee haue bar'd her Hushand to the boane : 
Let her not thinke but such an Idle loane 

Must haue this note set downe vpon her name ; 

A Tattling houswi/e is a foolish Danie. 

Hee that can combe hift head and curie his bearde. 
And set his Rufies, and weare his Cloake in print, 
And by his ride can finely weare his swearde. 
And learne to fleere, and leere, and looke a squint 
And keepe his steppes, within a measures stint : 
Let him be sure to passe with this good flout : 
Hee lackes the FooUs-Cappe yet to set him out. 

Hee that is well fai seruice entertainde 

And iustly hath the due of his desart ; 

And by faJs labour findes that hee hath gainde 

The carefull comfort of an honest heart ; 

Yet fondly will with such a Master part : 
TeU him what Truthe doth by Experience knowe 
Hee is a Foole, leanes such a Master, sa 



Hee that will let his Wit to runne on Wheeles, 
And in proude tearmes will with his betters stand, 
VntiU his Tongm be tempered by his heeles, 
VntHl his Braina haue better manners scand : 
And if the FooU doe take him by the hand. 

Bid him haue PaHene*^ to endure the sounde ; 

That lacke of Wit wrill lay a FooU aground. 

Hee that in Libels takes delight to write, 
And cares not whom hee wickedly defame ; 
Bat pieuishly will shewe a baggage spite. 
To touch the Honomr of an Honest nawu : 
What shall I say, that hee is much to blame ? 
Yea and so much, as for his idle vaines 
Hee well deserues the Fooles-cappe for his paines. 

Hee that hath all his studie in the Clowdes, 
And all misliketh euery thing hee reedes : 
And what the Sunne within her Circle shrowdes. 
All in the height his haughty Humour feedes : 
If hee doe chaunoe to light on Herbes for Weedes^ 
Hee is but foolish : rise he nere so soone 
That runnes in haste to ouertake the Moome. 

He that will Heade, before he leame to Spell; 

And write a Booke^ before he knowe a Blot; 

And keepe a Skoppe, before he leame to sell ; 

And all to galloppe ere hee leame to trot: 

Whither such one thinke himselfe wise or not, 
Let him be sure that better wits doe reede. 
Such Madhead fellowes ore but Fooles indeede. 

Hee that with pleasure followes Cardes and Dice, 
Drinking and wenching, and such Idle sportes : 
Vntill too late Repentance knowe the price 
Of Patience passage to Saint Sorrowes portes ; 
Whereto the Begger most of all resortes : 
Oh let him knowe when he doth comfort lacke 
The Begger FooU will haue him by the backe. 

Shee that doth finde her Husband true and kinde, 
And for her wants to worke both night and day : 
Yet like the WetlUrtocke, with euery winde, 
Will tume her Huwtour eoierf idle way. 
And cares not how hee foil into decay. 

So shee be fedde according to her fit ; 

She is a Baggage, and a foolish Tit, 

Hee that is married to an honest wife. 
That, as her life, in loue doth holde him deare : 
With whome his heart may haue a quiet life. 
And, in content, line many a merry yeare : 
Yet leaues a Doe to take a Rascall Deere : 
The firuites of Will do prooue his Wit accunt, 
That so will leaue the best, to take the wont 

He that doth enuie euery mans good happe, 
And knowes not how to get himselfe in grace : 
And layes his Loue but all in Fortunes lappe. 
Whose custome is her followers to deface : i 

When hee is fallen into a pitious case, 
O let him knowe, before he hang himselfe 
An enuicmsfooU is euen such an Elfe, 

Shee that doth keepe an Inne for euery Guest, 
And makes no care what winde blowe vp her skirt, 
And readie is to breake a Chancers least. 
To make a Smoche euen measuK with a Shirt : 
If such a one be call'd a Foolis/rfiirt, 
Twas not for nothing that she ibd her name. 
When all the world is witnesse to her shame. 

Hee that doth take the lawe, but as a least. 
And will be hangd but for good fellowshippe. 
And thinkes it nothing to be halter blest, 
When from the Gallowes it is but a skippe : 
Oh, let him not in anger hang the lippe. 

If by desert thus due reward hee take ; 

He was a Foole, that hangd for fiashion sake. 

Hee that wil weary out his friends with borrowing. 
And be behoulding to an Enemy, 
And kill himselfe with too much Sorrowing, 
To thinke, the touch of Treasons villany 
Should make such worke in wicked company : 
Wisdome will tell him. what Experience tries, 
That kinde of Wit wiU neuer make him Wise. 

Hee that importunes an approutd friend. 
And hee that feares to speake where hee may speede ; 
And in beginning, lookes not to the end ; 
But k>ues to glorie in a Wuheddude, 
And will his heart with wiched humours feede : 
These Wits doe shewe (that are so fitly matcht) 
A neast of Fooles, that Wisdome neuer hatcht 

Hee that doth set his band to euery Bill 

And neither cares for Right or Efuitie, 

And ondy bendeth his vnhappie skill. 

But to the ouerthrowe of Honesty : 

Fooles, that are so neere in affinitie, 
When Wisdome makes a tryall of true Wit, 
Not one of these that hath to doe with it. 

Hee that doth build high CastUs in the Ayre, 
Vntill they headlong tumble on his neche : 
And hee that will not an old Shippe repcure 
Till it be too farre tainted with a leake : 
If that the Woodcoche ghie his Wits the peake : 
Let him not chafe if that it be his chaunce. 
To weare the FooUs-Cappe, in a Moris-daunce, 

Hee that can play on Tioe»He hands at once. 

And tumes his humor vnto euery time : 

And hath his Spirit temperM for the nonce. 

To set his flowers onely in the prime : 

If when he thinkes most warily to clime, 
By due desart a breahe nech-fall hee haue, 
His craft doth prooue hun but a Foolish h/tame. 

He that will talke of euery thing hee knowes. 
And credit giue to euery thing hee heares : 
And builds his knowledge only on suppose. 
Yet vnderstands not what too plaine appeares : 
How young or ould soeuer be his yeares. 

Who of his poore Wit giueth witnesse so ; 

Thinke him an arrant FooU, and let him goe. 



Hee that doth wonder at a Weatkercocke, 
And plaies with euery feather in the winde, 
And is in loue with enery Nannicocke; 
Yet scarcely knowes an Orangt by the Rinde : 
When euery FooU is found out in his kinde, 

How is it possible but he should passe. 

For a poort siify simple witted Asst f 

Hee that doth thinke it is no IVukednesse, 
To lead a young man into WantamMtsst ; 
But takes delight in all Vngodlinesse ; 
Vntil the Heart in Sarrowes heauinesse, 
Doe shewe the fhiites of Wils vnkappinesse : 
Let that vile villaine reade in Vertues SckooUs, 
Such wicked wretches are Vngratums FooUs, 

Hee that will chaunge a lennet for a lade, 
And put his Land into a little House: 
And, in the way where Little Wit doth wade, 
Watch a great Mountaine for a little Mowse, 
And sits to feede a Monkey with a Lowse : 
Where Will is so Xn folly ouergone, 
Wisdome sayes plainely, his is small or none. 

Hee that will put his state vpon aduenture 
And may be safe and if it please himselfe ; 
And hee that bindes his seruice by Indenture, 
To baggage courses for a little pelfe : 
If that his Shifpe doe runne vpon a Shelf e. 
Let hun not thinke. but that poore WU of his, 
From Wisdotnes Course, was carried quite amisae. 

Hee that will creepe vnto an olde loynt-stoole. 
And senie a Thatcher for a Bunch ofstrawe. 
And he that goes to worke without his toole. 
And loues to wrangle with a Man of Lowe, 
And thinkes no Birde so prettie as a Dawe : 
How ere such one be of his Wit oonceiued, 
Wisdome will tell him he is much deceiued. 

Hee that will treade a Measure as he walkes, 
And counter&ite Maide Marians countenance : 
And loues to fall into those whisper talkes. 
That bring poore Wit into a pitious traunce .* 
If that the Foole doe light on him by chaunoe, 
He must assume what Fata to him assigne : 
I can not helpe him, tis no fault of mine. 

Hee that will Drinke vntill his braina be wurry. 
And Bate vntill his stomache be too full. 
And Lie a bed vntill his boana be wearie. 
And Prate so long vntill he prooue a Gull : 
If that such braines be lin'd with Ganders wooU, 
When such Wise creatures put their Wih together, 
To chuse the wisest, who knowes which is whether ? 

Hee that all day sits blowing at a cole. 
And neuer leaues till hee put out the fire : 
And hee that houlds his finger in a hole. 
To please the humour of 9, fond desire : 
And hee that loues to trample in the mire : 
When these wise men togither make a play. 
The Foole will runne with all their Wits away. 

He that «rill in an humour leaue a friend. 
And in a f\3ntfall vpon a foe: 
While ill beginnings make as bad an end, 
When poore Repentance doth too late beshrowe 
The heedlesse Will, that Wit doth ouerthrowe : 

That Foole must needes be tum'd vnto the List, 

Emong the niunber of the Had I wist, 

Hee that will teU his secrets to a stranger. 

And play the Coward with an enemie : 

Hee that will put himselfe in needelesse daunger. 

To followe a mad headed companie : 

Let him take heede a sodaine villany 
Make him not finde in true Repentance Schoole, 
A backward Wit lackes little of A FooU, 

Hee that will weare his wealth vpon his bache. 
Yet in his purse doth scarce his dinner carry : 
And hee that sales to giue his neck the cracke. 
Because he will not for his fortune tarry : 
If such a Foole become a Busautrds quarry, 

When Carelesse Will doth shew his Wit so smal. 

Tis not my fault, I cannot doe withall. 

Hee that doth studie out his braina in trifUs, 
And misse the humour of a better marke : 
And cosens his oonoeite with Foolish ni/Us, 
In taking of a Bunting for a Larke, 
And euery Pibble for a Diamond sparke : 
Hee that doth so his Will to folly fit, 
Doth plainely shewe he hath no perfect Wit, 

Hee that can eate no other Meate but Milhe, 
And for his Horse, must haue an Ambling Nagge : 
And cannot weare a Shirt, but soft as Silke : 
Nor keepe his Coyne, but in a Golden Bagge, 
And must be knowne his Mothers kindest Wagge: 
Such smoothM Godsons shew in Wisdoma schoole, 
A MUh-soppe Babie is more halfe a Foole, 

Hee that will be afraide of euery dreame. 

And thinketh euery puddle is apooU: 

And runnes ten miles to eat a mase ofCreawu, 

And cannot sit but on a Cushin stoole: 

If such a Noddy be not thought z, foole, 
Hee hath great fauour in the Rule of Wit, 
That sees his Weaknase, and conoealeth it 

Hee that doth fill his heade so full cf humours, 
Hee knowes not where he may in quiet sit : 
And hee that loues to raise vnciuill rumours, 
Vntill that Justice doe in Judgement sit, 
Vpon the workes of such a wicked wit : 
Suchnvfcked Wits, for honest peopUs health. 
Might well be banisht from a Common vrealth. 

Hee that all night doth vratch a Conny borough. 
To catch a Ferret, that hath broke his Mutzle: 
And hee that squats a Hare within afurrowe. 
And sees how ^ee within her Muce doth Nussle ; 
And yet so long about the Bush doth pussle. 
That she is gone ere he can well beset her, 
Which of these two good Fooles, may be the better ? 




Hee that put all to /4« latter day. 
To reckon euen with all the world at onet : 
And in the mcane time is at such a stay 
He knowes not how to vse his addle Skonce: 
If such an Asse be noddied for the nonce, 

I say but this, to helpe his Idle fit ; 

Let him but thanke himsdfe for lacke of Wit. 

Hee that wilfuUy/x//er into qfence, 
And satisfaction neuer cares to make : 
But carelessely stands in his owne defence, 
While that the /bo^ his H^^/lx doth ouertake : 
When late Rtpentanct makes his heart to ake* 
Hee scapeth well, if (for such idle values) 
Worse then the Fboks-cappe answere not his paines, 

Hee that loues to be noted fpr strange faskums. 

And for his locka, and for his kinde fAgate : 

And in his Muses, and his Passions, 

Win not be thought an ordinary mate : 

If that his WUtes come to themselues, too late, 

I know not well how to be his Aduiser; 

But euen be sory, that he was no vriaer. 

He that will hoorde vp bS^Jot a deereyeare; 
Yet in the meane time want necessities : 
He that will be vnto himselfe so neere. 
As bring himselfe into extreamities. 
By his owne wilfull caus'd calamities. 

This is the end that will fall out of it ; 

Such Niggard Fooles hane neuer better WiL 

Hee that doth put his wealth vpon a Cocke^ 

A Carde, ti'Die, or such an Idle toy ; 

And hath his humour so much on the Smocie, 

As if it were his 5/«>ti:r onely ioy : 

When Soorrowes sighes doe shewe the heartes annoy : 
Let him goe backe vnto Repentance sdioole, 
And see how kmg his Wit hath plaM the Foole, 

Hee that will busie be with Enery matter. 
Yet scarce hath power to bring one well to passe : 
And neuer leaues to cosen, lie, and flatter, 
Vntill hee prooue himselfe a Cra/tie Asse: 
Let him but looke in the Poles looking Glasse, 
And there his Woodcocke Wit shall plainly haue 
The true proportion of a Paltry ICnaue. 

Hee that would perswade himselfe He is a Kiug^ 
Yet all the world doth for a Bigger knowe him : 
And he that takes the Winter for the Spring, 
Because the Sunne a little light doth showe him : 
If want of Wit doe wholly ouerthrowe him. 
And that the Cockes eomtke to his caffe doe fill, 
Tis not my fault, I can not doe withaU 

Hee that putsX^SteiM dies into a Pn^ 
And s ea nente e fu yards into a swag^ring sldppe 7 
And twentie thousand Crownes into a Mt^, 
And halfe his land into a hunting Cappe .* 
If that they^/^ doe catch him in his trappe. 
There like a Woodtdche let him walke about : 
Wbea bee is in, I cannot helpe him out. 

Hee that in all his thoughts is so vnhofy, 
Hee makes no care of any good conceigbt : 
But giues himselfe so much to Idle folly; 
That vnto Hellhet runnes the highway straight : 
If hee be poysoned with the Diuels baigfat, 
I cannot choose but tell him like a friend. 
Such wicked Fooles will haue a wofuU end. 

Hee that will Brase his face at Lothebury, 

Because he will not biush at Knauery : 

And he that will refuse no drudgery. 

To gather Drosse by any Slauery, 

And yet will stand vpon his Brauery : 
He is nofoole, wfaoeuer be an Asse, 
Makes such a Couer for a looking glasse. 

Hee that repents him of no wickednesse. 

Nor takes delight in any godlinesse : 

But in the way of all vnthriftinesse. 

Doth wast the Time ^Natures wretchednesse ; 

Where helplesse Sorrowes, in vnhappinesse, 
Doe breede the Spirits endlesse heauinesse : 
That Foole is in the height of foolisbnesse. 

Hee that regardes not how hee vse his speech, 
Nor careth how the world doe goe about, 
Nor maketh reckening who beholde his breech. 
Nor how hee play the Logger headed lowte : 
Where Wisemen liue, if hee be beaten out. 
Let him be patient, if it come to passe 
A beastly Foole be handled like an Asse, 

Hee that doth make his Tongue a two hand sword. 
And only seekes his Honour all by stealth : 
And cares not how hufaisifie his worde, 
Nor by how much disgrace to gather wealth : 
Howeuer so his Carcasse be in health. 

Wisdom describes him, in true Honours schoole, 
A Gull, a KnaMO, a Coward, and a Foole. 

Hee that doth gaine more, then he well may spend. 
And prattles more then Trueth doth vnderstand : 
And in his actions, alwaies doth intend 
Vpon the stay of wicked workes to stande : 
If that the Diuell take him by the hand. 

Let him beleeue what highest Trueth doth tell ; 

Hee is a Foole, that leaueth Heau*n for HeU. 

Hee that doth take a Shadowe for a Substance; 
And yet doth thinke be hath a perfect sight : 
And hee that takes an Huwwur for an Instance; 
And yet beleeues his braines be in the right : 
Hee that in darknesse so doth looke for light 
(How euer WiU do take his WUtes to schoole) 
Wisdome in deede will finde him but a Foole, 

Hee that hath once a/fVr# ofworhe begmme^ 
And knowes not how nor when to make ast end: 
And hee whose will his WUtes doth ooemmne. 
To make a Foe in wronging of a FHeitd: 
Hee that doth so amisse his Spirit spend, 
(Howeuer so his owne conceit doe deeme him) 
Wisdome in deede will but a Foole esteeme him. 



Hee that is Esau for Vnthriftintsse, 
And foUowes Caine in his vngpdlinesse : 
And loues AckitapktU for wickedutsu. 
And is a ludas, in vnfaithfuhusse, 
'Whateuer showe he make of hoUutsse : 
That num I finde in too mvatih/dolishmesse, 
Hath redde the Scripture in vnhappintsst, 

Hee that of MachauiU doth take instruction 
To manage all the matters of his thought ; 
And treades the way but to his owne destruction. 
Till late Repentance be too deardy bought, 
Shall finde it true, that hath beene often taught : 

As good be Idle as to goe to schoole, 
To come away with nothing but the FooU. 

For feare whereof, least some of mine owne sect 
(That haue but plaid the Fooles, with lacke of Wit) 
Doe kindely tell mee of my Carts neglect. 
In finding humours for the time more fit : 
While wicked Spirits doe their venome spit : 
I will conclude (to prooue worlds Wit an Asse) 
Mans Wit is vaine, shalbe, and euer was. 

SapitnHa mundi^ stultitia coram Deo, 







P a f q u i 1 s pa ff i o n 

for the worlds waiward- 


[icked, vngratious, and vngodly Agt, 

Where hatefiill thoughts are gotten to their 

How should my spirit in true passions rage ? 
Describe the courses of thy vile conceight, 
That feede the world but with the diuels baight : 
While wofull hearts, with inward sorrowes wounded, 
Finde Wit and Reason, in their sense confounded. 

No, no, the depth of thy vnknowne distresse 
(Wherein the heart is ouerwhelm'd with woes) 
Exceedes the power of passion to expresse ; 
While so much griefe within the Spirit growes, 
As all the power of Patience ouerthrowes : 

While vertuous minds, within their sowles agrieued. 

Must helplesse die, and cannot be relieued. 

The clearest eye must seeme to haue no seeing. 
And Eloquence must be to silence bound. 
And Honours essence seeme to haue no beeing. 
Where vdcked windes runne Vertues skippe a ground. 
While healthfull spirits fall into a swound ; 
That only Pride, that weares the golden home,, 
May liue at ease and laugh the world to soome.. 

If euery right were rightly apprehended, 
And best deseruings best might be regarded. 
And Carefullworkes were to their worth ccunaicnded. 
And Gratious spirits gratiously rewarded. 
And wicked craft from Conscience care discarded ; 
Then might the Angels sing in Heauen, to see 
What blessed courses on the earth would be. 


But oh, the world is at another passe, 

FooUs haue such Maskes, men cannot see their feces : 

There is such flattery in a looking Glasse, 

That winking eyes can not see their disgntces. 

That are apparant in too open places : 

But what auailes vnto a wicked minde? 

No eye so dowdy, as the wilfuH blinde. 

To see the sleight of subtill sneaking spirits 

(That dare to see the Glasse of thdr disgraces) 

Thriue in the Worlds while better natur'd merits 

Can not aspire vnto those blessed places, 

V/here /ait AUtsse hearts should neuer shewe there faces 

Would it not grieue an honest heart to knowe it ? 

Although the tongue be swome it may not showe it. 

To see a horse ofseruice in the field, 
Hurt by a lade, that can but kicke and fling : 
To see Viisses weare Achilles shield. 
While hissing Serpents haue a Hellish sting .' 
To see the Knaue ofClubbes take vp the King. 
Although hee be a wicked hdpe at Mawe, 
Twas but a cloume that yet dcuis'd the lawew 

To see a sight of Curres worry a Hounds 
A flight of Bustards fell vpon a Hawhe, 
A coward villaine giue a ITnightak wound. 
To heare a Raseall to a ICing to taUce, 
Or see a Peasant crosse a Princes waike : 
Would it not fret the heart that doth behould it, 
And yet m figures may not dare vnfolde it ? 




