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Title: An English Garner (4 of 8)
Author: Various
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "An English Garner (4 of 8)" ***

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                                  AN

                           ENGLISH GARNER.

                              VOLUME IV.

[Illustration:



                                  AN
                                ENGLISH
                                GARNER

                             INGATHERINGS
                               FROM OUR
                        HISTORY AND LITERATURE


                                  BY
                        EDWARD ARBER, FSA. &c.

                     "YEA, HISTORY HATH TRIUMPHED
                     OVER TIME: WHICH BESIDES IT,
                       NOTHING BUT ETERNITY HATH
                           TRIUMPHED OVER."

                                                         Sir W. Raleigh,
                                                   _Hist. of the World_.

                          "AIRS AND MADRIGALS
                         THAT WHISPER SOFTNESS
                             IN CHAMBERS."

                                                              J. Milton,
                                                         _Areopagitica_.

                               VOLUME IV

                 ONLY TO BE OBTAINED BY APPLICATION TO
                      E. ARBER, 1 MONTAGUE ROAD,
                          BIRMINGHAM. ENGLAND
                            16 JAN., 1882.
                          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
                          MITCHELL INVT·ET·DEL]



                     Contents of the Fourth Volume.


                                                                    PAGE

  [? THOMAS OCCLEVE, Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.] _The_
  _Letter of Cupid._ (1402.)                                          54

  EDWARD UNDERHILL, Esq., of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners,
  surnamed, "The hot Gospeller." _Examination and_
  _Imprisonment in August 1553; with anecdotes of the Time_
  (? 1562.)                                                           72

  [LUKE SHEPHERD, M.D.] _JOHN BON AND MAST PARSON._ (? 1551.)        101

  ROBERT TOMSON, of Andover, Merchant. _Voyage to the West_
  _Indies and Mexico, 1556-1558_, A.D.                                11

  JOHN FOX, the Martyrologist. _The Imprisonment of the Princess_
  _Elizabeth._ (1563.)                                               112

  Rev. THOMAS BRICE. _A compendious Register in metre, containing_
  _the names and patient sufferings of the members of Jesus Christ,_
  _and the tormented, and cruelly burned within England; since_
  _the death of our famous King, of immortal memory, EDWARD_
  _the Sixth, to the entrance and beginning of the reign of our_
  _Sovereign and dearest Lady ELIZABETH, of England, France,_
  _and Ireland, Queen; Defender of the Faith; to whose Highness_
  _truly and properly appertaineth, next and immediately_
  _under GOD, the supreme power and authority of the Churches_
  _of England and Ireland._ (1559.)                                  143

  GEORGE FERRERS, the Poet. _The winning of Calais by the_
  _French, January 1558_ A.D. _General Narrative of the Recapture._
  (? 1568.)                                                          173

  _The Passage of our dread Sovereign Lady, Queen ELIZABETH,_
  _through the City of London to Westminster, the day before her_
  _Coronation._ (1558.)                                              217

  Lord WENTWORTH, the Lord Deputy of Calais, and the Council
  there. _Letter to Queen Mary, 23rd May, 1557_                      186

  Lords WENTWORTH and GREY, and the Council at Calais. _Report_
  _to Queen Mary, 27th December, 1557_                               187

  Lord WENTWORTH, at Calais. _Letter to Queen MARY, 1 January,_
  _1558, 9 p.m._                                                     190

  ---- _Letter to Queen MARY, 2 January,_
  _1558, 10 p.m._                                                    192

  JOHN HIGHFIELD, Master of the Ordnance at Calais. _To the_
  _Queen, our sovereign Lady._ (? 1558.)                             196

  Rev. WILLIAM HARRISON, B.D., Canon of Windsor, and Rector
  of Radwinter. _ELIZABETH arms England, which MARY had_
  _left defenceless,_ (? 1588.)                                      248

  _ALCILIA: PHILOPARTHEN's Loving Folly._ (1595.)                    253

  _LYRICS, ELEGIES, &C. The First Book of Songs or Airs._
  By JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1597.)                         28

  ---- _The Second Book of Songs or Airs._
  By JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1600.)                        519

  ---- _The Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs._
  By JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1603.)                        609

  ---- _A Pilgrim's Solace_. By JOHN DOWLAND,
  Bachelor of Music. (1612.)                                         644

  _Sir THOMAS OVERBURY his Observations in his Travels, upon the_
  _State of the Seventeen Provinces, as they stood Anno Domini_
  _1609: the Treaty of Peace being then on foot._ (1626.)            297

  TOBIAS GENTLEMAN, Fisherman and Mariner. _England's Way_
  _to Win Wealth, and to employ Ships and Mariners._ (1614.)         323

  BEN JONSON. _Answer to Master WITHER's Song_, Shall I,
  wasting in despair. (1617.)                                        577

  King JAMES. _The King's Majesty's Declaration to his Subjects,_
  _concerning lawful Sports to be used._ (1618.)                     511

  _The Famous and Wonderful Recovery of a Ship of Bristol, called_
  _the Exchange, from the Turkish Pirates of Argier. With the_
  _unmatchable attempts and good success of JOHN RAWLINS,_
  _Pilot in her, and other slaves: who, in the end (with the_
  _slaughter of about forty of the Turks and Moors), brought the_
  _ship into Plymouth, the 13th of February [1622] last, with the_
  _Captain a Renegado, and five Turks more; besides the redemption_
  _of twenty-four men and one boy from Turkish_
  _slavery._ (1622.)                                                 581

  GEO. WITHER. _Fair VIRTUE, the Mistress of PHIL'ARETE._ (1622.)    353

  ---- _A Miscellany of Epigrams, Sonnets, Epitaphs, and_
  _such other Verses as were found written with the Poem aforegoing._
  (1622.)                                                            495

  JOHN RUSHWORTH, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. _The Sequestration of_
  _Archbishop ABBOT from all his Ecclesiastical Offices, in 1627._   535

  R[ICHARD] Y[?OUNG]. _The state of a Christian lively set forth,_
  _by an allegory of a Ship under Sail._ (1636.)                      49

  ABRAHAM COWLEY. _The Chronicle. A BALLAD._ (1669.)                 319

  _A true and just Relation of Major-General Sir THOMAS MORGAN's_
  _Progress in France and Flanders with the Six Thousand_
  _English, in the years 1657 and 1658, at the taking of Dunkirk,_
  _and other important places._ (1699.)                              623



                   FIRST LINES OF POEMS AND STANZAS.


                             [Illustration]

                                  PAGE

  _Adieu_                                                            478
  Adieu, fond Love!                                                  291
  _Admire not, Shepherd_                                             423
  A foul vice it is                                                   59
  After dark night, the                                              268
  After long sickness                                                271
  After long storms                                                  285
  "Ah, Lady mine!"                                                    55
  "_Ah, me!_"                                                        476
  _A lad, whose faith_                                               399
  Alas, poor fools!                                                  101
  Albeit that men find                                                59
  ALCILIA's eyes have set                                            267
  ALCILIA said                                                       270
  All in vain is Ladies'                                             529
  All the day, the sun                                                45
  _All their riches_                                                 492
  All the night, my sleeps                                            45
  All ye, whom love                                                   42
  _A lover of the_                                                   456
  Although through                                                    57
  And all the little lime                                            322
  And for that every                                                  56
  And, furthermore, have                                              57
  And GOD, to whom                                                    68
  And if thine Ears                                                  525
  _And if those, who_                                                491
  And Love itself is                                                 621
  _And, now, no more_                                                426
  And of mercy, hath                                                  69
  And O grant, thou                                                  359
  And the book                                                        61
  _And this shall be the_                                            386
  _And though I never_                                               386
  And though the work                                                260
  And touching this                                                   67
  And trusteth well                                                   63
  And when he saddest                                                 46
  And when this man                                                   56
  And where men say                                                   68
  _And yet although_                                                 426
  _And yet, I do not fear_                                           424
  _And yet, if in time_                                              507
  And you, my Thoughts                                                35
  An old proverb there                                                60
  Another MARY then                                                  320
  Another wretch, unto                                                57
  "_Are we the two that_                                             433
  Are you false gods!                                                616
  Are you fled, Fair!                                                616
  As Heat to Life                                                    648
  A Shepherd in a shade                                              530
  As Hope hath here                                                  169
  As LOVE had drawn                                                  266
  "_A thousand lives I_                                              401
  A thousand times                                                   275
  Awake, sweet love!                                                  46
  Away with these                                                     47
  A wicked tree                                                       60

  Base servile thoughts                                              292
  Beauty can want no                                                 613
  Behold a wonder                                                    612
  _Be not proud, because_                                            487
  _Be thou still_                                                    493
  Betrayin not men                                                    57
  Better a thousand times                                             37
  Blush not, my Love!                                                266
  Both knit in one                                                   654
  _Bound to none_                                                    484
  Boy! ha' done!                                                     406
  Burst forth my tears!                                               38
  "But could thy fiery                                               613
  _But fie! my foolish_                                              426
  But her in heart                                                    62
  _But in her eyes_                                                  385
  But in her place                                                   321
  But I will briefer                                                 322
  _But kissing and_                                                  431
  _But let nor Nymph_                                                405
  _But lest this conquest_                                           435
  But, maugre them                                                    62
  But nought, alas                                                   262
  But O, the fury                                                     42
  _But, O, thrice happy!_                                            424
  _But say! What fruit_                                              383
  But should I now                                                   321
  But such as will run                                               622
  _But such visions_                                                 508
  _But, trust me!_                                                   505
  But, understandeth                                                  70
  But what can stay                                                   34
  But when ISABELLA                                                  321
  _But why_                                                          476
  _But, yet, at last, I_                                             456
  But yet it is a sport                                              622
  By a fountain where                                                617
  _By greatest titles_                                               484
  By process moveth                                                   55
  _By these imperfections_                                           506
  By thine error thou                                                530
  _By this, thy tunes_                                               520
  'By thy Beauty                                                     359

  _Can he prize the_                                                 428
  Can Love be rich                                                    36
  Can she excuse my                                                   36
  Care that consumes                                                  43
  'Cause her fortunes seem                                           579
  '_Cause her fortunes_                                              579
  '_Cause her fortune_                                               454
  Cease, cease, cease                                                656
  Clear or cloudy                                                    533
  Clerkis feign also there                                            65
  Cold as ice frozen                                                 617
  Cold, hold! the sun                                                619
  Come again! Sweet                                                   44
  Come again! that I                                                  44
  Come away! come                                                     40
  Come away! come                                                     41
  "Come, gentle Death!                                               205
  Come, heavy Sleep!                                                  47
  _Come, my Muse!_                                                   381
  Come, Shadow of my                                                  47
  Come, when I call                                                  622
  Come, ye heavy States                                              528
  Come, You Virgins of                                               528
  CUPIDO (unto whose                                                  54

  Daphne was not so                                                  613
  Dear! if I do                                                       38
  Dear, if you change!                                                38
  Dear! let me die                                                   648
  Dear! when I from thee                                              37
  Declare the griefs                                                 273
  Die not before thy day!                                            523
  Disdain me still                                                   648
  _Do as thou wouldst_                                               100
  _Down her cheeks, the_                                             509
  Down vain lights!                                                  523

  Each hour, amidst                                                   44
  Each natural thing                                                 295
  _Ear never heard of_                                               405
  Earth with her flowers                                              38
  ELIZA, till this hour                                              319
  Enough of this!                                                    275
  _Ere I had twice_                                                  480
  "Every woman"                                                       58
  Example we have                                                    100
  Experience which                                                   526

  Failed of that hap                                                 289
  Fain would I speak                                                 269
  _Fain would I tell_                                                403
  Fair is my love!                                                   265
  _Fair! Since thy_                                                  453
  Fair tree, but fruitless!                                          273
  Fair with garlands                                                 618
  False World! farewell!                                             653
  _Farewell_                                                         477
  Farewell, too fair!                                                611
  Farewell, too dear!                                                611
  Farewell, Unkind!                                                  619
  Fast fixed in my heart                                             262
  Fear to offend forbids                                             271
  Fie on this feigning!                                              620
  Fine knacks for ladies!                                            526
  Flow, my tears!                                                    523
  Flow not so fast                                                   614
  Fly, my Breast!                                                    530
  "_For if thy heart_                                                432
  _For if thou shalt not_                                            493
  _For like two suns_                                                455
  _For, lo, a dream I had_                                           402
  _For Love hath kindled_                                            404
  For my heart, _though_                                             530
  _For next, shall thy_                                              507
  _For on my chin_                                                   481
  _"For should we do_                                                433
  _For when I waking_                                                403
  From Fame's desire                                                 525
  From silent night                                                  653
  Fulfilled be it!                                                    71
  Full hard it is                                                     55

  Gentle HENRIETTE                                                   321
  Gentle LOVE draw                                                    45
  _Gentle Swain!_                                                    490
  God CUPID's shaft,                                                  47
  Go, nightly cares!                                                 653
  _Go, wantons, now_                                                 435
  Great gifts are guiles                                             527
  _Great men have helps_                                             425
  _Great, or Good_                                                   455
  _Great, or Good, or_                                               580
  Grief, alas, though                                                650
  Grieve not thyself                                                 289

  _Had I a Mistress_                                                 405
  Hail, fair Beauties!                                               387
  Hail! thou Fairest                                                 358
  _Happy are these_                                                  490
  Hark, you shadows!                                                 523
  Haste hapless sighs!                                                39
  Heart's Ease and I                                                 272
  _Hence, away!_                                                     427
  Her body is straight                                               265
  _Her dainty palm_                                                  431
  Here may you find                                                  259
  Here PHIL'ARET did                                                 488
  Her fires do inward                                                651
  Her Grace, like June                                               533
  Her heapèd virtue                                                   68
  _He's a fool, that_                                                428
  _He that Courtly_                                                  491
  He that in matters                                                 295
  _He that hath this_                                                100
  He that receiveth all                                              649
  His golden locks                                                    45
  His helmet, now                                                     46
  Hope by disdain                                                     43
  How friendly was                                                    65
  "_How glad, and fain_                                              401
  How happy, once                                                    290
  "How might I that                                                  614
  How shall I then                                                    34
  How vain is Youth                                                  295
  Humour say I                                                       533

  I am no Italian lover                                              361
  I am not sick, and yet                                             264
  I am now inclined                                                  534
  _I die!_                                                           478
  _I do scorn, to vow_                                               428
  _If all men could_                                                 491
  If any carp, for that                                              494
  If any eye therefore                                               654
  I fare like him who                                                291
  If CYNTHIA crave                                                    48
  _If I should my sorrows_                                           381
  If I should tell                                                   322
  If I speak!                                                         41
  If it be Love                                                      264
  If love doth make                                                   36
  If Music and sweet                                                  28
  If my complaints                                                    36
  If no delays can move                                               43
  If she, at last                                                     47
  If she esteem the                                                   46
  If she for this                                                     35
  If she will yield to                                                37
  _If such weak thoughts_                                            424
  If that in ought mine                                              264
  If that these men,                                                  63
  _If you boast that_                                                485
  _I have a Love that's_                                             424
  _I have elsewhere_                                                 427
  _I have heard that_                                                382
  _I have wept, and_                                                 381
  I'll go to the woods                                               650
  _I'm no slave to such_                                             427
  In any book also                                                    69
  In company                                                         273
  In general, we wollin                                               54
  Ingrateful LOVE!                                                   289
  In her presence all                                                534
  In looking back                                                    293
  In midst of winter                                                 268
  In my _Legend of_                                                   65
  In prime of Youth                                                  295
  In Reason's Court                                                  276
  _In song, APOLLO gave_                                             403
  _In spite of others' hates_                                        386
  _In these lonely groves_                                           492
  _In these thoughts_                                                488
  In vain do we                                                      290
  "I pray thee, tell!                                                267
  I saw my Lady weep'                                                522
  Is this a fair avaunt?                                              56
  _I that have oft_                                                  480
  _I to a thousand_                                                  481
  It was a time when                                                 620
  It was my chance                                                   261
  _I wandered out_                                                   455
  I will no longer spend                                             293
  I will not call for aid                                            259

  Judge not by this                                                  260
  Justice gives each                                                 532

  _Knew I my Love_                                                   481

  _Leave me! then_                                                   429
  Lend your ears to my                                               617
  Let love which never                                                46
  Let not thy tongue                                                 275
  Let those doters on                                                360
  Like to a man that                                                 289
  Like to the silver                                                 613
  Like to the winds                                                   39
  _Lines to some_                                                    382
  Long have I                                                        268
  Lo here, the Record                                                296
  Loose Idleness!                                                    294
  _Lordly Gallants!_                                                 484
  Love and I are now                                                 283
  Love and Youth                                                     283
  LOVE! Art thou blind?                                              268
  _Love causèd GOD_                                                  153
  _Love GOD, above_                                                  100
  Love is honey mixed                                                283
  Love is sorrow mixt                                                284
  Love is the sickness                                               284
  LOVE now no more                                                   612
  LOVE, then I must                                                  650
  LOVERS' Conceits                                                   291
  Lovers, lament!                                                    275
  Love stood amazed                                                  616
  Love! those beams                                                  650
  _Lute! Arise and_                                                  520

  Malice of women!                                                    66
  Many one eke would                                                  58
  MARGARITA first                                                    319
  MARTHA soon did it                                                 319
  MARY then, and                                                     320
  _Means of harbour_                                                 381
  Meanwhile, vouchsafe                                               260
  Me! me! and none                                                   613
  _Men, alas, are too_                                               381
  Men bearing, eke                                                    64
  Men sayin that our                                                  66
  Mirth, then, is                                                    534
  _Mispend not a morning_                                            504
  Most sacred Queen!                                                 276
  Mount, then, my                                                    652
  Mourn! Day is with                                                 524
  Mourn! Look, now                                                   524
  _Much good do 't them_                                             493
  My fair ALCILIA!                                                   267
  My Heart and Tongue                                                654
  _My heart is full nigh_                                            480
  My heart where _have_                                              531
  My liege! gods grant                                               621
  My Love, by chance                                                 266
  My love doth rage                                                   42
  My merry mates!                                                    654
  "_My only Dear!_"                                                  399
  My songs, they be                                                   48
  My Thoughts are                                                     35
  My SPIRIT, I                                                       286

  _NARCISSUS like_                                                   482
  Nature two eyes                                                    528
  Nay, think not LOVE!                                               294
  Ne no wight disceiveth                                              67
  Never hour of pleasing                                              41
  New found, and only                                                654
  No charge is what                                                   62
  _None comes hither_                                                490
  No! No! Where                                                       36
  No pain so great                                                   271
  No sooner had the                                                  474
  _Note of me_                                                       486
  Nought can I say                                                    64
  "_No vulgar bliss_                                                 434
  Now cease my                                                       527
  _Now Grace is of such_                                             153
  Now have I spun                                                    288
  Now holdith this                                                    70
  Now LOVE sits all alone                                            294
  Now none is bald                                                   525
  Now, O now                                                          37
  Now prick on fast!                                                  58
  _Now, Young Man!_                                                  504

  O crystal tears!                                                    39
  _O do not smile at_                                                480
  _O'ertired by cruel_                                               402
  O, every man ought                                                  60
  O fairer than ought                                                522
  O fairest mind                                                     652
  Oft have I dreamed                                                 615
  _Oft have the Nymphs_                                              404
  Of thy worth, this                                                 358
  Of Troy also                                                        65
  Of twelve Apostles                                                  60
  _"O Heavens!" quoth_                                               400
  O, how honoured are                                                436
  O, I am as heavy                                                   534
  _O, if she may be_                                                 483
  "_O, if the Noblest_                                               401
  O judge me not                                                     270
  Once did I love                                                    288
  Once, I lived!                                                     617
  _Once, in a dream_                                                 482
  One man hath but one                                               527
  One month, three days                                              320
  _On every bush, the_                                               430
  On this Glass of thy                                               360
  Open the sluices                                                   271
  _O pity me, you Powers_                                            404
  _O, rather let me die_                                             385
  O, sweet words                                                     525
  O that Love should                                                 529
  O that thy sleep                                                    40
  Out, alas! my faith                                                 45
  OVID, in his book                                                   61
  O well were it, Nature                                             269
  O what a life                                                      292
  _O, what are we_                                                   432
  O what hath                                                        618
  _O, why had I a heart_                                             481
  Our wished wealth hath                                             169

  Pale Jealousy!                                                     271
  Pardie! this Clerk                                                  63
  Parting from thee!                                                 270
  _Parve liber Domini_                                               257
  Passing all land is                                                 54
  Pausing a while                                                    261
  _Peruse with patience_                                             153
  Pity is but a poor                                                 532
  _Poor COLLIN grieves_                                              482
  Poor, or Bad, or                                                   580
  Praise blindness                                                   525
  Pray we, therefore                                                 169
  Princes hold conceit                                               533
  _Proud she seemed_                                                 429

  Rest awhile                                                         41
  Retire, my wandering                                               274

  _Sad Eyes! What do you_                                            384
  Sad pining Care                                                     39
  "Say, Love! if ever                                                613
  _Say, you purchase_                                                485
  _Seek to raise your_                                               485
  See! these trees                                                   457
  Shall a woman's vices                                              579
  _Shall a woman's_                                                  578
  _Shall a woman's_                                                  454
  Shall I, mine                                                      577
  Shall I strive with                                                650
  Shall I sue?                                                       531
  _Shall I swear_,                                                   381
  _Shall I, wasting in_                                              454
  _Shall I, wasting_                                                 577
  Shall my foolish heart                                             578
  _Shall then, in earnest_                                           385
  _She, little moved with_                                           400
  _Should my foolish_                                                578
  _Should my heart be_                                               454
  Should then my love                                                 40
  Show some relenting!                                               620
  Silly wretch! Forsake                                              531
  "Since REASON ought                                                278
  Since you desire                                                   269
  Sleep is a reconciling!                                            619
  Sleep now, my Muse!                                                272
  Sleep wayward thoughts                                              42
  _Some say that_                                                    425
  Something I want;                                                  264
  Sometimes I seek for                                               269
  _Somewhat, then, I_                                                510
  So movingly these                                                  479
  _So much grief_                                                    509
  So powerful is the                                                 612
  Sorrow! Sorrow, stay!                                              523
  Sorrow, to see my                                                  653
  Sorrow was there made                                              522
  _So those virtues_                                                 493
  Stay awhile! my                                                    622
  Stay, happy pair!                                                  656
  Stay, merry mates                                                  655
  Stay TIME, awhile                                                  651
  "_Still keep thy forehead_                                         402
  _"Still, when any wooèd_                                           510
  _Straight on me she_                                               509
  Such are thy parts                                                 267
  Such beams infused                                                 612
  _Such equal sweet_                                                 455
  "_Sweet Heart!_"                                                   453
  Sweet! stay awhile!                                                648
  Sweet Summer!                                                      533

  Take me, ASSURANCE!                                                532
  Tears but augment                                                  652
  _Tell me, my heart!_                                               383
  Tell me, TRUE LOVE!                                                652
  _That Gait and those_                                              506
  That GOD's true Word                                               169
  _That Forehead_                                                    505
  _That Lust, which thy_                                             507
  _That Strength_                                                    504
  The acts of Ages past                                              495
  The ancient poets write                                            266
  The child, for ever                                                292
  The Cynic being asked                                              270
  The day I see is clear                                             618
  The days are now come                                              272
  Thee! entirely                                                     360
  The envious swelling                                                67
  _Thee! unknown_                                                    509
  The fire of Love                                                   274
  _The force of Love_                                                153
  _The grief whereof_                                                399
  The Ladies ever                                                     61
  The Ladies smiled oft                                              483
  The longest day                                                    285
  The lowest trees                                                   621
  The more the virtue                                                 70
  Their word is, spoken                                               55
  _Then all those rare_                                              505
  Then, as I, on Thee                                                362
  Then from high rock                                                616
  Then his tears                                                     616
  Then I forthwith took                                              618
  Then LOVE and FOLLY                                                286
  _Then, O, why so_                                                  492
  Then mote it follow                                                 64
  Then sit thee down!                                                524
  _Then Thou, that art_                                              502
  Then thus I buzzed                                                 620
  _Then what new study_                                              383
  Then, while their loves                                            362
  Then will I thus                                                    70
  The painful ploughman                                              269
  _There, a fountain_                                                509
  _Therefore have the_                                               492
  _Therefore know!_                                                  429
  _Therefore on my_                                                  508
  _There lives no Swain_                                             481
  There was but One                                                  291
  These faults had                                                   285
  These Ladies                                                        63
  _These, thy flocks do_                                             490
  The Spring of Youth                                                292
  The sun hath twice                                                 296
  The sweet content                                                  268
  The tender Sprigs                                                  274
  "The things we have                                                293
  The time will come                                                 294
  _The wishes of the_                                                170
  The worth that                                                      48
  Think'st thou, then                                                 39
  This Beauty shews                                                  612
  _This I knowing, did_                                              382
  This, thy Picture                                                  361
  _Those Ears, thou_                                                 505
  _Those Eyes, which_                                                506
  _Those Fancies that_                                               507
  _Those Lips, whereon_                                              506
  Those sorry books                                                   61
  "_Those that have set_                                             401
  Those, that Mistresses                                             361
  _Those tresses of Hair_                                            505
  _Those, whom the_                                                  489
  Though a stranger                                                  359
  _Though I vainly do_                                               485
  Though little sign                                                 247
  _Though of dainties_                                               486
  Though thou be fair                                                294
  Though thy praise                                                  358
  _Though you Lord it_                                               489
  _Thou, their folly_                                                492
  Thou, to no man                                                    361
  Thus have I long                                                   288
  _Thus Love and Grace_                                              153
  Thus, Precious Gem!                                                 69
  Thus sang the Nymph!                                               493
  _Thy Affection_                                                    490
  Thy grief in my deep                                                36
  Thy large smooth                                                   295
  _Thy leave_                                                        477
  _Thy joints are yet_                                               504
  _Thy Teeth, that stood_                                            506
  Time can abate the                                                 615
  Time's eldest son                                                  524
  Time stands still                                                  611
  'Tis not the vain                                                  619
  _'Tis the Eye that_                                                382
  To all, save me                                                     44
  To ask for all thy love                                            649
  "To err and do amiss                                               290
  To her! Nay!                                                        56
  To her, then, yield                                                614
  To Master JEAN                                                      64
  To paint her outward                                               265
  To seek adventures                                                 263
  To slaunder women                                                   59
  To thee, ALCILIA!                                                  259
  To thyself, the                                                    529
  Toss not my soul                                                   532
  To whom shall I                                                    651
  True love cannot                                                    43
  Trust, Perfect Love                                                 66
  Truth is not placed                                                620
  "Twixt Hope and Fear                                               274
  _Two pretty rills do_                                              363