But what a kind^ of wretched world is this 1 

They that are honest, let them be so stiU. 

Such as are settled in their course amisse, 

Haue much adoe for to reforme their wilL 

It is the winde that driues about the i/iV/, 
That grindes tl«e Come that sometimes ils the Sacke, 
That laide awry may breake the Loaders bad^ 

What shall I say? that knowes not what to say. 
This worlds vile Grammer hath a wicked sptach : 
Where Wealth and Will doe carry such a sway 
That many a time the Goodwife weares the breech. 
And the stowte Ohe must yeelde vnto the Beech. 

Such vile coniunctions such constructions make. 

That some are pois'ned with a Sugar Cake. 

Terence his Plaies are too much in request. 

The Knaue, the Foole, the Swaggerer, and the Whore, 

Thraso and Gnato, Lais and the rest 

Of all the crue (that I dare say no more ; 

But ware the dogges that keepe the Diwels dorf ) 
So play their parts vpon the worldly Stage, 
That theiues are hangd before they come to age. 

Oh tis a word to heare a Gander keake. 
And all the Geese to giue a hisse to heere ; 
To heare an Owle to teach a Parrat speake, 
While Cuchoes notes makes better Musique deere ; 
Where nere a better singing bird is neere. 

Would it not grieue a good Musitians eare 

To be enforst to stand attentiue heare. 

To see a Wise man handled like a Fooli 

An Asse exalted like z. proper man : 

To see a Puddle bonour'd like a Poole^ 

An old blinde Goose swimroe wagers with a Sufom, 

Or Siluer Cuppes disgrace by a Canm4 : 

Who wold not grieue that so the world. shcMi^d go ? 

But who can helpe it, if it will be so ? 

No, no, alas it is in vaine for mee. 
To helpe the eyes, that ioy not in the light: 
Hee that is swome that hee will neuer see. 
Let him play Buzzard , with his blinded sight. 
An Owle will neuer haue an Bogles flight ; 
Hee, that is once conceited of his Wit, 
Must die of folly : ther's no helpe for it 

And yet good Fooles, that cannot doe withall. 
May well be borne with, for their simple Wits : 
And Knauish Wits, that wiched Fooles wee call. 
(Where Hellish Satham with his At^ls sits. 
To worke the feates of many a thousand fiu) 
Those/oolish knaues, or knauish fooles I meane, 
I would to God, the world were ridde of deane. 

And yet is it in vaine such world to wish : 
There is no packe of Gardes without a Knaut: 
Who loues to feede vpon a Sallet dish. 
Among his Herbcs some wiehed weede may haue : 
Some men must winne, some lose, and some must saue. 
Fooles wil be Fooles, doe wise men what they can, 
And may a Knaue, dieceiue an honest man. 

A Curtail lade vrill shewe his hackney trickes 
And snarling Curres will bile a man bdiinde : [Prickes : 
The Blache Thome Shrubbe is best knowne by his 
A Kestrell can not chuse but shewe her kinde. 
Wise men sometime most wait, till Fooles haue dia'd : 
And yet, those Fooles, in common Wits coaedte, 
Are Wise, when Wisdom on theii wealth dolh wait. 

And yet the wealthy Foole is but a Foole, 
The Knaue with all his wealth ii but a Knaue : 
For truest Wisdowu regies in Vertues schoole. 
That there is no man happy till h^graue* 
The HerwUt Uues more quiet in his Cau€, 

Then many a King that long vsurpes a Crcfwne ; 

That in the end comes headlong tabling downe. 

Yet who ap basei m woudd not be a Kingf 
AadwlKxsofoAdaslhiakesBOtheeis Wisef 
Doth not the Cuckoe thinke that shee can sing, 
As deardy as a Birde of Paradise t 
Tht /awlest Dowd' i$ fiure in her owne eyes. 
Conceipt is s^noog and hath 9ich kinde of vaine, 
As workes strange wonders in a Woodcocks brain. 

But, what should Fancy dwell vpon a Fable f 
In some farre Cpalries, Women ride a-stride : 
The Foole that in the kinde can vse his bable. 
Shall haue Fat meate and somewhat els beside. 
For Wit doth wonders svAtx folly hide : 
Yet in true Wisdome, all are Fooles approued. 
They that loue Fooles, and Fooles that are bdoiied. 

But since tis best that all ^gree in one, 

The prouerbe sales, tis mery when friends meeit. 

It is a kinde of death to line alone. 

A louing humour is 9l pleasing sweete. 

Let Wise men studie on the Winding sheete. 

And weaker Wits this poore contentment haue, 

Tis better be a Foole then be a Knaue. 

And sOk good friend, if so thou be. fauiewdl : 
I must not stand vpon the Foole too long ; 
Least that my spirits so "vi^ folly swell, 
As doe perhaps my better kumours wrong : 
And therefore thus in briefe I ende my song. 

The wisest man hath writ, that euer was, 

Vanitas vanitatum, 6* omnia vanitas. 

Vanitie all, all is but vanitie. 
Nothing on earth but that will haue an end : 
Where hee that trustes to bare Humanitie, 
Shall hardly line to finde in Heauen a friend. 
Take heede therefore the Highest to offend : 
Either leame Wit, where truest Wisdome lies, 
Or take my word, thou neuer wilt be Wise. 

And therefore let the wise not be displeas'd 
If they be counted Fonde as well as other : 
For, tis a plague that hath the world diseas'd. 
Since sinne became vnhappie Natures Mother : 
And let me say but this, my gentle krother ; 
Since all is vaine, that lines vnder the Sunne, 
Good wise men beare with Fooles, and I haue done. 



Passe and Passeth not 





On this and related Pasquil books, see our Memorial-Introduction, where the whole are 
critically examined, and the Breton authorship established. Our exemplar is JoUey's copy in the 
British Museimi—purchased for ^£9, 5s. in 1843 (4* : 24 leaves). The Notes and Illustrations of 
Pasqvils Passe, etc., will find most fitting place here : — 

EnsTLB-DKDiCATOKY, p. 4, M. Grippin Pbn. My accom- 
plished friend. Colonel Chester, who'hat made the Penn fiunily 
and name a special study, informs me that there is no Griffin 
Pen known. He conjectures that this must have been a certain 
Griffith Pen ; and as Breton was careless in his spelling of 
names, it probably is so. Of Griffith Pen he states there is 
mentioo made in Uie Will of John Penn of Penn, co. Bucks : 
proved in 1596. 

Of the M. Conquest named along with Pen I can find 

To THB Rbadbr.— L 5, ' Nigkt-ca^.' This has been mis* 
ondentood as a claim on Breton's part to the authorship of 
' Cornv-copiae, Pasquil's Nigki<aP:* but see the error cor- 
rected in our Memorial-Introduction : L 13, * bttUr cheapt:* a 
variant of * good cheape,* or extremely cheap. 

Pasqvils Passb, p. 5, col. a, L 13, *CoiinUr* = the prison 
for debtors : 1. 34, ' Clim o/Hu C/^/it.'— celebrated in a well- 
known ballad and chap-book: p. 6, cg4. a, 1. 3, *kebt:* mis- 
printed * he he:' L 8, '^iyv/:r' = money so called. 

Pasqvils Prkcbssiom, p. 7, col. z, 1. 3f ' T*// ' = young girl 
— usually sman ; here in assodatkm with 'baggage' to be 
ngaxded unfavourably : 1. 25, ' ^iir ' s= jack-«ss or fool: L 16, 
*eoggim£* = cheating or fraudulent : L 27, 'broken sacAt' — in 
holes: L 95, '^«iifriiv' = baggaged or bewitched,— mad : ii., 
*htHU A*»rf' = duU. stupid: L 34. */*# tkrt€ cornered trtt:' 
query— gallows? col. s, L 3, * Jkackftfy GUr = a wanton wench 

or whore: L 27, ^/Utritig* s mockihg, sneering : 1. as. *hUt' 
s colour, complexion: L 49, ' 7Vmw' = Thames 7 p. 8, coL i, 
L 5, 'jAtfi^r'ssheU: 1. 34, 'MnW. nor iket* ^iStut foole that 
can ndther piimself] thriue, nor [help] thee to do so : L 51, 
'curioW =s docked horse : col. a, L 3. ' noddy ' — blockhead : 
L lo^ *nMUke tkt Woodcock* to the Beggars crotst:' 'wood- 
cocke' s simpleton : 'beggar^s crosse' = stocks : or query, 
same as Beg^pur^s Bush, or the road to niinf L 99, *resHc' = 
vermined, and so moving : 1. 30, *cunger' = cucumber : or qu. 
conger eel? L 52, *medling:* misprinted *medhiig:' p. 9. 
col. z, L 8, *woodcockt* = simpleton, as before : L za, * haggigt' 
= baggage, or mad, Le. foolish person : see p. 7, coL 1, 1. as : 
L Z5, ' Verola'^ a vicious distemper, as in next : 1. z6, *S/aiujtA 
^ppo*-=- luet vonorta (' pip ") : 11. 18-90 = death on the gallows : 
L 99^ *fmKtMM>^'=co9ening: col. a, L 13, 'i&i^'s a watch : 1. 34, 
* 0cket:* two syllables^as in Herrick, etc, later: p. 20, coL i, 
L 5, */oynt* ^{txvan^ weapons? L 9%^ * dowdcs' ^ Aomdw, 
lasy slatterns or sluts : L 93, ' ictting* = to move the legs 
wantonly: coL a, L 5, * frump' s lie : p. iz, col. i, 1. 8, * IoHh 
m Hoddoi' — n. foolish fellow : qu.=John of Nokesf 1. 19, 
' iftfSMu/' = basket : 1. ao. *Be*re' = hiu: I 3% ' Mod / wist' 
See Glocsarial Index, s.v., for Breton's varying use of this 
phi an. O^ Puritan John Trappy oo Esther viiL 3, brings in 
Ahasatrus crying on diaoovcry of Hainan's plot ' Had I wist ! 
•d« «fu|r :' p. la, coL 2, 1. 8, * Primcro rests* = to set up rest is 
to stand up upon one's cards : L xt^'at et stay ' = a stop or 
obstacle: but a syllable in excess, as elsewhere: 1. a from 
bottom, * Table* = tablet, note-book.— G. 



Paffe, and pafseth 



His i 

' Passe 
Precesiofiy and 

Printed by V. S. for yohn Smithicke, and are to be solde at 

his shop within Temple Barre. 



To my very louing and vndeserued 

good friend M GRIFFIN PEN, vpon his 

heart's true worthinesse shine the Sunne 
of highest happinesse. 

|HE countenance of a Landlord, makes a poore Tenant halfe a King, and simple men are no fooles, that 
followe the shadow of a little honour : for my selfe, I am none of these Sects : for I esteeme more of the 
kindenes of a good spirite, than of faire wordes, that bevritch Ignorance ; yet I reuerence Honour, and 
loue Vertue, but finding my selfe vnworthy the favour of great ones, and yet not willing to looke among 
the too little, I will loue where I find cause, and deserue where I finde loue : in which sense, entreating you, in the fore 
rancke of my affection, to march with your kind friend M Conqmst. I commend to the good leizure of your patience, 
the perusing of this little pamphlet ; deuided into three pees : a Passt, a Precession, and a Prognostication : Pasquill 
gaue them to me, to dehuer vnto you, which with his further seruioe shall be further at your commandement : and for 
my selfe how well I loue you I will not tell you, til your commandement make me happy in your emploiment ; and so 
wishing both in the worke, and my wil, a more worthines of your kindnes, I rest : 

Yours affectionately to command 

N. B. 

Co tl^e IBeaner* 

PASQUILL commends him to all that loue him, to 
whom he giues to vnderstand, that after his 
pains taken in his Mad-cappe, and his Fooles-cappe, 
laying them both aside, thinking to take a liUe rest ; 
gat him his Night-cappe, vnder which, in steede of 
sleep, many idle humors came into his head, which 
troubling his little staled braine, would not let him be at 
quiet, till he had committed them to the custodie of pen, 
and incke, and paper, which hauing set downe some- 
what to his owne contentment, he hath in diuers Copies 
sent abroade to all such as will pay for the writing, or 
els, I should rather say, for the printing, which I thinke 

be better cheape : to teli you what he doth intreate of. 
were needeles, when it followeth neere at hand : and 
therefore onely thus much I will tell you, hauing past 
through manie strange courses, and finding little or 
nothing so pleasing, but tasted like a bitter sweete, vpon 
a suddaine fell vpon, Good Lord deliuer vs, and so con- 
tinuing of his Precession as long as he thought good, 
growing weary of his life, fell to dreame of Doomes-day : 
but lest I proue tedious, I will tume you to that you 
shall reade if it shall please you, and consider of it as it 
shall like you, and so for this time I leaue you. 

Your friend Pasquill. 

Pafquill to Morphorius. 

MORPHORIUS, I promised thee a Passe, which 
heere I haue sent thee, hoping in the like kind- 
nesse ere long to heare from thee : in the meane time, 
let mee tell thee, that for our parts, we haue little ioy to 
looke for in this worlde : fooles doe not vnderstand vs, 
and knaues do but abuse vs, the wealthy loue vs not ; 
and the poore can do vs no good : honesty is ill for 
thriuing ; and yet the wiscdome of the world being 

foolishnesse before God, I know not what to say : but 
for that the time of our life is short in this worlde, let vs 
leaue vanitie, and fall to some vertuous courses, and yet, 
because I will not at this time trouble thee too much 
with the Scripture, I will leaue thee to reade what I 
haue scribbled : and so end in some haste. 

Thine, Pasquili.. 




|£ that desires from danger safe to passe 
Along the world, his wofull wretched daies, 
And would behold (as in a looking glasse) 
The blocks and stops, and. such vnhappy 
As crosse a thousand in their very waies : 
Let him but creepe as I haue leamd to go. 
And tell me if it do him good or no. 

He that will passe neere to a Princes Court, 
Let him take heede his tongue breake not his necke; 
Nor mate himselfe among the Noble sort. 
Lest prowde presumption haue too sore a checke. 
Ncx" bend his will, to euery wanton's becke : 
But watch good fortunes, when they kindly &11, 
And then passe on, and haue no feare at sUL 

But, if a face of brasse vrill be too bold. 

Or like a sheepes head shimne good company. 

Or of complexion be too chilling cold, 

Or fiery hot vpon an agony, 

Or much inclined to any viUany, 
Or for his wit, ioyne issue with an asse, 
He hath no warrant neere the Court to passe. 

He that will passe before a Judgement seate, 
Let him take heede his case be good and cleere. 
Lest, when that Trueth doth of the matter treate 
A heedlesse will do buy repentance deere : 
While cost ill lost doth breed but heauy cheere : 
But let him chiefly carry a good purse, 
And then be sure to passe on ne're the worse. 

But, if he come with an vncertainety, 

And thinke a curtsie will excuse a fee, 

In hope that Law in Pitties charity, 

Wil alwayes giue the right where it should be, 

Let him leame yiaS& probatum rule of me, 
That Trueth and Wealth do very much in law, 
While beggar Falshoode is not worth a straw. 

He that wil passe into a warlike field, 
Let him not be too rash, nor yet too slow. 
Not franticke fight, nor like a coward yeeld. 
But with discretion so his valour show, 
That fame may grace him where e're he goe : 

Lest heedlesse will do shew when he is slaine. 

He may passe hither, but not backe againe. 

He that will passe into a Merchants booke, 
Let him take heede how to discharge the debt. 
Lest when that Kindnesse doth for Patience looke. 
He be so tangled in a Statute net. 
That he be so with cunning trickes beset 
That to the Counter he do passe so fast. 
As he can scarce passe backe againe in haste. 

He that wil passe into a Ladies eies. 
And in her hands wil leaue his little heart. 
And yet with all his wit. is not so wise, 
As to disceme the sleight of Venus Art ; 
In giuing of the Fooles-Cap by desart : 

Let him go better set his wittes to schoole. 

Or else be sure to passe for a good foole. 

He that will passe into the Holy land. 
Let him be grounded in the rules of grace, 
And be assurde that he doth vnderstand, 
What is the trueth that falshoode may deface ; 
Lest when that Wisedome FoUie doth displace 
And Learnings Court breake vp, and all are gone, 
He passe but for a simple blind sir Ihon. 

He that will passe into a Clownes conceit. 
Let him take heede he know a clouted shooe, 
Lest him be cousoned with a close deceit : 
When seely Fooles know not what Knaues can doe, 
With, Yea. and Nay, to bring an Ideot to : 
But if he kindly know Clim of the Clough, 
Then let him passe, he shall doe well enough. 


He that will pane ioto an Ordlnaiy. 
Lei him take heede to deale wlih cardet and dice ; 
Leit whalioeuer mony in be carry, 
Ere he bewan he loose it with ■ trice, 
And. all loo late lepenlance, leame the price. 
To know how be thai paueth in pune-ftill. 
And goei out empty, pasieth for a GulL 
He that desires to paue vnto Ihe leas. 
Let him lake beede his ship be good and tight. 
Let tiim prouide (or all things far his ease. 
And to withstand both wind and weathers spighl. 
And liy bis Compos keepe his coiirse aiigbl : 
Be waiy of the shelfes, the rocks, and sands. 
And bll not rashly into pyrats hands. 
But If he passe within a leaking ship, 
III Tictualld, and worse fumisht for defence. 
And Ihinke a thousand leagues is but a skip. 
And by the want of wits eiperience, 
Prouide for nothing that may sbunne offence -. 
Such one may happen well to passe IJom shore. 
Bat once at sea may passe to tande no more. 
Bat tie that seekes to passe by sea or land. 
To Court, or Coimtiy. for bis best auaile. 
Let him thus much for cen 
lliat if bil puise the better not p 
His fortune will in m«ny courses 

For a good ptine will make a man to paiai 
To many plaoes wliere he neoer was. 

But if (alas) he be passe purse peiuiilesse. 
In this vile world he shall haue little grace. 
But with a beauy heart all comfortlesse, 
Among the Beggars lake a sory place : 
Oh this same Gold hath such a glorious face. 
That bi false Angells, he that heedes not w 
Win headlong passe his wicked soule to h< 

But, he that faine would passe to Paradise, 

Musi leame to passe ftmo aS these worldly pleasures ; 

For Tnto heau'n what heart can passe his eies. 

That is iutangled in this worlds treasure ? 

No. where the World hath on the Soule made leisure. 
As hardly it can passe to beau'n on hie. 
As caa a Camell thmugh a Needles eie. 

Then do not passe the boundes of boneslie, 

Of wit, of reason, nor of amilie. 

Of law, of iustice, nor of equitie. 

Nor the true grounds of Trueths diuinilie ; 

Bui in ibe worship of the THnitie, 

Htunble thy soule vnto Ibe Ddtie. 

And passe vnio heau'ns teUdlie. 



Logger headed asse that hath no wit, 
A niscall knaue that hath no honesty, 
A foule flfiiuour'd filthie bagga^^ Tit. 
A wicked ludge that hath no equity, 
And a rich man that hath no charity, 
A faithlesse friend, and from a fruitlesse tree : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

A gracelesse child, and an vnquiet wife. 
An idle seniant, and a priuy theefe, 
A long delay, and an vngodly life, 
A helplesse care, and a consuming griefe, 
And from despaire that neuer finds reliefe, 
And from the drone that robbes the hony be : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

A prowd companion, and a prating iacke, 
A cogging marchant, and a carelesse debter, 
A queasie stomacke, and a broken sacke, 
A filthy hand, and an ill-fauourd letter, 
And an ill-mind that meanes to be no better, 
And frt>m a bribe insteede of a due fee : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

A blind phisition, and a sluttish cooke, 
Vnholsome porridge, and vnsauory bread, 
A babish story, and a foolish booke, 
A baggige humor, and a beetle head, 
A smoaky chamber, and a lowsie bed. 
And from such neighbours as cannot agree : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

A Tyrant prince, and a rebellious subiect, 
A bloody soldiour, and a coward leader, 
An Owles de-sight, and an vgly obiect. 
An obscure line, and an vnleamM Reader, 
A sergeant, iailour, hangman, and bdieader. 

And from the fruit of the three comerd tree ; 

Good Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

A resty hackney, and a durtie way, 
A stormy tempest, and a leaking ship. 
An idle quarrell, and a drunken fray, 
A doggM queane that euer hangs the Up, 
A iade that will not stirre without a whip. 