  "Uncouth, unkist                                                   272
  Unhappy Eyes!                                                      263
  Unquiet thoughts!                                                   34
  Unwise was he, that                                                267
  Upon the altar where                                               270
  Upon the ocean                                                     275

  Vows, and oaths                                                    529

  _Walking to a pleasant_                                            508
  Was I so base, that I                                               37
  Weep you no more                                                   619
  Weep not apace                                                     614
  Welcome, black Night                                               655
  Were every thought                                                 651
  Were Love a Fire                                                   265
  What although in                                                   359
  What, am I dead?                                                   264
  "_What goodly thing_                                               433
  _What hopes have I_                                                384
  What if I never                                                    615
  _What is the cause_                                                452
  "What is the cause                                                 266
  "_What I waking_                                                   510
  What, JOHN BON!                                                    103
  What poor astronomers                                              621
  What thing is Beauty?                                              292
  What thing is LOVE?                                                289
  _What though my_                                                   384
  When ALEXANDER                                                     168
  When AMBROSE died                                                  165
  When ASKUE, PALMER                                                 162
  When AWCOCKE, in                                                   155
  When blessèd BUTTER                                                155
  When BRADBRIDGE                                                    158
  When BRADFORD                                                      156
  _When bright_                                                      508
  When constant                                                      160
  When DALE deceased                                                 167
  When DENLY died                                                    156
  When DIRICK                                                        156
  When DUNSTON                                                       163
  When fair REBECCA                                                  320
  When FORTUNE                                                       612
  When GEORGE EGLES                                                  165
  When GLOVER                                                        158
  When godly GORE                                                    159
  When HULLIARDE                                                     160
  _When I have reached_                                              404
  _When in thraldom_                                                 488
  When I swore my                                                    529
  When JA[C]KSON                                                     162
  When JOAN                                                          164
  When JOHN DAVY                                                     168
  When JOHN FISCOKE                                                  165
  When JOHN FORMAN                                                   162
  When JOHN HORNE                                                    163
  When JOHN LESSE                                                    158
  When JOHN LOWMAS                                                   159
  When JOHN NEWMAN                                                   157
  When JOHN OSWOLD                                                   161
  When JOHN ROUGHE                                                   166
  When JOYCE BOWES                                                   166
  When KATHERINE                                                     161
  When, last of all                                                  169
  When LAURENCE                                                      157
  When learnèd RIDLEY                                                158
  When lowly LISTER                                                  161
  When MARGARET                                                      161
  _When on my bed_                                                   482
  _When other noble_                                                 386
  When others sing                                                   525
  _When PHILOMELA_                                                   430
  When raging reign                                                  154
  When RAVENSDALE                                                    163
  When RICHARD                                                       156
  When RICHARD ROOTH                                                 166
  When RICHARD SMITH                                                 158
  When RICHARD YEMAN                                                 168
  When ROGERS                                                        154
  When ROWLAND                                                       154
  When SAMUEL                                                        157
  When shall Contention                                              171
  When shall Jerusalem                                               170
  When shall our minds                                               172
  When shall that Man                                                171
  When shall that painted                                            171
  When shall the                                                     170
  When shall the blood                                               171
  When shall the faithful                                            172
  When shall the mind                                                170
  When shall the serpents                                            171
  When shall the SPIRIT                                              171
  When shall the time                                                170
  When shall the Trump                                               172
  When shall the walls                                               170
  When shall this flesh                                              172
  When shall this life                                               171
  When shall this time                                               170
  When shall Thy Christ                                              172
  When shall Thy Spouse                                              171
  When shall True                                                    172
  When SOUTHAN                                                       167
  When SPARROW                                                       166
  When STANLY's wife                                                 164
  When SPENCER                                                       160
  When sudden chance                                                 263
  When TANKERFIELDE                                                  157
  When ten, at                                                       165
  When that JOHN                                                     167
  When the high GOD                                                   59
  When the weaver                                                    163
  When THOMAS FINALL                                                 164
  When THOMAS TYLER                                                  168
  When THOMAS                                                        162
  When THOMAS                                                        159
  When thoughts are                                                  652
  When three, within                                                 103
  When THURSTON's                                                    166
  When TOMKINS                                                       155
  When two at Ashford                                                164
  When two men                                                       161
  When two women                                                     160
  When WHOD the                                                      162
  When WILLIAM                                                       168
  When WILLIAM                                                       164
  When WILLIAM                                                       165
  When WILLIAM                                                       160
  When WILLIAM                                                       156
  When WILLIAM                                                       155
  When WILLIAM ALLEN                                                 157
  When WILLIAM HARRIS                                                167
  When WILLIAM NICOLL                                                167
  When worthy WATTES                                                 155
  When worthy WEB                                                    159
  _When your faults_                                                 486
  _When your hearts_                                                 487
  Wherefore I say                                                     67
  _Wherefore, Muse!_                                                 382
  Wherefore proceedeth                                                58
  Where, retchless boy!                                              261
  Where waters smoothest                                             621
  _Whether thrallèd_                                                 492
  _Which if I find_                                                  385
  While season served to                                             293
  Whilom, for many                                                    62
  _Whilst thus she spake_                                            434
  _Whilst Youth_                                                     384
  White as lilies was                                                528
  Whoever thinks, or                                                  35
  Who seats his love                                                 293
  Who spends the weary                                               273
  Who thinks that                                                     35
  Who would be rapt                                                  291
  _Why are idle brains_                                              491
  _Why court I thy_                                                  453
  _Why do foolish men_                                               401
  "_Why do I fondly_                                                 400
  Why should I love                                                  272
  Why should we hope                                                 290
  Wilt thou be abusèd                                                 37
  Wilt thou, Unkind!                                                  43
  _With hand in hand_                                                430
  Within this pack                                                   527
  With pity moved                                                    616
  _With pleasant toil_                                               431
  _With that dismayed_                                               400
  _With that, I felt_                                                434
  Woful Heart, _with_                                                530
  Woman forsoke Him                                                   69
  Womanis heart                                                       66
  Women were made                                                    284
  Would my conceit                                                    44
  Wretched is he that                                                273

  _Yea, and he that thinks_                                          382
  Yet be thou mindful                                                 43
  _Yet, ere, my eyes_                                                405
  Yet, if you please                                                 649
  Yet in this, Thou                                                  362
  _Yet I would not_                                                  428
  "_Yet, let not, poor_                                              402
  Yet was this sinnè                                                  68
  _You are pleasèd_                                                  487
  You cannot, every day                                              649
  _You do bravely_                                                   487
  _You Gallants, born_                                               425
  _You gentle Nymphs!_                                               480
  _You may boast_                                                    484
  You men that give                                                  526
  _You never took so_                                                435
  Young men shall                                                    360
  You that, at a blush                                               370
  Youthful Desire is                                                 290
  You woods! in you                                                  526
  _You woody Hills!_                                                 403

[Illustration: AN ENGLISH GARNER

INGATHERINGS FROM OUR HISTORY AND LITERATURE]

                                VOL. IV.



                 ROBERT TOMSON, of Andover, Merchant.

                _Voyage to the West Indies and Mexico_,
                            1556-1558, A.D.

                                             [HAKLUYT. _Voyages._ 1589.]


    The marvel is, that at this date, these Englishmen were allowed
        to go to New Spain at all; it was probably one of the results
        of the marriage of PHILIP with MARY TUDOR. BLAKE, FIELD, and
        TOMSON were probably the first British islanders who reached
        the city of Mexico. This narrative also gives us an account of
        the first _auto-da-fé_ in that city.

       *       *       *       *       *

ROBERT TOMSON, born in the town of Andover, in Hampshire, began his
travels out of England in the month of March, _anno_ 1553 [_i.e._,
1554]; who departing out of the city of Bristol in company of other
merchants of the said city, in a good ship called the bark _Young_,
within eight days after, arrived at Lisbon, at Portugal: where the said
ROBERT TOMSON remained fifteen days. At the end of which, he shipped
himself for Spain in the said ship, and within four days arrived in
the bay of Cadiz in Andalusia, which is under the kingdom of Spain:
and from thence, travelled up to the city of Seville by land, which is
twenty leagues; and there, he repaired to the house of one JOHN FIELD,
an English merchant who had dwelt in the said city of Seville eighteen
or twenty years married, with wife and children. In whose house, the
said TOMSON remained by the space of one whole year or thereabout, for
two causes: the one, to learn the Castilian tongue; the other, to see
the orders of the country, and the customs of the people.

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

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

Whereupon, the said JOHN FIELD, with his company and ROBERT TOMSON
(being departed out of Seville, and come down to San Lucar de
Barrameda, fifteen leagues off) seeing the stay made upon the ships
of the said fleet, and not being assured when they would depart,
determined to ship themselves for the isles of the Canaries, which
are 250 leagues from San Lucar, and there to stay till the said fleet
should come hither; for that is continually their port to make stay
at, six or eight days, to take fresh water, bread, flesh, and other
necessaries.

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

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

Somewhat late towards evening, she came into port, not showing past
three or four men, and so came to an anchor hard by the other ships
that were in the said port. Being seen by the Castle and by the said
ships, they made no reckoning of her, because they knew her: and
thinking that she had found contrary winds at the sea, or having
forgotten something behind them, they had returned back again for the
same, they made no account of her, but let her alone riding quietly
among the other ships in the said port. So that about midnight, the
said caravel, with the Frenchmen in her, went aboard [_touched_] the
other ship that lay hard by, ladened with sugars; and driving the
Spaniards that were in her under the hatches, presently let slip her
cables and anchors, and set sail and carried her clean away: and after
this sort, deceived them. And they thinking or fearing that we were the
like, did shoot at us as they did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We, with the other seven ships, cast about into the sea, the storm
[en]during ten days with great might, boisterous winds, fogs, and rain.
Our ship, being old and weak, was so tossed that she opened at the
stern a fathom under water, and the best remedy we had was to stop it
with beds and pilobiers [? _pillows for litters_]: and for fear of
sinking we threw and lightened into the sea all the goods we had, or
could come by; but that would not serve.

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

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

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

So we departed out of our ship, and left it in the sea. It was worth
400,000 ducats [= _about_ £100,000 _then = about_ £900,000 _now_], ship
and goods, when we left it.

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

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

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

The 16th of April in _anno_ 1556, we arrived at the port of San Juan de
Ulua in New Spain, very naked and distressed of apparel and all other
things, by means of the loss of our foresaid ship and goods; and from
thence we went to the new town called Vera Cruz, five leagues from
the said port of San Juan de Ulua, marching still by the sea shore:
where we found lying upon the sands a great quantity of mighty great
trees, with roots and all, some of them four, five, or six cart load,
by estimation; which, as the people told us, were, in the great stormy
weather which we [en]dured at sea, rooted out of the ground in _Terra
Florida_ right against that place (which is 300 leagues over the sea),
and brought thither.

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

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

And when we came within half a day's journey of the city of Mexico,
the said JOHN FIELD also fell sick; and within three days after we
arrived at the said city, he died. And presently sickened one of his
children, and two more of his household people; who within eight days
died. So that within ten days after we arrived at the city of Mexico,
of eight persons that were of us of the said company, there remained
but four of us alive: and I, the said TOMSON, at the point of death,
of the sickness that I got on the way, which continued with me for the
space of six months [_till October 1556_]. At the end of which time,
it pleased GOD to restore me my health again, though weak and greatly
disabled.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

And on the other side of the said Place, over against the same, is the
Bishop's house, very fairly built; and many other houses of goodly
building. And hard by the same are also other very fair houses, built
by the Marquis DE LA VALLE, otherwise called HERNANDO CORTES; who was
he that first conquered the said city and country. After the said
conquest (which he made with great labour and travail of his person,
and danger of his life), being grown great in the country; the King
of Spain sent for him, saying that he had some particular matters to
impart to him: and, when he came home, he could not be suffered to
return back again, as the King before had promised him. With the sorrow
for which, he died: and this he had for the reward of his good service.

The said city of Mexico hath streets made very broad and right
[_straight_] that a man being in the highway at one end of the street,
may see at the least a good mile forward: and in all the one part of
the streets of the north part of their city, there runneth a pretty
lake of very clear water, that every man may put into his house as much
as he will, without the cost of anything but of the letting in.

Also there is a great ditch of water that cometh through the city,
even into the high Place; where come, every morning, at break of the
day, twenty or thirty canoes or troughs of the Indians; which bring in
them all manner of provisions for the city that is made and groweth
in the country: which is a very good commodity for the inhabitants of
that place. And as for victuals in the said city, beef, mutton, hens,
capons, quails, guinea cocks, and such like, are all very good cheap;
as the whole quarter of an ox, as much as a slave can carry away from
the butcher's, for five tomynes, that is, five rials of plate [_i.e.,
of silver. See Vol. III. p._ 184], which is just 2s. 6d. [= £1 5_s._
0_d. now_]; and fat sheep at the butcher's, for three rials, which is
1s. 6d. [= 12_s._ 6_d. now_], and no more. Bread is as good cheap as in
Spain; and all other kinds of fruits, as apples, pears, pomegranates,
and quinces, at a reasonable rate.

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

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

In my time, were dwelling and alive in Mexico, many ancient men that
were of the Conquerors, at the first conquest with HERNANDO CORTES:
for, then, it was about thirty-six years ago, that the said country was
conquered.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

One that was at the declaring of these words, who was my master,
GONZALO SEREZO, answered and said, "If it were against the commandment
of GOD, to have images in the churches; that then he had spent a great
deal of money in vain; for that, two years past [_i.e., in 1555_] he
had made in the Monastery of Santo Domingo in the said city of Mexico,
an image of Our Lady, of pure silver and gold, with pearls and precious
stones, which cost him 7,000 and odd _pesos_" (and every _peso_ is 6s.
8d. of our money) [= _about_ £2,400, or _about_ £24,000 _now_]: which
indeed was true, for I have seen it many times myself where it stands.

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

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

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

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

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

The talk was perceived to be prejudicial to the Romish doctrine; and
therefore it was commanded to be no more entreated of. And all remained
unthought upon, had it not been for a villainous Portuguese that was in
the company, who said, _Basta ser Ingles para saber todo esto y mas_,
who, the next day, without imparting anything to anybody, went to the
Bishop of MEXICO and his Provisor, and said, that "In a place where he
had been the day before was an Englishman, who had said that _there was
no need of Saints in the Church, nor of any Invocation of Saints_."
Upon whose denomination [_denouncement_], I was apprehended for the
same words here rehearsed, and none other thing; and thereupon was used
as hereafter is written.

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

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

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

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

So that we were brought into the said high Church, and set upon the
scaffold which was made before the high altar, in the presence of all
the people, until _High Mass_ was done; and the Sermon made by a friar
concerning our matter: putting us in all the disgrace they could, to
cause the people not to take so much compassion upon us, for that "we
were heretics, and people seduced of the Devil, and had forsaken the
faith of the Catholic Church of Rome"; with divers other reproachful
words, which were too long to recite in this place.

_High Mass_ and Sermon being done; our offences (as they called them)
were recited, each man what he had said and done: and presently was the
sentence pronounced against us, that was that--

    The said AUGUSTINE BOACIO was condemned to wear his _San Benito_
    all the days of his life, and put into perpetual prison, where he
    should fulfil the same; and all his goods confiscated and lost.

    And I, the said TOMSON, to wear the _San Benito_ for three years;
    and then to be set at liberty.

    And for the accomplishing of this sentence or condemnation, we must
    be presently sent down from Mexico to Vera Cruz, and from thence to
    San Juan de Ulua, which was sixty-five leagues by land; and there
    to be shipped for Spain, with straight commandment that, upon pain
    of 1,000 ducats, every one of the Masters should look straightly
    unto us, and carry us to Spain, and deliver us unto the Inquisitors
    of the Holy House of Seville; that they should put us in the
    places, where we should fulfil our penances that the Archbishop of
    MEXICO had enjoined unto us, by his sentence there given.

For the performance of the which, we were sent down from Mexico to the
seaside, with fetters upon our feet; and there delivered to the Masters
of the ships to be carried for Spain, as is before said.

And it was so, that the Italian fearing that if he presented himself
in Spain before the Inquisitors, that they would have burnt him; to
prevent that danger, when we were coming homeward, and were arrived at
the island of Terceira, one of the isles of Azores, the first night
that we came to an anchor in the said port [_i.e., of Angra_], about
midnight, he found the means to get him naked out of the ship into the
sea, and swam naked ashore; and so presently got him to the further
side of the island, where he found a little caravel ready to depart for
Portugal. In the which he came to Lisbon; and passed into France, and
so into England; where he ended his life in the city of London.

And I, for my part, kept still aboard the ship, and came into Spain;
and was delivered to the Inquisitors of the Holy House of Seville,
where they kept me in close prison till I had fulfilled the three years
of my penance, [_i.e., till about 1561_].

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

Being in the city of Seville, a cashier of one HUGH TYPTON, an English
merchant of great doing, by the space of one year [_i.e., till about
1562_]; it fortuned that there came out of the city of Mexico, a
Spaniard, JUAN DE LA BARRERA, that had been long time in the Indies,
and had got great sums of gold and silver. He, with one only daughter,
shipped himself for to come to Spain; and, by the way, chanced to die,
and gave all that he had unto his only daughter, whose name was MARIA
DE LA BARRERA.

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

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



                 _Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals,_
                            _Canzonets, &c._


We purpose giving in the present Volume, all the printed Songs to
which music was set by JOHN DOWLAND, the Lutenist; of whom, probably,
BARNFIELD wrote the following lines, which first appeared in the
surreptitious Collection _the Passionate Pilgrim_, in 1599; but which
are usually included in SHAKESPEARE's _Works_:

    If Music and sweet Poetry agree;
    As they must needs, the sister and the brother:
    Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me!
    Because thou lov'st the one; and I, the other.
      DOWLAND to thee, is dear; whose heavenly touch
    Upon the lute doth ravish human sense:
    SPENSER, to me; whose deep conceit is such
    As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
      Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
    That PHOEBUS's Lute, the Queen of Music, makes:
    And I, in deep delight, am chiefly drowned
    When as himself to singing he betakes.
      One god is god of both, as Poets feign:
      One knight loves both, and both in thee remain!

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

[Illustration]

                   JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music.

                   THE FIRST BOOK OF SONGS OR AIRS.
                                 1597.

[Illustration]


                        TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
                           SIR GEORGE CAREY,

               OF THE NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, KNIGHT,
              BARON OF HUNSDON, CAPTAIN OF HER MAJESTY'S
         Gentlemen Pensioners, Governor of the Isle of Wight,
             Lieutenant of the County of Southampton, Lord
                Chamberlain of Her Majesty's most royal
                   House; and of Her Highness's most
                       honourable Privy Council.

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

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

_Neither in these your honours, may I let pass the dutiful remembrance
of your virtuous Lady, my honourable mistress, whose singular graces
towards me have added spirit to my unfortunate labours._

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

                                  _Your Lordship's most humble servant,_
                                                       _+JOHN DOWLAND.+_

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                        To the Courteous Reader.

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

About sixteen years past [_i.e., in 1580_], I travelled the chiefest
parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of Music; but
lately, being of a more confirmed judgement, I bent my course towards
the famous provinces of Germany, where I found both excellent Masters,
and most honourable patrons of music, namely, those two miracles of
this Age for virtue and magnificence, HENRY JULIO, Duke of Brunswick,
and the learned MAURICE, Landgrave of Hesse; of whose princely virtues
and favours towards me, I can never speak sufficiently. Neither can
I forget the kindness of ALEXANDRO HOROLOGIO, a right learned master
of music, servant to the royal Prince, the Landgrave of Hesse, and
GREGORIO HOWET, Lutenist to the magnificent Duke of Brunswick; both
[of] whom I name, as well for their love to me as also for their
excellency in their faculties.

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

             _Molto magnifico Signior mio osservandissimo._

    _Per una lettera del Signior ALBERIGO MALVEZI ho inteso quanto
    con cortese affeto si mostri desideroso di essermi congionto_
    _d'amicitia, dove infinitamente la ringratio di questo suo
    buon'animo, offerendomegli all'incontro se in alcuna cosa la
    posso servire, poi che gli meriti delle sue infinite virtù, e
    qualità meritano che ogni uno e me l'ammirino e osservino, e per
    fine di questo le bascio le mani. Di Roma, a' 13. di Luglio.
    1595._

                                   _D.V.S. Affettionatissimo servitore_,
                                                      +_LUCA MARENZIO_+.

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

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

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

                                                         +JOHN DOWLAND.+

[Illustration]

                           +THOMÆ CAMPIANI.+
                  _Epigramma._ De instituto authoris.

    _Famam, posteritas quam dedit ORPHEO._
    _Dolandi melius MUSICA dat sibi,_
    _Fugaces reprimens archetypis sonos;_
    _Quas et delitias præbuit auribus,_
    _Ipsis conspicuas luminibus facit._

[Illustration]


         _Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, Canzonets, &c._

[Illustration]


                             JOHN DOWLAND.
                    THE FIRST BOOK OF SONGS OR AIRS

    Unquiet thoughts! your civil slaughter stint!
    And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart!
    And you, my tongue! that makes my mouth a mint,
    And stamps my thoughts, to coin them words by art,
    Be still! For if you ever do the like,
    I'll cut the string, that makes the hammer strike!

    But what can stay my thoughts, they may not start?
    Or put my tongue in durance for to die?
    When as these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart
    Open the lock, where all my love doth lie.
    I'll seal them up within their lids for ever!
    So thoughts and words and looks shall die together.

    How shall I then gaze on my mistress' eyes?
    My thoughts must have some vent, else heart will break.
    My tongue would rust, as in my mouth it lies;
    If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speak.
    Speak then! and tell the passions of Desire!
    Which turns mine eyes to floods, my thoughts to fire.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Whoever thinks, or hopes of love for love?
    Or who beloved, in CUPID's laws doth glory?
    Who joys in vows, or vows not to remove:
    Who, by this light god, hath not been made sorry?
    Let him see me! eclipsed from my sun;
    With dark clouds of an earth, quite overrun.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

    If My complaints could passions move,
    Or make LOVE see wherein I suffer wrong;
    My passions were enough to prove
    That my despairs had governed me too long.
    O LOVE, I live and die in thee!
    Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me!

    Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks,
    Yet thou dost hope when I despair!
    My heart for thy unkindness breaks!
    Thou say'st, "Thou can'st my harms repair."
    And when I hope: thou mak'st me hope in vain!
    Yet for redress, thou let'st me still complain!

    Can LOVE be rich, and yet I want?
    Is LOVE my judge, and yet am I condemned?
    Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant!
    Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned!
    That I do live, it is thy power!
    That I desire, it is thy worth!

    If love doth make men's lives too sour,
    Let me not love, nor live henceforth!
    Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
    That you, that of my fall may hearers be,
    May hear Despair, which truly saith,
    "I was more true to LOVE, than LOVE to me."

       *       *       *       *       *

        Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak?
        Shall I call her good, when she proves unkind?
        Are those clear fires, which vanish into smoke?
        Must I praise the leaves, where no fruit I find?

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

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

        Was I so base, that I might not aspire,
        Unto those high joys, which she holds from me?
        As they are high, so high is my desire,
        If she this deny, what can granted be?

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

    Now, O now, I needs must part,
    Parting, though I absent mourn;
    Absence can no joy impart,
    Joy once fled, cannot return.
    While I live, I needs must love,
    Love lives not, when hope is gone.
    Now at last despair doth prove
    Love divided, loveth none.
        Sad despair doth drive me hence,
        This despair, unkindness sends;
        If that parting be offence,
        It is she which then offends.

    Dear! when I from thee am gone,
    Gone are all my joys at once.
    I loved thee, and thee alone!
    In whose love I joyed once:
    And although your sight I leave,
    Sight wherein my joys do lie;
    Till that death do sense bereave,
    Never shall affection die!
        Sad despair doth drive me hence, _&c._

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

       *       *       *       *       *

    Dear, if you change! I'll never choose again.
    Sweet, if you shrink! I'll never think of love.
    Fair, if you fail! I'll judge all beauty vain.
    Wise, if too weak! more wits I'll never prove.
        Dear! sweet! fair! wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;
        And, on my faith! my faith shall never break.

    Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
    Heaven her bright stars, through earth's dim globe shall move.
    Fire, heat shall lose; and frosts, of flames be born;
    Air made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
        Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
        Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you!

       *       *       *       *       *

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

        Sad pining Care, that never may have peace,
        At Beauty's gate, in hope of pity knocks;
        And Mercy sleeps while deep disdains increase;
        And Beauty, hope in her fair bosom yokes,
        O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks!

        Like to the winds, my sighs have wingèd been,
        Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks;
        I plead, yet she repineth at my teen.
        O ruthless rigour! harder than the rocks!
        That both the shepherd kills, and his poor flocks.

       *       *       *       *       *

    O Crystal tears! like to the morning showers.
    And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast!
    And as the dews revive the drooping flowers,
    So let your drops of pity be addresst!
        To quicken up the thoughts of my desert.
        Which sleeps too sound; whilst I from her depart.

    Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath
    Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!
    Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
    Feels never any touch of my desert.
        Yet sighs and tears to her, I sacrifice:
        Both, from a spotless heart, and patient eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

        Think'st thou, then, by feigning
        Sleep, with a grand disdaining;
        Or, with thy crafty closing,
        Thy cruel eyes reposing;
        To drive me from thy sight!
        When sleep yields more delight,
        Such harmless beauty gracing:
        And while sleep feignèd is
        May not I steal a kiss
        Thy quiet arms embracing?

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

        Come away! come, sweet love!
        Do not in vain adorn
        Beauty's grace, that should rise
        Like to the naked morn!
        Lilies on the river's side,
        And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown,
        Desire no beauties but their own:
        Ornament is Nurse of Pride.
        Pleasure measure, love's delight,
        Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Rest awhile, you cruel cares!
    Be not more severe than love!
    Beauty kills and beauty spares,
    And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove.
    LAURA, fair Queen of my delight!
    Come grant me love, in love's despite!
    And if I ever fail to honour thee,
        Let this heavenly light I see,
        Be as dark as hell to me!

    If I speak! My words want weight.
    Am I mute! My heart doth break.
    If I sigh! She fears deceit.
    Sorrow then for me, must speak!
    Cruel! unkind! with favour view
    The wound that first was made by you!
    And if my torments feignèd be,
        Let this heavenly light I see,
        Be as dark as hell to me!

    Never hour of pleasing rest,
    Shall revive my dying ghost,
    Till my soul hath repossesst
    The sweet hope, which love hath lost:
    Laura! redeem the soul that dies
    By fury of thy murdering eyes!
    And if it proves unkind to thee,
        Let this heavenly light I see,
        Be as dark as hell to me!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my Love!
    Let not my Love, be with my love diseased!
    Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move!
    But pine you with my longings long displeased:
    Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,
    So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

    Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
    Of my heart, and so leave me?
          Farewell!
    But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel!
    Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel!
          Farewell!

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

    Would my conceit that first inforced my woe,
    Or else mine eyes, which still the same increase,
    Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so;
    Which now are such, as nothing can release.
    Whose life is death; whose sweet, each change of sour;
    And eke whose hell reneweth every hour.

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

        Come again! Sweet love doth now invite
            Thy graces that refrain
            To do me due delight;
        To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss,
        To die with thee again in sweetest sympathy!

        Come again! that I may cease to mourn
            Through thy unkind disdain!
            For now, left and forlorn,
        I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
        In deadly pain, and endless misery.

        All the day, the sun that lends me shine
            By frowns doth cause me pine,
            And feeds me with delay.
        Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow:
        Her frowns, the winters of my woe.

        All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams,
            My eyes are full of streams;
            My heart takes no delight
        To see the fruits and joys that some do find,
        And mark the storms are me assigned.

        Out, alas! my faith is ever true;
            Yet she will never rue,
            Nor yield me any grace.
        Her eyes, of fire; her heart of flint is made:
        Whom tears nor truth may once invade.

        Gentle LOVE draw forth thy wounding dart!
            Thou can'st not pierce her heart!
            For I (that do approve
        By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts)
        Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs.

       *       *       *       *       *

    (_On the British Museum Copy, G9, there is the following pencil
    note to this Song._ These words by [ROBERT DEVEREUX] the Earl of
    ESSEX, and sung before Queen ELIZABETH, in a Masque at Greenwich.)

        His golden locks, Time hath to silver turned.
        O Time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing!
        His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned,
        But spurned in vain, Youth waneth by increasing.
        Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen;
        Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green.

        His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees,
        And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms;
        A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees,
        And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms:
            But though from Court to cottage he depart,
            His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

        And when he saddest sits, in homely cell,
        H'll teach his swains this Carol for a Song;
        _Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well!_
        _Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong!_
            Goddess! Allow this aged man his right!
            To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

        If she esteem thee now ought worth;
        She will not grieve thy love henceforth!
          Which so despair hath proved.
        Despair hath proved now in me
        That love will not unconstant be,
          Though long in vain I loved.

        If she, at last, reward thy love
          And all thy harms repair!
        Thy happiness will sweeter prove,
          Raised up from deep despair.
        And if that now thou welcome be,
          When thou with her doth meet;
        She all this while, but played with thee,
          To make thy joys more sweet.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

        God CUPID's shaft, like Destiny,
        Doth either good or ill decree;
        Desert is borne out of his bow,
        Reward upon his feet doth go.
            What fools are they, that have not known
            That LOVE likes no laws, but his own!

        My songs, they be CYNTHIA's praise:
        I wear her rings on holidays.
        On every tree, I write her name,
        And every day I read the same:
            Where HONOUR, CUPID's rival is,
            There miracles are seen of his.

        If CYNTHIA crave her ring of me,
        I'll blot her name out of the tree!
        If doubt do darken things held dear,
        Then "Well fare nothing!" once a year:
            For many run, but one must win.
            Fools only, hedge the cuckoo in!

        The worth that worthiness should move
        Is love; which is the bow of LOVE:
        And love as well the For'ster can,
        As can the mighty Nobleman.
            Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be!
            Yet, without love, nought worth to me!

[Illustration]



                        +R[?ICHARD]. Y[?OUNG].+

             _The state of a Christian lively set forth,_
                _by an allegory of a Ship under Sail._

       [This Writer was evidently a forerunner of JOHN BUNYAN.]
      Prov. xxxi. 14. Job ix. 26. Isaiah xxiii. 1. Rev. viii. 9.

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


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

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

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

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

The LAW OF GOD is my Pilot, FAITH my Captain, FORTITUDE the Master,
CHASTITY the Master's Mate, my WILL the Coxswain, CONSCIENCE the
Preacher [_or, as we now say, Chaplain_], APPLICATION OF CHRIST'S
DEATH the Surgeon, MORTIFICATION the Cook, VIVIFICATION the Caulker,
SELF-DENIAL an Apprentice of his, TEMPERANCE the Steward, CONTENTATION
his Mate, TRUTH the Purser, THANKFULNESS the Purser's Mate,
REFORMATION the Boatswain, the Four HUMOURS, SANGUINE, CHOLER, &c.,
are the Quarter-masters; CHRISTIAN VIGILANCY undertakes to supply the
office of the Starboard and Larboard Watches, MEMORY is the Clerk of
the Cheque, ASSURANCE the Corporal, the Armour INNOCENCY, the Mariners,
ANGELS.

Schismatics are Searchers sent abroad. My UNDERSTANDING, as Master
Gunner, culls out from those two Budge-casks of the _Old_ and _New
Testaments_ certain threats and promises which are my only Powder and
Shot; and with the assistance of the Gunner's Mate, HOLY ANGER AGAINST
SIN, chargeth my tongue, which, like to a piece of ordnance, shoots
them to the shame and overthrow of my spiritual Adversaries.

My noble passengers are JOY IN THE HOLY GHOST and PEACE OF CONSCIENCE,
whose retinue are DIVINE GRACES. My ignoble or rather mutinous
passengers are WORLDLY COGITATIONS and VAIN DELIGHTS which are more
than a good many; besides some that are arrant thieves and traitors,
namely, PRIDE, ENVY, PREJUDICE: but all these I will bid farewell to,
when I come to my journey's end; though I would, but cannot, before.

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

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

My Maker and Owner is GOD; who built me by His Word, which is CHRIST;
of earth, which was the Material; He freighted it with the essence of
my Soul, which is the Treasure; and hath set me to sail in the Sea
of this world, till I attain to the Port of death: which letteth the
terrestrial part into the Harbour of the grave, and the celestial part
into the Kingdom of Heaven. In which voyage, conveniency of estate
[_comfortable circumstances_] is as sea room; good affections serve as
a tide; and prayer as a prosperous gale, a wind to help forward.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

Now the Galleon that hath our Pinnace in chase, and always watcheth
for advantages to surprise it, is the Piracy of Hell; the Synagogue
of SATAN. Her Freight is temptations and persecutions, with all the
engines of mischief. In which the DEVIL is Master, MALICE the Master's
Mate, CRUELTY the Captain, MURDER the Cook, FLATTERY the Caulker,
PROFANENESS a Quartermaster, RIOT the Steward, NEVER CONTENT his Mate,
PRIDE the Coxswain, SUPERSTITION the Preacher, HYPOCRISY the Boatswain,
COVETOUSNESS the Purser, LUST the Swabber, FURY the Gunner, PRESUMPTION
the Corporal, SEDITION the Trumpeter, DRUNKENNESS the Drummer.

Vices are the Sails, custom the Mainmast, example of the multitude
the Foremast, lusts and passions the Cables, blindness of mind the
Rudder, hardness of heart the Helm, the wisdom of the flesh the Card,
the mystery of iniquity the Compass. The five senses, or if you will,
scoffing Atheists, profane foul-mouthed drunkards, and all the rabble
of hell are the Mariners. Lewd affections the Passengers, LITTLE
CONSCIENCE the Load star.

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

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

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

                                                                   R. Y.

         _London. Printed by THOMAS COTES for the Author; and_
              _are to be sold by Sarah Fairbeard, at the_
                  _North Door of the Royal Exchange_,
                                 1636.



                         [? +THOMAS OCCLEVE+,

                Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.]
                        _The Letter of CUPID._

    [Old forms like _servin_, serve; _wollin_, will; _tellin_, tell;
    _doin_, done; and the Imperatives _bethe_, be; _telleth_, tell;
    occur in this Poem.]

             [Urry's edition of CHAUCER's _Works_. ii. 534. _Ed._ 1721.]


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

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

        Passing all landis, on the little isle
          That clepèd is Albion, they most complain,
        They say that there, is crop and root of guile:
          So can those men dissimulin and feign,
          With standing dropis in their eyin twain;
            When that their heartis feeleth no distress,
            To blindin women with their doubleness.

        Their wordis, spoken be so sighingly,
          With so piteous a cheer and countenance
        That every wight that meaneth truly
          Deemeth they in heart havin such grievance.
          They say, "So importable is their penance,
            That but their lady lust to shew them grace
            They, right anon, must starvin in the place."

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

        Full hard it is, to know a manis heart
          For outward may no man the truthè deem.
        When word out of the mouth, may none astert
          But it, by reason seemed a wight to queme,
          So it is said of heart, as it would seem.
            O faithful woman! full of innocence!
            Thou art deceivèd by false appearance!

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

        And when this man, the pan hath by the steel
          And fully is in his possession;
        With that woman keepeth he no more to deal
          After, if he may findin in the town
          Any woman, his blind affection
            Unto bestow. But evil mote he preve!
            A man, for all his oaths, is hard to believe!

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

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

        To her! Nay! Yet ywas it no reprefe;
          For all for virtue was, that she ywrought!
        But he that brewèd hath all this mischief,
          That spake so fair, and falsely inward thought;
          His, be the slander! as it by reason ought
            And unto Her be thank perpetual
            That, in such a need, helpin can so well.

        Although through manis sleight and subtilty,
         A silly simple and innocent woman
        Betrayed is: no wonder! since the city
          Of Troyè, as the story tellin can,
          Betrayèd was, through the deceit of man,
            And set on fire, and all down overthrown;
            And finally destroyèd, as men knowèn.

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

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

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

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

        Wherefore proceedeth this, but of envy?
          For that he himself, her ne winnin may,
        He speaketh her reprefe and villainy;
          As manis blabbing tongue is wont alway.
          Thus divers men full often make assay,
            For to disturbin folk in sundry wise,
            For they may not eschuin their emprise.

        Many one eke would speakin for no good,
          That hath in love his timè spent and used.
        Men wist, his Lady his asking withstood;
          Ere that he were of her, plainly refused.
          Or waste and vain all that he had ymused:
            Wherefore he can none other remedy,
            But on his Lady, shapeth him to lie.

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

        To slaunder women thus, what may profit
          To gentleness? namely, that them arm should
        In defence of women, and them delight
          As that the Order of Gentleness would?
          If that a man list gentle to be held
            He must all eschew that thereto is contrary.
            A slanderous tongue is his great enemy!

        A foul vice it is, of tongue to be light.
          For _whoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft_.
        The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wight
          That when it is yraisèd up on loft,
          Reason is shewed so slowly and soft,
            That it him never overtakin may.
            Lord! so these men been trusty in assay!

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

        When the high GOD, angellis formèd had:
          Amongis them all formed, were there none
        That foundin were malicious and bad?
          Yet all men wotin, there were many one
          That for their pride fell from heaven anon.
            Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name?
            Nay, he that that sustaineth, is to blame!

        Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was;
          The remenant yet good werin and true.
        So if it happen men findin, percase,
          A woman false; such, good is to eschew:
          And deem not all that they therefore be untrue.
            I see well, that menis own falseness
            Them causeth, woman for to trust the less.

        O, every man ought have a heart tender
          To a woman, and deem her honourable;
        Whether her shape be thick, or else slender,
          Or she be good or bad! It is no fable.
          Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable,
            That of a woman, he descendèd is:
            Then is it shame of her to speak amiss!

        A wicked tree, good fruit may none forth bring;
          For such the fruit, is aye as is the tree.
        Take heed of whom thou take thy beginning!
          Let thy mother be mirror unto thee!
          Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be!
            Despiseth her then not, in no manere!
            Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.

        An old proverb there said is, in English,
          _That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonest_
        _What that he be, and holdin full churlish_
          _That useth to defoulin his own nest_.
          Men to say well of women, it is the best:
            And naught to despisin them, ne deprave;
            If that they will their honour keep or save.

        The Ladies ever complain them on Clerks
           That they have made bookis of their defame;
        In which they despise women and their works,
          And speakin of them great reproof and shame:
          And causèless give them a wicked name.
            Thus they despisèd be, on every side,
            Dislanderèd and blown upon full wide.

        Those sorry books make mention
          How women betrayed in especial
        ADAM, DAVID, SAMPSON, and SOLOMON,
          And many one more; who may rehearse them all,
          The treasons that they havin done, and shall?
            The world their malice may not comprehend
            (As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end.

        OVID, in his book callèd _Remedy_
          _Of Love_, great reproof of woman ywriteth,
        Wherein, I know that he did great folly;
          And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth.
          A Clerkis custom is, when he enditeth
            Of women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse)
            Say, "They be wicked!" all know he the reverse.

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

        No charge is what so these Clerkis ysain
          Of all their writing, I ne do ne cure
        All their labour and travail is in vain
          For between me and my Lady Nature
          Shall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure.
            Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny,
            On silly women, kithin their mastery.

        Whilom, for many of them were in my chain
          Ytied; and now, for unwieldy age
        And unlust, they may not to love attain:
          And sain, now, that "Love is but very dotage!"
          Thus, for they themselfin lackin courage,
            They folk excitin by their wicked saws
            For to rebell against Me, and my laws!

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

        But her in heart, as brenningly desire
          As though she were a Duchess, or a Queen;
        So can I folkis heartis set on fire
          And, as me list, sendin them joy or teen.
          They that to women ben ywhet so keen,
            My sharpè piercing strokis! how they smite!
            Shall feel and knowin, how they kerve and bite!

        Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly OVID,
          And many another deceivèd have be
        Of women, as it is knowin full wide.
          What! no men more! and that is great dainty
          So excellent a Clerk as was he!
            And other more, that couldin full well preach
            Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach!

        And trusteth well, that it is no marvail!
          For women knowin plainly their intent.
        They wist how softily they could assail
          Them; and what falsehood they, in heartè meant:
          And thus they Clerkis, in their danger hent,
            _With one venom, another is destroyed_!
            And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed.

        These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless,
          Where none of those that wroughtin in this wise;
        But such women as werin vertueless
          They quiltin thus, these old Clerkis wise.
          To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice
            Than to dispravin women generally;
            For worship shallin they none get thereby.

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

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

        To Master JEAN DE MEUN, as I suppose,
          Then, it was a lewd occupation,
        In making of the _Romance of the Rose_,
          So many a sly imagination,
          And perils for to rollin up and down,
            The long process, so many a slight cautel
            For to deceive a silly damosel!

        Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend,
          That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail
        For to conquer, and soon to make an end;
          When men, a feeble place shullin assail:
          And soon, also, to vanquish a battle
            Of which no wight may makin resistance;
            Ne heart hath none, to make any defence.

        Then mote it follow, of necessity,
          Sith art asketh so great engine and pain
        A woman to deceive, what so she be?
          Of constancy be they not so barren
          As that some of these silly Clerkis feign;
            But they be, as women oughtin to be,
            Sad, constant, and full fillèd of pity.

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

        Of Troy also, the traitor ÆNEAS,
          The faithless wretch! how he himself forswore
        To DIDO, which that Queen of Carthage was
          That him relievèd of his smartis sore!
          What gentleness might she have doin more
            Than she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde?
            And what mischief to her thereof betid!

        In my _Legend of Natures_ may men find
          (Whoso yliketh therein for to read)
        That oathis ne behest may man not bind
          Of reprovable shame have they no dread
          In manis heart truth ne hath no stead.
            The soil is naught; there may no troth ygrow.
            To women, namely, it is not unknow[n].

        Clerkis feign also there is no malice
          Like unto woman's wicked crabbedness.
        O Woman! how shalt thou thyself chevice;
          Sith men of thee, so mochil harm witness?
          Beth ware! O Woman! of their fickleness.
            Kepeth thine ownè! what men clap or crake!
            And some of them shall smart, I undertake!

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

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

        Womanis heart unto no cruelty
          Inclined is; but they be Charitable,
        Piteous, Devout, Full of Humility,
          Shamefast, Debonaire, and Amiable,
          Dread full, and of wordis measurable:
            What women, these have not, peradventure;
            Followeth not the way of their nature.

        Men sayin that our First Mother na'theless
          Made all mankind lesin his liberty,
        And nakid it of joyè, doubtless,
          For GOD is hest disobeyèd she,
          When she presumed to taste of the tree,
            That GOD forbade, that she eat thereof should.
            And ne had the Devil be, no more she would!

        The envious swelling, that the Fiend our foe
          Had unto man in heart, for his wealth,
        Sent a serpent, and made her for to go
          To deceive EVE; and thus was manis wealth
          Bereft him by the Fiend, in a stealth,
            The woman not knowing of the deceipt,
            God wot! Full far was it from her conceipt!

        Wherefore I say, that this good woman EVE
          Our father ADAM, ne deceived nought.
        There may no man for a deceipt it prove
          Properly, but that she, in heart and thought,
          Had it compassed[1] first, ere she it wrought.
            And for such was _not_ her Impression,
            Men may it call no Deceipt, by reason.

        Ne no wight disceiveth, but he purpose!
          The Fiend this deceipt cast, and nothing She.
        Then it is wrong to deemin or suppose
          That of his harm She should the causè be.
          Wytith the Fiend, and his be the maugre!
            And all excusèd have her innocence,
            Save only, that she brake obedience!

        And touching this, full fewè men there be,
          Unnethis any, dare I safely say!
        From day to day, as men may all day see,
          But that the hest of GOD they disobey.
          Have this in mindè, siris! I you pray.
            If that ye be discreet and reasonable;
            Ye will her hold the more excusable!

        And where men say, "In man is stedfastness;
          And woman is of her courage unstable."
        Who may of ADAM bear such a witness?
          Tellith me this! Was he not changeable?
          They both werin in one case semblable.
            Save that willing, the Fiend deceived EVE;
            And so did she _not_ ADAM, by your leave!

        Yet was this sinnè happy to mankind,
          The Fiend disceived was, for all his sleight;
        For aught he could him in his sleightis wind.
          For his trespass, came from heaven on height
          GOD, to discharge man of his heavy weight
            He, flesh and blood ytook of a Virgine,
            And suffered death, him to deliver of pine.

        And GOD, to whom there may nothing hid be,
          If he, in woman knowen had such malice,
        As men record of them in generalty;
          Of our Lady, of Life Reparatrice
          He n'old have be born: but that she of vice
            Was void, and full of virtue, well He wist,
            Endowid! of her, to be born Him list.

        Her heapèd virtue hath such excellence
          That all too lean is manis faculty
        To declare it; and therefore in suspense
          Her due praising put, needis must ybe.
          But this I sayin, Verily, that she
            Next GOD, best friend is, that to Man 'longeth.
            The Key of Mercy by her girdle hangeth!

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

        In any book also, where can ye find
          That of the workis of death or of life,
        Of JESU spelleth or maketh any mind
          That women, Him forsoke, for woe or strife?
          Where was there any wight so ententife
            Aboutin Him as woman? Provid none!
            The Apostles him forsokin everichone.

        Woman forsoke Him not! For all the faith
          Of holy church in woman left only!
        These are no lies, for thus Holy Writ saith,
          Look! and ye shall so find it hardily!
          And therefore I may well provin thereby
            That in woman reigneth stable constancy;
            And in men is change of variancy.

        Thou Precious Gem! Of martyrs, Magarite!
          That of thy blood, dreadest none effusion!
        Thou Lover true! Thou Maiden mansuete!
          Thou, constant Woman! in thy passion
          Overcame the Fiendis temptation!
            And many a wight, convertid thy doctrine,
            Unto the faith of holy GOD, thou Virgin!

        But, understandeth this! I commend her nought,
          By encheson of her virginity.
        Trusteth, it came never into thought!
          For ever were I against Chastity.
          And ever shall. But, lo, this moveth me!
            Her loving heart; and, constant to her lay,
            Drive out of my remembrance I ne may.

[Illustration]

    Now holdith this for firm, and for no lie!
      That this true and just commendation
    Of women, tell I for no flattery;
      Nor because of pride or elation:
      But only, too, for this intention
        To give them courage of perseverance
        In virtue; and their honour to advance.

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

[Illustration]

        Then will I thus concludin and define.
          We, you command! our ministers each one
        That ready ye be, our hests to incline!
          That of these falsè men, our rebell foen
          Ye doin punishment! and that, anon!
            Void them our Court! and banish them for ever!
            So that therein more comin, may they never!

        Fulfilled be it! Ceasing all delay,
          Look that there be none excusation!
        Written in the lusty month of May,
          In our Palace, where many a million
          Of lovers true, have habitation;
            In the year of grace, joyful and jocond,
            A thousand, four hundred and second.

                             _Thus endeth_
                         _The letter of CUPID._

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Embraced.



                       +EDWARD UNDERHILL+, Esq.
                 of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners,
                    surnamed, "The hot Gospeller."

               _Examination and Imprisonment in August_
                  _1553; with anecdotes of the Time._

                                                        [Harl. MS. 425.]
    [_Narratives of the Days of the Reformation._ Camden Society. 1859.]

    A Note of the Examination and Imprisonment of EDWARD UNDERHILL
        (son and heir of THOMAS UNDERHILL of Honingham, in the county
        of Warwick, Esquire) being of the Band of the Pensioners [_see
        pp. 93-94_], for a ballet that he made against the Papists,
        immediately after the Proclamation of Queen MARY at London; she
        being in Norfolk.


The next day [4th] after the Queen was come to the Tower [_on the 3rd
of August, 1553_]; the foresaid ballet [_ballad_] came into the hands
of Secretary [Sir JOHN] BOURNE; who straightways made inquiry for me,
the said EDWARD, who dwelt at Limehurst [_Limehouse_]; which he having
intelligence of, sent the Sheriff of Middlesex, with a company of bills
and glaives [_lances, with a cutting blade at the end of each_]; who
came unto my house, I being in my bed, and my wife being newly laid in
childbed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In the name of GOD! [=_most certainly_]," said I: and so went with
him, requiring [_inquiring of_] him, "If I might understand the cause."