A blinded eie that can nor will not see : 
From these the Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

A lazie huswife, and a hackney Gill, 
A crooked finger, and a cramped foote, 
A hasty wit, and an vnbrideled will, 
A broken shooe, and an ill fauourd boote, 
A poisning weede, and an vnwholesome roote. 
An from the buzzing of the humble Bees : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

A mouth that slauers, and a stinking breath, 
A craftie cripple, and a sullen queane, 
A stinking puddle, and moorish heath, 
A dogge that is too £atte, a horse too leane, 
A maide that wrill not keepe her dairie deane, 
A blow vpon the elbow, and the knee : 
From each of these the Lord deliuer me. 

A fleering laughter, and a fidthlesse heart, 
A creeping curtsie, and a cankred mind, 
An idle study, and a needlesse art, 
A Northeme tempest, and an Easteme wind. 
And from a Curre, that bites a man behind, 
And frt>m a glasse of an il-fauour'd blee : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

To keepe too long among vngodly people. 
To fit mine humor vnto euery fashion, 
To seeke to build a house vpon Paules Steeple, 
To dwell too long vpon a peeuish foshion, 
To follow ill, and hate a reformation. 
To leame the rules where such ill lessons be : 
From all such trifles, the Lord deliuer me. 

To make an idoU of a painted fiice, 
And to attend vpon a golden asse, 
To seeke to do the honest mind disgrace 
And bring a kind of wicked world to passe. 
Or seeke to braue it with a fisoe of brane, 
To leape the Terns, or clime a rotten tree : 
From all such trifles, the Lord deliuer me. 



From standing too much in mine ovme conceit, 
And gluing credite vnto euery tale, 
From being caught with euery foolish baite. 
From setting of my credite all to sale, 
Fh>m leauing of a nut to take a shale, 
From the poore line of the fooles petegree : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

From fiiry, franzie, and imprisonment, 
From fine Maid Marian and her Morris dance. 
From the deseruing of due punishment. 
From bond, from statute, and recognisance. 
From trusting too much vnto fickle chance. 
From vnkind brothers that cannot agree : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

From taking pleasure in a villanie, 
From carelesse hearing of a sound aduise, 
Fh>m sorting with the wicked companie, 
Fjrom setting vertue at too low a price, 
From loosing too much coine at cardes and dice, 
Fronx being bound till folly makes me free : 
The Lord of heau'n and earth deliuer me. 

From laying plottes for to abuse a friend, 
Fhmi being by a cunning knaue b^guild, 
From working humors to a wicked end, 
From getting of a filthy whore with child, 
Flrom dwelling in a house that is vntilde, 
From surfeting within a cherrie tree : 
From all such toies, good Lord deliuer me. 

From a conspiracie of wicked knaues, . . 
A flight of buzzards, and a denne of theeuea; 
A knot of villaines, and a crue of slaues. 
And from the patches on the beggars sleenes. 
And from the spoile that gratious spirits greeues. 
And from the foole can neither thriue nor thee : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From the illusions of a filthy diuell, 
Flrom too much hunting after worldly pleasure, 
And from delighting in an inward euiU, 
And too much louing of this worldly treasure. 
And from taking leuell by vnlawfull measure, 
And from the babies foolish A. B, C : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

To thlnke to wash an Ethiopan white. 
To k>ue too long, and not be loued againc, . 
To do him wrong that alwaies doth me rights 
To play the knaue with him that, picaaeth plaine. 
And to continue in so vile a vaine, 
From all such notes where such instructions be : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

An old blind cat that cannot catch a mouse, 
A flinging curtoll, and a kicking mare, 
A wife that neuer loues to keepe her house, 
A lazy hound that will not hunt a hare, 
The shame that frdles out with the beggars share. 
And fit>m the foole that will good fortune flee : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From all infections both of soule and body. 
And from the curelesse crosses of the mind, 
From being too much inward with a noddy, 
Or to a brother or a firiend vnkind. 
Or changing hiunors hourely with the wind, 
From an ill fruit of an accursed tree : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From making bargaines till I line by losse, 
And hoording come to eate into my heart. 
To walke the Woodcocke to the Beggars crosse. 
Or to be schoUer at the diuells art, 
To hurt my soule with such infemall smart, 
From all such humors where such errors be : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From beating of my braines about a bable, 
From thinking of no end ere I beginne, 
From giuing eare vnto an idle fable, 
And poasting ioumies for a puddings skinne, 
And loosing all while other men do winne. 
From eating apples vpon Adams tree : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

A rainy euening, and a foggy mome, 
A barren ground, and an vnkindly yeere, 
A nittie haire, a gament ouer wome, 
A market towne where all things are too deere, 
A churies bare table without bread or beere. 
The wofiill issue of a Judas fee : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n delhier me. 

From restie bacon, and ill salted beefe. 
From raw sodde cunger, and ill rosted eeles. 
From a quicke witte, that hath his tongue too briefe, 
And frt>m the blaines and kibes vpon my heeles. 
And firom a madding wit that runnes on wheeles, 
From all such rules as out of order be : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From a delight in hunting after newes. 

Or louing idle tales of Robin Hood, 

And from too much frequenting of the stewes. 

Or ventring farre but for a little good, 

And take a puddle for a princely flood. 
From such blind iests as best with fooles agree : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

To slander Honor, Vertue to disgrace. 
Offend Discretion, Learning to abuse. 
Good labours enuy, and their worth deface. 
To follow follie, wisedome to refuse. 
To leaue the best, and all the worst to chuse. 
To euery Asse to giue the cappe and knee : 
From all such errors Lord deliuer me. 

From writing libells against men of state, 
And medling with matters aboue my selfe, 
Where I am lou'd, to giue iust cause of hate, 
Or to be busie with a monkie elfe. 
Or carelesse runne my ship vpon a shelfe. 
From such ill courses where no good I see : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 


Prom loosing too much time in noaking loue, 
From trusting to an idle humour'd dreame. 
From spending too much mony how to proue, 
To make a boate to ouergo the streame, 
To kill my selfe to purge a little fleame : 

From such odde vaines where such deuises be, 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From a prowd woodcocke, and a peeuish wife. 

A sleepy maiden, and a wanton hagge, 

A poyntlesse needle, and a broken knife. 

A house vnfumisht. and an emptie bagge. 

A fidling baggige and a wicked wagge, 
And from the woods where wolues and foxes be : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

The French Verola, and the English feuer. 

The Irish ague, and the Spanish pippe. 

The lungs consumption, and the rotten liuer, 

The cursed fiall into a fellons trippe, 

And from the ladder by the ropw to skippe. 
Where execution makes the fatall tree : 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

To diue into a pocket for a purse, 

Or steal a horse out of a pasture field. 

To loue to swear and lie, and ban and ciu-se. 

And stubbomely to no good counsell yeeld, 

But vnder fortune all my forces shield : 
From all such rules where reasons mines be. 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From cousoning of my selfe with too much kindnes, 
From slipping fortune when it doth befall me, 
From being led by wilfull reasons blindnes, 
And keeping backe when fortime seems to call me ; 
From all such passions as may so apall me, 
Where blinded eies cannot their blessings see, 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

To be commanded by a currish minde, 
And to be flattred by a foolish knaue, 
And to be crossM by a wicked winde. 
And to be followed ^ith a filthy slaue, 
And to be harbourd in a hellish caue : 

From such ill courses where such crosses be. 

The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From thriftlesse spending, and from fruitlessc paines. 
From sencelesse studies, and from gracelesse deedes. 
From helplesse torments, and from witlesse vaines, 
And from all those follies, that such humors feedes. 
And from the sinne that endlesse sorrow breedes. 
And from all spots in my fowle soule to see : 
Oh blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

A moath that eates into the finest cloth. 
A wicked worme that hath a deadly sting. 
A poysned potion with a sugred froth, 
A wicked charme, within a Diuels Ring. 
And from the Syrenes when they Call to sing : 

From such ill creatures as so cursM be, 
The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

A mowse within a daintie peece of cheese, 
A nest of rattes within a linnen chest, 
A snake within a hiue of hony Bees, 
A woolfe that eates into a wounded breast. 
And from his curse that neuer can be blest : 

From all such ill, wherein no good can be, 

The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From an olde kow that kicketh downe her milke, 
And a yong colt, that will his rider cast. 
From a thiefes halter though it be of silke. 
And from a diall that doth goe too fast. 
And from a pardon when the paine is past. 

And from confession vnder Tibome tree : 

The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From too long hoping after dead mens shooes. 
And from betraying of an honest trust. 
From lacke of care, either to gaine or loose. 
And from a conscience that may prove vniust. 
And from a wicked and vnlawfull lust : 

From all such courses where no comforts be, 

The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From a stale peece of flesh that is twice sodden. 
And from a bloud-raw rosted peece of beefe. 
And frt)m a crauen henne that is crow trodden. 
And from a bawd, a whore, a rogue, a thiefe, 
And from home>taking and hearts inward griefe. 

And from the ill wherein no good can be : 

The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From blindnes, lamenesse, deafnes, cramps and stitches. 
And from the gout, the chollicke and the stone. 
And from inchanting charmes of wicked witches. 
From coughes, and rhewmes, and aches in the bone. 
And from the griefe of loue to Hue alone. 

And from all agues whatsoe're they be : 

The blessed Lord of heau'n deliuer me. 

From the forsaking of the word of God, 
To follow idle humour'd fopperies, 
To scome the scourging of the heau'nly rod, 
From doing of my selfe such iniuries, 
To bring my soule into such miseries. 

And from all sinne within my soule to see : 

The gratious God of heau'n deliuer me. 

When I am olde, and sicke, and lame and poore. 
And crucified a thousand sundry wayes. 
And death beginnes to ope my fatall doore, 
To call me home from my vnhappy dayes. 
And all my passions then must end their playes. 

Then from all euill, and both now and then : 

The Lord of heau'n doliuer me. Amen. 




Prognostication . 

[HEN that a churle doth grow so prodigal, 
He cares not how he throw away his cojme, 
And a wise man growes so fantasticall, 
As with a foole will for his counsell ioyne, 
And that a Fencer layes away his foyne, 
And a yong spend-thrift fsdies to purchase land : 
I feare that Doomes day will be hard at hand. 

When that a Lawyer leaues to take a fee, 
And that a trades man will not sell for gaine, 
When euery Indge will so indifferent be, 
Euen as he sees to shew the matter plaine, 
When that the world is growne to such a vaine : 
My m\ise doth feare in her best ajrming markes, 
The skie will fall, and then we shall haue Larkes. 

When humblenesse is praisde, and pride abated, 
Vertue is honourd, and foule vice defaced, 
Goodnesse beloned, wickednesse is hated, 
Wisedome aduanced, folly is displaced. 
Truth is esteem'd and fJEdshood is disgraced, 
The rich men giue their treasure to the poore : 
I feare me Doomes day will be at the doore. 

When filthy Dowdes will leaue to paint their faces. 
And lacke an Apes leaue letting like a man, 
And Brokers debters feare no Sergeants maces 
Nor Geese will take the riuer with the Svran, 
Nor greedie tume-spittes licke the dripping pan. 
Nor that a knaue will giue a foole the scoffe : 
I feare me doomes day vrill be not fiure off. 

When giddie heads lay by their idle humors, 
And wicked wittes will leaue their viDanie, 
And giacelesse tongues will cease vnciuill Rumors, 
And yong men follow no il companie. 
Nor maides be sicke of the sweete Timpanie, 
But constant hearts for very loue will die : 
I feare me doomes day will be then too nie. 

When idle loners leaue for to dissemble. 

And faithfiill friends are worthily regarded. 

And Vertue's beautie doth the sunne resemble. 

While clowdie mistes are vtterly disswaded, 

And carefull seruice kindly is rewarded. 
While honor Hues, where loue can neuer die : 
I feare me doomes day will be very nigh. 

When old men line til they be yong againe, 
And yong men fal in age before their time. 
When Poets Muses leaue to frump and faine, 
And blossomes loose the beautie of their prime, 
And no man falls that takes in hand to clime, 
And he that may be rich will needes be poore : 
I feare me Doomes day then is at the doore. 

When that a beggar braues it with a King. 
And that a coward puts a souldier downe. 
And that a Waspe is bred without a sting, 
And that a Knight must creepe vnto a Qowne, 
And heart sicke Honor falls into a swovme. 
And careful hearts for lacke of comfort die : 
I feare me doomes day wil be then too nie. 

When cankred coine a Kingdom may conmiand. 
And many thousands die for one mans ease. 
And that a poore man may not right demand, 
And honest hearts must wicked humors please. 
Til sorrow too much on the soule do ceaze : 
When thus the world with woe is ouergone, 
I feare that Doomes day wiU be coming on. 

When Cockes of game begin to leaue their fight, 
And old fooles will not with yong babies play, 
The stately Eagle loose her lofty height. 
And wise men fiEdl to keepe fooles holiday. 
When that the world doth grow to such a stay. 

It makes me feare that much about that yeere. 

The day of Doome wil sure be very neere. 

When that the Lion doth begin to roare, 
The wolfe to houle, the snarling cune to barke. 
The buzzard Kite too neere the Sunne to soare. 
The Bunting striue to mount aboue the Larke : 
My Muse doth find in her best aiming marke. 

That neere vpon that yeare she feares to see. 

The comming of the day of Doome wil be. 

When that a flie vpon a galde horse backe. 
Can make fooles laugh to see how he can sit, 
And when a pedler in a beggars packe, 
Can Carrie ware, for his poore trade vnfit. 
And with his purse can go away with it, 
And Epicures will leaue their belly-cheere : 
I feare me then the day of Doome is neere. 



When lohn a Noddes will be a Gentleman 
Because his worship weares a velvet coate, 
And euery Piper, a Musitian, 
Because he hits vpon an idle noate, 
And Beggars care not for the King a groate, 
When that the foole will giue himselfe the scoffe : 
I feare me Doomes day cannot be farre off. 

When children teach their parents how to speake. 
And seruants leame their masters to command, 
When strong men will be guided by the weake, 
And Rascall driue the male Deere downe the lawnde, 
And Beggars fill the misers emptie Mawnd, 
And dead men rise aliue out of the Beere : 
I feare me Doomes day wil be very neere. 

When conies hunt the dogges out of the warren, 
And partridges beate hawkes out of the field, 
And deinty faulcons feede on filthy carren, 
And souldiers take the penne, and leaue the field, 
And that a prince will to his subiects yeeld : 
Then by some rules my Muse doth vnderstand, 
She biddes me feare that doomes day is at hand. 

When such as loue their des will needes be blind, 
And such as heare will seeme to stoppe their eares. 
And fathers to their children are vnkind, 
Because they thinke that they are none of theirs. 
When they haue wiues, and other make their heires : 
When such hard pointes the world doth stand vpon, 
I feare me doomes day will be comming on. 

When that the world is set vpon a will, 
And purses carie matters as they list. 
When all the grace is in the golden skill, 
And few or none that cares for had I wist. 
And each one thinkes he walketh in a mist : 
When all these courses fall out in a yeere, 
I feare me Doomes day will be very neere. 

When idle quarrels breede vngodly warres, 
And subtil peace deceiues a simple heart. 
When men do shoote their arrowes at the starres 
And neuer thinke of death his sodaine dart : 
When thus the world doth take the foolish part. 
When all good thoughts are flimg vpon the floore, 
I feare me Doomes day will be at the doore. 

When he that puts himselfe into good ragges, 
Thinkes himselfe halfe a prince for his apparrell. 
When he that hath the chest of golden bagges 
Beleeues he hath the world within a barrell : 
When folly thus with better wit will quarrell 
While wisedome in the world hath much disgrace, 
I feare me Doomes day will come on apace. 

When lands and bagges do marry wealth to wealth. 
And iirant and vertue must go downe the wind. 
When few or none regard the spirites health. 
While wicked humors leade away the mind : 
When the poore world is in this pitteous kind. 
While hellish spirits in their pride do stand, 
I feare me Doomes day will be hard at hand. 

When Charing crosse and Paules do meete. 
And breake their fast in Friday streete. 
And Ware and Waltam go to Kent, 
To purchase lands and gather rent. 
And Easter fialles afore the Lent : 
Then if my Table doe not he. 
The day of doome will sure be nie. 

When woodcockes build in dawcockes nestes. 
And Robin Hood is rise againe. 
And misers churles make merry feasts. 
And merchants loose that they may gaine : 
When once the world is in that vaine. 
Then do not thinke but nigh that yeere, 
The day of doome is very neere. 

When euery child his father knowes. 
And euery man will loue his wife, 
And women sweare to be no shrowes. 
But husbands leade a quiet life, 
While kindnesse cuts off euery strife : 
Then without doubt this build vpon, 
The day of doome is comming on. 

When Newgate is without a knaue, 

And Bridewell found without a whoore. 

A galley foimd without a slaue, 

A Farmers bame without a floore. 

And not a beggar at the doore : 
Then 4et both time and reson trie, 
And if that doomes day be not nie. 

When theeues begin to Icaue to steale. 
And lades will leaue their kicking trickcs, 
And fooles their secrets will conceale. 
And maides will vse no setting stickes. 
Nor blacke thome carrie pointed prickes : 

Then do not thinke but in that yeere. 

The day of doome will sure be neere. 

When old men care not for their health. 
And faire yong women wish to die. 
And rich men throw away their wealth, 
And Rascalls leaue their beggarie. 
And Knaues will leaue their knauerie : 
Then thinke as I haue said before, 
The day of Doome is at the doore. 

When wanton eies breede wicked minds. 
And wilful! heads breede wofull hearts, 
While indiscretion nature blinds. 
To scome tlie rules of Reasons Artes, 
And headlong fall into foule partes. 
Til had- 1 -wist make folly crie : 
Then thinke the day of Doome is nie. 

When women will no malice shew 
And men are free from envies fault. 
Who may be high, wil be below. 
And beefe keepe sweete that hath no salt. 
And Beere is brewed with musty Malt : 
Then do beleeue that truth will trie, 
The day of Doome will sure be nie. 



When Gamsters at Primero rests, 
Will put out all their purses eie, 
And warres do grow to be but iests, 
Where many fight, and few do die, 
A spider will not eate a flie : 

Then by my rule I vnderstand, 

The day of Doome will be at hand. 

>\lien Souldiers led into a field, 
Do see their leaders runne at a stay. 
The valiant to the coward yeeld, 
That doth his honour steale away : 
When the world is at such a fray, 

I say but as I said before, 

Thinke Doomes day will be at the doore. 

When that a Cocke wil craue his hen, 

Because shee is not of his breede, 

And boies will be as good as men, 

When schoUers teach their Masters reade. 

An hearb is spoilM by a weede : 
Then by my rules experience, 
That day of Doome is not farre hence. 

Wlien no good nature can amend ill manners, 
Nor daily preaching draw the world to God, 
But sinne and shame display their open banners, 
While he on earth begins to make abode, 
When holy thoughts are wholy ouertrode, 
While faith and troth do feare to shew their face 
I feare me Doomes day will come on apace. 

When that a man must seeke to please his wife, 
For feare the cuckoe sing vpon his head, 
A women will be wearie of her life. 
Because she cannot bring a foole to bed. 
When siluer thus must be exchangde for led : 
By such true rules as I haue rightly scand, 
I feare me Doomes day will be hard at hand. 

When wicked minds will in their humors dwell. 
And sinne is not ashamde to shew her face. 
And Atheists are resolude to go to hell. 
Because they haue no feeling thought of Grace : 
When that the world is in this wofull case. 

And death and sorrow do begin their song. 

I feare the day of Doome will not be long. 

When men and women gree like dogges and cats. 
Because the world is full of wicked natures. 
And euery towne is full of mice and rattes, 
That do deuoure the foode of better creatures. 
While fooles make idolls of ill-fauoured features : 
When we are thus poore, people to beg on vs, 
I feare me doomes day will come stealing on vs. 

When that a cat will eate no milke, 
And that a fox the goose forsakes. 
And coiutiers leaue their wearing silke, 
And snow doth leaue to fall in Qakes, 
And one man marres that other makes : 
Then doth my Table say that yeere, 
The day of Doome will sure be neere. 
When fishes leaue to play with baites. 
And buzzards leaue to beate the wind. 
And knaues will leaue with cunning sleights. 
For to deceiue a simple mind : 

When that the world is in this kind. 
Be sure this note to build vpon. 
The day of Doome is comming on. 