He said, "He knew none."

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

On the morrow [_5th of August, 1553_], the Sheriff, seeing me nothing
dismayed, thinking it to be some light matter, went not with me
himself: but sent me unto the Tower with two of his men, waiting upon
me with two bills [_men with halberts_], prisoner-like, who brought me
unto the Council Chamber; being commanded to deliver me unto Secretary
BOURNE.

Thus standing waiting at the Council Chamber door, two or three of my
fellows, the Pensioners, and my cousin-german GILBERT WYNTER, Gentleman
Usher unto the Lady ELIZABETH [_see p._ 120], stood talking with me.

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

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

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

    The Earl being visited with sickness when he came thither, for that
    I went over in his company, and could play and sing to the lute,
    therewith to pass away the time, on the nights being long, for
    we went over in Christmas [1552], would have me with him in his
    chamber; and had also a great delight to hear his brother reason
    with me in matters of religion. Who would be very hot, when I did
    overlay him with the texts of the Scripture concerning the natural
    presence of CHRIST in the sacrament of the altar; and would swear
    great oaths, specially, "by the Lord's foot!" that after the words
    spoken by the priest there remained no bread, but the natural body
    that MARY bare.

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

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

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

    In my opinion, any man that is not given up of GOD, may be
    satisfied concerning the natural presence in the Supper of the
    Lord, by the Gospel of Saint JOHN, reading from the first chapter
    to the end of the seventeenth; with the witness of the first of the
    _Acts of the Apostles_ of CHRIST's ascension and coming again; if
    ever he will be satisfied, without the help of any Doctors.

Undoubtedly, the apprehending of me was for this matter: but the
great mercy of GOD so provided for me, that Master HASTINGS was not
at my examination. For tarrying thus at the Chamber door, Doctor Cox
[_afterwards Bishop of ELY_] was within; who came forth, and was
sent to the Marshalsea. Then came forth the Lord FERRERS, [Viscount
HEREFORD], and was committed to the Tower. Then it was dinner time,
and all were commanded to depart until after dinner.

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

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

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

Then they began the table, and sat them down. The Earl of BEDFORD sat
as chief, uppermost upon the bench. Next unto him, the Earl of SUSSEX;
next him, Sir RICHARD SOUTHWELL.

On the side next me, sat the Earl of ARUNDEL; next him, the Lord PAGET.
By them, stood Sir JOHN GAGE, then Constable of the Tower; the Earl of
BATH, and Master [_afterwards Sir JOHN_] MASON.

At the board's end, stood Serjeant MORGAN [_who, later on, condemned
Lady JANE GREY_] that afterwards died mad; and Secretary [Sir JOHN]
BOURNE.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

I kneeled down, saying, "Yes, truly, my Lord! Is that the cause I am
called before your Honours?"

"Ay, marry," said Secretary BOURNE, "you have one of them about you, I
am sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"_Mumpsimuses_, knave!" said he, "_Mumpsimuses!_ Thou art an heretic
knave, by God's blood!"

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

"I beseech your Honours!" said I, speaking to the Lords that sat at
table; for those other stood by, and were not then of the Council,
"be my good Lords! I have offended no laws, and I have served the
Queen's Majesty's father and brother a long time; and in their service
have spent and consumed part of my living, never having, as yet, any
preferment or recompense; and the rest of my fellows likewise, to our
utter undoings, unless the Queen's Highness be good unto us. And for my
part, I went not forth against Her Majesty; notwithstanding that I was
commanded, nor liked those doings."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Deliver him to Master [_after Sir WILLIAM_] GARRARD, the Sheriff [of
London]," said he, "and bid him send him to Newgate."

"My Lord," said I, unto my Lord of ARUNDEL, (for that he was next to
me) as they were rising, "I trust you will not see me thus used, to be
sent to Newgate. I am neither thief nor traitor."

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

"Where is that knave, the printer [_of the ballad_]?" said Master GAGE.

"I know not," said I.

       *       *       *       *       *

When we came to the Tower gate, where Sir JOHN BRYDGES [_afterwards
Lord CHANDOS of Sudeley, see p. 128_] had the charge, [who was there]
with his brother Master THOMAS; with whom I was well acquainted, (but
not with Sir JOHN) who, seeing the two of the Guard leading me, without
their halberts, rebuked them; and stayed me while they went for their
halberts.

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

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

"I am glad of that," said he.

And so forth we went at the gate, where was a great throng of people to
hear and see what prisoners were committed: and amongst whom stood, my
friend Master IVE, the High Constable, my next neighbour.

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

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

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

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

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

"With a goodwill!" said Master Sheriff.

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

"We will see him carried, Sir!" said they, "for our discharge."

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

With that, they departed.

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

All this talk in the Sheriff's hall, did my Lord RUSSELL, son and heir
to the Earl of BEDFORD, hear and see; who was at commandment [_under
arrest_] in the Sheriff's house, and his chamber joining into the hall,
wherein he might look: who was very sorry for me, for that I had been
familiar with him in matters of religion, as well on the other side the
seas as at home. He sent me on the morrow, 20s. [= _about £10 now_];
and every week as much, while I was in Newgate.

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    A great number, God did strengthen constantly to stand to His Word,
    to glorify His name, which be praised for ever and ever, world
    without end! And some be preserved for these days.

And now again to prosecute the matter of my trouble and wonderful
deliverance out of that loathsome gaol of Newgate.

When that I had been there about two weeks [_5th-18th August, 1553_],
through the evil savours, and great unquietness of the lodgings, as
also by occasion of drinking of a draught of strong Hollock [a sweet]
wine, as I was going to bed, which my chamber fellow would needs have
me to pledge him in, I was cast into an extreme burning ague, that I
could take no rest, and desiring to change my lodging. And so did, from
one to another, but none could I abide; there was so many evil savours,
and so much noise of prisoners.

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

My wife then was churched before her time, to be a suitor for my
deliverance; who put up a Supplication unto the Council declaring my
extreme sickness and small cause to be committed unto so loathsome
a gaol; requiring that I might be delivered, putting in sureties
to be forthcoming to answer farther when I should be called.
Which she obtained by the help of Master [afterwards Sir] JOHN
THROGMORTON, being the Master of the Requests, and my countryman
[_i.e., of Worcestershire_] and my kinsman. He, understanding who
were my enemies, took a time in their absence, and obtained [_on
21st August,1553_] a letter to the Keeper, subscribed by the Earl
of BEDFORD, the Earl of SUSSEX, [STEPHEN GARDINER the Bishop of]
WINCHESTER, [Sir ROBERT] ROCHESTER [Comptroller of the Household], and
[Sir EDWARD] WALDEGRAVE, to be delivered; putting in surety, according
to the request of my wife's Supplication.

    With whom WINCHESTER talked, concerning the christening of
    her child at the church at the Tower Hill; and the gossips
    [_sponsors_], which were the Duke of SUFFOLK, the Earl of
    PEMBROKE, and the Lady JANE, then being Queen: with the which, he
    [_GARDINER_] was much offended.

    My Lady THROGMORTON, wife unto Sir NICHOLAS THROGMORTON, was
    the Queen's deputy; who named my son GUILDFORD after her [_the
    Queen's_] husband.

    Immediately after the christening was done [_on the 19th of July,
    1553_], Queen MARY was proclaimed in Cheapside; and when my Lady
    THROGMORTON came into the Tower, the Cloth of Estate was taken
    down, and all things defaced. A sudden change! She would have gone
    forth again; but could not be suffered.

But now again to my matter.

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

During all the time of my sickness, I was constrained to pay 8_d._ [=
_about_ 6_s._ 8_d. now_] every meal; and as much for my wife, and for
every friend that came to see me, if they were alone with me at dinner
or supper time, whether they came to the table or not; and paid also
40s. for a fine for irons [_i.e., for not being chained_] which they
said, "They shewed me great favour in; I should have else paid £4 or
£5."

Thus, when they perceived I did not amend, but rather [grew] worse and
worse; they thought it best to venture the matter; and provided a horse
litter to carry me home to Limehurst. I was so weak that I was not able
to get down the stairs; wherefore one that was servant to the gaoler,
who, beforetime, had been my man, who was also very diligently and
friendly unto me, took me in his arms, and carried me down the stairs
to the horse-litter, which stood ready at the prison door; and went
with me to my house.

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

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

Thus I continued for the space of eight or ten days, without any
likelihood or hope of amendment.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

    But I thought that it should rather perish with some horrible wind,
    than with lightning or thunderbolt [_evidently alluding to the
    destruction by lightning of the Steeple, on the 4th June,1561_];
    but such are the wonderful works of GOD, whose gunners will not
    miss the mark that He doth appoint, be it never so little.

When the Queen passed by, many beheld me, for they might almost touch
me, the room [_space_] was so narrow; marvelling, belike, that one in
such a state would venture forth. Many of my fellows the Pensioners,
and others, and divers of the Council beheld me: and none of them all
knew me.

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus passed I forth the time at Limehurst until Christmas [1553] was
passed, then I waxed something strong. I then thought it best to shift
from thence; for that I had there fierce enemies; especially [HENRY
MORE the Vicar of Stepney, Abbot _quondam_ of St. Mary de Grace on
Tower Hill. _He died in November, 1554._]

    Whom I apprehended in King EDWARD's time, and carried him to
    Croydon to CRANMER, Bishop of CANTERBURY, for that he disturbed
    the Preachers in his Church [_at Stepney_] causing the bells
    to be rung when they were at the Sermon; and sometimes begin to
    sing in the Choir before the sermon were half done, and sometimes
    challenge the Preacher in the Pulpit. For he was a strong stout
    Popish prelate: whom the godly men of the parish were weary of;
    specially my neighbours of the Limehurst, as Master DRIVER, Master
    IVE, Master POINTER, Master MARCHE, and others.

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

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

    "Well," said he, "we have no law to punish them by."

    "We have, my Lord!" said I. "If I had your authority, I would be so
    bold to un-Vicar him; or minister some sharp punishment unto him,
    and such other. If ever it come to their turn; they will show you
    no such favour."

    "Well," said he, "if GOD so provide, we must abide it."

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

    The like favour is shewed now [_i.e., in ELIZABETH's reign_]; and
    therefore the like plague will follow.

    There was also another spiteful enemy at Stepney, called BANBERY,
    a shifter, a dicer, &c., like unto DAPERS the dicer, MORGAN of
    Salisbury Court, busking [Sir THOMAS, _also called_ Long] PALMER,
    lusty YOUNG, [Sir] RALPH BAGNALL [_see Vol. III. p. 147_], [Sir]
    MILES PARTRIDGE [_idem_], and such others. With which companions, I
    was conversant a while; until I fell to reading the Scriptures, and
    following the Preachers.

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

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

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

    _He that will in Court abide,_
    _Must curry Fauvell back and side,_

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

    for such get most gain.

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

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

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

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

    For this act, the Justice's wife with the women of the town,
    conspired to have murdered me; which one of them gave me warning
    of, whose good will to the Gospel was not unknown unto the rest.
    Thus the Lord preserved me from them, and many other dangers more;
    but specially from hell fire, but that, of His mercy, He called me
    from the company of the wicked.

This BANBERY, aforesaid, was the spy for Stepney parish; as JOHN
AVALES, BEARD, and such others were for London: who [_i.e.,
BANBERY_]caused my friend and neighbour Master IVE to be sent unto the
Marshalsea, but the LORD shortly delivered him. Wherefore I thought it
best to avoid [_leave_]; because my not coming to the church there,
should by him be marked and presented.

Then took I a little house in a secret corner, at the nether [_lower_]
end of Wood Street; where I might better shift the matter.

Sir HUMPHREY RATCLIFFE was the Lieutenant of the Pensioners, and always
favoured the Gospel; by whose means I had my wages still paid me [_70
marks a year_ = £46 13_s._ 4_d._ = _about_ £500 _now; besides a free
diet_].

       *       *       *       *       *

When [Sir THOMAS] WYATT was come to Southwark [_6th February, 1554_]
the Pensioners were commanded to watch in armour that night, at the
Court: which I hearing of, thought it best, in like sort, to be there;
lest by my absence I might have some quarrel piked unto [_picked
with_] me; or, at the least, be stricken out of the book for receiving
any more wages.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

When I came to the Court gate, there I met with Master CLEMENT
THROGMORTON [_father of JOB THROGMORTON, the Martinist of 1589_], and
GEORGE FERRERS [_the Poet and Historian; see p._ 173], tending their
links, to go to London. Master THROGMORTON was come post from Coventry;
and had been with the Queen to declare unto her the taking of the Duke
of SUFFOLK. Master FERRERS was sent from the Council unto the Lord
WILLIAM HOWARD, who had the charge of the watch at London Bridge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still there was much laughing amongst them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

When WYATT was come about [_i.e., from Southwark, through Kingston,
to Westminster on 7th February 1554_], notwithstanding my discharge of
the watch by Master NORRIS, I put on my armour, and went to the Court
[_at Whitehall Palace_]: where I found all my fellows in the Hall,
which they were appointed to keep that day.

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

The Queen was in the Gallery by the Gatehouse.

Then came KNEVETT and THOMAS COBHAM with a company of the rebels with
them, through the Gatehouse from Westminster: wherewith Sir JOHN GAGE
and three of the Judges [of the Common Pleas] that were meanly armed
in old brigantines [_jackets of quilted leather, covered with iron
plates_] were so frighted, that they fled in at the gates in such
haste, that old GAGE fell down in the dirt and was foul arrayed: and so
shut the gates, whereat the rebels shot many arrows.

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

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

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

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

"Masters!" said he, and put his morion off his head, "I shall desire
you all, as you be Gentlemen, to stay yourselves here; that I may go
up to the Queen to know her pleasure; and you shall have the gates
opened. And, as I am a Gentleman! I will make speed!"

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

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

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

Immediately came Sir MAURICE BERKELEY and WYATT behind him; unto whom
he did yield at the Temple Gate: and THOMAS COBHAM behind another
gentleman.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

Then was there [the] preparing [_in July, 1555_] to go with the Queen,
unto Winchester; and all the Books of the Ordinaries were perused by
[STEPHEN GARDINER] the Bishop of WINCHESTER and the Earl of ARUNDEL, to
consider of every man.

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

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

"I know no cause why he should not be here," said Master RATCLIFFE,
"he is an honest man. He hath served from the beginning of the Band
[_founded in December, 1539, as the Band of Spears. It consisted
of a Captain, Lieutenant, Standard bearer, Clerk of the Cheque, and
Gentleman Harbinger, and fifty Gentlemen; chosen out of the best and
most ancient families of England. Some of them sons to Earls, Barons,
Knights, and Esquires: men thereunto specially recommended for their
worthiness and sufficiency; without any stain or taint of dishonour,
or disparagement in blood_], and was as forward as any to serve the
Queen, in the time of WYATT's rebellion."

"Let him pass then!" said the Bishop.

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

Thus I passed once again.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

"What!" saith he unto me; "what do you here?"

"Marry, sir!" said I, "what do you here?"

"Eh!" said he, "are you so short with me?"

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

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

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

"What!" said he, "I perceive you will hold together!"

"Else we were worse than beasts," said my fellow; "if we would not, in
all lawful cases, so hold together; he that toucheth one of us, shall
touch all."

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

       *       *       *       *       *

On the marriage day [_25th July, 1555, at Winchester_], the King and
the Queen dined in the hall in the Bishop's Palace; sitting under the
Cloth of Estate, and none else at that table. The Nobility sat at the
side tables. We were the chief servitors, to carry the meat; and the
Earl of SUSSEX, our Captain, was the Sewer.

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

Notwithstanding that, I removed from thence, and went unto Coventry;
and got me a house a mile out of that city in a wood side. But before I
removed from the said house [_in Wood Street_] in London; I had two
children born there, a wench [_i.e., a girl, his fifth daughter, ANNE,
born 4th January, 1554_], and a boy [_his second son, EDWARD, born
10th February, 1555_].

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

    This LUKE [SHEPHERD] wrote many proper books against the Papists,
    for the which he was imprisoned in the Fleet; especially a book
    called _JOHN BON and mast. Person_, who reasoned together of the
    natural presence in the Sacrament [_see pp. 101-111_]. Which book
    he wrote in the time of King EDWARD; wherewith the Papists were
    sore grieved, specially SIR JOHN GRESHAM, then being Mayor [_i.e.,
    October 1547-October 1548; but the true date of ALLEN's arrest
    would appear, from p. 87, to have been in 1551; when Sir ANDREW
    JUDDE was Lord Mayor_].

    JOHN DAY did print the same book [_? in 1551_]; whom the Mayor sent
    for, to know the maker [_author_] thereof saying "He should also go
    to prison, for printing the same."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The King lay at Hampton Court, the same time; and my Lord Protector
    [_the Duke of NORTHUMBERLAND_] at the Sion [_Sion House, near
    Isleworth_]; unto whom I carried this ALLEN, with his books of
    conjurations, calculations, and many things belonging to that
    devilish art: which he affirmed before my Lord, "was a lawful
    science, for the statute [_33 Hen. VIII. c. 8._] against such was
    repealed [by 1 _Edw. VI. c. 12_]."

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

    Master MARKHAM, as he was both wise and zealous in the LORD, talked
    with him. Unto whom he did affirm that "He knew more of the science
    of Astronomy than all the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge."
    Whereupon he sent for my friend, before spoken of, Doctor RECORDE;
    who examined him: and he knew not the rules of Astronomy; but "Was
    a very unlearned ass; and a sorcerer, for the which he was worthy
    hanging," said Master RECORDE.

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

    I caused also Master GASTON the lawyer [_not to be confounded_
    _with GASCOIGNE the Poet, of Gray's Inn; who did not marry Widow
    BRETON till after 13th June, 1559_], who was also a great dicer, to
    be apprehended. In whose house, ALLEN was much; and had a chamber
    there, where many things were practised.

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

    By the resort of such as came to seek for things stolen and lost,
    which they would hide for the nonce, to blear their husband's eyes
    withal, [afterwards] saying, "the wise man told them"; of such,
    GASTON had choice for himself and his friends, young lawyers of the
    Temple [, _not of Gray's Inn_].

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

    These aforesaid were in the Tower about the space of a year; and
    then by friendship delivered. So 'scapeth always the wicked, and
    such as GOD commandeth should not live among the people.

Yea, even now in these days also; so that, methinks, I see the ruin of
London and this whole realm to be even at hand; for GOD will not suffer
any longer. Love is clean banished. No man is sorry for JOSEPH's hurt.

[Illustration]


             _A Prayer, taken out of the Psalms of DAVID,_
                  _daily and nightly, to be said of_
                          _EDWARD UNDERHILL._

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

    _Love GOD, above all things! and thy neighbour as thyself!_
      That this is CHRIST'S doctrine, no man can it deny,
    Which little is regarded in England's commonwealth,
      Wherefore great plagues at hand be, the realm for to destroy.

    _Do as thou wouldst be done unto_! No place here he can have.
      Of all he is refused. No man will him receive.
    But Private Wealth, that cursed wretch, and most vile slave!
      Over all, he is embraced; and fast to him, they cleave.

    _He that hath this world's goods, and seeth his neighbour lack;_
      _And of him hath no compassion, nor sheweth him no love,_
    _Nor relieveth his necessity, but suffers him to go to wrack;_
      _GOD dwelleth not in that man_, the Scriptures plainly prove.

    Example we have by DIVES, that daintily did fare,
      In worldly wealth and riches therein he did excel;
    Of poor LAZARUS's misery he had thereof no care:
      Therefore was suddenly taken, and tormented in hell.

       *       *       *       *       *

                                                     +EDWARD UNDERHILL.+

[Illustration]



                             #John Bon and#
                             #mast Parson.#

       *       *       *       *       *

                            _Picture of a_
                        _procession of Priests_
                          _bearing the Host._

       *       *       *       *       *

    [->] #Alas, poor fools! so sore ye be lade!
    No marvel is it, though your shoulders ache:
    For ye bear a great god which ye yourselves made.
    Make of it, what ye will! it is a Wafer Cake;
    And between two irons, printed it is and bake.
    And look, where idolatry is, Christ will not be there!
    Wherefore, lay down your burden! An idol, ye do bear!
                  [->] Alas, poor fools!#

[This attack on the _Mass_, written by Doctor LUKE SHEPHERD, one
of the very earliest productions of the press of the celebrated
Elizabethan printer, JOHN DAY, was apparently printed in 1551; and
is reprinted here from the _Percy Society_'s text, on account of
UNDERHILL's story respecting it at _p._ 96.]

[Illustration]


                      #John Bon and mast Parson.#

                           [->] #The Parson.#

    What, JOHN BON! Good morrow to thee!

                              #John Bon.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    Why, foolish fellow! I tell thee it is so!
    For it was so determined by the Church long ago;
    It is both the sacrament and very CHRIST himself.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

    Why, sir; ye tell me it is even very He:
    And if it be not His manhood, His godhead it must be.

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    Wroth, quoth ha! By the mass! (thou makest me swear an oath),
    I had leaver with a Doctor of Divinity to reason,
    Than with a stubble cur, that eateth beans and peason.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    I meant not so. Thou tookest me wrong!

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

    I! No, trow, it shall not so been
    That JOHN BON shall an heretic be called,
    Then might he lay him so foul befald.

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

    Go to, mast[er] Parson! Say on, and well to thrive!
    Ye be the jolliest gemman [_gentleman_] that ever saw in my life.

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John# [_who is now speaking, aside_].

    Fie! yes. Methink 'tis a shameful gay cheering,
    For oftentimes, on my prayers, when I take no great keep,
    Ye sing so arrantly well, ye make me fall asleep!

                               #Parson.#

    Then have we Procession, and CHRIST about we bear.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

    Is not here a mischievous thing!
    The _Mess_ is vengeance holy, for all their saying!

                               #Parson.#

    Then say we _Confiteor_ and _Miseriatur_.

                                #John.#

    JEZE LORD! 'tis abominable matter!

                               #Parson.#

    And then we stand up to the altar.

                                #John.#

    This gear is as good as _Our Lady's Psalter_.

                               #Parson.#

    And so go forth with the other deal
    Till we have read the _Pistel_ and _Gospel_.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

    Marry! horribly good! I say none other.

                               #Parson.#

    So is all the _Mess_, I dare avow this,
    As good in every point as _Pistel_ or _Gospel_ is.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    Then have we the _Canon_, that is holiest.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    Then have we the _Memento_, even before the sacring.

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    Truly, JOHN, it is blood, though it be wine in taste.
    As soon as the word is spoke, the wine is gone and past!

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

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

                                #John.#

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

                               #Parson.#

    And so we make an end, as it lieth in an order.
    But now the blessed _Mess_ is hated in every border,
    And railed on, and reviled, with words most blasphemous:
    But I trust it will be better with the help of _Catechismus_.
    For though it came forth but even that other day,
    Yet hath it turned many to their old way:
    And where they hated _Messe_, and had it in disdain,
    There have they _Messe_ and _Matins_ in Latin tongue again.
    Yea, even in London self, JOHN, I tell the truth!
    They be full glad and merry to hear of this, GOD knoweth!

                                #John.#

    By my troth! mast[er] Parson, I like full well your talk!
    But mass me no more _messings_! The right way will I walk.
    For, though I have no learning, yet I know cheese from chalk,
    And each can perceive your juggling, as crafty as ye walk!
    But leave your devilish _Mass_, and the _Communion_ to you take!
    And then will CHRIST be with you; even for His promise sake!

                               #Parson.#

    What, art thou such a one, and kept it so close!
    Well, all is not gold, that hath a fair gloss,
    But, farewell, JOHN BON! GOD bring thee in better mind!

                                #John.#

[Sidenote: _These are cries to the plough horses._]

    I thank you, sir! for that you seem very kind;
    But pray not so for me! for I am well enough.
    Whistle, boy! drive forth! GOD speed us and the plough!
    Ha! browne done! forth, that horson crab!
    Reecomomyne, garled! with haight, black hab!
    Have a gain, bald before! hayght ree who!
    Cherrily, boy, come off! that homeward we may go.

                                #Finis.#

             [->] #Imprinted at London, by John Day, and#
                #William Seres, dwelling in Sepulchres#
              #Parish, at the sign of the Resurrection,#
                  #a little above Holborn Conduite.#

                     _CUM GRATIA ET PRIVILEGIO AD_
                         _IMPRIMENDUM SOLUM_.

[Illustration]



                    +JOHN FOX+, the Martyrologist.

                  _The Imprisonment of the Princess_
                             _ELIZABETH._

                       [_Actes and Monumentes, &c., p. 1710. Ed. 1563._]


First, therefore, to begin with her princely birth, being born at
Greenwich, _anno_ 1534, of the famous and victorious Prince, King HENRY
VIII., and of the noble and most virtuous Lady, Queen ANNE her mother;
sufficiently is committed to the story before. Also of the solemn
celebration of her baptism in the said town, and Grey Friar's Church,
of Greenwich; having to her godfather, THOMAS CRANMER, Archbishop of
Canterbury.

After that, she was committed to godly tutors and governors. Under
whose institution her Grace did so greatly increase, or rather excel in
all manner of virtue and knowledge of learning, that I stand in a doubt
whether is more to be commended in this behalf, the studious diligence
of them that brought her up, or the singular towardness of her own
princely nature to all virtuous disposition; so apt and so inclinable:
both being notwithstanding the gifts of GOD, for which we are all bound
to give Him thanks. What tongue is it that Her Grace knoweth not? What
language she cannot speak? What liberal art or science, she hath not
learned? And what virtue wherewith her noble breast is not garnished?
In counsel and wisdom, what Councillor will go beyond Her Majesty?

If the goodness of nature, joined with the industry of Her Grace's
institution, had not been in her marvellous, how many things were
there, besides the natural infirmity of that sex, the tenderness of
youth, the nobility of estate, allurements of the world, persuasions of
flatterers, abundance of wealth and pleasures, examples of the Court,
enough to carry her Grace away after the common fashion and rule of
many other Ladies, from gravity to lightness, from study to ease, from
wisdom to vanity, from religion to superstition, from godliness to
gawishness, to be pricked up with pride, to be garish in apparel, to be
fierce in condition?

Eloquently is it spoken, and discreetly meant of TULLY, the eloquent
orator: "To live," saith he, "a good man in other places, is no great
matter: but in Asia, to keep a sober and temperate life, that is a
matter indeed praiseworthy!" So here, why may I not affirm without
flattery, that [which] every man's conscience can testify? In that
age, that sex, in such State and fortune, in so great occasions, so
many incitements: in all these, to retain so sober conversation, so
temperate condition, such mildness of manners, such humbleness of
stomach, such clemency in forgiving, such travailing in study: briefly,
in the midst of Asia, so far to degenerate from all Asia; it hath not
lightly been seen in Europe! Hitherto, it hath been seen in very few.
Whereby it may appear not only what education, or what Nature may do;
but what GOD, above Nature, hath wrought in her noble breast, adorning
it with so worthy virtues.

Of which her princely qualities and virtuous disposition, such as have
been conversant with her youth can better testify. That which I have
seen and read, I trust I may boldly repeat without suspicion either
of feigning or flattery. For so I have read, written, and testified
of Her Grace by [_according to_] one, both learned and also that can
say something in this matter. Who in a certain book, by him set forth,
entreating of Her Grace's virtuous bringing up, what discreet, sober,
and godly women she had about her; speaketh, namely, of two points in
Her Grace to be considered. One concerning her moderate and maidenly
behaviour; the other one concerning her training up in learning and
good letters. Declaring, first, for her virtuous moderation of life,
that seven years after her father's death [_i.e. in 1553_], she had
no little pride of stomach, so little delight in glistering gazes of
the world, in gay apparel, rich attire, and precious jewels, that in
all that time [_i.e., through her brother EDWARD's reign_] she never
looked upon those, that her father left her (and which other Ladies
commonly be so fond upon) but only once; and that against her will.
And, moreover, after that, so little gloried in the same, that there
came neither gold nor store upon her head, till her sister enforced her
to lay off her former soberness, and bear her company in her glistening
gains: yea, and then, she so ware it, as every man might see that her
body bare that which her heart misliked. Wherein the virtuous prudence
of this Princess, not reading but following the words of PAUL and
PETER, well considered True Nobility to consist not in circumstances of
the body, but in substance of the heart; not in such things which deck
the body, but in that which dignifieth the mind, shining and blazing
more bright than pearl or stone, be it never so precious.

Again, the said author, further proceeding in the same matter, thus
testifieth, that he knew a great man's daughter receiving from the Lady
MARY, before she was Queen, goodly apparel of tinsel, cloth of gold and
velvet, laid on with parchment lace of gold. When she saw it she said,
"What shall I do with it?"

"Marry!" said a gentlewoman, "wear it!"

"Nay!" quoth she, "that were a shame! To follow my Lady MARY, against
GOD's Word; and leave my Lady ELIZABETH, which followeth GOD's Word."

Let noble Ladies and gentlewomen here learn either to give, or to take
good example given: and if they disdain to teach their inferiors, in
well doing; yet, let it not shame them, to learn of their betters.

Likewise also at the coming in of the Scottish Queen [_in 1553_],
when all the other Ladies of the Court flourished in their bravery,
with their hair frounced and curled, and double curled; yet she
altered nothing; but to the shame of them all, kept her old maidenly
shamefastness.

Let us now come to the second point, declaring how she hath been
trained in learning; and that not vulgar and common, but the purest and
the best, which is most commended at these days, as the Tongues, Arts,
and GOD's Word. Wherein she so exceedingly profited, as the foresaid
author doth witness, that being under twenty years of age [_i.e.,
before 1554_], she was not, in the best kind of learning, inferior to
those that all their life time had been brought up in the Universities,
and were counted jolly fellows.

And that you may understand that there hath not been, nor is in her,
learning only without nature, and knowledge without towardness to
practice; I will tell what hath been heard of her first schoolmaster
[JOHN AYLMER], a man very honest and learned: who reported of her, to
a friend of his, that "He learned every day more of her, than she of
him." Which when it seemed to him a mystery, as indeed it was, and he
therefore desired to know his meaning therein, he thus expounded it:
"I teach her words," quoth he, "and she, me things. I teach her the
tongues to speak; and her modestly and maidenly life teacheth me words
to do. For," saith he, "I think she is the best inclined and disposed
of any in all Europe."

It seemed to me a goodly commendation of her, and a witty saying of him.

Likewise [CASTIGLIONE] an Italian, which taught her his tongue
(although that nation lightly praise not out of their own country),
said once to the said party, that "He found in her two qualities, which
are never lightly yokefellows in one woman; which were a singular wit,
and a marvellous meek stomach."

If time and leisure would serve to peruse her whole life past, many
other excellent and memorable examples of her princely qualities and
singular virtues might here be noted; but none, in my mind, more worthy
of commendation, or that shall set forth the fame of her heroical and
princely renown more to all posterity, than the Christian patience,
and incredible clemency of her nature showed in her afflictions, and
towards her declared enemies. Such was then the wickedness and rage of
that time, wherein what dangers and troubles were among the inferior
subjects of this realm of England, may be easily gathered when such a
Princess, of that Estate, being a King's daughter, a Queen's sister,
and Heir Apparent to the Crown, could not escape without her cross.

And therefore, as we have hitherto discoursed [of] the afflictions and
persecutions of the other poor members of CHRIST, comprehended in this
History before; so likewise, I see no cause why the communion of Her
Grace's afflictions also, among the other saints of CHRIST, ought to
be suppressed in silence: especially seeing the great and marvellous
workings of GOD's glory, chiefly in this Story, appeareth above all the
rest.

And though I should, through ingratitude or silence, pass over the
same; yet the thing itself is so manifest, that what Englishman is he
which knoweth not the afflictions of Her Grace to have been far above
the condition of a King's daughter: for there was no more behind, to
make a very IPHIGENIA of her, but her offering up upon the altar of the
scaffold.

In which her storms and tempests, with what patience Her Highness
behaved herself, although it be best known to them who, then being her
adversaries, had the minding [_imprisoning_] of her. Yet this will
I say, by the way, that then she must needs be in her affliction,
marvellous patient: which sheweth herself now, in this prosperity, to
be utterly without desire of revenge; or else she would have given some
token, ere this day, of remembrance, how she was handled.

It was no small injury that she suffered, in the Lord Protector's days,
by certain venomous vipers! But to let that pass! was it no wrong,
think you! or small injury that she sustained, after the death of
King EDWARD, when they sought to defeat her and her sister from their
natural inheritance and right to the Crown?

But to let that pass likewise! and to come more near to the late days
of her sister, Queen MARY. Into what fear, what trouble of mind, and
what danger of death was she brought?

First, with great solemnity, with bands of harnessed men [_i.e., in
arms and armour_] (Happy was he that might have the carrying of her!)
to be fetched up, as the greatest traitor in the world; clapped in the
Tower: and, again, to be tossed from thence, from prison to prison,
from post to pillar. At length, also prisoner in her own house; and
guarded with a sort [_number_] of cutthroats, which ever gaped for the
spoil of the same, that they might have been fingering of somewhat.

Which Story, if I should set forth at large, through all the
particulars and circumstances of the same, and as the just occasion of
the history requireth; peradventure, it would move offence to some,
being yet alive. Yet notwithstanding, I intend, by the grace of CHRIST,
therein to use such brevity and moderation as may be to the glory of
GOD, the discharge of the Story, the profit of the reader, and hurt
to none: suppressing the names of some, whom here, although I could
recite, yet I thought not to be more cruel in hurting their name, than
the Queen hath been in pardoning their life.

Therefore, now to enter into the description of the matter. First, to
declare her undeserved troubles; and then, the most happy deliverance
out of the same, this is the Story.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the beginning of Queen MARY'S reign, mention is made before, how the
Lady ELIZABETH, and the Lord COURTNEY were charged with false suspicion
of [being concerned in] Sir THOMAS WYATT's rising [_in January, 1554,
see p._ 88].

Whereupon, Queen MARY, whether for that surmise, or for what other
cause I know not, being offended with the said Lady ELIZABETH her
sister, at that time lying in her house at Ashridge [_near Great
Berkhampstead_], sent to her two Lords [_or rather WILLIAM,
Lord HOWARD, Sir EDWARD HASTINGS, afterwards Lord HASTINGS of
Loughborough; and Sir THOMAS CORNWALLIS_, and Sir JOHN WILLIAMS,
afterwards Lord WILLIAMS] of Thame, with their retinue, and troop of
horsemen, to the number of 250, who at their sudden and unprovided
[_unexpected_] coming _on the 11th February, 1554_, found her at the
same time, sore sick in bed, and very feeble and weak of body.

Whither, when they came; ascending up to Her Grace's Privy Chamber,
willed there, one of her Ladies whom they met, to declare unto Her
Grace that "There were certain Lords come from the Court, which had a
message from the Queen."

Her Grace having knowledge thereof, was right glad of their coming:
howbeit, being then very sick, and the night far spent, which was at
ten of the clock, requested them by the messenger, that they would
resort thither in the morning.

To this, they answered, and by the said messenger sent word again, that
"They must needs see her; and would do so, in what case soever she
were in." Whereat, the Lady being aghast, went to shew Her Grace their
words; but they hastily following her, came rushing as soon as she,
into Her Grace's chamber, unbidden.

At whose so sudden coming into her bedchamber, Her Grace being not a
little amazed, said unto them, "My Lords! is the haste such, that it
might not have pleased you to come to-morrow, in the morning?"

They made answer, that "They were right sorry to see Her Grace in that
case."

"And I," quoth she, "am not glad to see you here, at this time of the
night!"

Whereunto, they answered that "They came from the Queen to do their
message and duty; which was to this effect, that the Queen's pleasure
was that she should be at London, the 7th [? 12th] day of that present
month."

Whereunto, she said, "My Lords! no creature [can be] more glad than I,
to come to Her Majesty; being right sorry that I am not in case at this
time, like to wait on her; as you yourselves, my Lords! do see and can
well testify!"

"Indeed, we see it true," quoth they, "that you do say; for which we
are very sorry: albeit we let you to understand that our Commission is
such, and so straineth us, that we must needs bring you with us, either
quick or dead."

Whereat she being amazed, sorrowfully said that "Their commission was
very sore! but yet, notwithstanding, she hoped it to be otherwise, and
not so straight."

"Yes, verily!" they answered.

Whereupon the Lords calling for two physicians, Doctor OWEN and Doctor
WENDIF, demanded of them, "Whether she might be removed from thence,
with life or not?" whose answer and judgement was this, "That there was
no impediment to their judgement to the contrary; but that she might
travel without danger of life."

In conclusion, they willed her to prepare against the morning, at nine
of the clock, to go with them, declaring that "they had brought with
them, the Queen's litter for her."

After much talk, the Lords declaring how there was no prolonging of
times and days, so departed to their chamber; being entertained and
cheered as appertained to their Honours.

On the next morrow [_12th February_], at the time prescribed, they had
her forth as she was, very faint and feeble; and in such case as she
was ready to swoon three or four times between them. What should I
speak here that [which] cannot well be expressed! What a heavy house
there was to behold the unreverent and doleful dealing of the Lords;
but especially the careful fear and captivity of their innocent Lady
and mistress.

Now to proceed in their journey. From Ashridge, all sick in the litter,
she came to Redborne; where she was guarded all night.

From thence, to St. Albans, to Sir RALPH ROWLET's house; where she
tarried that night all heavy, both feeble in body, and comfortless in
mind.

From that place, they passed to Master DODD's house, at Mimms [_near
Potters' Bar_]; where they also remained that night.

And so from thence, she came to Highgate: where she, being very sick,
tarried that night and the next day: during which time of her abode,
there came many pursuivants and messengers from the Court unto the
Lords; but what about, I cannot tell.

From that place, she was conveyed to the Court; where by the way came
to meet her, many gentlemen to accompany Her Highness, which were
very sorry to see her in that case: but especially a great multitude
of people that were standing by the way; who then flocking about her
litter, lamented and greatly bewailed her estate.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now when she came to the Court, Her Grace was there straightways shut
up, and kept as close prisoner for a fortnight, seeing neither Queen,
nor Lord, nor friend at that time; but only then, the Lord Chamberlain,
Sir JOHN GAGE, and the Vice-Chamberlain, which were attendant upon the
doors.

About which time, Sir WILLIAM ST. LO was called before the Council;
to whose charge was laid, that he knew of WYATT's rebellion: which he
stoutly denied, protesting that he was a true man, both to God and his
Prince, defying all traitors and rebels. But being straitly examined,
was, in conclusion, committed to the Tower.

The Friday before Palm Sunday [_16th March_], [STEPHEN GARDINER] the
Bishop of WINCHESTER, with nineteen others of the Council (who shall
be here nameless, as I have promised) came unto Her Grace, from the
Queen's Majesty; and burdened [_accused_] her with WYATT's conspiracy:
which she utterly denied, affirming that "she was altogether guiltless
therein."

They being not contented with this, charged Her Grace with the business
made by Sir PETER CAREW and the rest of the Gentlemen of the West
Country; which she also utterly denying, cleared her innocency therein.

In conclusion, after long debating of matters, they declared unto her,
that "It was the Queen's will and pleasure that she should go unto the
Tower, while the matter were further tried and examined."

Whereat, she being aghast, said that "She trusted the Queen's Majesty
would be a more gracious Lady unto her; and that Her Highness would not
otherwise conceive of her, but that she was a true woman." Declaring
furthermore to the Lords, that "She was innocent in all those matters,
wherein they had burdened her, and desired them therefore to be a
further mean to the Queen her sister, that she, being a true woman in
thought, word, and deed, towards Her Majesty, might not be committed to
so notorious and doleful a place": protesting that she would request
no mercy at her hand, if she should be proved to have consented unto
any such kind of matter as they laid unto her charge. And therefore, in
fine, desired their Lordships to think of her what she was; and that
she might not so extremely be dealt withal for her truth.

Whereunto, the Lords answered that "There was no remedy. For that
the Queen's Majesty was fully determined that she should go unto the
Tower"; wherewith the Lords departed, with their caps hanging over
their eyes [_this was a purposed sign of disrespect_].

But not long after, within the space of an hour or a little more,
came four of the foresaid Lords of the Council, with the Guard, who
warding the next chamber to her, secluded all her Gentlemen and yeomen,
Ladies and gentlewomen; saving that for one Gentleman Usher, three
Gentlewomen, and two Grooms of her Chamber, were appointed in their
rooms, three other men, and three waiting women of the Queen's, to give
attendance upon her; that none should have access to her Grace.

At which time, there were a hundred of Northern soldiers, in white
coats, watching and warding about the gardens all that night: a
great fire being made in the midst of the Hall; and two certain Lords
watching there also with their Band and company.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon Saturday, being Palm Sunday Eve [_17th March_], two certain Lords
of the Council, whose names here also we do omit [_but who were the
Marquis of WINCHESTER and the Earl of SUSSEX_], came and certified
Her Grace that "forthwith she must go unto the Tower! the barge being
prepared for her, and the tide now ready, which tarrieth for nobody."

In heavy mood, Her Grace requested the Lords, that "She might tarry
another tide;" trusting that the next would be more joyous and better
_because in the day time_.

But one of the Lords [_i.e._, WINCHESTER] replied that "Neither tide
nor time was to be delayed!"

And when Her Grace requested him, that she might be suffered to write
to the Queen's Majesty, he answered that "He durst not permit that;"
adding that, "in his judgement it would rather hurt than profit Her
Grace in so doing."

But the other Lord, who was the Earl of SUSSEX, more courteous and
favourable, kneeling down, told Her Grace that "She should have liberty
to write, and, as he was a true man, he would deliver it to the Queen's
Highness; and bring an answer of the same, whatsoever came thereof."

Whereupon she wrote: albeit she could not, nor might not speak with
her; to her great discomfort, being no offender against Her Majesty.

    [_The actual letter written by the Princess, at this moment, is in
      the State Paper Office._ Domestic, MARY, Vol. IV. No. 2.

                    The Lady ELIZABETH to the Queen.

    If any ever did try this old saying, that _A King's word was more
    than another man's oath_, I most humbly beseech your Majesty to
    verify it in me; and to remember your last promise, and my last
    demand, that "I be not condemned without answer and due proof,"
    which it seems that I now am: for, without cause proved, I am,
    by your Council, from you, commanded to go to the Tower, a place
    more wonted for a false traitor than a true subject, which, though
    I know I desire it not, yet, in the face of all this realm, [it]
    appears proved. While I pray to GOD I may die the shame-fullest
    death that ever any died afore, if I may mean any such thing! and
    to this present hour I protest before GOD (who shall judge my
    truth, whatsoever malice shall devise), that I never practised,
    counselled, nor consented to anything that might be prejudicial to
    your person any way, or dangerous to the State by any means. And
    therefore, I humbly beseech your Majesty to let me answer afore
    yourself and not suffer me to trust to your Councillors; yea, and
    that afore I go to the Tower, if it be possible, if not, before I
    be further condemned. Howbeit, I trust assuredly your Highness will
    give me leave to do it, afore I go; that thus shamefully, I may not
    be cried out on, as I now shall be: yea, and without cause!

    Let conscience move your Highness to take some better way with me
    than to make me be condemned in all men's sight afore my desert
    known! Also I most humbly beseech your Highness to pardon this my
    boldness, which innocency procures me to do; together with hope
    of your natural kindness which I trust will not see me cast away,
    without desert: which what it is, I would desire no more of GOD but
    that you truly knew; but which thing, I think and believe you shall
    never by report know; unless by yourself you hear.

    I have heard of many, in my time, cast away for want of coming to
    the presence of their Prince; and, in late days, I heard my Lord
    of SOMERSET say that "If his brother [_The Admiral Lord THOMAS_
    _SEYMOUR_] had been suffered to speak with him, he had never
    suffered; but persuasions were made to him so great that he was
    brought in belief that he could not live safely if the Admiral
    lived, and that made him give consent to his death." Though these
    persons are not to be compared to your Majesty; yet, I pray GOD, as
    evil persuasions persuade not one sister against the other! and all
    for that they have heard false report, and not hearken to the truth
    not known.

    Therefore, once again, kneeling with humbleness of heart, because
    I am not suffered to bow the knees of my body; I humbly crave
    to speak with your Highness: which I would not be so bold as to
    desire, if I knew not myself most clear, as I know myself most true.

    And as for the traitor WYATT, he might peradventure, write me a
    letter; but, on my faith, I never received any from him. And as
    for the copy of the letter sent to the French King, I pray GOD may
    confound me eternally if ever I sent him word, message, token, or
    letter, by any means! And to this truth, I will stand in to my
    death.

    Your Highness's most faithful subject, that hath been from the
    beginning, and will be to my end,

                                                           +ELIZABETH.+.

    I humbly crave but only one word of answer from yourself.]

And thus the tide [_season_] and time passed away for that time, till
the next day, being Palm Sunday, when, about nine of the clock, these
two came again, declaring that "it was time for Her Grace to depart."

She answered, "If there be no remedy, I must be contented;" willing the
Lords to go on before.

And being come forth into the garden, she did cast up her eyes towards
the window; thinking to have seen the Queen, which she could not.
Whereat she said, "She marvelled much, what the Nobility of the realm
meant; which, in that sort, would suffer her to be led forth into
captivity, the LORD knew whither! for she did not."

After all this, she took her barge, with the two aforesaid Lords,
three of the Queen's Gentlewomen, and three of her own, her Gentleman
Usher, and two of her Grooms: lying and hovering upon the water, an
hour; for that they could not shoot the Bridge [_the tide used to rush
through the narrow spaces of old London bridge, with the force of a
mill-race_]: the bargemen being very unwilling to shoot the same so
soon as they did, because of the danger thereof. For the stern of the
boat struck upon the ground, the fall was so big, and the water was so
shallow.

Then Her Grace desired of the Lords, that "She might not land at the
stairs where all traitors and offenders customably used to land"
[_called the Traitor's Gate_].

They answered that "it was past their remedy; for that otherwise they
had in commandment."

"Well," said she, "if it be so, my Lords! I must needs obey it:
protesting before all your Honours, that here now steppeth as true a
subject as ever was, towards the Queen's Highness. And before thee, O
GOD! I speak it; having none other friends, but only Thee!"

The Lords declared unto her that "there was no time then to try the
truth."

"You have said well, my Lords!" quoth she, "I am sorry that I have
troubled you!"

So then they passed on [_i.e., through the Traitor's Gate_], and went
into the Tower: where were a great company of harnessed men, and armed
soldiers warding on both sides: whereat she being amazed, called the
Lords to her, and demanded "the cause, why those poor men stood there?"

They declared unto her, that "it was the use and order of the place so
to do."

"And if it be," quoth she, "for my cause; I beseech you that they may
be dismissed."

Whereat, the poor men kneeled down, and with one voice, desired GOD
to preserve Her Grace; who, the next day, were released of their cold
coats.

After this, passing a little further, she sat down upon a cold stone,
and there rested herself.

To whom, the Lieutenant [_Lord CHANDOS, see p._ 78] then being,
said, "Madam, you were best to come out of the rain! for you sit
unwholesomely."

She then replying, answered again, "Better sitting here, than in a
worse place! For, GOD knoweth! I know not whither you will bring me!"

With that, her Gentleman Usher wept. She demanded of him, "What he
meant so uncomfortably to use her, seeing she took him to be her
comforter, and not her dis-mayer: especially for that she knew her
truth to be such, that no man should have cause to weep for her." But
forth she went into the prison.

The doors were locked and bolted upon her; which did not a little
discomfort and dismay Her Grace. At what time, she called to her
gentlewoman for her book [_i.e., her Bible_], desiring GOD, "Not to
suffer her to build her foundation upon the sands, but upon the rocks!
whereby all blasts of blustering weather should have no power against
her."

After the doors were thus locked, and she close shut up; the Lords
had great conference how to keep ward and watch, every man declaring
his opinion in that behalf, agreeing straightly and circumspectly to
keep her: while that one of them, I mean the Lord of SUSSEX, swearing,
said, "My Lords! let us take heed! and do no more than our Commission
will bear us! whatsoever shall happen hereafter. And, further, let us
consider that she was the King our Master's daughter! and therefore let
us use such dealing, that we may answer unto it hereafter, if it shall
so happen! For just dealing," said he, "is always answerable."

Whereunto the other Lords agreed that it was well said of him: and
thereupon departed.

It would make a pitiful and strange story, here by the way, to touch
and recite what examinations and rackings of poor men there were, to
find out the knife that should cut her throat! what gaping among the
Lords of the Clergy to see the day, wherein they might wash their
goodly white rochets in her innocent blood? But especially the Bishop
of WINCHESTER, STEPHEN GARDINER, then Lord Chancellor, and ruler of the
rost.

Who then, within few days after [_March, 1554_], came unto her, with
divers other of the Council, and examined her of the talk that was at
Ashridge, betwixt her and Sir JAMES A CROFT concerning her removing
from thence to Donnington Castle, requiring her to declare, "What she
meant thereby?"

At the first, she, being so suddenly taken, did not well remember
any such house: but within a while, well advising herself, she said,
"Indeed, I do now remember that I have such a place: but I never lay in
it, in all my life. And as for any that hath moved me thereunto, I do
not remember."

Then to enforce the matter, they brought forth Sir JAMES A CROFT.

The Bishop of WINCHESTER demanded of her, "What she said to that man?"

She answered that, "She had little to say to him, or to the rest that
were then prisoners in the Tower. But my Lords!" quoth she, "you do
examine every mean prisoner of me! wherein, methinks, you do me great
injury! If they have done evil, and offended the Queen's Majesty, let
them answer to it accordingly. I beseech you, my Lords! join not me in
this sort with any of these offenders! And as concerning my going unto
Donnington Castle, I do remember Master HOBY and mine Officers, and you
Sir JAMES A CROFT! had such talk: but what is that to the purpose, my
Lords! but that I may go to my own houses at all times?"