When morrice dancers leaue their bells, 
The foole his bable by will lay, 
And oisters breede without their shells, 
And that the mice with cattes will play, 
While wise men make fooles holy day : 
Then tell me if my table lie. 
That saies that doomes day will be nie. 

When that a Kite the Chicken feares, 
The wolfe will not come neere the Lamb, 
The frogs will be as big as Beares, 
The Ewe will not abide the Rarome, 
A Calfe wil leaue to sucke the Damme : 
Then do I by my table find, 
That doomes day is not farre behind. 

When youth will not the wantons play, 
And age hath swome he will not dote. 
And wil and wit are at a fray. 
While beggarie is not worth a groate : 
It is a certaine rule to note, 
That very much upon that )reere. 
The day of doome approcheth neere. 

When that a beggar braues a King, 
And fishes swimme without their finnes. 
An Owle wil teach a Larke to sing, 
And fishers leaue to lay their ginnes. 
When puddings crecpe out of their skinnes : 

Then thinke as I haue said before. 

The day of doome is at the doore. 

When Swallowes leaue to feede on Flies, 

And Asses looke into the ayre. 

And Mowles begin to ope their eies. 

And two fooles do not make a paire, 

And Basenesse sits in Honors chaire. 
And the Lord be seruant to a Groome : 
Then thinke vpon the day of doome. 

When fire begins to leaue his heate. 

No coolenesse in the water is, 

The hungry will refuse their meate. 

And louers leaue to coll and kisse. 

And all is well that was amisse : 
Then doth my perfect rule descrie. 
The day of doome wil sure be nigh. 

When couetousnesse can infect a King, 
And pride is set vpon a beggars heart, 
And too much want the honest mind doth wring. 
While helplesse sorrow breedes the spirits smart : 
When thus the diuell ginnes to play his part, 
To fill the world with such unhappy fare, 
I feare doomes day before we be aware. 

When furies flie like sparkles in the ayre. 
With fire and sword, to fU the world with bloud, 
And fearefiil soules are neere vnto despoire, 
While gracelesse hearts can see no hope of good. 
But endlesse sorrow is the sinners food : 

When thus the diudl in the worid doth sit. 

Doomes day wil come, although it be not yet. 


•••'•s^j;s..^Ss.^^s.^ys.>^ '■•■sXc'-N^X^'S^i'H^s.^H.^V.^'s.^i^'' 





' Melancholike Humours' was reprinted by Sir Eoerton Brydges at the 
Lee Priory Press (1815, 4to, 86 copies). It is perhaps the most inaccurate of 
the whole of the Brydges' books, as an entire stanza and various lines are 
omitted in * An vnhappy, solemne, jeasting curse/ and many words tinkered, 
misspelled, or misprinted, e.^. to the Reader, ' pains ' for ' paine : ' ' nest * for 
'death* {IVAat is Hellf) : *doth* for 'doe' {idid.) : 'save' for 'seme' {Afa/ 
ConUnt) : * pound ' for * ground * {A Solemne Sonnet) : * heart ' for * soule,' 
and * the ' for ' these ' {An Extreame Passion) : ' give ' for ' gaine,' and * not ' 
for ' thine,' and * its ' for * his ' {A Solemne Farewell to the World) : * contents ' 
for * conceits,' and * despise ' for * deuise ' {A Straunge Ay B, Q : * then ' for 

* they * (An vnhappy y solemne y jeasting curse) : ' impossible' for * vnpossible ' 
{A quarrell with Loue) : * me * for * them ' {A Wish in Vaine) : * cruel * for 

* bloody ' {A Conceit vpon an eagle and aphcenix) : 'the ' for * her * {A smile 
misconstrued) : * even ' for * euer,' and * be ' for * liue ' {An odde humour) : 

* drawn ' for * drunke ' {A dolefull fancy) ; * story * for * glory ' {An epitaph vpon 
poet Spencer)y etc. etc. Self-obvious misprints and mispunctuations of the 
original have been silently corrected. For the biographical importance 
and literary interest of ' Melancholike Humours ' see our Memorial-Intro- 
duction. Our text is from the extremely rare original edition in the 
Marsh Library, Dublin ; there is a second copy in the Bodleian. Collation : 
A to F, in fours ; 23 leaves, sm. 4to. The Contents on verso of title-page 
are prefixed for convenience of reference. — G. 



In Verses of Di- 
verse Natures, 

Set downe by 


1 Printed by Richard Bradocke. 


















13. A STRAUNGE A. B. C, 11 









aa. A WISH IN VAINE. 13 





aj' A WAGGERY. 15 





To the Lover of good studies, 
and Fauourer of good actions, 


Heavens blessings and earths happinesse. 

SIR,— i/y knowUdgt of your good judgemini in ike 
diutrsity of humours, and your dispositiom to 
that kest mtlanckolie, that cannot run maddi with 
triJUs, hath made me {vpon the gathering together of 
certain odde pieces of poetry) to oger my labours to 
your patience, and my hue to your seruice. They are 
all waters of one spring: but they runne through many 
hinds of earth, whireof thty giue a hinde of tang in their 

taste. Such as they be, J leaue them to the kindnesse of 
your acceptation, and my self e to your like commaunde- 
nunt. And so {locUh to vse ceremonious cdpliments) in 
theafectian of a poore friend, and in humble thankeful- 
nesse for your manie vndeserued favours, 

I rest yours, very much to commauud, 

N. B. 

^ Co tl^e IBeaDer. 

PASQVIL, hauing been long in his dumps, in 
somewhat better then a browne studie, hath 
brought forth the firuites of a fewe Melancholike 
Humours ; which chieefly he commendeth to spirits 
of his own nature, full of melancholy, and as neere 
Bedlem as Mooregate : a figure in the fields, to be easily 
disdphered. To be short, and to growe towards an 
ende, ere I haue wel begun, I wil tel you : the g^em&s 
bcmins were much troubled, as you may see by his per- 
plexities ; but with studying how to make one line leuell 
with another, in more rime then perhaps some will thinke 

reason, with much adoe about nothing, hee hath made 
a piece of worke as little worth. He that can giue him 
lesse commendation, let him vse his arte. For mine 
owne part, I haue taken paine to write his Will, which 
he hath sent to the worlde to like as it list. According 
to whose will, I leaue it : entreating no man to wreste 
his will to any thing further then may stand with his 
pleasure ; but to speak indifferently of all things, as hee 
findes cause. And so I rest 

Your friende, 

N. B. 

3|n autl^orem^ 

Tl/ov, that wouldstfnde the habit of true passion. 
And see a minde attir'd in petfeet straines; 
No twearing moodes, as gallants doe a fashion. 
In these pide tima, only to shiwe their braines, 

Loohe here on Bretons Worhe, the wtaster print : 
Where, such perfections to the life doe rise ; 

If they seeme wry, to such as loohe asquint, 
ThefamU's not in the object, but their eyes. 

For, as one commimg with a laterall viewt 
Vnto a cunning piece wrought perspectiue. 

Wants facultie to mahe a censure true- 
So with this Authors readers will it thriue: 

Which, being eyed directly, I diuine 
Hisproofe their praise, will meet, as in this line. 

Ben: Ioh^son. 


fj^ See and Say Nothing. 

H my thoughts, keepe in your words. 
Least their passa^ do repent yee 
Knowing. Fortune still alTordes 
Nothing, but may discontent yee. 

If 3rour saint be like the sunne. 

Sit not yee in Phoebus chaire, 
Least, when once the horses runne. 

Yee be Dedalus his heire. 

If your labours well dcserue. 

Let 3rour silence onely grace them ; 
And in patience hope preserue, 

That no fortune can deface them. 

If 3rour friend doe growe vnkinde. 

Grieue. but doe not seeme to showe it 
For a patient heart shall finde 

Comfort, when the aoule shall know it. 

If 3rour trust be all betrai'd, 
Trie, but trust no more at all : 

But in soule be not dismai'd ; 
Whatsoeuer doe befall. 

In 3rour selues your selues enclose, 
Keepe your secrecies vnseenc ; 

Least when ye your selues disclose. 
Yee had better neuer beene. 

And what euer be yotu* state, 

Doe not languish ouerlong ; 
Least you finde it, all too late, 

Sorrow be a deadly iong. 

And be comforted in this, 
If your pcusions be concealed, 

Crosse or comfort, bale or blisse, 
' Tis the best, is not reuealed. 

So, my deerest thoughts, adieu, 

Hark whereto my soule doth call yee : 

Dc but secret, wise, and true, 
Feare no euill can befall yee. 

H What is Hell ? 

What is the place that some do paint for Hdl ? 

A lake of horrour for the life of man : 
Is it not then the death wlierein I dwell. 

That knowes no joy, since first my life b^^ ? 

What are the diuils ? Spirits of tormenting ; 

What else are they, that vexe me in each vaine ? 
With wretched thoughts my wofuU spirit tempting. 

Or else perplex mee in an after-paine. 

What is the fire ? but, an effect of sinne. 
That keepes my heart in an vnkindly heat. 

How long shall I this life continue in ? 
Till true repentance mercy doe entreate. 

And Patience cry, euen at the latest breath, 
Saue mee, sweet Lord yet frO the sec6d death. 

^ Mal Content. 

If I desir'd vnto the world to liue. 
Or sought in soule to seme the golden God : 

If I did homage to an idole gine. 
Or, with the wicked wisht to haue abode, 

Then, well might Justice lay her sword vpon mee. 

In due correction of my crooked hart ; 
But shall I line, in soule thus woe b^[on mee. 

That seeke in faith to seme the better part ? 

Ah, wretched Soule, why dost thou murmur so? 

It is thy crosse, and thou art borne to beare it : 
Through hellish griefs thy hart to heave must go. 

For Patience crowne, if thou wilt liue to wear it. 

Then rest with this, (since Faith is Virtues friend,) 
Death ends distresse,Heauen makes a happy en(^ 

IT A DoLEPULL Passion. 

Oh, tyred heart too fiill of sonrowes. 
In night-like daies, despairing morrowes ; 
How canst thou thinke, so deepely greeued. 
To hope to liue to be relieued? 


Good Fortune hath all grace forswome thee, 
And cruell Care hath too much tome thee : 
Vnfaithliill friends do all deoeiue thee ; 
Acquaintance all vnkindly leaue thee. 

Beauty, out of her booke doth blot thee. 
And Loue hath vtterly forgot thee : 
Patience doth but to passion moue thee. 
While only Honour liues to loue thee. 

Thine enemies all ill deuise thee, 
Thy friends but little good aduise thee ; 
And they who most doe duety owe thee, 
Doe seeme as though they doe not knowe thee. 

Thus Pittie weepes to looke vpon thee. 
To see how thou art woe b^^n thee ; 
And while these passions seeke to spill thee, 
Death but attends the houre to lull thee. 

And since no thougbte is comming to thee, 
That any way may comfort doe thee ; 
Dispose thy thoughtes as best may please thee, 
That Heauen, of all thy Hell, may ease thee. 

IT A Testament vpon the Passion. 

To Care, that crucifies my heart, 
My sighes and sobbes I doe bequeath ; 
And to my Sorrowes deepest smart, 
The latest gaspe that I doe breath. 

To Fortune. I bequeath my folly. 
To giue to such as seeke her grace : 
To faithlesse friends, that fortune wholly. 
That brought mee in this heavie case. 

To Beauty. I bequeath mine age ; 
To Love, the hate of wit and sense ; 
To Patience, but the cure of rage ; 
To Honour, Virtues patience. 

Mine enemies I do forgiue ; 
And to my friends I giue my loue ; 
And wish vngrateful hearts may Hue 
But like ingratitude to proue. 

To Pitty, I bequeath my teares, 

To fill her eyes when they be dry ; 

To Faith, the fearelesse thoughts of feares. 

To giue to life, to let me die. 

My care I doe bequeath to Death, 

To cut the threades that thoughts do spinne ; 

And at my latest gasp of breath. 

To Heauen my soule, to Hell my sinne. 

^ A Fantasticke Solemne HimouR. 

SovND, good Reason, sound my sorrowes, 

Equall them with any lining ; 

Finde the worst of all her giuing. 
When she most her mischiefe borrowes. 

Leaue not patience all perplexed. 
Where no passions are appeased ; 
But her torments, never eased, 

Keepe her spirit too much vexed. 

Tell, oh tell the truest story 
That hath long time bene described ; 
Whereto justly is ascribed 

Sorrowes pride, and Death his glory. 

Loue bred in Discretions blindnesae, 
Shadowes, for the sunne affecting 
Nothing, but nothing effecting, 

Shewes the crosse of Natures klndnesse. 

Wit, bewitcht with wanton Beauty, 
Lost the raines of Reasons bridle ; 
And, in Folly all too idle, 

Brake the bands of Reasons duty. 

Time misspent in Follies trifles, 
(With repentance sorrow feeding,) 
In the rules of Reasons reeding, 

Findes them nothing else but nifles. 

Care, yet seeking to recouer 
Indiscretions heavie losses. 
Found, in casting vp my crosses. 

Sorrow only left the louer. 

II A Briefe of Sorrows. 

Mvse of sadnesse neere Deaths frishion, 
Too neere madnesse, write my passion ; 
Paines possesse mee, Sorrowes spill mee. 
Cares distresse mee, all would kill mee ; 
Hopes haue faild mee, Fortune foild mee, 
Feares haue quaild mee, all haue spoild mee : 
Woes haue wome mee, sighes haue soakt mee ; 
Thoughts haue tome mee, all haue broke mee. 
Beauty strooke me, Loue hath catcht mee. 
Death hath tooke mee, all dispatcht mee. 

If A Solemne Fancy. 

Sorrow in my heart breedeth 

A cocatrices neast, 
Where euery yotmg bird feedeth 

Vpon my Hearts vnrest. 

Where euery pecke they giue mee, 

(Which euery houre they doe, ) 
Vnto such paine they driue mee. 

I knowe not what to doe. 
Oh, broode vnhapp'ly hatched 

Of such a cursed kinde. 
Where Death and Sorrowe matched. 

Liue. but to kill the minde. 

Wordes torments are but trifles, 
That but conceits oonfounde ; 

And Natures griefes but nifles 
Vnto the Spirits wounde. 

They are but Cares good morrowes 

That passions can declare ; 
While my Hearts inward sorrowes 

Are all without compare. 

Fortune, she seekes to sweare mee 

To an may discontent mee ; 
Yet sayes. she doth forbeare mee. 

She doth no more torment mee. 



Beauty she doth retaine mee 
In scarce a fouours tittle ; 

And though she doe disdeigne mee. 
She thinkes my griefe too little. 

Looe fidles into a laughing 

At Reasons little good, 
While Sorrow, with her quaffing, 

Is drunke with my heart blood. 

But let her drinke and spare not, 

VntiU my heart be dry ; 
And let Love laugh, I care not ; 

My hope is, I shall dy. 

And Death shall only tell 
My firoward fortunes £uhion, 

That nearest vnto hell 
Was found the Lovers passion. 


FORTVNB hath writ characters on my heart 
As full of crosses as the skinne can holde. 

Which tell of torments, tearing euery part. 
While Death and Sorrowe do my &te vniblde. 

Patience sits leaning like a pining aoule. 
That had no heart to thinke of Hopes reliefe ; 

While firuitlesse cares discomfort doe csiroule 
Within the ground of neuer ending griefie. 

Thoughts file about, as all in feare oonfounded ; 

Reason growne mad, with too much mtUeamUmi; 
Loue, passion-rent, to see his patience wounded. 

With dreadfull terrors of Despaires intent 

While Care concludes, in comforts overthrowne. 
Whs Death can speak, my possiOt shal be sbowne. 

IT An ExTRBAicB Passion. 

OvT of the depth of deadly griefe, tormenting day and night ; 

A wounded heart and wretched soule depriu'd of all delight ; 

Where neuer thought of comfort came, that passid might appease ; 

Or by the smallest sparke of hope might giue the smallest ease : 

Let me intreat that solemne Muse that serues but Sorrowes tume. 

In oeasselesse sighes and endlesse sobs to helpe my soule to moume. 

But, Oh what thought beyOd al thought hath thought to think vpon. 

Where Patience findes her greatest power in passions ouergon. 

That neere the doore of Natures death in dolefiill notes doth dwell ; 

In Horrors fits that will describe my too much figur'd helL 

What want, what wrong, what care, what crosse, may crucifie a hart ; 

But day and howre I doe endure in all and euery part ? 

Want to sustaine the Bodies neede, wrong to distract the minde : 

Where Want makes Wit and Reason both to goe against their kinde. 

Care to deuise for Comforts helpe ; but so by Fortune crost. 

As Idls the heart, to cast the eye on nought but labour lost 

Desire to Hue, in spite of DeaUi, yet still in lining dying ; 

And so a greater death than death, by want of dying, trying. 

Oh, hell of hels, if euer earth such horror can afford, 

Where such a world of helpelesse cares doe lay the heart aboord. 

No day, no night, no thought, no dreame, but of that doleful nature, 

That may amaxe, or sore affilgfat, a most afflicted creature. 

Friends tumd to foes, foes vse their force ; and Fortune in her pride. 

Shaks hand with Fate, to make my soule the weight of sorrow bide. 

Care brings in sicknes, sicknes pain, and paine with patience passion. 

With biting in most bitter griefes brings featiur out of fashion ; 

Where brawn £alne cheeks, heart scalding sighs, and dimm^ ejres with teares 

Doe shewe, in Lifes anatomy, what burthen Sorrowe beares. 

Where all day long in helplesse cares, all hopdesse of reliefe, 

I wish for night, I might not see the objectes of my griefe. 

And when night comes, woes keep my wits in such a waking vaine. 

That I could wish, though to my griefe, that it were day againe. 

Thus dales are nights, which nights are dales, which dales are like those nights. 

That to my passiOs sCse presfit but only Sorrows sights ; 

Which to the eye but of the minde of Misery appeare. 

To fill the heart of fbrlome Hope too fiill of heauie cheare. 

Oh hart how canst thou bold so long, and art not broke ere this ? 


When all thy strings are btK the stiaines that oOfort strikes amisse. 

Yet must thou make thy musicke still but of that mournlull stnune, 

Where Sorrowe. in the sonnd of death, doth shew her swettaM vain : 

Or where her Muses all consent in their consort to trie 

Their sweetest musicke, in desire to die, and cannot die. 

The pellican that kils her sdfe, her young ones for to feede. 

Is pleas'd to dy that they may Hue, that suck when she doth Ueede : 

But while I in those cares consume that would my spirit kill, 

Nought liues by me, when I must die, to feede but Sorrowes will. 

The hart that's hQted all day long, hath sport yet with the hoGds, 

And happly beats off many a dogge before his deadly wounds : 

But my poore heart is hunted still with such a cruell cry. 

As in their dogged humours liue, while I alone must die. 

The swan that sings before her death, doth shew that she is pleas'd, 

To knowe that death will not be long in helping the diseas'd : 

But my poore swanlike soule, (alas) hath no such power to sing ; 

Because she knowes not when my death will make my care a king. 

What shall I say? but only say ; I knowe not what to say : 

So many torments teare my heart, and tugge it euery way. 

My sunne is tumd into a ^de, or else mine eyes are blinde, 

That Sorrowes cloude makes all seeme darke, that comes into my minde. 

My 3routh to age ; or else because my comforts are so colde, 

My sorrowe makes me in conceit to be decrepit olde. 

My hopes to feares ; or else because my fortunes are forlome, 

My fande makes me make my selfe vnto my selfe a scome. 

My life to death ; or else because my heart is so perplexed, 

I finde my selfe but lining dead, to feele my soule so vexed. 

For what is here that earth can yedd in Pleasures sweetest vaine, 

But in the midst of all my cares doth still increase my paine ? 

While epicures are overglut, I ly, and starue for foode ; 

Because my conscience can not thriue vpon ill gotten good. 

While other swimme in choyce of silkes, I sit alone in ragges ; 

Because I can not fitte the time to fill the golden bagges. 

While other are bedeckt in golde, in pearle, and pretious stone ; 

I sigh to see they haue so much, and I can light of none. 

Not that I enuie their estate, but wish that God would glue 

Some comfort to my carefiill hope, wherby my heart might liue. 

Some please themselves in choyce of sports, in trifles and in toies ; 

While my poore feeble spirit feedes of nothing but annoyes. 

Some haue their houses stately built, and gorgeous to beholde ; 

While in a cottage, bare and poore, I bide the bitter colde. 

Some haue their chariots and their horse, to beare them to and fro ; 

While I am glad to walke on foote, and glad I can doe so. 

Some haue their musickes hermony, to please their idle eares ; 

While of the song of sorrow still my soule the burthen beares. 

Some haue their choice of all perfumes, that Natures arte can giue ; 

While sinne doth stinke so in my soule, as makes me loath to liue. 

They, like the wielders of the world, command, and haue their will ; 

While I, a weakling in the world, am slaue to sorrow still. 

The owle, that makes the night her day, delights yet in the darke ; 

But I am forc't to play the owle, that haue beene bred a larke. 

The eagle from the lowest vale can mount the lofty skie ; 

But I am folne downe from the hill, and in the vale must die. 

The sparrow in a princes house can finde a place to builde ; 

I scarce can finde out any place that will my comfort yeelde. 

The little wrenne doth find a worme, the little finch a seede ; 

While my poore heart doth hunger still, and finds but little feedc. 

The bee doth find her hony flower, the butterflie her leafe ; 

But I can finds a worlde of come, that yeeldes not me a sheafe. 




The horse, the oxe. the silly asse. that tugge out all the day, 

At night come home, and take their rest, and lay their worke away : 

While my poOre heart, both day and night, in passions ouertoild ; 

By ouerlabour of my braine doth finde my spirit spoiled. 

The winds doe blowe away the dowds, that would obscure the sun ; 

And how all glorious is the sky, when once the stormes are done t 

But in the heave of my harts hope, where my loves light doth shine ; 

I nothing see, but clouds of cares, or else my sunne decline. 

The earth is watred, smooth'd and drest, to keepe her gardens gay ; 

While my poore heart, in woefull thoughtes, must wither still away. 

The sea is someUme at a calme, where shippes at andior ride ; 

And fishes, on the sunny shore, doe play on euery side : 

But my poore heart in Sorrows seas, is sicke of such a qualme ; 

As, while these stormy tempests holde, can neucr looke for calme. 

So that I see. each bird and beast, the sea, the earth, the sky, 

All sometime in their pleasures hue, while I alone must die. 

Now thinke, if all this be too true, (as would it were not so) 

If any creature Hue on earth, that doe like sorrow knowe. 

Nay, aske of Sorrow, cuen her selfe, to thinke how I am wounded. 

If she be not, to see my woes, within her selfe oonfounded : 

Or say, no figure can suffice my sorrowes frame to £ishion. 

Where PatiSce thus hath shew'd her selle, beyOd her selfe in passion. 

Par nulla /gura dolari, nee dolor mto. 

^ A SoLBiCNE Farewell to the World. 

Oh fbrlome Fancy whereto dost thou liue, 
To weary out the senses with vnrest ? 
Hopes are but cares, that but discomforts giue, 
WUle only fooles doe clime ^^ phoenix nest : 
To heart sicke soules all joyes are but a jest, 
Thou dost in vain but striue against the streame, 
With blinded eyes to see the sunny beame. 

Die with desire, abandoned firom delight. 
Thy weary winter lasteth all the yeare : 
Say to thy selfe that darknesse is the light, 
Wherein doth nothing but thy death appeare ; 
While wit and sense, in Sorrowes heauy cheare, 
Findes thee an humour, but vnkindly bredde 
Of Hopes illusions, in too weake a head. 

Fortune affiightes thee with a thousand feares, 
While Folly feedes thee with abuse of wit ; 
And while thy force in fainting passion weaxes, 
Patience is ready to increase the fit. 
Where agonies in their extreames doe sit : 
So that, each way, thy soule is so perplexed, 
As better die, then liue to be so vexed. 

Say, Patience somewhat doe asswage thy paine ; 
Prolonged cures are too vncomfortable ; 
And where that care doth neuer comfort gaine. 
The state, alasse must needes be miserable : 
Where Sorrowes labours are so lamentable, 
That Silence saies, that to the soule complains, 
Concealed sorrowes are the killing pains. 

Then doe not ceasse to sigh and sobbe thy fill, 
Bleede in the teares of true knie's lining blood ; 
Sbewe how vnkindnesse seekes the heart to kill. 
That hides a buxzard in a folcons hoode : 
Feede not thy self with misconceipted good ; 

Better to starue, then in a sugred pill 

To taste the poison of the Spirits ill 

But if thou canst content thee with thy life. 
And wilt endure a double death to liue , 
If thou canst beare that bitter kinde of strife, 
Where crosse conceipts but discontents do giue : 
If to this ende thou canst thine humour driue, 

And cares true patience can command thee so ; 

Give me then leave to tell thee what I knowe. 

I knowe too well, that all too long haue tryed. 
That earth containeth not that may content thee ; 
Sorrowe will so beset thee on each side, 
That Wit nor Reason can the thought inuent thee, 
But that will some way seme for to torment thee : 
Hope wil deceiue thee, Happinesse goe by thee, 
Fortune will faile thee, and Uie World defie thee. 

Beauty will blinde thine eyes, bewitch thine heart. 

Confound thy senses, and commaund thy will, 

Soome thy desire, not looke on thy desart, 
. Disdaine thy seruioe, quite thy good with ill. 

And make no care thy very soule to kill. 
Time will outgoe thee, Sorrowe overtake thee. 
And Death, a shadow of a substance, make thee. 

I know this world will neuer be for thee ; 
Conscience must carry thee another way : 
Another world must be for thee and mee. 
Where happie thoughts miist make their holiday. 
While heMienly comforts neuer will decay. 



We must not thinke in this ill age to thriiie, 
Where Faith and Loue are scarcely found alhie. 

Wee must not build otu* houses on the sands, 
Where euery flood will wash them quite awaj ; 
Nor set our seales vnto those wicked bands, 
Where damnM soules their debts in bel must paj : 
Our states must stand vpon a better stay ; 

Vpon the rock we must our houses builde. 

That wil our frames from winde and water shield. 

Goe, bid the world, with all his trash, farewell, 
And tell the earth it shall be all but dust : 
These wicked wares, that worldlings buy and sell, 
The moath will eat, or else the canker rust : 
All flesh is grasse, and to the graue it must. 

This sinke of sin is but the way to hdl ; 

Leaue it, I say, and bid the world farewell 

Account of pompe but as a shadowed power. 
And thinke of friends but as the sommer flies : 
Esteeme of beauty as a foding flower. 
And louers fancies but as fabled lies : 
Knowe, that on earth there is no Paradise. 
Who sees not heauen is surely spirit-blinde. 
And like a body that doth ladce a minde. 

Then let vs lie as dead, till there wee liue. 
Where only loue doth liue for euer blest ; 
And only loue the onely life doth giue. 
That bringes the soule vnto etemall rest : 
Let vs this wicked, wretched world detest, 
Where gracelesse hearts in hellish sins persever. 
And fly to heaven, to liue in grace for euer. 

Doth Love liue in Beauties eyes? 
Why then are they so vnloving? 
Patience in her passion prouing. 
There his soirowe chiefdy lies. 


Liues beliefe in lovers hearts? 

Why then are they vnbelieuing ? 

Hourely so the spirit grieuing. 
With a thousand jealous smarts? 

Is there pleasure in Loue's passion ? 

Why then is it so vnpleasing. 

Heart and spirit both diseasing, 

Where the wits are out of fashion? 

No : Love sees in Beauties eyes : 

He hath only lost his seeing : 

Where in Sorrowes only being 

All his comfort wholly dies. 

Faith, within the heart of Loue, 

Feareful of the thing it hath, 

Treading of a trembling path, 

Doth but jealousie approoe. 

In Loves passion then what pleasure? 
Which is but a lunacy : 
Where griefe, fieare, and jealousie. 

Plague the senses out of measure? 

Farewell, then, (vnkindly) Fancy, 

In thy courses all too cruell : 

Woe the price of such a jewell« 

As tumes Reason to a franxy. 


To leame the babies A, B, C, 

Is fit for children, not for mee. 

I knowe the letters all so well, 

I neede not leame the way to spell ; 
And for the crosse, before the rowe, 
I leam'd it all too long agoe. 

Then let them goe to schoole that list. 
To hang the lippe at — Had I vfist : 
I never lou'd a booke of home. 
Nor leaues that haue their letters worae ; 
Nor with a fescue to direct mee. 
Where euery puny shall correct mee. 

I will the treuant play a while. 
And with mine eare mine eye beguile ; 
And only heare what other see, 
What mocketh them as well as mee ; 

And laugh at him that goes to schoole. 
To leame with mee to play the foole. 

But, soft awhile : I haue mistooke. 
This is but some imagin'd booke, 
That wilfull hearts in wantons eyes 
Doe onely by conceits deuise ; 

Where spell and put together, proue 
The reading of the rules of Loue. 

But if it be so, let it be : 

It shall no lesson be for mee. 

Let them goe spell that can not reede. 

And know the crosse vnto their speede ; 
While I am taught but to disceme. 
How to forget the thing I leame. 

If Fie on Pkide. 

The hidden Pride that lurkes in Beauties eyes, 
And overlookes the humble hearts of Loue, 

Doth nothing else but vaine eflectes deuise. 
That may discretion from the minde remoue. 

Oh, how it workes in wit, for idle wordes 
To buy repentance but with labour lost ; 

While Sorrowes fortune nothing else affordes. 
But showres of raine vpon a bitter frost : 

A wicked shadowe that deoehies the sight. 
And breedes an itch that ouemumes the hart ; 

Which, leaning Reason in a pitious pl^t ; 
Consumes the spirit with a curdesse smart : 

While wounded Patience in her passion cries. 
Fie vpon Pride, that lurkes in Beautiei eyes. 



H A Farewell to Loue. 
Farewell Loue, and louing foUx, 
All thy thoughts are too vnholly : 
Beauty strikes thee ftill of bimdenesse, 
And then kUs thee with vnkindnesse. 

Farewell writ, and witty reason, 
All betrai'd by Fancies treason : 
Loue hath of all joy bereft thee. 
And to Sorrow only left thee. 

Farewell will, and wilfull fimcy, 

All in daunger of a frenzy, 

Love to Beauties bowe hath wonne thee, 

And togither all vndone thee. 

Farewell Beauty, Sorrowes agent ; 
Farewell Sorrow, Patience pagent ; 
Farewell Pitienoe. PSassions stayer ; 
Farewell Passion, Loues betrayer. 

Sorrows agent. Patience pagent. 
Passions stayer, Loues betrayer. 
Beauty, Sorrow, Patience, Passion ; 
Farewell life, of such a fiEuhion. 

Fashion, so good fashions spilling ; ^ 

Passion, so with passions killing : 
Patience, so with sorrow wounding ; 
Farewell Beauty, Loues confounding. 

^ A Jeasting Curse. 

Fib vpon that too much Beauty, 
That so biindeth Reasons seeing, 

As, in swearing'all Loues duety, 
Giues him, no where else, a beeing. 

CursM be thou, all in kindnesse. 
That with Beauty Loue hast wounded ; 

Blessing Loue, yet in such blindenesse. 
As in Beautie is confounded. 

Euer maist thou line tormented 
With the faith of Loue vnfained, 

Tin thy heart may be contented 
To relieue whom thou hast pained. 

Thus, in wroth of so wdU pleased, 
As conoealeth ioyes confessing, 

mi my paine be wholly eased, 
Curafed be thou, all in blessing. 

So &rewdl and fairely note it. 
He who as his soule doth hate thee. 

From his very heart hath wrote it, 
Neuer euill thought come at thee. 


If that Loue had beene a king. 
He would haue commanded Beauty : 

But hee is a silly thing. 
That hath swome to doe her duety. 

If that Loue had beene a God, 
He had then beene ftill of grace : 

But bow grace and loue are odde, 
Tis too plaiM a pitious case. 

No : Love is an idle jeast. 

That hath only made a woord. 
Like vnto a cuckoes neast. 

That hath neuer hatcht a bird. 

Then from nothing to conceiiie 

That may any lubstanoe bee. 
Yet so many doth deceiue ; 

Lord of heaven, deliuer mee. 

^ A Displeasure against Loue. 

Love is witty, but not wise. 
When he stares on Beauties eyes ; 
Finding wonders in conceit. 
That doe fall out but deceit. 

Wit is stable, but not staied. 
When his senses are betraled ; 
Where, too late. Sorrow doth proue 
Beauty makes a foole of Loue. 

Youth is forward, but too fond. 
When he falles in Cufids bond ; 
Where repentance lets him see. 
Fancy fiast is neuer free. 

Age is cunning, but vnldnde. 
When he once growes Cif/M^-blinde : 
For when Beauty is vntoward. 
Age can neuer be but froward. 

So that I doe finde in briefe. 
In the grounds of Natures griefe. 
Age, and youth, and wit doe prone. 
Beauty makes a foole of Love. 

IT A Farewell to Conceipt. 

Farewell Conceit : Cdcdt no more wel fare : 
Hope feeds the heart with humours, to no end : 

Fortune is frdse, in dealing of her share : 
Virtue in heauen must only seeke a friend. 

Adieu, Desire. Desire, no more adieu, 

Will hath no leasure to regard desart : 
Love findes, too late, the prouerbe all too true, 

That Beauties eyes stoode neuer in her heart. 
Away, poore Loue. Loue, seek no more a way 

Vnto thy woe, where wishing is no wrealth : 
In nightes deepe darkenesse neuer looke for day. 

Nor in hearts skknesse euer seeke for health. 

Desire, Conceipt, away, adieu, farewell : 
Love is deceiu'd, that seeks for heauen in hell. 

^ An Unhappy. Solbmne, Jeasting Curse. 

Oh venome, cursed, wicked, wretched eyes. 
The killing lookers on the heart of Loue : 

Where witching Beauty liues but to deuise 
The plague of wit, and passkms hdl to proue. 

That snowy necke that chiUest, more than snowe. 

Both eyes and haru, that line but to behold thee ; 
That graceles lip, frO wbfice Loves grief doth grow. 

Who doth in all his sweetest sense infold thee. 



Those chaining hairs, more hard than iron chains, 
In tjring Heist the fairest thoughts of Loue : 

Yee shameful dieeks, that in your blushing vains 
The iBTisht passions of the minde doe proae. 

Yee spider fingers of those spitefiiU hands, 
That worice but webbes to tangle Fancies eyes : 

That idole breast, that like an image stands, 
To worke the hell of reasons heresies. 

Those Fahy feete, whose chary steppes doe steale 
Those hearts, whose des do but their shadowes see : 

That ruthlesse spirit, that may well reueale 
Where Loues confusions all included be : 

To thee, that canst or wilt not bend thy win, 
To vse thy gifts, all gratious in their nature ; 

To Patience good, and not to Passions ill. 
And maist and wilt not be a blessed creature. 

I wish and pray, thine eyes may weepe for woe. 
They cannot get one looke of thy beloued ; 

Thy snowy necke may be as colde as snowe. 
With colde of feare it hath no figmcy moued. 

Thy lippe, in anger by thy teeth be bitten, 
It can not giue one kissing sweete of Loue ; 

And by thy hands thy shriu'led haires be smitten. 
For want of holding of thy hopes behoue. 

Thy blushing cheekes loose all their liuely blood. 
With pining passions of impatient thought ; 

That idole bodie, like a piece of wood. 
Consume, to see it is esteemd for nought. 

Those spider fingers, and those £Eury feete, 
The crampe so crooke, that they may creepe for griefe 

And, in that spirit, Sorrowes poisons meete, 
To bring on death, where Loue hath no reliefe. 

All these, and more iust measures of amisse 
Vpon thy frownes, on fiuthfuU Love, be&ll : 

But sweetly smile— and then heavCs pour their blisse 
On thy hairs, neck, cheeks, lip, hands, feet, and all. 


Oh that I could write a story 

Of Loues dealing with affection : 
How hee makes the spirit sory. 

That is toucht with his infection. 

But he doth so closely winde him 

In the plaits of will ill pleased, 
That the heart can neuer finde him, 

Till it be too much diseased. 

Tis a subtill kinde of spirit, 

Of a venome kinde of nature ; 
That can, like a conny ferret, 

Creepe vnwares vpon a creature. 

Neuer eye that can bdiolde it, 
Though it worketh first by seeing ; 

Nor conceipC, that can vnfolde it, 
Though in thoughts be all his being. 

Oh it maketh olde men witty, 
Young men wanton, women idle ; 

While that Patience weepes, for pitty, 
Reason bitts not Natures bridle. 

In it selfe it hath no substance, 
Yet is working worlds of wonder ; 

While, in phrensies fearfull instance, 
Wit and sense are put asunder. 

What it is, is in coniecture, 

Seeking much, but nothing finding ; 
I^e to Fancies architecture, 

With illusions. Reason blinding. 

Day and night it neuer resteth, 
Mocking Fancy with ill fortune ; 

While the spirit it molesteth, 
That doth patience still importune. 

Yet for all this, how to finde it, 

Tis vnpossible to showe it ; 
When the Muse that most doth minde it, 

Will be furthest off to know it. 

Yet can Beauty so reteine it 

In the profit of her seruioe. 
That she closely can mainteine it. 

For her seruant chiefe in office. 

In her eye she chiefely breedes it ; 

In her cheekes she chiefely hides it ; 
In her seruants fiuth shee feedes it, 

While his only heart abides it. 

All his humour is in changing. 

All his work is in inuention, 
All his pleasure is in ranging, 

All his truthe but in intemion. 

Straunge in all effectes concdued. 
But, in substance, nothing sounded ; 

While the senses are decdued, 
That on idle thoughts are grounded. 

Not to dwell vpon a trifle, 
That doth Follies hope befall ; 

Tis but a newe nothing nifle. 
Made for fooles to play withall. 

^ A Wish in vaine. 

Oh that Wit were not amased 

At the wonder of his senses, 
Or his eyes not ouergazed 

In Minervcu excellences. 

Oh that Reason were not foiled 
In the rules of all his learning. 

Or his learning were not spoiled 
In the sweete of Loues discerning. 

Oh that Beauty were not froward. 

In regard of Reasons duety. 
Or that Will were not vntoward 

In the waiward wit of Beatity. 



But since all in vaine are wishes, 

Patience tels them that haue past it, 
Poys'ned broth, in siluer dishes, 

KUs their stomackes that doe taste it. 

Wit and Reason, Loue and Learning, 

All in Beauties eyes are blinded, 
Where in sense of sweete discerning. 

She will be vnkindly minded. 

Let those hartes whose eyes perceiue her, 
Triumphe, but in thoughts tormented. 

I^abour all they can to leaue her. 
Or else die and be contented. 


There sate sometime an Eagle on a hill, 
Hanging his wings, as if he could not flie : 
Blacke was his coate, and tauny was his bill, 

Grey were his legges. and gloomy was his eye ; 
Blunted his talents, and his traine so bruised, 
As if his brauery had beene much abused. 

This foule olde birde, of some vnhappy brood, 
That could abide no hauke of higher wing, 

(But fed his gorge vpon such bloody foode, 
As might, in feare, maintaine a cruell king.) 

Faire on a rocke of pearle and pretious stone 

Espied a Pkanix sitting all alone. 

No sooner had this heauenly birde in sight, 
But vp he flickers, as he would haue flowne : 

But all in feare to make so fiEure a flight, 
Vntill his pennes were somewhat harder growne ; 

He gaue a rowse : as who should say, in rage 

He shew'd the fiiry of his firoward age. 

And, for this Plufnix still did front his eyes. 
He cald a counsell of his kites together ; 

With whom in haste he wold the mean deuise, 
By secret arte to leade an armie thither, 

And so pull downe, from place of highe estate, 

This heauenly bird, that he had so in hate. 

Much talke there was, and wondrous heede was held. 
How to atchieue this high attempt in hand : 

Some out were sent to scare about the field. 
Where flue this grace and glory of the land. 

To mark her course, and how she made her wing. 
And how her strSgth might st&d with such a king. 