The Lord of ARUNDEL, kneeling down, said, "Your Grace saith true! and
certainly we are very sorry that we have so troubled you about so vain
matters."

She then said, "My Lords, you did sift me very narrowly! But well I am
assured, you shall do no more to me, than GOD hath appointed: and so,
GOD forgive you all!"

At their departing, Sir JAMES A CROFT kneeled down, declaring that "He
was sorry to see the day in which he should be brought as a witness
against Her Grace." "But, I assure your Grace," said he, "I have been
marvellously tossed and examined touching your Highness; which, the
Lord knoweth! is strange to me. For I take GOD to record! before all
your Honours! I do not know anything of that crime that you have laid
to my charge! and will thereupon take my death, if I should be driven
to so straight a trial."

    [There seems no doubt that at the back of all the following efforts
    to alleviate and terminate the imprisonment of the Princess, was
    the ever faithful Sir WILLIAM CECIL, working by many secret means,
    as far as he dare.]

[Side note: These were not the Officers of the Tower, but such as went
in white and green.]

That day or thereabouts, divers of her own Officers, who had made
provision for her diet, brought the same to the utter [_outer_] gate of
the Tower; the common rascal soldiers receiving it: which was no small
grief unto the Gentlemen, the bearers thereof.

Wherefore they required to speak with [Sir JOHN GAGE] the Lord
Chamberlain, being then Constable of the Tower: who, coming before
his presence, declared unto his Lordship that "they were much afraid
to bring Her Grace's diet, and to deliver it unto such common and
desperate persons as they were, which did receive it; beseeching
His Honour to consider Her Grace, and to give such order that her
viands might at all times be brought in by them which were appointed
thereunto."

"Yea, sirs!" said he, "who appointed you this office?"

They answer, "Her Grace's Council!"

"Council!" quoth he, "there is none of them which hath to do, either in
that case, or anything else within this place; and, I assure you! for
that she is a prisoner, she shall be served with the Lieutenant's men,
as the other prisoners are."

Whereat the Gentlemen said that "They trusted for more favour at his
hands! considering her personage," saying that "They mistrusted not,
but that the Queen and her Council would be better to Her Grace than
so!" and therewith shewed themselves to be offended at the ungrateful
[_harsh_] words of the Lord Chamberlain, towards their Lady and
Mistress.

At this, he sware, by GOD! stroking himself on the breast; that "If
they did either frown or shrug at him; he would set them where they
should see neither sun nor moon!"

Thus taking their leave, they desired GOD to bring him into a better
mind towards Her Grace, and departed from him.

Upon the occasion whereof [_there being always a fear of poisoned
food_], Her Grace's Officers made great suit unto the Queen's Council,
that some might be appointed to bring her diet unto her; and that it
might no more be delivered in to the common soldiers of the Tower:
which being reasonably considered, was by them granted. Thereupon were
appointed one of her Gentlemen, her Clerk of the Kitchen, and her
two Purveyors, to bring in her provisions once a day. All which was
done. The warders ever waiting upon the bringers thereof (and the
Lord Chamberlain himself, being always with them), circumspectly and
narrowly watched and searched what they brought; and gave heed that
they should have no talk with any of Her Grace's waiting servants; and
so warded them both in and out.

At the said suit of her Officers, were sent, by the commandment of the
Council, to wait upon Her Grace, two Yeomen of her Chamber, one of her
Robes, two of her Pantry and Ewry, one of her Buttery, another of her
Cellar, two of her Kitchen, and one of her Larder: all which continued
with her, the time of her trouble.

Here the Constable (being at the first not very well pleased with the
coming in of such a company against his will) would have had his men
still to have served with Her Grace's men: which her servants, at no
hand, would suffer; desiring his Lordship to be contented, for "that
order was taken that no stranger should come within their offices."

At which answer, being sore displeased, he brake out into these
threatening words: "Well," said he, "I will handle you well enough!"

Then went he into the kitchen, and there would needs have his meat
roasted with Her Grace's meat; and said "His cook should come thither,
and dress it."

To that, Her Grace's Cook answered, "My Lord! I will never suffer any
stranger to come about her diet, but her own sworn men, so long as I
live!"

He said, "They should!"

But the Cook said, "His Lordship should pardon him for that matter!"

Thus did he trouble her poor servants very stoutly: though afterward
he were otherwise advised, and they were more courteously used at his
hands. And good cause why! For he had good cheer, and fared of the
best; and Her Grace paid well for it.

Wherefore he used himself afterwards more reverently towards Her Grace.

       *       *       *       *       *

After this sort, having lain a whole month there, in close prison; and
being very evil at ease therewithal; she sent [_in April_] for the Lord
Chamberlain and Lord CHANDOS [_see p._ 78] to come and speak with her.

Who coming, she requested them that "She might have liberty to walk in
some place, for that she felt herself not well."

To the which, they answered that "They were right sorry that they could
not satisfy Her Grace's request; for that they had commandment to the
contrary, which they durst not in any wise break."

Furthermore, she desired of them, "If that could not be granted; that
she might walk but into the 'Queen's Lodgings.'"

"No, nor that!" they answered, "could, by any means, be obtained,
without a further suit to the Queen and her Council."

"Well," said she, "my Lords! if the matter be so hard that they must be
sued unto, for so small a thing; and that friendship be so strait, God
comfort me!"

And so they departed: she remaining in her old dungeon still; without
any kind of comfort, but only GOD.

The next day after, the Lord CHANDOS came again unto Her Grace,
declaring unto her that "He had sued unto the Council for further
liberty. Some of them consented thereunto. Divers others dissented, for
that there were so many prisoners in the Tower. But in conclusion, they
did all agree that Her Grace might walk into those 'Lodgings'; so that
he and the Lord Chamberlain, and three of the Queen's Gentlewomen did
accompany her: and the windows were shut, and she not suffered to look
out at any of them." Wherewith, she contented herself; and gave him
thanks for his goodwill in that behalf.

Afterwards, there was liberty granted to Her Grace to walk in a little
garden, the doors and gates being shut up; which, notwithstanding, was
as much discomfort unto her, as the walk in the garden was pleasant
and acceptable. At which times of her walking there, the prisoners on
that side straightly were commanded not to speak, or look out at the
windows into the garden, till Her Grace were gone out again: having in
consideration thereof, their keepers waiting upon them for that time.

Thus Her Grace, with this small liberty, contented herself in GOD, to
whom be praise therefore.

       *       *       *       *       *

During this time, there used a little boy, the child of a man in the
Tower, to resort to their chambers, and many times to bring Her Grace
flowers; which likewise he did to the other prisoners that were there.
Whereupon naughty and suspicious heads thinking to make and wring out
some matter thereof, called, on a time, the child unto them, promising
him figs and apples, and asking, "When he had been with the Earl of
DEVONSHIRE?" not ignorant of the child's wonted frequenting unto him.

The boy answered that "He would go by-and-by thither."

Further they demanded of him, "When he was with the Lady ELIZABETH?"

He answered, "Every day!"

Furthermore they examined him, "What the Lord DEVONSHIRE sent by him to
Her Grace?"

The child said, "I will go [and] know what he will give to carry to
her." Such was the discretion of the child, being yet but three years
of age.

"This same is a crafty boy!" quoth the Lord Chamberlain; "what say you,
my Lord CHANDOS?"

"I pray you, my Lord! give me the figs ye promised me!"

"No, marry," quoth he, "thou shalt be whipped if thou come any more to
the Lady ELIZABETH, or the Lord COURTNEY!"

The boy answered, "I will bring the Lady, my Mistress, more flowers!"

Whereupon the child's father was commanded to permit the boy no more to
come into their chambers.

And the next day, as Her Grace was walking in the garden, the child,
peeping in at a hole in the door, cried unto her, saying, "Mistress! I
can bring you no more flowers!" Whereat, she smiled, but said nothing;
understanding thereby, what they had done.

Wherefore, afterwards, the Lord Chamberlain rebuked his father highly;
commanding him to put him out of the house.

"Alas, poor infant!" quoth the father.

"It is a crafty knave!" quoth the Lord Chamberlain. "Let me see him
here no more!"

The 5th day of May [1554], the Constable was discharged of his office
of the Tower; one Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD being placed in his room. A man
unknown to Her Grace, and therefore the more feared: which so sudden
[a] mutation was unto her, no little amaze.

He brought with him a hundred soldiers in blue coats; wherewith she
was marvellously discomforted; and demanded of such as were about her,
"Whether the Lady JANE's scaffold were taken away or not?" fearing, by
reason of their coming, least she should have played her part.

To whom, answer was made, that "The scaffold was taken away; and that
Her Grace needed not to doubt [_fear_] any such tyranny, for GOD would
not suffer any such treason against her person."

Wherewith, being contented, but not altogether satisfied, she asked,
"What Sir H. BEDINGFIELD was? and whether he was of that conscience or
not, that if her murdering were secretly committed to his charge, he
would see the execution thereof?"

She was answered that "They were ignorant what manner of man he was."
Howbeit they persuaded her that GOD would not suffer such wickedness to
proceed.

"Well!" quoth she, "GOD grant it be so! For Thou! O GOD! art the
withdrawer and mollifier of all such tyrannous hearts and acts! and I
beseech Thee! to hear me thy creature! which am Thy servant and at Thy
commandment! trusting by Thy grace ever so to remain."

       *       *       *       *       *

About which time, it was spread abroad, that Her Grace should be
carried from thence; by this new jolly captain and his soldiers; but
whither, it could not be learned. Which was unto Her Grace a great
grief, especially for that such a kind of company was appointed to her
guard: requesting rather to continue there still, than to be led thence
with such a rascal company.

At last, plain answer was made by the Lord CHANDOS, that "There was
no remedy; but from thence she must needs depart to the Manor of
Woodstock, as he thought."

Being demanded of her, "For what cause?"

"For that," quoth he, "the Tower is like[ly] further to be furnished."

Whereat she, being more greedy, as far as she durst, demanded,
"wherewith!"

He answered, "With such matter as the Queen and Council were determined
in that behalf: whereof he had no knowledge." And so departed.

In conclusion, the 16th day of May she was removed from the Tower: the
Lord Treasurer [_the Marquis of WINCHESTER_] being then there, for the
lading of her carts, and discharging the Place of the same.

       *       *       *       *       *

Where Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD, being appointed her goaler, did receive
her with a company of rakehells to guard her; besides the Lord
of DERBY'S Band [_servants_] wafting in the country about, for
the moonshine in the water[!]. Unto whom, at length came, my Lord
[WILLIAMS] of Thame, joined in Commission, with the said Sir HENRY for
the safe guiding of her to prison. And they together conveyed Her Grace
to Woodstock, as hereafter followeth.

The first day [_16th May_], they conducted her to Richmond, where she
continued all night: being restrained of her own men, which were laid
out in chambers; and Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD his soldiers appointed in
their rooms, to give attendance on her person.

Whereat she, being marvellously dismayed, thinking verily some secret
mischief a working towards her, called her Gentleman Usher, and desired
him with the rest of his company to pray for her, "For this night,"
quoth she, "I think to die."

Whereat he being stricken to the heart, said, "GOD forbid that any such
wickedness should be pretended [_intended_] against your Grace!"

So comforting her as well as he could, he at last burst out in tears;
and went from her down into the court where were walking the Lord
[WILLIAMS] of Thame, and Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD; and he staying aside
the Lord of Thame, who had proffered to him much friendship, desire to
speak with him a word or two.

Unto whom, he familiarly said, "He should with all his heart."

Which when Sir HENRY standing by, heard, he asked, "What the matter
was?"

To whom the Gentleman Usher answered, "No great matter, sir, but to
speak with my Lord a word or two!"

Then when the Lord of Thame came to him he spake in this wise, "My
Lord! you have always been my good Lord, and so I beseech you to
remain. Why I come to you at this time, is to desire your Honour,
unfeignedly to declare unto me, whether any danger is meant unto my
Mistress this night or not? that I and my poor fellows may take such
part as [it] shall please GOD to appoint. For certainly we will rather
die, than she should secretly and innocently miscarry."

"Marry," said the Lord of Thame, "GOD forbid that any such wicked
purpose should be wrought! and rather than it should be so, I, with my
men, are ready to die at her feet also."

And so, GOD be praised! they passed that doubtful night, with no little
heaviness of heart.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day [_17th May_] passing over the water [_i.e., the Thames_]
at Richmond, going towards Windsor; Her Grace espied certain of her
poor servants standing on the other side, which were very desirous to
see her. Whom, when she beheld, turning to one of her men standing by,
said, "Yonder, I see certain of my men; go to them! and say these words
from me, _Tanquam ovis!_"

So, she passing forward to Windsor, was lodged there that night, in the
Dean of Windsor's house: a place indeed more meet for a priest, than a
Princess.

And from thence [_on 18th May_] Her Grace was guarded and brought the
next night, to Master DORMER's house; where much people standing by
the way, some presented to her one gift, and some another. So that Sir
HENRY was greatly moved thereat, and troubled the poor people very
sore, for shewing their loving hearts in such a manner; calling them
"Rebels!" and "Traitors!" with such like vile words.

Besides, as she passed through the villages, the townsmen rang the
bells, as being joyful of her coming; thinking verily it had been
otherwise than it was indeed: and as the sequel proved after, to the
poor men. For immediately the said Sir HENRY hearing the same, sent his
soldiers hither: who apprehended some of the ringers, setting them in
the stocks, and otherwise uncourteously misused some others for their
good wills.

On the morrow [_18th May_] Her Grace passed from Master DORMER's, where
was, for the time of her abode, a straight watch kept; came to the Lord
of Thame his house [_at Thame_] where she lay all the next night; being
very princely entertained, both of Knights and Ladies, gentlemen and
gentlewomen. Whereat Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD gronted [_grunted_] and
was highly offended, saying unto them that "They could not tell what
they did, and were not able to answer to their doings in that behalf;
letting them to understand that she was the Queen's Majesty's prisoner,
and no otherwise; advising them therefore to take heed, and beware of
after claps!"

Whereunto, the Lord of Thame answered him in this wise, that "He was
well advised of [_in_] his doings, being joined in Commission as well
as he," adding with warrant, that "Her Grace might, and should, in his
house, be merry."

After this, Sir HENRY went up into a chamber, where were appointed for
Her Grace, a chair, two cushions, and a foot-carpet, very fair and
prince-like; wherein presumptuously he sat, calling for BARWICK, his
man, to pull off his boots: which as soon as it was known among the
ladies and gentles, every one musing thereat, did laugh him to scorn;
and observed his indiscreet manners in that behalf, as they might very
well.

When supper was done, he called my Lord, and willed him that all the
Gentlemen and Ladies should withdraw themselves; every one to his
lodging: marvelling much that he would permit there such a company;
considering so great a charge was committed to him.

"Sir HENRY!" quoth my Lord, "content yourself! All shall be voided,
your men and all."

"Nay, my soldiers," quoth Sir HENRY, "shall watch all night."

The said Lord of Thame answered, "It shall not need."

"Well," said he, "need or need not, they shall do so," mistrusting,
belike, the company; which, GOD knoweth, was without cause.

The next day [_19th May_] Her Grace took her journey from thence, to
Woodstock; where she was enclosed, as before in the Tower of London;
the soldiers guarding and warding both within and without the walls,
every day to the number of three score, and, in the night, without the
walls forty; during the time of her imprisonment there.

At length, she had gardens appointed for her walks, which were very
comfortable to Her Grace. Always when she did recreate herself therein,
the doors were fast locked up, in as straight a manner as they were
in the Tower; there being at the least five or six locks between her
lodging and her walks; Sir HENRY himself keeping the keys, trusted no
man therewith.

Whereupon she called him "her gaoler:" and he, kneeling down, desired
Her Grace not to call him so, for he was appointed there to be one of
her Officers.

"From such Officers," quoth she, "good Lord, deliver me!"

       *       *       *       *       *

And now, by way of digression, or rather of refreshing the reader (if
it be lawful in so serious a story to recite a matter incident, and yet
not impertinent to the same) occasion here moveth or rather enforceth
me to touch briefly what happened in the same place and time, by a
certain merry conceited man, being then about Her Grace. Who (noting
the straight and strange keeping of his Lady and Mistress by the said
Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD, with so many locks and doors, with such watch
and ward about her, as was strange and wonderful) spied a goat in the
ward where Her Grace was; and (whether to refresh her oppressed mind,
or to notify her straight handling by Sir HENRY; or else both), he took
it up on his neck, and followed Her Grace therewith, as she was going
to her lodging. Who, when she saw it, asked him, "What he would do with
him?" willing him to let it alone.

Unto whom, the said party answered, "No, by Saint Mary! if it like
your Grace! will I not! For I cannot tell whether he be one of the
Queen's friends or not. I will, GOD willing! carry him to Sir HENRY
BEDINGFIELD, to know what he is."

So, leaving Her Grace, went, with the goat on his neck, and carried it
to Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD; who, when he saw him coming with it, asked
him half angrily, "What he had there?"

Unto whom the party answered, saying, "Sir! I cannot tell what he is.
I pray you, examine him! for I found him in the place where my Lady's
Grace was walking, and what talk they have had, I cannot tell. For I
understand him not, but he should seem to me to be some stranger: and I
think verily a Welshman, for he hath a white frieze coat on his back.
And forasmuch as I being the Queen's subject, and perceiving the strait
charge committed to you of her keeping, that no stranger should have
access to her, without sufficient license: I have here found a stranger
(what he is, I cannot tell) in the place where Her Grace was walking;
and, therefore, for the necessary discharge of my duty, I thought it
good to bring the said stranger to you to examine, as you see cause."
And so he set him down.

At which his words, Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD seemed much displeased, and
said, "Well! well! you will never leave this gear, I see." And so they
departed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now to return to the matter from whence we have digressed.

After Her Grace's being there a time [_i.e., about a year_], she
made suit to the Council, that she might be suffered to write to the
Queen; which, at last, was permitted to Her Grace. So that Sir HENRY
BEDINGFIELD brought her pen, ink, and paper; and standing by her, while
she wrote, which he very straitly observed; always, she being weary,
would carry away her letters, and bring them again when she called for
them.

In the finishing thereof, he would have been messenger to the Queen of
the same; whose request Her Grace denied, saying, "One of her own men
should carry them; and that she would neither trust him, nor none of
his thereabouts."

Then he answering again, said, "None of them durst be so bold," he
trowed, "to carry her letters, being in her present case!"

"Yes," quoth she, "I am assured I have none so dishonest that would
deny my request in that behalf; but will be as willing to serve me now
as before."

"Well," said he, "my Commission is to the contrary; and may not suffer
it."

Her Grace, replying again, said, "You charge me very often with your
Commission! I pray GOD you may justly answer the cruel dealing ye deal
with me!"

Then he kneeling down, desired Her Grace to think and consider how
he was a servant, and put in trust there by the Queen to serve Her
Majesty: protesting that if the case were hers, he would as willingly
serve Her Grace, as now he did the Queen's Highness.

For the which answer, Her Grace thanked him, desiring GOD that she
might never have need of such servants as he was: declaring further
to him that his doings towards her were not good or answerable, but
more than all the friends he had, would stand by; for in the end, she
plainly told him, they would forsake him.

To whom, Sir HENRY replied, and said that "There was no remedy but his
doings must be answered; and so they should, trusting to make a good
account thereof."

The cause which moved Her Grace so to say, was for that he would not
permit her letters to be carried, four or five days after the writing
thereof. But, in fine, he was content to send for her Gentleman from
the town of Woodstock, demanding of him, "Whether he durst enterprise
the carriage of Her Grace's letters to the Queen or not?"

And he answered, "Yea, sir! That I dare, and will, with all my heart."

Whereupon, Sir HENRY, half against his stomach, took them to him, to
the effect aforesaid.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, about the 8th of June [1555] came down Doctor OWEN and Doctor
WENDIF, sent by the Queen to Her Grace, for that she was sickly;
who ministering to her, and letting her blood, tarried there, and
attended on Her Grace five or six days: who being well amended, they
returned again to the Court, making their good report to the Queen and
Council, of Her Grace's behaviour and humbleness towards the Queen's
Highness; which Her Majesty hearing, took very thankfully. But the
Bishops thereat repined, looked black in the mouth, and told the Queen,
they "marvelled she submitted not herself to Her Majesty's mercy,
considering that she had offended Her Highness."

Wily champions, ye may be sure! and friends at a need! GOD amend them!

       *       *       *       *       *

About this time, Her Grace was requested by a secret friend, "to submit
herself to the Queen's Majesty; which would be very well taken, and to
her great quiet and commodity."

Unto whom, she answered that "She would never submit herself to them
whom she had never offended! For," quoth she, "if I have offended,
and am guilty; I then crave no mercy, but the law! which I am certain
I should have had, ere this, if it could be proved by me. For I know
myself, I thank GOD! to be out of the danger thereof, wishing that I
were as clear out of the peril of my enemy; and then I am sure I should
not be so locked and bolted up within walls and doors as I am. GOD give
them a better mind! when it pleaseth Him."

About this time [_i.e., after the Queen's marriage on 3rd July 1555_]
was there a great consulting among the Bishops and gentlemen, touching
a marriage for Her Grace: which some of the Spaniards wished to be with
some stranger, that she might go out of the realm with her portion.
Some saying one thing, and some another.

A Lord [_Lord PAGET_] being there, at last said that "the King should
never have any quiet common wealth in England; unless her head were
stricken from the shoulders."

Whereunto the Spaniards answered, saying, "GOD forbid that their King
and Master should have that mind to consent to such a mischief!" This
was the courteous answer of the Spaniards to the Englishmen speaking,
after that sort, against their own country.

From that day, the Spaniards never left off their good persuasions to
the King, that the like honour he should never obtain as he should
in delivering the Lady ELIZABETH's Grace out of prison: whereby, at
length, she was happily released from the same.

Here is a plain and evident example of the good nature and clemency
of the King and his Councillors towards Her Grace. Praised be GOD
therefore! who moved their hearts therein.

Then hereupon, she was sent for, shortly after, to come to Hampton
Court.

       *       *       *       *       *

In her imprisonment at Woodstock, these verses she wrote with her
diamond, in a glass window.

    _Much suspected by me,_
      _Nothing proved can be,_
      _Quoth ELIZABETH the prisoner._

    [In the Second Edition of his _Actes_,&c., published in 1570
    under the fresh title of _Ecclesiastical History, p. 2,294_; JOHN
    FOX gives the following additional information of the Woodstock
    imprisonment.

And thus much touching the troubles of Lady ELIZABETH at Woodstock.

Whereunto this is more to be added, that during the same time the Lord
[WILLIAMS] of Thame had laboured for the Queen, and became surety for
her, to have her from Woodstock to his house, and had obtained grant
thereof. But (through the procurement either of Master BEDINGFIELD, or
by the doing of [the Bishop of] WINCHESTER, her mortal enemy), letters
came over night, to the contrary: whereby her journey was stopped.

Thus, this worthy Lady, oppressed with continual sorrow, could not
be permitted to have recourse to any friends she had; but still in
the hands of her enemies, was left desolate, and utterly destitute of
all that might refresh a doleful heart, fraught full of terror and
thraldom. Whereupon no marvel, if she hearing, upon a time, out of her
garden at Woodstock, a certain milkmaid singing pleasantly, wished
herself to be a milkmaid, as she was: saying that "Her case was better,
and life more merry than hers, in that state she was."]

       *       *       *       *       *

Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD and his soldiers, with the Lord [WILLIAMS] of
Thame, and Sir RALPH CHAMBERLAIN guarding and waiting upon her, the
first night [_July 1555_] from Woodstock, she came to Rycot.

The next night to Master DORMER's; and so to Colebrook, where she
lay all that night at the _George_. By the way, coming to the said
Colebrook, certain of her gentlemen and yeomen, to the number of three
score met Her Grace, much to all their comforts: which had not seen
Her Grace of long season before, neither could: but were commanded,
in the Queen's name, "immediately to depart the town," to Her Grace's
no little heaviness and theirs, who could not be suffered once to
speak with from them. So that night all her men were taken her, saving
her Gentleman Usher, three gentlewomen, two Grooms, and one of her
Wardrobe; the Soldiers watching and warding round-about the house, and
she shut up close within her prison.

The next day Her Grace entered Hampton Court on the back side, unto the
Prince's Lodgings. The doors being shut to her; and she, guarded with
soldiers as before, lay there a fortnight at the least, ere ever any
had recourse unto her.

       *       *       *       *       *

At length, came the Lord WILLIAM HOWARD, who marvellously honourably
used Her Grace: whereat she took much comfort, and requested him to be
a means that she might speak with some of the Council.

To whom, not long after came the Bishop of WINCHESTER, the Lord of
ARUNDEL, the Lord of SHREWSBURY, and Secretary PETRE; who, with great
humility, humbled themselves to Her Grace.

She again likewise saluting them, said, "My Lords! I am glad to see
you! For, methinks, I have been kept a great while from you, desolately
alone. Wherefore I would desire you to be a means to the King's and
Queen's Majesties, that I may be delivered from prison, wherein I have
been kept a long space, as to you, my Lords, is not unknown!"

When she had spoken, STEPHEN GARDINER, the Bishop of WINCHESTER kneeled
down, and requested that "She would submit herself to the Queen's
Grace; and in so doing he had no doubt but that Her Majesty would be
good unto her."

She made answer that "rather than she would do so, she would lie in
prison all the days of her life:" adding that "she craved no mercy at
Her Majesty's hand, but rather desired the law, if ever she did offend
her Majesty in thought, word, or deed. And besides this, in yielding,"
quoth she, "I should speak against myself, and confess myself to be an
offender, which I never was towards Her Majesty; by occasion whereof,
the King and Queen, might ever hereafter conceive an ill opinion of me:
and, therefore, I say, my Lords! it were better for me to lie in prison
for the truth, than to be abroad and suspected of my Prince."

And so they departed, promising to declare her message to the Queen.

On the next day [_July 1555_] the Bishop of WINCHESTER came again unto
Her Grace, and kneeling down, declared that "The Queen marvelled that
she should so stoutly use herself, not confessing to have offended; so
that it should seem the Queen's Majesty wrongfully to have imprisoned
Her Grace."

"Nay," quoth my Lady ELIZABETH, "it may please her to punish me, as she
thinketh good."

"Well," quoth GARDINER, "Her Majesty willeth me to tell you, that you
must tell another tale ere that you be set at liberty."

Her Grace answered that "She had as lief be in prison with honesty and
truth, as to be abroad suspected of Her Majesty. And this that I have
said, I will stand to. For I will never belie myself!"

The Lord of WINCHESTER again kneeled down, and said, "Then your Grace
hath the vantage of me and the other Lords, for your long and wrong
imprisonment."

"What vantage I have," quoth she, "you know; taking GOD to record, I
seek no vantage at your hands, for your so dealing with me. But GOD
forgive you, and me also!"

With that, the rest kneeled, desiring Her Grace that "all might be
forgotten," and so departed, she being fast locked up again.

A sevennight after [_July 1555_], the Queen's Majesty sent for Her
Grace, at ten of the clock in the night, to speak with her. For she
had not seen her in two years before. Yet for all that, she was amazed
at the so sudden sending for, thinking it had been worse for her, than
afterwards proved; and desired her gentlemen and gentlewomen to "pray
for her! for that she could not tell whether ever she should see them
again or not."

At which time, coming in with Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD and Mistress
CLARENCIUS [_p. 216_], Her Grace was brought into the garden, unto
a stairs' foot, that went into the Queen's Lodging; Her Grace's
gentlewomen waiting upon her, her Gentleman Usher and his grooms going
before with torches. Where her gentlemen and gentlewomen being all
commanded to stay, saving one woman; Mistress CLARENCIUS conducted her
to the Queen's bedchamber, where Her Majesty was.

At the sight of whom, Her Grace kneeled down, and desired GOD to
"preserve Her Majesty! not mistrusting, but that she should try herself
as true a subject towards Her Majesty as ever any did," and desired Her
Majesty even so to judge of her; and said "she should not find her to
the contrary; whatsoever false report otherwise had gone of her."

To whom, the Queen answered, "You will not confess your offence; but
stand stoutly in your truth! I pray GOD! it may so fall out."

"If it do not," quoth she, "I request neither favour nor pardon at your
Majesty's hands."

"Well," said the Queen, "you stiffly still persevere in your truth!
Belike, you will not confess but that you have wrongly punished!"

"I must not say so, if it please your Majesty! to you!"

"Why, then," said the Queen, "belike you will to others."

"No, if it please your Majesty!" quoth she, "I have borne the burden,
and must bear it. I humbly beseech your Majesty to have a good opinion
of me, and to think me to be your true subject; not only from the
beginning, hitherto; but for ever, as long as life lasteth."

And so they departed [_separated_], with very few comfortable words of
the Queen in English. But what she said in Spanish, GOD knoweth! It is
thought that King PHILIP was there, behind a cloth [_tapestry_], and
not shewn; and that he shewed himself a very friend in that matter, &c.

Thus Her Grace departing, went to her lodging again; and the sevennight
after, was released of Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD, "her gaoler," as she
termed him, and his soldiers.

So Her Grace, set at liberty from imprisonment, went into the country,
and had appointed to go with her, Sir THOMAS POPE, one of Queen MARY's
Councillors; and one of her Gentleman Ushers, Master GAGE; and thus
straitly was she looked to, all Queen MARY's time.

And this is the discourse of Her Highness's imprisonment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then there came to Lamheyre, Master JERNINGHAM, and NORRIS, Gentleman
Usher, Queen MARY's men; who took away from Her Grace, Mistress ASHELEY
to the Fleet, and three others of her gentlemen to the Tower; which
thing was no little trouble to Her Grace, saying, that "she thought
they would fetch all away at the end." But God be praised! shortly
after was fetched away GARDINER, through the merciful providence of
the LORD's goodness, by occasion of whose opportune decease [_13th
November, 1555_] the life of this so excellent Prince that is the
wealth of England, was preserved.

After the death of this GARDINER; followed the death also, and
dropping away of others, her enemies; whereby, by little and little,
her jeopardy decreased, fear diminished, hope of more comfort began
to appear, as out of a dark cloud; and though as yet Her Grace had no
full assurance of perfect safety, yet more gentle entertainment daily
did grow unto her, till the same day, which took away the said Queen
MARY, brought in the same her foresaid sister, Lady ELIZABETH in to
the right of the Crown of England. Who, after so long restrainment,
so great dangers escaped, such blusterous storms overblown, so many
injuries digested and wrongs sustained: the mighty protection of our
merciful GOD, to our no little safeguard, hath exalted and erected, out
of thrall, to liberty; out of danger, to peace and rule; from dread, to
dignity; from misery, to majesty; from mourning, to ruling; briefly, of
a prisoner, hath made her a Prince; and hath placed her in her royal
throne, being placed and proclaimed Queen with as many glad hearts of
her subjects, as ever was any King or Queen in this realm before, or
ever shall be (I think) hereafter.

In whose advancement, and this her princely governance, it cannot
sufficiently be expressed what felicity and blessed happiness this
realm hath received, in receiving her at the LORD's almighty and
gracious hand. For as there have been divers Kings and Rulers over
this realm, and I have read of some; yet could I never find in English
Chronicles, the like that may be written of this our noble and worthy
Queen, whose coming in was not only so calm, so joyful, so peaceable,
without shedding of any blood; but also her reigning hitherto (reign
now four years and more) hath been so quiet, that yet (the LORD have
all the glory!) to this present day, her Sword is a virgin, spotted and
polluted with no drop of blood.

In speaking whereof, I take not upon me the part of the Moral, or of
the Divine Philosopher, to Judge of things done; but only keep me
within the compass of an Historiographer, declaring what hath been
before; and comparing things done, with things now present, the like
whereof, as I said, is not to be found lightly in Chronicles before.
And this, as I speak truly, so would I to be taken without flattery; to
be left to our posterity, _ad sempiternam clementiæ illius memoriam_.

In commendation of which her clemency, I might also here add, how
mildly Her Grace, after she was advanced to her Kingdom, did forgive
the said Sir HENRY BEDINGFIELD; suffering him, without molestation, to
enjoy goods, life, lands, and liberty. But I let this pass.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus hast thou, gentle Reader! simply but truly described unto thee,
the time, first, of the sorrowful adversity of this our most Sovereign
Queen that now is; also, the miraculous preserving her in so many
straights and distresses: which I thought here briefly to notify,
the rather for that the wondrous works of the LORD ought not to be
suppressed; and that also Her Majesty, and we her poor subjects
likewise, having thereby a present matter always before our eyes, be
admonished how much we are bound to His Divine majesty, and also to
render thanks to Him condignly for the same.



                      ¶ A compendious Register in
                metre, containing the names and patient
          sufferings of the members of Jesus Christ, and the
             tormented, and cruelly burned within England;
            since the death of our famous King, of immortal
              memory, +EDWARD+ the Sixth, to the entrance
              and beginning of the reign of our Sovereign
                   and dearest Lady +ELIZABETH+, of
                 England, France, and Ireland, Queen;
               Defender of the Faith; to whose Highness
                 truly and properly appertaineth, next
                    and immediately under GOD, the
                      supreme power and authority
                            of the Churches
                                  of
                              England and
                               Ireland.
                               So be it.

[Illustration]

                             _Anno. 1559._


                            _Apocalypse 7._

                 _And one of the angels_ (saith Saint
                 JOHN) _spake, saying unto me, "What_
              _are they, which are arrayed in long white_
              _garments; and whence come they?" (before_
            _the people, before sealed by the angel). And_
               _I said unto him, "Lord, thou wottest!"_
                _And he said unto me, "These are they_
              _which came out of great tribulation; and_
                   _washed their garments, and made_
                   _them white in the blood of the_
                     _Lamb. Therefore are they in_
                    _the presence of the Throne of_
                     _GOD, and serve Him, day and_
                        _night, in His Temple:_
                         _and He that sitteth_
                            _in the Throne_
                                _will_
                             _dwell among_
                               _them."_

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                        To the Right Honourable
                  Lord Parr, Marquis of Northampton;
              Thomas Price, your Lordship's daily Orator,
                 wisheth continual increase of grace,
                    concord, and consolation in Him
                     that is, was, and is to come,
                          even the First and
                               the Last.
                                 Amen.

It may please your goodness, Honourable Lord! to receive in good part,
the little labour of my pen: which, albeit the rudeness and quantity
thereof procureth not to be dedicate[d] to so honourable a Personage;
yet the matter itself is of such worthiness, as duly deserveth to be
graven in gold. But who goeth about so finely to depict with APELLES's
instrument, this said _Register_, thinking to exceed the rest? Not I!
poor wretch! because I am assured that such a worthy work as thereof
may be written, cannot, neither shall pass untouched among so many
godly learned. But were it, that no man hereafter should, in more ample
and learned manner, set forth the same; yet should my presumption (if
I so meant) be turned to reproach: for this I believe, that they be in
such sort registered in the Book of the Living, as passeth either pen,
ink, or memory to declare.

This my simplicity and too bold attempt might move your Honour to
conjecture in me much rudeness, or, at the least, might persuade me
so to think: but that experience hath showed me the humility and
gentleness of your long tried patience; the certain knowledge whereof
hath pricked me forward in this my pretence. And being thereunto
requested of a faithful brother and friend; I have, with more industry
than learning, GOD knoweth! finished the same.

Which being, as I thought, brought to good end; I desired, according
to the accustomed manner, to dedicate the same unto such [an] one, as
would not contemn so simple a gift. And calling you to mind, Right
Honourable Lord! I knew none more meet. First, because your knowledge
in CHRIST teacheth you the same godly and virtuous life; which not only
your Lordship, but all other Honourable, &c., ought to ensue. Secondly,
because these late years, you have had good experience of the troubles
and miseries of the faithful, which have patiently embraced in their
arms, the comfortable, although painful, cross of CHRIST; which, in so
great a number, is commonly not so plenteous as commendable. But what
stand I praising this patience in them (which yet deserveth the same)?
seeing the mighty GOD and His CHRIST hath prepared, from everlasting,
for such, a glorious, rich and incomprehensible Crown of Felicity and
continual comforts.

This my short and simple work, I commend and dedicate unto your
Lordship! craving pardon at your hands, for this my too homely and rude
enterprise: considering that albeit golden fruit were offered in pewter
and by the hands of a simple man; yet is the fruit notwithstanding
still precious, and neither abased by the pewter, nor the giver.
Even so, Honourable Lord! though the verses be simple, and the giver
unworthy: yet the fruit or matter is precious, comfortable and good.

The order to attain to the perfect understanding of my mind, in setting
forth the same with figures and letters, shall largely appear in this
book: which I have not only done to make plain unto your Honour, the
year, month, and day; but also, to all others that hereafter shall read
it. For that I do pretend [_design_], if GOD and favour will permit it,
to use the same as common to the profit of all: for which cause, I have
also placed a Preface to the Reader.

But that it may please your Honour, in respect of the premises, to
extend your favourable assistance to the manifest setting forth of this
short and simple work, to the glory of the great and mighty GOD, and
to the comfort of Christians: I, as unworthy and too bold a suitor,
most humbly craveth your Lordship's aid and supportation in the same;
especially to bear [with] the rudeness of my unlearned style, which,
alas, I lament.

But now ceasing to trouble your Lordship any longer, this shall be my
continual prayer for you.

    _The wisdom of GOD direct your Honour!_
      _The mercy of GOD give you spiritual power!_
        _The HOLY GHOST guide and comfort_
              _you, with all fulness of_
                  _consolation in_
                _CHRIST JESUS_!
                     _Amen._

                                           Your Lordship's daily orator,
                                                           THOMAS BRICE.

[Illustration]


                        #To the Gentle Reader,#
                           #mercy and peace!#

May it please thee, gentle Reader, to take in good worth this short
and simple _Register_, containing the names of divers, although not
all, both men, women, and virgins, &c., who, for the profession of
CHRIST their Captain, have been most miserably afflicted, tormented,
and [im]prisoned; and, in fine, either died by some occasion in prison,
or else erected [_gone to heaven_] in the charret [_fiery chariot_]
of ELIAS, since the 4th day of February, 1555, to the 17th day of
November, 1558, wherein (according to the determination of our most
merciful Father) our long wished for and most noble Queen, ELIZABETH,
was placed Governess and Queen, by general Proclamation; to the great
comfort of all true English hearts.

This I commit to thy friendly acceptation and favourable scanning,
gentle Reader, and albeit, I doubt not but some, of godly zeal, both
wise and learned, will not neglect, hereafter, to set forth so worthy
a work, namely, of the martyrdom and patient sufferings of CHRIST's
elect Members; and also of the tyrannical tragedies of the unmerciful
Ministers of SATAN: yet, at the request of a dear friend, to whom love
and Nature hath linked me, I could not, without ingratitude, deny his
lawful desire, attempting the same; also, rather because it might be
manifest to the eyes of the world, and also put the learned, of godly
zeal, in memory more amply to enlarge; and, at their good discretion,
to set forth the same. Pardon my rudeness, therefore, I beseech thee!
considering that will in the unable is to be esteemed. Look not upon
the baseness of the metre! the true number whereof cannot easily be
observed in such a gathering of names: but, with lifted eyes of the
mind, meditate upon the omnipotent power of GOD! which hath given
and wrought such constancy in His children, in these our days, that
even in fiery flambes [_flames_] and terrible torments, they have not
ceased to invocate and extol the name of their Creator, Redeemer, and
Comforter, according to the saying of the cxlviii. _Psalm_, "Young
men and maidens, old men and children" have set forth His worthy and
excellent praise. So that the same just and righteous GOD, who, for our
sins, corrected us, and gave us over into the hands of the most bloody
and viperous generation, to be eaten like bread: hath now, of His mercy
alone, "exalted the horn of His people." Therefore all His saints shall
praise Him.

                               Farewell!

                                                                   T. B.

[Illustration]


                   #The manner how to understand the#
                         #letters and figures.#

    [A specimen of a Stanza of the _Register_ as originally given
    by BRICE, will help the reader to understand the unnecessarily
    complicated form in which he put it; and also the following
    Instructions, which were omitted in subsequent impressions.

    Three stanzas occupy each page of the original edition. They are
    printed like this.

  +---+------------------------------------------------------------+---+
  | 63|                1558.                                       | C |
  |   |                March.                                      |[+]|
  +---+------------------------------------------------------------+---+
  |   |                                                            |   |
  |   |                                                            |   |
  | 28|  When that JOHN DEWNESHE and HUGH FOXE,                    |   |
  |   |In Smithfield, cruel death sustained,                       |   |
  |   |As fixed foes to Romish rocks;                              |   |
  | 28|And CUTHBERT SYMSON also slain.                             |   |
  |   |When these did worthily receive their death,                |   |
  |   |  We wished for our ELIZABETH.                              |   |
  |   |                                                            |   |
  +---+------------------------------------------------------------+---+
  |   |                                                            | 7 |
  +---+                                                            +---+

    A comparison of this Stanza, with its fellow at page 167, will show
    our method of reproducing this text.]

       *       *       *       *       *

_In primus_, the figures, which are always four in number, are placed
in the middle of the two strykes [_strokes, or rules_], which go
between the verses, within two short strikes; signify the year wherein
those persons were slain under them contained.

And where you see a little cross, [+], on the outside of the outmost
line, it signifieth the changing of the year [_i.e., on the 25th
March_], as from 1554 to 1555; and in such manner.

The letters which stand in the little square place, on the right side
of the book, signified the month wherein they died; and for the plainer
understanding thereof I have used twelve letters, for the twelve
months: that is, A, for January; B, for February; C, for March; D, for
April; E, for May; F, for June; G, for July; H, for August; I, for
September; K, for October; L, for November; M, for December.

But where one letter standeth in the little square place; and another
is placed under it between the two lines before the verse be ended; it
signified the changing of the month: so that the person or persons,
where against the letter so changed doth stand, was put to death in
that month which that letter doth signify.

And whereas, in the third Verse [_or Stanza, p_. 154], and nowhere
else, there standeth figures on the right side, between the two lines;
that giveth to understand that HUNTER, HIGBYE, PICKET, and KNIGHT,
which are placed in one line, were burnt at three sundry days.

The figures which standeth in the little square place, on the left
side of the book, is but the sum of the Verses. But those which stand
between the two lines on the left side of the book, signified the day
of the month, wherein that person or persons died, where against those
figures stand.

The figures, which stand without both the lines, on the top of the
right side, signifieth the folio or number of the sides; but the
figures which stand underneath the nether strike, between the two
lines, is the number of persons murdered on that side [_i.e., of the
page_].

This is done, gentle Reader! that thou shouldest understand the year,
month, and day wherein every person died; according to the knowledge
that I have learned.

Also, in some places, where you shall see a name or names stand
without figures; that signifieth the certain day to be unknown. Some,
therefore, perchance, will judge much rashness in me to write with
ignorance; to whom, with reverence, I answer, that as I received
the names registered and gathered by a good gentleman: even so, at
a friend's desire, I have put them in metre, in this little book,
thinking that, by pleasantness of reading, and easiness [_cheapness_]
of price, they might be the more largely blown and known.

For my desire is that all men should participate [in] this my travail:
and were the author and inditing half so worthy as the matter; then
would I most earnestly wish and desire that it might be conveyed and
delivered to the Queen's Majesty's own hands. Wherein Her Grace might
see, what unmerciful Ministers had charge over the poor sheep; who,
wolfishly, at their wills, devoured the same: and, also, what ruin
and decay of Her Grace's subjects (that might have been), they have
brought to pass. Therein might Her Grace see, as in a glass, how that
bloodthirsty generation, neither spared hore [_hoary_] headed and
ancient age, which all men ought to honour; neither youth, nor middle
age; neither wife, nor widow; young man, nor tender virgin. But like
the unnatural eggs of ASTYAGES that tyrant, destroy, and spill the
blood of all: besides stocking [_putting in the stocks_], racking
[_putting on the rack_], and whipping of the younger sort; whom shame
would not suffer to kill, as some are well enough known, and I am not
altogether ignorant [of].

Should such tyrannical tragedies be kept one hour, from the hands of
so noble and virtuous a Governess? whose princely and natural heart,
I doubt not, should have occasion thereby to be, in both kinds, both
heavy and joyful: heavy, for the innocent blood spilt; but joyful for
the praises of her GOD, and that our GOD shall be honoured thereby,
while the world doth endure. I doubt whether [_doubt not but_] Her
Grace, inwardly wrapt up with PAUL and JOHN in divine science, will
brast [_burst_] out and say, "O happy LATIMER! CRANMER! HOOPER! ROGERS!
FARRER! TAYLOR! SAUNDERS! PHILPOT! CARDMAKER! BRADFORD! &c.; you
members of CHRIST! you faithful Fathers and preaching Pastors! you,
that have not defiled yourselves with abomination, but have washed
your garments white in the blood of the Lamb! you, that in fiery
torments, with STEPHEN, have called upon the name of your Redeemer,
and so finished you lives! you that are now clothed in white garments
of innocency, with crowns of consolation, and palms of victory in your
hands, following the Lamb withersoever He goeth!" Or else, in anguish
of soul, sighingly to say, "O thou tyrannous and unmerciful world! thou
monstrous and unnatural generation! what devil inflamed thy mind such
malicious mischief? to torment and shed the blood of such innocent
livers, perfect preachers and worthy counsellors, learned ministers,
diligent divines, perfect personages, and faithful shepherds. They
were constant Confessors before, but thou (with the Roman Emperor)
thoughtest to prevent the determination of GOD, in making them Martyrs,
to be the sooner with their CHRIST, whom they so much talked of. O
cruel NEROS! that could kill, through malice, such worthy men, as have
often preached to our dear father [_HENRY VIII_.] and brother [_EDWARD
VI_.] the everlasting gospel of GOD. Could neither honourable age,
innocent single life, chaste matrimony, inviolate virginity, nor yet
pity move you to cease shedding of blood! Alas, too much unnaturalness!"

Whether the sight of this simple book, I say, should bring to her
Grace's natural heart, the passions of heaviness or joy, I doubt: but I
think rather both.

Therefore, would to God! it were worthy to enter into the hands of so
noble and natural a Princess and Queen; whom the LORD, of His eternal
and foreseeing determination, hath now placed in this royal dignity:
to the redress of such unnatural and bloody facts, as in this book are
contained.

But forasmuch as some imperfection is, and may easily be in this
Gathering; I commend it to thy goodness, gentle Reader! beseeching
thee, not to be precise in perusing the day; for it may, that, either
through my negligence, or [that of] some other writing [_manuscript_]
before me, we may miss so narrow a mark.

                       Such as it is, I commend
                        unto thee! only, judge
                                 well!


                        The Book to the Reader.

    _Peruse with patience, I thee pray!_
    _My simple style, and metre base._
    _The works of GOD, with wisdom weigh!_
    _The force of Love, the strength of Grace._

      _Love causèd GOD, His grace to give,_
    _To such as should for Him be slain._
    _Grace wrought in them, while they did live,_
    _For love, to love their CHRIST again._

      _Now Grace is of such strength and might,_
    _That nothing may the same withstand._
    _Grace putteth death and hell to flight,_
    _And guides us to the Living Land._

      _The force of Love also is such,_
    _That fear and pain it doth expel;_
    _Love thinketh nothing over much;_
    _Love doth all earthly things excel._

      _Thus Love and Grace of GOD began_
    _To work in them, to do His will:_
    _These virtues' force wrought Love in man,_
    _That fear was past, their blood to spill._

                               +_FINIS._+


                      The Register of the Martyrs.

    [Never before did such doggerel verse carry so fearful a story as
    this. It is thought to have been useful to JOHN FOX, when at work
    on his _Actes and Monumentes &c._, 1563.

    The following entries in the _Stationers' Registers_ show
    that there were two simultaneous editions of this work, both
    surreptitiously produced in 1559.

        RYCHARD ADAMS [_see p._ 172] for pryntinge _The Regester of all
        them that ware burned_ without lycense was fined at vs. [=
        £2 10_s. now_]. OWYN ROGERS for printinge without lycense _The
        Regester of all them that were burned_ was fyned at xxd.]

                            [_Transcript &c._, 1. _p._ 101, _Ed. 1875_.]

                                 1555.

  FEBRUARY         When raging reign of tyrants stout,
                 Causeless, did cruelly conspire
                 To rend and root the Simple out,
                 With furious force of sword and fire;
                 When man and wife were put to death:
                   We wished for our Queen ELIZABETH.