And forthwith should such cages be deuised. 
As should enclose full many thousand fowles ; 

By whom her seat should quickly be surprised. 
And all her birds should handled be like owles : 

No time detract : this deede must needs be don :. 

And ere they went, the world was wholly won. 

But, soft a while : no sooner seene the land, 
But, ere they came in kenning of the coast. 

So great a force their fortune did withstand, 
That an the brauery of the birds was lost : 

Some leakt, some sanke, and some so ran on groQd, 

The cages burst, and all the birds were drownd. 

But when the Eagle heard what was become 
Of all his flight, that flick'red here and there ; 

Some sicke, some hurt, some lame, and all and sQme 
Or farre from hope, or all too neere in feare. 

He stoupt his traine, and hung his head so sore. 

As if his heart had never burst before. 

^ A Conceited Fancy. 

PVRE colours can abide no staine ; 

The Sunne can neuer lose his light ; 

And Vertue hath a heauenly vaine, 
That well may claime a queenely right : 

So giue my mistresse but her due. 

Who tolde mee all these tales of you. 

From heauen on earth the Sunne doth shine, 
From Vertue comes Discretions loue ; 

They both are in themselues diuine, 
Yet worke for weaker hearts behoue : 

So would my mistresse had her due, 

To tell mee still these tales of you. 

But, Oh, the Sunne is in a clowde. 
And Vertue liues in sweetes vnseene ; 

The earth with heauen is not allow'd ; 
A begger must not loue a Queene : 

So must my mistresse haue her due. 

To tell mee still these tales of you. 

Then shine, faire Sunne, when douds are gon ; 
Liue, Vertue, in thy queenely loue : 

Choose some such place to shine vpon, 
As may thy Paradise approue : 

That when my mistresse hath her due, 
I may heare all this heauen in you. 

IT A Smile Misconstrued. 

By your leane, a little while : 
Loue hath got a Beauties smile 

From on earth the fairest face : 
But he may be much deceiued, 
Kindenesse may be misconceiued, 

Laughing oft is in disgrace. 

Oh but he doth knowe her nature. 
And to be that blessed creature. 

That doth answere Loue with kindnesse : 
Tush, the Pkanix is a fable ; 
Phabus horses haue no stable ; 

Loue is often full of blindnesse. 
Oh but he doth heare her voice. 
Which doth make his heart reioyoe 

With the sweetenesse of her sounde : 
Simple hope may be abused. 
Heares he not he is refused ? 

Which may giue his heart a wound. 

No : Loue can belieue it neuer. 
Beauty fauours once and euer. 

Though proud Enuie play the elfe : 
Truthe and Patience haue approved, 
Loue shall euer be beloued. 

If my mistresse be her selfe. 



H An Odde Humour. 

PvRELY £Eure, and fjurely wise, 
Blessed wit, and blessed eyes, 
Blessed wise, and blessed faire, 
Neuer may thy blisse impaire. 

Kindely true, and truly kinde, 
Blessed heart and blessed minde ; 
Blessed kind, and blessed true, 
Euer may thy blisse renue. 

Sweetely deare, and dearely sweete. 
Blessed where these blessings meete ; 
Blessed meetings neuer cease ; 
Euer may thy blisse encrease. 

Blessed Beauty, Wit. and Sense, 
Blest in Natures excellence, 
Where all blessinges perish neuer, 
Blessed maist thou liue for euer. 

H A Waggery. 

Childrens Ahs and Womens Ohs, 
Doe a wondrous griefe disclose ; 
Where a dugge the one will still, 
And the t'other but a will. 

Then in gods name let them cry ; 
While they cry, they will not die : 
For, but fewe that are so curst. 
As to cry vntill they burst. 

Say, some children are vntoward : 
So some women are as froward : 
Let them cry them, 'twill not kill them ; 
There is time enough to still them. 

But if Pitty will be pleased 
To relieue the small diseased, 
When the helpe is once applying, 
They will quickly leaue their crying. 

Let the childe then sucke his fill, 
Let the woman haue her will ; 
All will hush, was hearde before ; 
Ah and Oh, will cry no more. 

1 An Odde Conceipt. 

Lovely kinde, and kindly louing, 
Such a minde were worth the mouing : 
Truly fjaire, and fairely true. 
Where are all these, but in you ? 

Wisely kinde, and kindely wise, 
Blessed life, where such loue lies : 
Wise, and kinde, and faire, and true. 
Louely liue all these in you. 

Sweetely deare, and dearely sweete. 
Blessed, where these blessings meete : 
Sweete, Caire, wise, kinde, blessed, true, 
Blessed be all these in you. 

H A DoLEFULL Fancy. 

Sorrow rippe vp all thy senses, 
Neerest vnto Horrors nature : 

Taste of all thy quintessences. 
That may kill a wretched creature. 

Then beholde my wofiill spirit 

All in passions overthrowne ; 
And full closely, like a ferret. 

Seize vpon it for thine owne. 

But if thou doe growe dismaid, 
When thou dost but looke on mee. 

When my passions, well displaid, 
Will but make a blast of thee. 

Then, in grief of thy disgraces. 
Where my fortunes doe de£Eice thee, 

Tell thy Muses to their £eu«s, 
They may leame of mee to grace thee. 

For thy sighes, thy sobbes, and teares. 

But thy common badges beene ; 
While the paine, the spirit beares, 

Bates away the heart vnseene. 

Where in silence swallowed vp 
Are the sighes and teares of Loue, 

Which are drawne to fill the cuppe. 
Must be drunke to Deaths bdioue. 

Then beholding my hearts swoune. 

In my torments more and more ; 
Say, when thou dost sit thee downe. 

Thou wert neuer grac't before. 

IT An Epitaph vpon Poet Spencer. 

MovRNPULL Muses. Sorrowe minions 
Dwelling in Despaires opinions ; 
Yee, that neuer thought inuented 
How a heart may be contented ; 
(But in torments all distressed, 
Hopelesse how to be redressed, 
All with howling and with crying, 
Liue in a continuall dying,) 
Sing a dirge on Spencers death, 
Till your soules be out of breath. 

Bidde the dunces keepe their dennes. 

And the poets breake their pennes ; 

Bidde the sheepheards shed their teares. 

And the nymphes goe teare their haires ; 

Bidde the schollers leaue their reeding. 

And prepare their hearts to bleeding ; 

Bidde the valiant and the wise 

Full of sorrowes fill their ejres ; 
All for griefe that he is gone. 
Who did grace them euery one. 

Fairy Queene shew fairest Queene, 
How her faire in thee is seene : 
Sheepeheards Calendar set downe. 
How to figure best a downe, 



As for Mother Humberts Tale, 

Farewel Wit, whose sound and sense 

Cracke the nut, and take the shale : 

Shewe a poets excellence. 

And for other workes of worth, 

Farewell, all in one togither, 

(All too good to wander forth,) 

And with Spencers garland, wither. 

Grieue that euer you were wrot, 

* • 

And your Author be forgot. 

And if any Graces hue 

* O 

That will vertue honour giue ; 

Let them shewe their true affection 

In the depth of Griefes perfection, 

Farewell Arte of Poetry, 

In describing forth her glory. 

Scorning idle foolery : 

When she is most deepely sory ; 

Farewell true conceited Reason, 

That they all may wish to heere 

Where was neuer thought of treason : 

Such a song, and such a quier. 

Farewell Judgement, with inuention. 

As, with all the woes they haue. 

To describe a hearts intention : 

Follow Sptnctr to bis graue. 


Ekstls-dsdicatoky to Mastbk Thomas Blunt, p. 5.— 
This was probably Thomas Blount, ancestor of the baronets of 
Tittenhanger, Herts, which title became extinct in 1757. They 
usually prefixed the name of Pope to their surname : and it 
is interesting to find a Sir Thomas Pope Blount author of ' De 
Re Poetica: or Remarks upon Poetry, fnth Characters and 
Censures of the Most Considerable Poets . . .' 1694(4*). He 
was son of William Blount, Esquire of Osberston, co. Ldcester 
(descended fix>m the Blounts of Staffordshire), and himself 
setded at Tittenhanger, having inherited an estate there from 
his great-uncle. Sir Thomas Pope. He was one of the deputy- 
lieutenants of Hertfordshire, and Sheriff of the county in 1598, 
and was knitted by King James i. on 7th May 1603. He 
married Frances, d. of Sir Thomas PIgot, Kt. of Doddershall, 
Bucks, and widow of Sir Thomas Nevil, Kt of Holt, 
CO. Leicester. He died loth January 163^9. 

Line 8, ' tattg* = flavour, with rankness impfied. 

To TUB RsAOBR, p. $.—* Posfvil* On. this name see the 
series of satirical poems by Breton as Pasqull, and our 
Memorial-Introduction: 1. x, 'i/arm/f' = melancholy : 1. a, 
' browns stndU" = pensive and vague meditation : L 6, ' Btd- 
Um* = Bedlam, or a Lunatic Asylum : L xi, ' mart rimu then 
ferkaft sonu will tktmJkt reawn:* a contemporary common- 
place phrase, since become ' fanuliar as household words : ' L xa, 
'frith mnck athe about n0thm£:* another temi-proverbial 
phrase, glorified by Shakeqpeare's drama : L xg^ * isuUjffkrtntfy * 
= impartially. 

Ik Authorbm, p. 5.— L i, ' AoiiV ' s cdostitutioo: 1. 4, 
'/M£r ' = pied, parti-coloured : 1. xo, * ^ortptcHut* So Geocge 
Herbert later in ' The Temple,' 33,— Sinne, st. s : 
' So deTils are onr sbmes in penpectiTe.' 

See relative note in my edition of Herbert in Fuller Worthies' 
Library and the Aldine Poets. The reference is to those gUss- 
foced toys that require to be looked at in a given angle to reveal 
the real picture. 

I. XX, *c€tuutt* = judgment: L xa * Btn loktuomJ Sic, and 
not Jonson, was the 'great Ben's' more (requeot qidling of 
his name. 

A DoLBPULL Passion, p. 6.— 1. 3, * spill' = spoil : so in 
A Bribfe op Sorkow, p. 7, 1. 3, et alibi. 

A Fantastickb Solbmnb Humour, p. 7.— 1. 24, *t$4/U$' 
= nothings, trivialities. So in A Solbmnb Fancy, p. 7, L 15 : 
and A Quarrbll, etc., p. X3, st. 14. 

An Extrbamb Passion, p. 8.— 1. 97, 'Mnv*' a sinew- 
showing or lean : p. 9 — L 4, * consort* = concert : L ax, *du- 
eas'd* = troubled, i.c. dis-eased, or out of ease, uneasy, — not 
physically distempered. Cf. A Solbmnb COncbit, p. xi, at 3, 
1. 3, ' diseasing': ' ct alibi. I. 43, ' careftUV = full of care. 

A Solbmnb Farbwbll to tmb World, p. xa-*«t. 8, L 4, 

* quite* = requite : st. 10, 1. 3, * bands* = bends. 

A Solbmnb Concbiit, p. xx.— st 5, L 4, * approm* ss prove : 
to be noted as one of many examples of the prefix 'a' 

A Straoncb a, B, C, p. XI.— st a, 1. a, * Had I wist* =• 
Had I known,— a proverbial saying. It is used I9 Daviea of 
Hereford in his 'Scourge of FoUy:' Epigram 93, 'So ■fc*!* 
thou scape the rocke cal'd Had I wist* 

st a, 1. 3, *book* 0/ homo* =: bom-book, lo, elementary 
school-book, so called as having been covered with aemi- 
transparent horn : 1. 5, */tscuo* = a pointer, or small wire or 
rod, to point out the letters, etc 

A DisPLBASURB against Loub, p. xa.— st 3, L z, */omd*'sz 


doubt the allegory is of Spain and England, and the defeat of 
the Armada in X588,— the Phoenix being RKiabeth. 

A Wacgbrv, p. xs.— st X, 1. 3, '/>U Mvr;' ntsprintMl •the 

An Epitaph vpon Port Spbncbr, p. x6.— ft. 4, * Farowoll 
A rt* 0/ Poetry: This apparenUy refers to Spencer's k>st ' The 
English Poet,' mentioned in E. K.'s notes to the Shepherd's 
Calendar. Surely it must one day be recovered, since it seems 
to have been well known in x6oo, Le. at the date of * Melaa- 
cholike Humours:' st 3, L 6, 'jA«i^'->shdl : at 5, L 8, 

* ftfftrr ' =■ choir.— G. 

i*Hn,i»» ■»««—•««■—•• 


Passion of the Soules Love, 


••**—% ,••••••, ,•••••*, ,aMWa, ,•••••«, ,—■■»■, .•••■•^ ^sMaa, ••••••iia .•••••^ ^•••M* ,••»••« ••••••n •••^••« •••••••• .••••^» ^•••^, .••••M, 



There are several editions of 'A Solemne Passion.' Our text is 
that of 1623, in the British Museum— wherein S. Leigh Sotheby has 
written — ' I never before saw a copy or heard of this edition.' It is 
exceedingly rare. Collation : la leaves : begins on verso of title-page : 
A-B. On the others, see our Memorial-Introduction. From the 1598 
edition I accept 'alonely'*- alone (page 6^ 3d column, line 13 from 
bottom) instead of ' all onely ' of 1633. 1623 corrects various errors of 
1598, but the variations are mainly orthogn^hicaL 1598 has at end 
' Nicholas Britton.' In page 5, coL ist, will be found a number of 
Vulgar Errors, on which Sir Thomas Browne may be profitably con- 
sulted. In the same page, col. 2d, line 12th from bottom, 'bone* 
refers of course to Genesis ii. 22-3. In page 6^ ist column, line 7, 
it is not impossible that in the appeal to the Poets he had here a tacit 
allusion to the well-known collection entitled ' The Phoenix Nest,* to 
which he was himself a contributor. — G. 


A Solemne 





Nicholas Breton, 

Nunquam aut nunc. 


Printed by George Purslowe. 


A Solemne Passion of the Sovles Loue. 

I WAKE, my soule, out of the sleepe of sinne, 
And shake off slouth the subiect of thy 

Search out the way how best thou mayst 
To holy worke thine humble will to frame : 
Then proue not weary of a little paine. 
When fleshe's griefe will breed the spirit's gaine. 

Confesse th3rselfe vnworthy of the senoe 

To leame the least of the supemall Will ; 

Beseech the heauens in strength of their defence. 

To saue and keepe thee from infemall ill : 
Then £eU1 to worke, that all the world may see 
The ioyfiill loue betwixt thy God and thee. 

Ten of His goodnesse how He did create thee, 
And in His iustice how He doth correct thee. 
And in His loue, how He will neuer hate thee, 
And that His mercy neuer will rdect thee : 
And how He helpt thee when the world distrest thee, 
And with His graces how He sweetly blest thee. 

Say, I was sicke, and He did send me health, 
I was in prison, and He did set me free : 
And I was poore, and He did send me wealth. 
And I was blinde, and He did make me see, 
I was perplezt, and He did heale my paine, 
And being dead, He gaue me life againe. 

When I was faune, Hee did my limmes restore. 
When I was deafe. He made me heare His voyce. 
When I was wounded. He did heale my sore. 
When I was sad, He made my soule reioyce : 
When I had sinn'd, He would not yet forsake me. 
When I was lost, He did to mercy take me. 

To lay yet more, what He hath done for me. 

I needs must say His goodnesse hath no end ; 

Who when on Earth He saw no friend to me 

Did make me feele I had a heauenly friend : 
A heauenly friend, Whose helpe doth frule me neuer. 
But is my comfort and my King for euer. 

This is my Lord, my Life, and all my loue, 

My lining Loue, and louing Life indeed ; 

This is the blessing of my best bdioue, 

The sacred fruit whereon I sweetly feede : 
This is the icy that makes my heart to sing 
Honour and glory to my heauenly King. 

Oh King, more glorious then the world can know Thee, 
From Whom the day euen from on high doth spring ; 
Where glorious workes vnto the world doe shew Thee, 

Of glorious loue the euerlasting King : 
The King of Life in Whom the soule doth proue 
The highest glory of the heauenly loue. 

By Whose high hands were all things made at first. 
^ Whose deepe wisedome they are gouem'd still : 
^ Whom alone are blessM or accurst. 
That loue His Word, or disobey His WiU : 

By Whose sweet breath they liue that doe attend Him. 

And by Whose wrath they dye that doe offend Him. 

For who can bide the fiirie of His ire ? 

Or halfe conoeiue the comfort of His loue ? 

Who plagues His foes with an infemall fire, 

And pl&ts His seruants in the heau'ns aboue : 
Who shakes the heau'ns and makes the mountains bow 
If Hee but once begin to knit His brow. 

And where He loues what will He leaue to doe. 
To make the soule acquainted with His kindnesse ? 
And with what ioy will He, the spirit woo 
To shun the woes that grow of worldly blindnesse ? 
What paine, or griefe, or death did He refuse, 
To saue their lines that He did sweetly chuse ? 

Now for the greatnesse of His glorious power : 

He is Almighty, and all glory His ; 

He made the yeere, the month, day, night, and hower. 

The heau'ns, earth, sea, and what in them there is : 

In Him alone doth all their being stand. 

And liue and die in His ahnighty hand. 

He spake the Word, and by His Word they were. 
And all was good. His secret wisedome did ; 
His Will did worke His frtuour without feare. 
And not a thought is from His knowledge hid : 

He knowes the hearts, and searcheth through the 

And sees the roots euen of the smallest veines. 

He dedct the side with sunne, and moone, and starres. 
And made the seas to flowe vpon the sand, 
Vpon whose shore His hand did set the barres, 
They shall not passe to ouerflowe the land : 
Amid the ayre He hath disperst the clouds, 
And onely man within His mercy shrouds. 

Within the depth the fish their holes do keepe, 
And in the rodces the conny makes his house ; 
Into the earth the crawling wormes do creepe, 
And hollow rocks are harbour for the mouse : 

The l3ron keeps his den, the bird his nest. 

And man alone doth but in mercy rest 



Yet these and all are guided by His power, 
And may not passe the passage He hath ginen them ; 
The sunne his course, the moone must know her houre. 
And clouds must wander but where winds haue driuen 

Beasts know their times, and fishes know thdr tides. 

And man alone in onely mercy bides. 

To tell of wonders by His wisedome wrought, 
Euen from the greatest to the very least, 
Which Time declares by true experience taught, 
In fish, in fowle, in bird, in man and beast ; 
Marke but the Power that doth in each abide. 
And how it weakens in their highest pride. 

The lyon first is fearfiill of a bee. 

The elephant doth dread the little mouse ; 

A croMdng cocke the dragon may not see. 

The stoutest eagle subiect to the louse ; 
The greatest oze a little taint-worme kffleth^ 
And many a man a little canker spilleth. 

Yet is the lyon fearM for his force. 

The elephant a huge and mighty beast ; 

The fiery dragon kills without remorse, 

And eagles carry lambes vnto their nest : 
The oxe the taint-worme vnder foot doth tread. 
And man sometimes doth kill the canker's head. 

But when that power begins to gather pride. 
Then see the strength of the Almighty hand ; 
By Whose high helpe the weakest things are txyde, 
To spoile the strength wherein the strongest stand ; 
That they may knowe there is a Power on hie. 
In Whom they liue, and at His pleasure dye. 

To shew examples of the heauenly might. 
Against the pride of the inferiour power ; 
The Word of Truth doth giue a glorious light. 
Where may bee seene in minute of an houre. 

How greatest stayes that on their strength were 

With headlong (alls were vtterly confounded. 

How Pharaoh first, the proud Egyptian king. 

That would not suffer Israel to passe ; 

What plagues and griefes did the Almighty bring 

Vpon the house, euen where his lodging was 1 
Frogs, flyes, and lyce did freely make their way 
Euen to the chamber where proud Pharaoh lay. 

A number plagues the Lord did fiirther threaten ; 
His land was strooken with a darksome feare, 
His grasse, and come by grasshoppers was eaten, 
The plague distroyd his people euery where : 
At last, himselfe amidst his army crownfed, 
Was in a moment in the Red Sea diownM. 

Yet through these seas His hand did make the way, 
Where all His seruants went and wet no foote ; 
Which proues His loue was His elected's stay, 
While rebell hearts were tome vp by the roote : 

Which true example to the world may proue. 

The gtorious greatnetse of His power and knie. 

Goliah boasted greatly of His strength. 

Yet little Dauid killd him with a stone ; 

The Madian host was strong, but yet at length. 

By Gideon's hand, the kings were ouerthrowne : 
By change of tongues fell Babylon's great tower. 
And Christ His Word did brodre the diuel's power. 

Yet in itselfe what weaker is then water. 

Which drown'd proud Pharao and his mighty host ? 

A louse or flie is of a little matter. 

Yet with such wormes are men tormented most. 

What strength alas is in a little stone? 

Yet so we reade Goliah ouerthrowne. 

Knowe then from whence this wonder-power groweth 
But fix>m the force of the Almighty hand ; 
Which to the world His glorious power sheweth. 
When with the weake, the strongest cannot stand : 
King Dauid wrote, and it is truly knowne. 
That power belongeth vnto God alone. 

To proue the prowesse of the heauenly Power, 
How many more examples might be showne ! 
There is no yeere, no day, no night, nor hower, 
But some such action to the worid is knowne : 
That Truth may well vnto His glory speake, 
God is of power, and all the world is weake. 

But since the world cannot the books containe, 

Wherein His workes of wonder may be writ ; 

To admiration let His power remaine. 

And say. All powers are subiect vnto it : 
And let me of His loue-and mercy write, 
Which is the substance of my soule's delight. 

This powerfuU loue, the glory of all grace. 
When He had wrought the world vnto His will, 
And planted each thing in his proper place. 
And in the course that they continue still : 
Of all the workes that He in wonder wrought 
Made onely man the dearest of His thought. 

For what He made He made but man to serue, 
And man to serue His onely sacred loue ; 
And in His loue doth so man's life preserue. 
As may the comfort of His care approue : 
And so approue as may this sentence giue. 
His onely loue doth make the soule to liue. 
He loued the earth when He did giue it life. 
He loued the life when He His image gaue it ; 
He loued the flesh that made the bone a wife. 
He k)ued the soule when He firom death did saue it : 
He loued him euer yet He loued him most. 
To fetch him home when he himselfe had lost. 

Come poets, ye that fill the world with frmdes. 

Whose fiuning Muses shew but madding fits ; 

Which all too soone doe fiUl into those franxies 

That are begotten by mistaking wits : 
Lay downe your lines, compare your loue with mine, 
And say whose vertue is the true diuine. 

For further tiyall, let me ghie you leaue 
To adde a truth vnto your idle stories ; 


Wherewith so oft you doe the world deceiue, 
And gaine your selues but ill-oonceited glories : 
Yet when you see where sweetest sights are showne, 
Looke on my Loue, and blush to see your owne. 

With sunny beauties let your loues be blest, 
The sunne doth fetch his light but from my Loue ; 
You haue your wonders from the phoenix nest, 
Mine honour Hues but in the heauens aboue : 

Your Muses doe your ladies' praises sing. 

The angds sing in glory, of my King. 

The earth, alas from whence your loues reodue 
Their flowres and sweets, their pearles & precious stones, 
To dedce themselues, with which they doe deceiue 
The blinded spirits of the simple ones : 
This earth, from whence their outward graces spring 
Is but the footstoole of my heauenly King. 

And if He so hath dedct the earth below, 

Imagine then the glory of His seat ; 

Which may perswade, where angels tremble so 

For humane eyes the glory is too great : 
For where the sunne, the moone and stars haue light. 
For Nature's ejres the beauty is too bright. 

And who doth liue that euer ye did loue, 

But that ye could their faixtsx Cure vnfold ? 

And my faire Loue, — ^let fairest Truth approue, — 

No eye can liue in glory to behold : 
Your clearest beauty is vdth age declining, 
My Loue's bright glory is for euer shining. 

If ye be wise, thinke where true wisedome liueth, 
And then allow the honour to my Loue : 
If yours be kind, thinke Who the comfort ghieth. 
And know the turkey from the turtle-doue ; 
If constant yours, that truth let my Loue try. 
Who lost His life to saue His loue thereby. 

And let me see how liueth all your loue 

But on desert, the stay of all your state I 

And in my Loue a further life approue. 

Who lou'd indeed when He had cause to hate : 
Your fancies oft for want of fouour starue, 
But my Loue doth both yours and mine prescinie. 

Then truely say, whom chiefe your loues do chuse. 

To cast the countenance of their fieiuors on ! 

Then whom againe they wholly do refuse, 

In liking thought as most to looke vpon : 
Then do but looke vpon my Loue His choice, 
And whose heart most He maketh to rdoyoe. 

The wealthy, mighty, wise and well at ease. 

Do fit the fancies of your ladies best ; 

But poore, and weake, and simple soules best please 

My heauenly Loue, to labour in his brest : 
And who the world doth vtterly refuse, 
Those doth my Loue vnto His fauour chuse. 

And see what power is in your louing natures. 
To take or giue what ye may gaine or lose ; 
And ye shall see they are but my Loue's creatures, 
Whose liues are at His pleasure to dispose ; 

And while your fiiuors all do fode away, 
My sweet Loue's blessings neuer will decay. 

Could ye conodue the smallest of the sweet 
That doth descend from my soule's dearest Loue, 
Vpon the faith that folleth at His feet, 
That doth in praier but in mercy proue : 
And you will blot out euery idle line. 
And yeeld your soules vnto this Loue of mine. 

Compare a weed vnto a wholesome flowre, 
A doudie euening to a sunny day, 
A foggie mist vnto an ApriU showre, 
Nouember blast vnto a bloome of May ; 

And you shall easily see the difference plaine. 

Betwixt my sunshine and your showres of raine. 

Compare meere folly to the finest wit. 
The coursest copper to the purest gold ; 
The healthfull body with an ague fit. 
And set the youthfiill age against the old ; 
The rauen's fonle note to Philomela's voice, 
And quickly say which is the better choice. 

Compare foule pride to Cure humility, 

A kind discretion to a doggM nature ; 

The clownish race to true gentility, 

A blessed angell to a cursM creature ; 
Fauors to frownes and smilings vnto scowles, 
And say, The phoenix makes all birdes but owles. 

Compare the earth vnto the heauen on hye. 
The spirit's treasures vnto fleshly toyes ; 
The pibUe stone vnto the axurde skie, 
The woes of men vnto the angels^ ioyes, 

The lowest weaknesse vnto th' highest powers ; 

Then see the di£frence twixt my Loue and yours. 

And when you see how all sweet blessings grow 
But from the ground of ray Loue's lining grace ; 
And doe againe the imperfection know, 
Wherdn you doe your fond affectkm place : 

Then all your titles to this truth resigne. 

There is no life but in this Loue of mine. 

And giue me leaue to praise my princely Loue. 
Although my wits are short of such a worth : 
And let my spirit in my passions proue. 
What Hishigh hand in mercy will bring fborth : 

And write but truth that may be truly prouM. 

My ondy Loue alonely to be louM. 

Before all times, all thoughts, all things He was. 
And euer is, and will be aye the same ; 
That doth in wonder, Wonder's wonder passe. 
In Truth's high triumph of etemall £une : 

Where life, and loue, in grace and glory crownd. 

Doe sway the scepter of the heau'ns renownd. 
Now what He was, cannot be comprehended. 
Who in Himselfe doth all things comprehend ; 
And when that all things shall be wholy ended. 
Himselfe. HU Word, His WiU shall neuer end : 

Whose gracious life all gk>rious loue beginning. 

Doth adde all grace and cndlesse glory winning. 


And of His essence, this is all we finde, 
A Spirit fully, inoomprehensible ; 
A louing God vnto His seniants Idnde, 
And in His humane natnie sensible : 

In wisedome's wonder, knowledge, quintessence, 

And in that essence highest esoeUenoe. 

The high Creatour of an creatures liuing. 
The sweet Redeemer of His seruants lost ; 
The glorious grace, an grace & glory gluing, 
The ioy of ioyes that glads the spirit roost : 
The loue of life and life of loue indeed, 
Gainst death and hen, that stands the soule in steed. 

His seat is heauen, the earth His foot-stoQle is. 

His chiefest dwelling with His soules elected ; 

His ioy to loue and to be lou'd of His, 

His fauor life vnto His loues affected : 
His Word is truth, which doth the spirit try. 
Where fruitfuU faith shaU line and neuer dye. 

His blessing is the peace of conscience, 

His comfort, Merde's contemplation ; 

His precious gift, the Spirit's patience, 

His merde, Vertue's meditation : 
His grace the oyle that kils the spirit's euin. 
His death, the life that did subdue the diueU. 

His garments are the sundry sorts of graces, 

His tribute is but sinners* sacrifice ; 

His worke, the planting vertues in their places, 

His gaine, the loue of humble spirits seruice : 
His musicke, psalmes that angels neuer cease 
To sing, in glorie of the King of Pttoe. 

This King of Peace, this God of Life and Loue, 
Who in Himselfe doth aU and onely hold 
The highest blessings of the hearts behoue, 
That faithfull truth hath to the spirit told : 
This is the substance of my soule's delight, 
Vnworthy subiect of His worth to write. 

Yet as His merde wiU vouchsafe His grace, 
With intercession of His high assistance ; 
Against the power that would my thoughts de&ce, 
And proudly make against the soule resistance : 
I will a little glue His loue a tuch, 
Whose smallest praise is for my pen too much. 

What loue was that which made Him like man best. 
Of all the workes that euer He created ? 
What loue againe did in that liking rest, 
To loue him so he neuer can be hated ? 

What loue was more to giue the man a wife? 

What loue was more to die to giue him life ? 

The earth within with sihier, gemmes and gold. 
Without with trees and herbs and iruites and flowres ; 
The water deepe, where fishes keepe their hold. 
The elements with aU their inward powers : 

These hath my Loue aU made for man to chuse, 

And to his pleasure in his seruice vse. 
The fire was made to kill the chilling cold, 
The water made to slake the burning heat ; 

The subtill ayre a secret breath to hold. 
The earth to drie when moysture is too great ; 

These crosse in natures, yet doe meete in one, 

Only to serue the vse of man alone. 

Each bird, each beast, each fowle, and euery fish. 

The flesh of man must seme to doath and feede ; 

What tjt can see, or heart of man can wish, 

But some way semes to stand poore num in steede? 
And for that cause their being first began. 
From Merde's loue to serue the life of man. 

The light was made to glad the Ughtsome eye. 
The sound to please the pure attentiue eare ; 
The ayre Xt draw a liuing breath thereby, 
The earth, the body and the limmes to beare ; 
The douds, the stars, the sun, the moone, the skie. 
Were made for man to make him looke on hie. 

AU these were made out of the mould of Loue : 
Was neuer kme came euer neere to this, 
Whidi doth a wonder in affection proue, 
Euen when we least desem'd the loue of His ; 

For when our soules did most offences doe Him, . 

He came Himselfe in loue to call vs to Him. 

To make, redeeme, preserue, defend and cherish 
His fidthfull soule, and so in loue to nourish 
As in His kme their lines shall neuer perish. 
But like the lilly line and euer flourish : 
Are these not points suffident to approue 
The tme affection of a peerelesse loue ? 

Yet more to say that tmely may be said 

In hiunble honour of this heauenly Loue ; 

In merdes sweet to make the soule dismaid. 

To see the blessing of this God aboue ; 
The louing spirit liudy to refresh, 
He let His seruants see Him in the flesh. 

To see Him so as might not hurt thdr sight, 
For none might see His high supemaU power ; 
But in His loue to see that glorious light. 
That gaines that sweet that cuts off euery sowre : 
The Second Person of Hhnsdfe, His Sonne, 
In Whom are aU things to His glory done. 

And see the cause why so He came vnto vs. 

His ondy loue, the ondy cause we Hue ; 

And when Hee came, what comfort did He doe vs. 

To saue our lines His lone His life dkl giue ; 
And so to saue vs from the fire of hdl. 
That with His loue we m^ht for euer dwell. 

What loue was this, to leaue His heauenly seat 

Among His angels, aU in glory seruM ; 

To come to man, who did too ffl intreat 

The sacred loue that hath his life preseruM : 
From being honour'd, prais'd and glorifide. 
To be disgracM, whipt and cnidfide ? 

In loue He left His higliest heauenly pleasures. 
Aboue His angds in thdr heapes of ioyes ; 
To line on earth in sorrowes out of measures. 
With diange of nothing but the worid*8 aanoyes : 



In toyle and trauell, long in loue He sought vs, 
And with His death at last fiill deardy bought vs. 

Oh wofuU trauell that He vndertooke, 

To bring our lines vnto His sacred loue ; 

Which paine, nor crosse, nor death itselfe forsooke. 

That to our Caith might His affection proue : 
Which left the Spirit of His Loue behinde Him, 
To shew the loue that seekes Him how to finde Him. 

In loue He came, that He might comfort doe vs. 
In loue went firom vs to prouide our places ; 
In loue He sent His Comforter vnto vs, 
In kme He guides vs with His holy graces : 
In loue He made, bought, keepes, and guides vs thus, 
And shall not we loue Him that so lou'd vs ? 

Yes, my deare Lord, be Thou my dearest Loue, 
For Christ His sake, let my soul neuer leaue Thee ; 
Who in Thy loue thy liuing truth doth prone, 
That makes me finde the world doth al deoeiue me : 

And were there truth on earth as there is none« 

Yet were Thy loue the ioy of life alone. 

And let these teares be witnesse of my loue, 

Which first doe begge remession of my sin, 

And in repentance doe but mercy moue. 

To ope the gates of grace and let me in ; 
Where humble Faith but at Thy feet may fisUI, 
With my soule's seruioe, loue, and life, and alL 

Forget, O Lord, my workes of wickednesse. 
Whereby my soule with sorrow is oppressed ; 
And with the finger of Thy holinesse. 
In mercy touch my spirit so distress^ : 

And saue my life that draweth nigh to hell ; 

Loue me a little and I shall be welL 

Loue ? No, sweet Lord 1 mercy I craue, no more ; 

My sinnes are such I dare not speake of loue ; 

But in Thy mercy to Thy loue restore 

My humble futh that may but mercy proue : 
And so approue, that all the world may see 
The ioyfiill loue betwixt my God and me. 

Oh call me home and make me heare Thy call. 
And heare Thee so that I may run vnto Thee ; 
And hold me Cast that I may neuer fall, 
But that my soule may euer seruice doe Thee : 
Shew some good tc^en that the world may know 
My soule is blest whom Thou hast looM so. 

And while I liue here in this wretched vale 

Of fearfiill danger of infemall death ; 

Where earthly pleasures take those soules to sale, 

Whk:h hau6 their baigaine in the hell beneath : 
Let my soule's loue and life and labour be. 
To sedce my ioy, my loue, and life in Thee. 

Make me not rich, lest I forget to thinke 

Fhnn whence I haue the comfort of my heart ; 

Nor in such want let Thy poore seruant sinke. 

That I be driuen to craue the needy part : 
Giue me but meanes the needy to relieue. 
To feed Thy flocke and not the wolfe, to grieue. 

Let me not listen to the sinners' songs, 
But to the psalmes Thy holy saints doe sing ; 
Nor let me follow tyrants in their wrongs. 
But kisse the rocke where righteousnesse doth spring : 
Let not mine eye affect the outward part, 
But let me loue the vertue of the heart 

And let my loue be, to behold Thy loue, 
And let my loue be, but to liue in Thee ; 
And so to liue, that all the world may proue ' 
The gracious good my God hath done for me : 
To call my soule out of this world of wo. 
In fiuthfull loue to seme my Sauiour so. 

And when they see the blot of all their blame. 
To loue the world but all in wretched toyes ; 
And doe confesse with inward-blushing shame. 
They are but sorrowes vnto heauenly ioyes ; 
They may with me, forsake all worldly pleasure. 
And make Thy loue an euerlasting treasure. 

For Lord by Thee we are, in Thee we liue, 

And in Thy loue the liuing cannot die ; 

And since Thy death did our lines wholy giue 

For Thy loue's sake shall wee affliction flie ? 
No my deare Lord, let life be death to mee. 
So I may die to liue in loue with Thee. 

A ioyfiiU life were such a death indeede. 

From earthly paine to passe to heauenly pleasure ; 

A ioyfiiU line for louing hearts to reade. 

To leaue the flesh, to take the Spirit's treasure : 

Whose glorious senoe vnto the Sunne doth fall, 

That lOl is nothing to that All in All. 

And I (alas) of many thousand soules, 
Vnworthy most of His high worth to write ; 
Who in His merde's true record inroules 
The louing substance of the souie's ddight : 
Must mercy cry, for feare of loue's presuming 
Of too high sence, may be my soule's consuming. 

And with the teares of true repentant loue, 
Looking vpon the wonders of that wonder. 
That in His least perfection may approue 
The greatest wisedome of the world put vnder : 
Confesse my wit as short to pen His praise. 
As darkest nights in light of dearest dayes. 

And say but this in grace and glorie's height 
Where Vertue's loue doth liue for euer crowned ; 
And all the host of heauen and heauens await 
Vpon the highest of the heauens renowned : 
Whom saints and angels trembling do adore, 
To Him alone be praise for euer more. 

All honour, praise and glory euer be, 
Vnto my louing euerlasting King ; 
This King of life. Who so hath louM roe. 
To giue my soule this gradous povfer to sing, 

In heart and mind, in man and angels' knie, 

All glorious glory be to God aboue. 





Blessed IVeeper. 




'The Rauisht Soule and the Blessed Weeper' is only now known in the edition of 1601, which 
is our text — from our own exemplar. This Poem was reprinted in Excerpta Tudoriana; but the 
original has been returned to with benefit : 24 leaves, 4^ Divine names, pronouns as well as nouns, 
are given capitals, also apostrophes are inserted in the places.- 


Epistle-dbdicatort— Mary, Countess op Pen- 
BKOOKB. Such was the contemporary speUing. The 
sister of Sidney and mother of Pembroke— as in the 
iamoas Lines. See Memorial-Introduction. After ' To 
the Reader' the lines of H.T., 'Two twinnes/ etc, 
already given with the ' Longing of a Blessed Heart/ 
etc., re-appear : not repeated herein. 

Gloria in exelos Deo.— p. 5, col i, L 3, * aboorde :* 
cf. p. zz, ooL I, L 27 : I take the following from my 
editions of George Herbert, on his use of the word in 
St. bdL, 1. a, of 'The Church Pordi :' 'Tha| all may 
gladly 3<Mnf thee as a flowre.' ' French, oA^niirr, to go 

or come side by side with : hence it has the same ety* 
mology and meaning as accost (acooast, FY. coste or c6te : 
" accost her is front her, board her, woo her. assail her " 
( Twilfik Nigki, L 3). As a resulting sense, the French 
abordtr also means "to become familiar with" (Cot- 
grave).' P. 6,ooL I, L 8, * silly* =■ innocent : so frequently : 
p. 7, coL a, 1. 33. *agnght* = affiighted : 1. 36, *liU* 
s light : p. 8, col. I, L a from bottom, ' trie' s prove : 
p. 9, col. a, L a, *ginne' = begin. 

THE Blessed Weeper.— p. 10, col. a, 1. a6. 'mat' 
B dean, beautiful : p. iz, col. i, 1. 34, */eltred* sr en- 
tangled : p. za, ooL z, L 33, ' too law :' misprinted ' to 


Diuine Poeme, di- 

r *. 

uided into two Partes : 

The Rauisht Soule, and the 


Compiled by Nicholas Breton, Gentle-man. 

Imprinted at London, for lohn Browiu, 
and lohn Deane. 1601. 

To the Right Honourable^ discreete^ and vertuous Lady, the Nourisher of 
the Learned and fauorer of the Godly : my singuUr good Lady, the 
Lady Mary, Countesse of Penbrooke: Nich: Breton wisheth all the 
good that the Heauens will and the world can giue, to the pleasure of 
the Highest, attd her worthy heartes desire, 

"Yy IGHT Honorable,— Matter of most worth, to most worthy mindes, is most worthily presented. What matter in 
'"•^ worth may compare with diuine meditation? What minde more worthy honour then the heauenly-endined ? 
and whose minde more truly worthy of that blessed Title then your Ladiship's? I would there were many, but I know 
too fewe. Being then, in that excellent sense, truly your selfe, whom (for more worth than I will speake of) the wise 
admire, the learned followe, the vertuous loue and the honest seme ; vouchsafe me leaue among those poore people 
that being throwen from the world looke only towards heauen and heauenly graces, to lay before your eyes a diuine 
humour of a rauisht soule ; which (being above it seUe caried into the heauenly meditations of the mercies of the 
Almightie) by the blessing of His Holy Spirit, hath brought forth such fruits of His praise, as I hope wil be pleasing to 
your good fauor. To the honour of whose conmiaundement auowing the duty of my heart's seruice, in al humble 
thankfulnesse for your bountifuU vndeserued goodnesse, praying for your etemall happinesse, I take my leaue, 

Your Ladiship's in all humblenesse, 


Co t^e IBeaDev. 

)V that with a sealous loue of Religion, 
with an indifferent regard of Learning, 
and without disdaine of Poetry, will vouch- 
safe to bestow a little time in the perusing of this little 
volume of verses ; it may be you wil not repent you of 
your labour nor thinke much of your cost, but when you 
have onoe read it ouer, perhaps beginne it againe and 
ende it without wearinesse. If you note it well you may 
finde matter of comforte and nothing to the contrarie : 
God truely glorified in His manifould blessinges, and 

man greatly blessed, that being endued with His graces 
by fiuthe taketh hould of His mercies : the Atheists 
confounded in their follies, and the vertuous blessed in 
their election. This if jom finde not, blame either your 
selfe, or me ; but if you note what I write, much good 
doe you in the reading and God encrease you in His 
blessing. And so in the best nature of loue, leaning 
you to the ioy of the best life, I end 

Your fiiend, Nicholas Breton. 

The Rauisht Soule. 

Gloria in excdsis Deo. 

ING, my soule, to God thy Lord, 
All in glorie's highest keye ; 
Laie the Aungells quier aboorde, 
In their highest holy dale ; 

Craue their helps to tune thy heart 

Vnto praise's highest parte. 

Tell the world no world can tell 
What the hand of heauen desenieth ; 
In whose onely mercies dwell 
All that heauen and earth preserueth ; 

Death's confounding, Sinne's forgiuing ; 

Faith's relieuing. Comfort's liuing. 

Grace and glory, life and loue, 
Be the summe of all thy dittie ; 
Where a sinner's teares may proue 
Comfort's ioy in Merde's ^\ty : 

Euery note in loue alluding, 

Endlesse glory in concluding. 

Prayse of prayses where Thou dwellest. 
Tell me, (if the world may know Thee) 
In what sense Thou most excellest, 
When Thy wonder worth doeth shew Thee, 
In that sute of Honour's story 
Where Thou gain'st thy highest glorie ? 

'Tis not earth nor earthly wonder 
Can disceme Thy dearest honour ; 
All her praises are put vnder, 
When Thy glory lookes vpon her. 

Nor in heauen Thy glorie dweUeth ; 

Where Thy wonder most excelleth. 

Yet in heauen was neuer liuing 

Virgin, saint, nor angel's spirit ; 

Where Thy Grace may hane the giuing 

Of Thine honour's highest Merite. 
Tis their glories admiration 
That deserues Thy commendation. 

Since then by all consequences. 
In the notes of Glorie's nature, 
And the Graces influences, 
Tis no earth, nor heauenly creature ; 

In my God alone on high 
Is this onely mysterie. 

And since in His Maiestie, 

All and onely euer dwelleth 

That most glorious Deity, 

That all prayse's praise excdleth ; 
Say alUiough thy soule attend Him 
It can neuer comprehend Him. 

If thou speak'st of power, all powers 
To His power are in subiection ; 
If thou speak'st of time, all houres 
Run their course by His direction : 
If of wisedome, all is vanitie. 
But in his Diuine humanitie. 

If of trueth, it is His triall : 
If of loue, it is His treasure : 
Ifoflife. itUHisdiaU: 
If of grace, it is His pleasure : 

If of goodnesse, 'tis His stone : 

If of mercy, 'tis his glorie. 

If of iustice, ludgement sheweth 
His proceeding is impartiall : 
If of valour, all Hell knoweth 
Who is Heauen's high marshall : 
If of bountie, tis His blessing : 
If of place, tis His possessing. 

If of patience, His perfection : 
If of comfort, tis His feuour : 
If of vertue. His affection : 
If of sweete, it is His sauour : 
If of triumph, tis His merite : 
If perfection, tis His Spirit. 

If aboue all these thou singest 
Rauisht in thy reason's glory ; 
Tell the world whatere thou bringest 
Admiration's wonder's story ; 
To such height my Sauiour raiseth 
As above all praises prayseth. 


Let an kings and princes then 

In submission iaXL before Him ; 

Virgins, angels, holy men, 

Both in heauen and earth adore Him : 

In His onely mercie seeing, 

All and onely, all your being. 

Babes and children, shew His glory. 
In your silly soules preserving : ^ 

Men and women note this stoite 
Of the life of loues deseruing ; 

Heauen and earth be euer reading 

Of this essence of exceeding. 

Sunne and moone and euery creature 

In that shining stanie skie, 

All confesse your brightnesse' feature 

In the hand of Merde's eye : 
And for all your blessed powers. 
Shew it God's and none of your's. 

And when all the world together 

loyne with angels harmonie : 

Let my soule come singing thither 

With that blessed company : 
God in Merde's power victorious. 
Be aboue all glory glorious. Amen. 

Sacred Muse that onely dttest 

In the spirits of the blessM 

And the Caithfull onely fittest. 

With their thoughts to heauen addressed : 
Hdpe my humble soule to sing 
To my glorious heau'nly King. 

All abandon earth's coniecture, 
Thinke not on so meane an instance : 
Make thine honour's architecture, 
But on Grace's glorious substance : 
There in comfort's confirmation 
Build thy heauenly habitation. 

Study not astronomy. 

Least to darknesse tume thy light : 

But that high diuinitie 

Where the day hath neuer night : 
There finde out that worke of worth 
That may bring thy wonder forth. 

In the teares of true contrition, 

Think on Merde's blessednes : 

And in care of Loue's condition 

Of Perfection's holinesse : 
Then in notes of Grace's glory 
Make the state of all thy story. 

// Christiana al honore di Christo. 

Bbfosb there was a light, there was a light. 
Which saw the world the world could neuer see ; 

From which the world recdues his brightest sight, 
Yet cannot see what brightnesse there may be. 

From this Cure light there came a Ihiing knie ; 

A loue which giues the lining all thdr sedng ; 
And in the life of all their sedng proue 

The onely essence of their ondy bdng. 

From this bright loue there came a lining Word ; 

A Word that doeth in wisedome signifie 
What heauen and earth in wonder can afford. 

Is but in life this loue to.digni^e. 

Foe in this Word wis that Almightie power 
Which was before that power was euer namM ; 

Begun before the first-beginning boure. 
Framing each substance that was euer fiwnM. 

And in that Word that onely wisedome dweUelh 
That ondy knowes what ondy may be knowne : 

And in that knowledge knowledge all fganrHfth,.. . 
Because it knowes all knowledge is His opmci. 

This worthy Word of wisedome's wondenneilir 
(To giue some notice of His powerfull nailMe> 

In wisedome made His will an instrument 
To shew Himself vnto His sUly creature. 

The holy essence of the Ddtie 

In Virgin's wombe did take the vaile of flesh ; 
Bringing the dewe of blessed diaride 

Our withring spirits sweetly to reft«sh. 

This highest hdght of heauenly Maiestie. 

This Word of Wisedome's gradous, glorioas lotie^ 
Inuested in all vertues vnitie 

That perfect God and perfect Man approue. 

From the sweet bosome of His Father's bfest,- 

Etemall Babe, of all etemall blisse ; 
All blessed Babe, that made the mother blest, 

By that sweet blessed holy knie of His, 

From the High Throne of heau'nly Glorie's tetter 
Vnto this world, this worthlesse world dcieended ; 

With thdr crosse spirits kinddy to intreat 
For their owne good, that highly Him offended. 

This blessed infiant of Etemitie, 
And ondy glorious essence of the same ; 

By the deare light of His all-seeing eye 
Beholding all things, all, so out of firame, 

Vnto His seruants to make knowne His kme 
And to redeeme what lacke of louehad tott ; 

In tender age and dder ]reeres,did prooue 
How Patience' care might be in pa^ions crosL. 

When first sweet In&nt in the nMytfaers amies. 
Fed with the milke of pure Virginitie ; 

How did He scape the tyrant Herod's harmes. 
That little knew of His diuinitie. 

But oh. when first His presence sweet appear'd, 
Vnto the silly shephoutls in the field : 

With how mud] ioy were all their spirits chear'd. 
Whose humble eyes His heauenly Face behdd. 


While in the heanens the angels sung for ioy, 
That peace by Him vnto the world was come ; 

By Him Who should both I>eath and Hell destroy. 
And be the Sauiour of His chosen summe. 

The virgin-mother ioyed in her childe, 
And in her ioy did call her sonne her Sanionr ; 

Whose gicacious spirit in hm eountenance milde, 
Did shew the t^lessing of h^ medca behaniour. 

O blessed Sonne, the Father's best bekni'd. ., 
In Whom Jf e all and ondy did delight ; 

How many wayes His workes in wonder proou'd, 
He held the scepter of His Father's right 

In simplenesse, all harmdesse as the done ; 

In learning, patting all the doctours downe;; 
In power, the hand of highest heau'ns behoue ; 

In state, the King of Kings in Glorie's.crowne. 

In patience, the true proofe of sufferance ; 

In truth, the touch-stone of all vertues triall ; 
In loue, director of Life's ordinance ; 

In life, the hande of the eternal! dialL , 

In charitie, the giuer of all good ; 

In bountie, the bestower of all blisse ; 
In roerde, fiuthe's etemall blessed food ; 

In grace, the guide that cannot leade amisse. 

In wisedome, founder of all wit and sense ; 

In will, the worker of all wonders* worth ; 
In essence, all the Summe of ezcellenoe ; 

In all, that good that bringes all glorie forth. 

This essence all incomprehensible. 
Yet willing in His mercies to be knowne ; 

That glorie might not be offensible. 
That in a shadowe onely should be showne : 

First, in the time of fed>le infande 
When Nature's weaknesse fled a fajhA force ; 

Then, in the yeeres of reason's constande, 
When gradous Merde gloried in remorse ; 

Came to the worldq to call the woride to oome, 
Vnto His call that had the heauens at call ; 

Healing the sicke, the blinde, lame, deafe, and dumme, 
And rais'd them vp that readie were to £all. 

Contented with the badge of pouertie. 

Who might commaund both heauen and earth at wil ; 
Lodg'd in a manger in humilitie, 

Who in Himselfe both heauen and earth did filL 

Threatned with death. Who was the life of life ; ... 

Sought to be slaine. Who was the death of death ; 
The ground of peace, yet with the world at strife ; 

And suffred death, yet g^ue the lining breath. 

Seeke heauen and earth and finde out such another, 
So might command and so would be commanded ; 

Who was our King, yet would become our brother, 
Might strike all dumbe, and y^t wold be dnnanded. 

Would leaue such pleasure and endure such paine, . 

And for thdr lines, that crucified His loue ; 
With losse of life to make thdr lining gaine 

That prooued turldes to thdr turtle-doue. 

Who euer crau'd His hdp, and was denied? 

Who loued Him so,, but left Him ai His deadi? 
Who euer £ul'd where £uth on Him rdied ? 

Yet who for Him would spare one fiwofir's breath ? 

Oh Lord, what madnesse could be more in men^ 
Then when they knew the trueth to make a doubt ; 

And long in darkenesse hauing light euen then. 
To blinde themsdues to put the candle out. - 

And blessed women that His death bewailed. 
While hearts' deqw grielie Ibund comfort's high peffec- 

When passion's teares so much wit|i loue praaailed, 
As first to them reueal'd His resurrectioiL 

The mother wept^ to see her Sonne so vied ; 

The sinner wept to see her Sauiour dying ; 
The cousin wept, tu see her kind abused ; 

All for His death fell to a deadly crying. 

The sunne ecUpst, the day did loose his light. 
And stones did rise against thdr Maker's foes ; 

The Temple rent, the people were afiight. 
And finom the graues the troubled spirits rose. 

All these were tokens of His holy trueth. 

To make men know how they were woe b^gon them ; 
But gracdesse spirits voyd of gradous ruth, 

Ventred to take the guiltlesse blood vpon them. 

Here then behold the maiestie of blisse. 
That pray'd for them that prd'd vpon Him so ; 

Content with all might come to Him amisse. 
So His with Him might to their comfort goe. 

His life, the lantheme of etemall light ; 

His death, the passage to etemall rest ; 
His grace, the marke of the most blessed sight ; 

His loue, the lite of the etemall blest. 

His miracles, the witnesse of His power ; 

His sacraments, remembrance of His loue ; 
His resurrection, His triumphant houre ; 

And His ascension angels' ioyes aboue. 

His trauaile, all to bring our soules to rest ; 

His prayer, for our preseruation ; 
His worke, to ioy the spirits of the blest ; 

His Word, the assurM trueth of our saluation. 

His warre a fight, but ondy for our peace ; 

His peace, the ioy wherein our soules doe line ; 
His woundes, the salue that doth our woes release ; 

His triumph, freely of His grace to giue. 

Oh, should I runne hito that world of worth, 
Wherdn His glory dudy doth increase ; 

I should more wonder of most worth bring forth. 
Then thought can reach, vntill all 



But since true loue requited with vnkindnesse, 
Grace with disgrace, comfort with miserie ; 

Wisedome with folly, Truth with Cidshood's blindnes. 
Honour with shame and right with iniury. 

Since all the contraries of true content, 
That wit and reason rightly maie recehie. 

His heauenly mercy, truely patient, 
AU for our good full meekely did receiue. 

And being gon from our vngratious handes 
Vnto the right hand of his Father's rest ; 

There in His hourely intercession standes. 
For our remission making Loue's request. 

And by his Worde, the message of His will, 
Sent by the preacher of His proouM truthe ; 

Doth call our soules from all accursM ill, 
Vnto the good of gracious Merde's ruth. 

And bids our £uth to feare no hurt of sinne. 
And leaues vs lessons in the rules of grace ; ' 

Where true repentance doth remission winne. 
And humble £uth doth finde in heauen a place. 

And lets vs see each day and euerie night, 
A kind of figure, both of heauen and hell ; 

And how that sinnes doe alwaies fly the light, 
While blessed graces doe in bri^tnes dwell 

And howe the vertuous in the heauens are blessM, 
And how the vidous in their horrors hated ; 

And howe the hist shall haue their wrongs redressM 
And how the proude shall haue their pride abated. 

How Charitie shall be in heauen rewarded ; 

How Patience' care shall richly be contented ; 
How Bribrie shall be vtterly discarded ; 

And Tyrannic shall be in hell tormented. 

How humble Faith shall be in heau'n belou^. 
And gradous spirits blessedly embracM ; 

And faithlesse spirits from all grace remoouM, 
And gracelesse spirits vtterly disgracM. 

When life shall be pronounc't to the elected ; 

And Loue shall take the charge of the bdouM ; 
And Hell receiue the soules of the reiected, 

To endlesse paines of gracelesse will reprouM. 

When this (I say) and all that can be sayd, 
That may reuiue the vertuous in their death ; 

And iustly make the reprobate afraide. 
With looking downe into their hell beneath. 

Our Lord hath left vs in those lines of Loue, 
That heau'nly wisedom wrote for our instruction ; 

Yet we, all carelesse of our soules behoue. 
Will headlong runne vpon our owne destruction. 

What shall I say? But, let the atheist frie 
Within the coles of his owne condence' fire ; 

Torments too true, too late will make him trie 
He cannot scape the fririe of God's ire. 

And let the faithfrill in their fearelesse hope, 

Assure their spirits of espedall grace ; 
The breadth of heauen doth beare so large a scope. 

That none so poore but there shall haue a place. 

And let the prince not glory in his crowne. 

But lay it at the feet of Merde's loue ; 
And let the haughtie pull those humours downe. 

That ondy worke for wicked hd's behoue. 

Oh, let the faire leaue painting of thdr fr^es. 
And onely seeke the beautie of the minde ; 

For God alone doeth loue the inward graces. 
And not the shadowes that the eye doe blinde. 

And let the rich not let his riches rust, 
But seeke the wealth but of the spirit's worth ; 

For God doth know your treasure is but dust, 
And ye but stewards for to let it forth. 

And let the wise so well employ their wits. 
They may attaine the knowledge to doe well ; 

And shun the follies of those madding fits, 
That leauing heauen doe run the way to hdL 

Oh let that Queene be truely angd-like. 
With Grace's scepter holdes the sword of 

And by her £uth in Merde's hande doth seeke, 
A ioyfriU kingdome that shall neuer cease. 

And let that Ladie thinke hersdfe a queene, 

That hath possession of her spirite so ; 
That she could leaue all comforts she hath 

And her owne selfe vnto her God to goe. 

And let that Souldier most that valour loue. 
Where God assistes the futhfull in thdr fight ; 

While lacke of faith in coward feare doth prooue, 
Each shadowe doth the faithlesse soule affright. 

And let the Lawyer looke on lustice lines. 

And knowe that God will right the poore man's wrong ; 
And that such lawyers as are true diuines. 

Doe loue the Muses sing of Merde's songe. 

And let the Marchant loue that trafiique best, 
Where trauaile findes the treasure of God's grace ; 

While greedie mindes that fill the golden chest* 
Shall neuer see their Sauiour in the Ceice. 

And let the Scholler that doth studie most, 
Finde out the truth of life's etemall treasure ; 

And thinke all labour in his studie lost, 
Where God His grace giues not the spirit pleasore 


And let the louer leaue his wanton looke, 
"N^th such illusions as enchaunt the minde : 

And ondy loue the beautie of that Booke 
Where God alone is in His loue to finde. 

Abhorre the diuell and he will depart, 
Grace is as neere as sinne, if you will crane it ; 

So faith doe begge it with repentant heart, 
For feare nor pride are euer like to haue H. 


Crie vnto Christ, Whom you hatie crucified ; 

In teares of loue reueale your hate of sinne ; 
So in your greefe, when grace is glorified, 

Be sure in mercie doth your blisse beginne. 

Beleeue His worde, seeke to obey His will, 
And knowe the worke is His and none of your's ; 

Striue to doe well and flye the way to ill, 
And be submissiue to supemall powers. 

Be patient in the crosse of any care. 
Repentant in remembrance of amisse ; 

Constant in faith ; loue God without compare. 
And giue all glory to that name of His. 

Hate him that speakes against His Maiestie, 
Loue him in soule that will forsake Him neoer ; 

And know the scomers of the deity. 
Shall all be damn'd and firie in hell for euer. 

Goe to your closet, louely, there alone 

Bleede forth in teares, the tnieth of your beliefe ; 
And you shall see your smallest spirit's groone. 

Will finde a grace to ease you of your griefe. 

For He that knowes the secrets of your thought. 
And knowes the natures of jrour sinne's disease ; 

Will neuer see your spirit ouer-wrought. 
But in the insunt giue you present ease. 

You shal be the deare daughter of His loue. 
And like a father He will looke vpon you ; 

And in His mercy so much comfort proue. 
That you shall neuer more be woe-begon you. 

Your soule in heauen shall halfe already be. 
The angels glnne to set your post to sing ; 

Your spirit's eye shall in some graces, see 
Some shadowing glory of your heauenly King. 

And you all rauisht with your heauenly k)y. 
Will so His gradous glorious Name adore ; 

That being healed of your soule's annoy. 
This hatefull world shall be your loue no more. 

And you of men that haue bene long admir'd 
For many worthes, well worthy admiration. 

Shall then of angels be as much desir'd 
For heauenly grounds of grace's oonfinnatioiL 

And God Himselfe so neere Himselfe will set you. 
In Grace's seate where Mercy so will lone you. 

That Faith's regard will neuer more forget you. 
Nor sinne. nor death, nor deuill shall remoue you. 

But where the saints and angels are redting 
The heau'nly tnieth of high lehouah's story ; 

Your rauisht soule in such diuine enditing, 
Shall euermore be singing of His glory. 

To the assurM hope of which high grace. 
In humble prayer let my poore humble penne, 

In your good fauour begge that blessed place. 
Where my poore heart, may happ'ly say. Amen.