  FEBRUARY    4    When ROGERS ruefully was brent;
              8  When SAUNDERS did the like sustain;
                 When faithful FARRAR forth was sent
                 His life to lose, with grievous pain;
             22  When constant HOOPER died the death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  FEBRUARY    9    When ROWLAND TAYLOR, that Divine,
                 At Hadley, left this loathsome light;
             24  When simple LAWRENCE, they did pine,
             22  With HUNTER, HIGBY, PIGOT, and KNIGHT;
             23  When CAUSUN, constantly, died the death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MARCH       5    When TOMKINS, tyranny did abide,
                 Having his hand, with torchlight brent;
              7  When LAWRENCE, WHITE, and DIGGELL died,
                 With earnest zeal and good intent;
             14  When WILLIAM FLOWER was put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  APRIL       2    When AWCOCKE, in Newgate prisoner,
                 His latter end, with joy, did make;
             11  When JOHN WARREN and CARDMAKER,
                 Kissed each other at the stake;
             24  When MARCH, the Minister, was put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE             When WILLIAM COWLEY, for offence,
              4  Was forthwith hanged at Charing Cross;
                 Buried; then burned, of fond pretence;
                 Thus carion carcass they did toss:
                 When such insipients put men to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       10    When worthy WATTES, with constant cry,
                 Continued in the flaming fire;
             11  When SIMSON, HAWKES, and JOHN ARDLIE
                 Did taste the tyrant's raging ire;
             11  When CHAMBERLAINE was put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       12    When blessed BUTTER and OSMANDE,
                 With force of fire, to death were brent;
             12  When SHITTERDUN, sir FRANKE, and BLANDE,
             12  And HUMFREY MIDDLETON of Kent;
              1  When MINGE, in Maidstone, took his death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY             When BRADFORD, beautified with bliss,
              1  With young JOHN LEAST, in Smithfield, died;
                 When they, like brethren, both did kiss,
                 And in the fire were truly tried;
                 When tears were shed for BRADFORD's death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY       12    When DIRICK HARMAN lost his life;
             12  When LAUNDER, in their fume, they fried;
             12  When they sent EVERSON from strife,
                 With moody minds, and puffèd pride;
             12  When WADE, at Dartford, died the death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY       21    When RICHARD HOOKE, limbless and lame,
                 At Chichester, did bear the cross;
             22  When humble HALL, for CHRISTes name,
                 Ensued the same, with worldly loss;
             23  When JOAN POLLEY was burnt to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY       23    When WILLIAM AILEWARDE, at Reading,
                 In prison died of sickness sore;
             23  When ABBES, which feigned a recanting
                 Did wofully weep, and deplore;
             23  When he, at Bury, was done to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     23    When DENLY died, at Uxbridge town,
                 With constant care to CHRISTES cause;
             23  When WARREN's widow yielded down
                 Her flesh and blood, for holy laws;
                 When she, at Stratford, died the death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     23    When LAURENCE, COLLIER, COKER, and STERE,
                 At Canterbury, were causeless slain,
             23  With HOPPER and WRIGHTE; Six in one fire,
                 Converted flesh to earth again;
             24  When ROGER CORRIAR was done to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     26    When TANKERFIELDE, at St. Albans,
             26  And WILLIAM BAMFORD, spent his blood;
                 When harmful hearts, as hard as stones,
             30  Burnt ROBERT SMITH and STEPHEN HARWO[O]D;
             29  When PATRICK PATTINGHAM died the death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     31    When JOHN NEWMAN, and THOMAS FUSSE,
                 At Ware, and Walden, made their end;
             30  When WILLIAM HAILES, for CHRIST JESUS,
                 With breath and blood did still contend;
             31  When he, at Barnet, was put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     31    When SAMUELL did firmly fight,
                 Till flesh and blood, to ashes went;
              3  When constant COB, with faith upright,
                 At Thetford, cruelly was brent:
                 When these with joy did take their death;
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER   2    When WILLIAM ALLEN, at Walsingham,
                 For truth was tried in fiery flame;
              3  When ROGER COOE, that good old man!
                 Did lose his life, for CHRISTes name;
                 When these, with others, were put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER   6    When BRADBRIDGE, STRETER, and BURWARDE,
              6  TUTTIE, and GEORGE PAINTER of Hyde,
                 Unto their duty, had good regard;
                 Wherefore in one fire, they were fried:
                 When these, at Canterbury, took their death;
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER        When JOHN LESSE, prisoner in Newgate,
             10  By sickness turned to earth and clay;
                 When wicked men, with ire and hate,
             13  Burnt THOMAS HEYWARDE, and GOREWAY;
             13  When TINGLE, in Newgate, took his death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER  14    When RICHARD SMITH in Lollards' Tower;
             15  ANDROWES and KYNG, by sickness, died;
                 In fair fields they had their bower,
                 Where earth and clay doth still abide:
                 When they, in this wise, did die the death;
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER  19    When GLOVER, and CORNELIUS
                 Were fiercely brent at Coventry;
              4  When WOLSEY and PIGOT, for CHRIST JESUS
                 At Ely, felt like cruelty.
             19  When the poor bewept Master GLOVER's death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  OCTOBER          When learnèd RIDLEY, and LATIMER,
             16  Without regard, were swiftly slain;
                 When furious foes could not confer
                 But with revenge and mortal pain.
                 When these two Fathers were put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  OCTOBER    13    When worthy WEB, and GEORGE ROPER,
                 In ELIAS' car to heaven were sent;
             13  Also when GREGORY PAINTER,
                 The same straight path and voyage went;
                 When they, at Canterbury, took their death;
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  DECEMBER    7    When godly GORE in prison died,
             14  And WISEMAN in the Lollards' Tower:
             18  When Master PHILPOT, truly tried,
                 Ended his life with peace and power;
                 When he kissèd the chain, at his death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

                                 1556.

  JANUARY    27    When THOMAS WHITWELL, and BARTLET GREENE,
             27  ANNIS FOSTER, JOAN LASHEFORDE, and BROUNE,
             27  TUTSUN, and WINTER; these Seven were seen,
                 In Smithfield, beat their enemies down;
                 Even Flesh and Devil, World and Death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JANUARY    31    When JOHN LOWMAS and ANN ALBRIGHT,
             31  JOAN SOALE, JOAN PAINTER, and ANNIS SNOD,
                 In fire, with flesh and blood did fight;
                 When tongues of tyrants laid on lode;
                 When these, at once, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  FEBRUARY         When two women in Ipswich town,
             19  Joyfully did the fire embrace;
                 When they sang out with cheerful sound,
                 Their fixèd foes for to deface;
                 When NORWICH NO-BODY put them to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MARCH      12    When constant CRANMER lost his life
                 And held his hand into the fire;
                 When streams of tears for him were rife,
                 And yet did miss their just desire:
                 When Popish power put him to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MARCH      24    When SPENCER and two brethren more,
                 Were put to death at Salisbury;
                 Ashes to earth did right restore,
                 They being then joyful and merry:
                 When these, with violence, were burnt to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  APRIL       2    When HULLIARDE, a Pastor pure,
                 At Cambridge, did this life despise;
              2  When HARTPOOLES death, they did procure
                 To make his flesh a sacrifice;
                 When JOAN BECHE, widow, was done to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  APRIL      10    When WILLIAM TIMMES, AMBROSE, and DRAKE,
             10  SPURGE, SPURGE, and CAVELL duly died,
                 Confessing that, for CHRISTes sake,
                 They were content thus to be tried:
             10  When[2]LONDON LITTLE-GRACE put them to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  APRIL      28    When lowly LISTER, NICOLL, and MASE,
             28  JOHN HAMMON, SPENCER, and YREN also,
                 At Colchester, in the Postern Place,
                 Joyfully to their death did go;
              5  When two, at Gloucester, were put to death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MAY              When MARGARET ELIOT, being a maid,
             13  After condemning, in prison died;
             15  When lame LAVAROCKE, the fire assayed,
             15  And blind APRICE with him was tried:
                 When these two impotents were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MAY        16    When KATHERINE HUT did spend her blood
             16  With two maids, ELIZABETH and JOAN;
                 When they embraced both reed and wood,
                 Trusting in CHRIST His death alone:
                 When men unnatural drew these to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MAY        21    When two men and a sister dear,
                 At Beccles were consumed to dust;
             31  When WILLIAM SLECHE, constant and clear,
                 In prison died, with hope and trust;
                 When these, our brethren, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE        6    When JOHN OSWOLD, and THOMAS REEDE,
              6  HARLAND, MILWRIGHT, and EVINGTON;
                 With blazing brands their blood did bleed
                 As their brethren before had done.
                 When tyranny drave these to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       20    When WHOD the Pastor, with THOMAS MILLES
                 At Lewes, lost this mortal gain;
                 Compassed with spears, and bloody bills,
                 Unto the stake for to be slain:
             23  When WILLIAM ADHERAL did die the death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       27    When JA[C]KSON, HOLYWEL, and WYE,
             27  BOWIER, LAWRENCE, and ADDLINGTON;
             27  When ROTH, SEARLES, LION, and HURST did die;
             27  With whom, two women to death were done:
                 When DORIFALL, with them, was put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       27    When THOMAS PARRET, prisoner,
             30  And MARTIN HUNTE died in the King's Bench;
                 When the young man at Leicester,
                 And CLEMENT died, with filthy stench;
             25  When CARELESS, so took his death:
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY       16    When ASKUE, PALMER, and JOHN GWIN
                 Were brent with force, at Newbury;
                 Lamenting only for their sins,
                 And in the LORD were full merry:
                 When tyrants merciless, put these to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY       18    When JOHN FORMAN, and mother TREE,
                 At[3]Grenstede, cruelly were slain;
             18  When THOMAS DUNGATE, to make up three,
                 With them did pass from woe and pain:
                 When these, with others, were put to death;
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     20    When the weaver at Bristow died,
                 And, at Derby, a wedded wife;
                 When these with fiery flames were fried,
                 For CHRISTes cause, losing their life;
                 When many others were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER  24    When RAVENSDALE and two brethren more,
                 To earthly ashes were consumed;
             25  A godly glover would not adore
                 Their filthy idol; whereat they fumed;
                 When he, at Bristol, was put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER  26    When JOHN HORNE, with a woman wise,
                 At Newton, under hedge were killed,
                 Stretching their hands with lifted eyes,
                 And so their years, in earth fulfilled;
                 When these, with violence, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  SEPTEMBER        When DUNSTON, CLARKE, and POTKIN's wife,
                 WILLIAM FOSTER, and ARCHER also,
                 In Canterbury, did lose their life
                 By famishment; as the talk do go.
                 When these, alas, thus took their death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  OCTOBER          When three, within one castle died,
                 And in the fields were layed to rest.
                 When at Northampton, a man was tried
                 Whether GOD or Mammon he loved best.
                 When these, by tyranny, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

                                 1557.

  JANUARY     2    When THOMAS FINALL and his man,
              2  FOSTER and three good members more,
                 Were purgèd with their fiery fan
                 At Canterbury, with torments sore.
                 When they with cheerfulness took their death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JANUARY          When two at Ashford, with cruelty,
                 For CHRISTes cause, to death were brent;
              2  When, not long after, two, at Wye,
                 Suffered for CHRIST His Testament:
                 When wily wolves put these to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  APRIL       2    When STANLY's wife, and ANNIS HYDE,
                 STURTLE, RAMSEY, and JOHN LOTHESBY
                 Were content, torments to abide,
                 And took the same right patiently;
                 When these, in Smithfield, were done to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MAY         2    When WILLIAM MORANT and STEVEN GRATWICK
                 Refused, with falsehood to be beguiled,
                 And for the same, were burnèd quick,
                 With fury, in Saint George's Field;
                 When these, with others were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       16    When JOAN BRADBRIDGE, and a blind maid,
             16  APPELBY, ALLEN, and both their wives;
             16  When MANNING's wife was not afraid,
                 But all these Seven did lose their lives.
                 When these, at Maidstone, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       19    When JOHN FISCOKE, PERDUE, and WHITE;
             19  BARBARA, widow; and BENDEN's wife;
             19  With these, WILSON's wife did firmly fight,
                 And for their faith, all lost their life;
                 When these, at Canterbury, died the death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       22    When WILLIAM MAINARDE, his maid and man;
             22  MARGERY MORIES, and her son;
             22  DENIS, BURGES, STEVENS, and WO[O]DMAN;
             22  GLOVE's wife, and ASHDON's, to death were done;
                 When one fire, at Lewes, brought to them death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY             When AMBROSE died in Maidstone Gaol,
                 And so set free from tyrant's hands;
              2  When SIMON MILNER they did assail,
              2  Having him, and a woman in bands;
                 When these, at Norwich, were done to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY        2    When ten, at Colchester, in one day,
                 Were fried with fire, of tyrants stout;
                 Not once permitted truth to say,
                 But were compassed with bills about:
                 When these, with others, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY        2    When GEORGE EGLES, at Chelmsford town,
                 Was hangèd, drawn, and quarterèd;
                 His quarters carried up and down,
                 And on a pole they set his head.
                 When wrestèd law put him to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY        5    When THURSTON's wife, at Chichester,
              5  And BOURNER's wife, with her also;
             20  When two women at Rochester,
             20  With father FRIER were sent from woe:
             23  When one, at Norwich, did die the death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     10    When JOYCE BOWES, at Lichfield died,
                 Continuing constant in the fire;
                 When fixèd faith was truly tried,
                 Having her just and long desire.
                 When she, with others were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  AUGUST     17    When RICHARD ROOTH and RALPH GLAITON,
             17  With JAMES AUSCOO and his wife
                 Were brent with force at Islington,
                 Ending this short and sinful life;
                 When they with cheerfulness, did take their death;
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  OCTOBER    18    When SPARROW, GIBSON, and HOLLINGDAY,
                 In Smithfield, did the stake embrace;
                 When fire converted flesh to clay,
                 They being joyful of such grace:
                 When lawless liberty put them to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  DECEMBER   22    When JOHN ROUGHE, a Minister meek,
             22  And MARGARET MERING, with courage died:
                 Because CHRIST only they did seek,
                 With fire of force, they must be fried;
                 When these, in Smithfield, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

                                 1558.

  MARCH      28    When that JOHN DEWNESHE and HUGH FOXE,
                 In Smithfield, cruel death sustained,
                 As fixèd foes to Romish rocks;
             28  And CUTHBERT SYMSON also slain.
                 When these did worthily receive their death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MARCH            When DALE deceased in Bury gaol,
                 According to GOD's ordinance;
                 When widow THURSTON they did assail;
                 And brought ANN BONGER to Death's Dance;
                 When these, at Colchester, were done to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  APRIL       9    When WILLIAM NICOLL, in Ha[ve]rfor[d]west,
                 Was trièd with their fiery fire:
             20  When SYMON fought against the best,
             20  With GLOVER, and THOMAS CARMAN;
                 When these, at Norwich, did die the death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  MAY        26    When WILLIAM HARRIS, and RICHARD DAY;
             26  And CHRISTIAN GEORGE with them was brent:
                 Holding their enemies at a bay
                 Till life was lost, and breath all spent;
                 When these, at Colchester, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE       27    When SOUTHAN, LAUNDER, and RICARBIE;
             27  HOLLYDAY, HOLLANDE, PONDE, and FLOOD,
                 With cheerful look and constant cry,
             27  For CHRISTes cause, did spend their blood:
                 When these in Smithfield were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JUNE             When THOMAS TYLER passed this place;
                 And MATTHEW WITHERS also died.
                 Though suit were much, yet little grace
                 Among the Rulers could be spied:
                 In prison, patiently, they took their death,
                   We wishing for ELIZABETH.

  JULY       10    When RICHARD YEMAN, Minister,
                 At Norwich, did his life forsake;
             19  When Master BENBRIKE, at Winchester,
                 A lively sacrifice did make.
                 When these, with others, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  JULY       14    When WILLIAM PECKES, COTTON, and WREIGHT,
                 The Popish power did sore invade;
                 To Burning School, they were sent straight,
             14  And with them went, constant JOHN SLADE:
                 When these, at Brainford, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  NOVEMBER    4    When ALEXANDER GECHE was brent,
              4  And with him ELIZABETH LAUNSON;
                 When they with joy, did both consent
                 To do as their brethren had done;
                 When these, at Ipswich, were put to death,
                   We wished for ELIZABETH.

  NOVEMBER    5    When JOHN DAVY, and eke his brother,
              5  With PHILIP HUMFREY kissed the cross;
                 When they did comfort one another
                 Against all fear, and worldy loss;
                 When these, at Bury, were put to death,
                   We wished for our ELIZABETH.

  NOVEMBER         When, last of all (to take their leave!),
           [11]  At Canterbury, they did some consume,
                 Who constantly to CHRIST did cleave;
                 Therefore were fried with fiery fume:
                 But, six days after these were put to death,
                   GOD sent us our ELIZABETH!

                   Our wished wealth hath brought us peace.
                 Our joy is full; our hope obtained;
                 The blazing brands of fire do cease,
                 The slaying sword also restrained.
                 The simple sheep, preserved from death
                   By our good Queen, ELIZABETH.

                   As Hope hath here obtained her prey,
                 By GOD'S good will and Providence;
                 So Trust doth truly look for stay,
                 Through His heavenly influence,
                 That great GOLIATH shall be put to death
                   By our good Queen, ELIZABETH.

                   That GOD's true Word shall placèd be,
                 The hungry souls, for to sustain;
                 That Perfect Love and Unity
                 Shall be set in their seat again:
                 That no more good men shall be put to death;
                   Seeing GOD hath sent ELIZABETH.

                   Pray we, therefore, both night and day,
                 For Her Highness, as we be bound.
                 O LORD, preserve this Branch of Bay!
                 (And all her foes, with force confound)
                 Here, long to live! and, after death,
                   Receive our Queen, ELIZABETH!

                                _Amen._

_Apoc. 6. How long tarriest thou, O LORD, holy and true! to judge,
and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth._

                               +_FINIS._+

    _The wishes of the Wise,_
    _Which long to be at rest;_
    _To GOD, with lifted eyes,_
    _They call to be redressed_.

       *       *       *       *       *

    When shall this time of travail cease
        Which we, with woe sustain?
    When shall the days of rest and peace,
        Return to us again?

    When shall the mind be movèd right
        To leave this lusting life?
    When shall our motions and delight
        Be free from wrath and strife?

    When shall the time of woful tears
        Be movèd unto mirth?
    When shall the aged, with grey hairs,
        Rejoice at children's birth?

    When shall Jerusalem rejoice
        In Him, that is their King?
    And Sion's hill, with cheerful voice,
        Sing psalms with triumphing?

    When shall the walls erected be,
        That foes, with fury, 'fray?
    When shall that perfect Olive Tree,
        Give odour like the Bay?

    When shall the Vineyard be restored,
        That beastly boars devour?
    When shall the people, late abhorred,
        Receive a quiet hour?

    When shall the SPIRIT more fervent be,
        In us that want good will?
    When shall Thy mercies set us free
        From wickedness and ill?

    When shall the serpents, that surmise
        To poison Thine Elect,
    Be bound to better exercise,
        Or utterly reject?

    When shall the blood revengèd be,
        Which on the earth is shed?
    When shall sin and iniquity
        Be cast into the bed?

    When shall that Man of Sin appear
        To be, even as he is?
    When shall thy babes and children dear
        Receive eternal bliss?

    When shall that painted Whore of Rome
        Be cast unto the ground?
    When shall her children have their doom,
        Which virtue would confound?

    When shall Thy Spouse, and Turtle Dove
        Be free from bitter blast?
    When shall Thy grace, our sins remove,
        With pardon at the last?

    When shall this life translatèd be,
        From fortune's fickle fall?
    When shall True Faith and Equity
        Remain in general?

    When shall Contention and Debate,
        For ever slack and cease?
    When shall the days of evil date,
        Be turnèd unto peace?

    When shall True Dealing rule the rost
        With those that buy and sell;
    And Single Mind, in every coast,
        Among us bide and dwell?

    When shall our minds wholly convert
        From wealth, and worldly gain?
    When shall the movings of our heart
        From wickedness refrain?

    When shall this flesh return to dust,
        From whence the same did spring?
    When shall the trial of our trust
        Appearing with triumphing?

    When shall the Trump blow out his blast,
        And thy dear babes revive?
    When shall the Whore be headlong cast,
        That sought us to deprive?

    When shall Thy CHRIST, our King, appear
        With power and renown?
    When shall Thy saints, that suffer here,
        Receive their promised crown?

    When shall the faithful, firmly stand?
        Before Thy face to dwell;
    When shall Thy foes, at Thy left hand,
        Be cast into the hell?

       *       *       *       *       *

                             _Apoca. 22._

                         _Come, +LORD JESU!+_

                                 T. B.

               Imprinted at London, by John Kingston for
                            Richard Adams.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] BONNER.

[3] _Grinstead._



                 _The winning of Calais by the French,_
                          _January_ 1558 A.D.

    There is but little doubt that the gross negligence whereby Calais
        was lost to us, was but the natural outcome of the national
        demoralization occasioned by the public administration of Queen
        MARY; which placed all Laymen at the mercy of the Spiritualty,
        and all Englishmen at the command of the Spaniard. Looking
        back, all now acknowledge that the loss of Calais was a gain
        to England, as well as to France: but for a time, it did sting
        Englishmen to the quick; and that, all the more, seeing it was
        lost in a war in which we were only fighting PHILIP's battles,
        and had no real concern ourselves.

    We here group the following Eye Witness reports, accounts, &c., of
        the loss of the English Pale in France.

                                                                    PAGE

  _+CALAIS.+_   G. FERRERS, _General Narrative of the Recapture_     173
                Lord WENTWORTH and the Council at Calais.
                    _Letter to Queen MARY, 23 May 1557_              186
                Lords WENTWORTH and GREY and the Council at
                    Calais. _Report to Queen MARY, 27 Dec. 1557_     187
                Lord WENTWORTH. _Letter to Queen MARY,_
                   _1 January 1558; 9 p.m._                          190
                Lord WENTWORTH. _Letter to Queen MARY,_
                   _2 January 1558; 10 p.m._                         192
                J. HIGHFIELD. _Narrative of the Capture of Calais_,
                    [March 1558]                                     196
                J. FOX. _Mistress THORPE's escape at Calais_         202

  _+GUISNES.+_  Lord GREY, Governor at Guisnes. _Letter to Queen_
                   _MARY, 4 January 1558; 7 a.m._                    203
                T. CHURCHYARD. _Share in, and Account of, the_
                    _siege of Guisnes, 11-22 January 1558_           205


                      +GEORGE FERRERS+, the Poet.

                 _General Narrative of the Recapture._

                                          [GRAFTON'S _Chronicle_. 1569.]

    JOHN STOW, in his _Annals_, _p._ 1070, _Ed._ 1600, referring to
        this recapture, says, "Whereof Master GEORGE FERRERS hath
        written at large: for he collected the whole history of _Queen
        MARY_, as the same is set down, under the name of RICHARD
        GRAFTON."

    It is clear from UNDERHILL's narrative at _p._ 90, that his friend
        FERRERS, who had been Lord of Misrule under EDWARD VI., was a
        Protestant.

       *       *       *       *       *

For if ought were won by the having of St. Quentin, England got nothing
at all; for the gain thereof came only to King PHILIP: but the loss of
Calais, Hammes, and Guisnes, with all the country on that side of the
sea, which followed soon after, was such a buffet to England as [had]
not happened in more than an hundred years before; and a dishonour
wherewith this realm shall be blotted until GOD shall give power to
redubbe it with some like requital to the French.

At this time, although open hostility and war were between England and
France, yet, contrary to the ancient custom afore used, the town of
Calais and the forts thereabouts were not supplied with any new accrues
[_reinforcements_] of soldiers; which negligence was not unknown to
the enemy, who, long before, had practised [_plotted_] the winning of
the said town and country. The French King therefore (being sharply
nettled with the late loss of St. Quentin and a great piece of his
country adjoining, and desirous of revenge) thought it not meet to let
slip this occasion; and having presently a full army in a readiness to
employ where most advantage should appear, determined to put in proof,
with all speed, the enterprise of Calais; which long, and many times
before, was purposed upon.

This practice [_design_] was not so secret but that the Deputies of
Calais and Guisnes had some intelligence thereof; and informed the
Queen [MARY] and her Council accordingly: nevertheless, either by
wilful negligence there, or lack of credit by the Queen's Council here,
this great case was so slenderly regarded as no provision of defence
was made until it was somewhat too late.

The Duke of GUISE [_known as, Le Balafré_], being General of the
French army, proceeded in this enterprise with marvellous policy.
For approaching the English frontier [_known in our history as the
English Pale_], under colour to victual Boulogne and Ardes; he entered
upon the same, on a sudden [_on 1st January, 1558_]; and took a little
bulwark [_fortification_] called Sandgate, by assault. He then divided
his army into two parts, sending one part with certain great pieces of
artillery along the downs [_sandhills_] by the seaside towards Risbank
[_or Ruisbank, a detached fort in Calais harbour. See Vol. II. p.
39_]; and the other part, furnished also with battery pieces, marched
straight forth to Newnham [_or Newhaven_] Bridge: meaning to batter the
two forts, both at one time. Which thing he did with such celerity,
that coming thither very late in the evening, he was master of both by
the next morning.

At the first shot discharged at Newnham Bridge, the head of the Master
Gunner of that piece [_fort_], whose name was HORSELEY, was clean
stricken off. The Captain [_NICHOLAS ALEXANDER_] considering the
great power of the French army; and having his fort but slenderly
manned to make sufficient resistance, fled to Calais. And by the time
he was come thither, the other part of the French army that went by
the seaside, with their battery, had won Risbank; being abandoned [_by
Captain JOHN HARLESTONE_] to their hands.

The next day [_2nd of January_], the Frenchmen, with five
double-cannons and three culverins, began a battery from the sandhills
next Risbank, against the town of Calais; and continued the same,
by the space of two or three days, until they made a little breach
in the wall next unto the Water Gate, which, nevertheless, was not
yet assaultable: for that which was broken in the day, was by them
within the town made up again in the night, stronger than afore. But
the battery was not begun there by the French because they intended
to enter in that place; but rather to abuse [_deceive_] the English,
to have the less regard to the defence of the Castle: which was the
weakest part of the town, and the place where they were we ascertained,
by their espials, to win an easy entry.

So that while our people travailed fondly to defend that counterfeit
breach of the town wall, the Duke had in the mean season, planted
fifteen double-cannons against the Castle. Which Castle being
considered by the Rulers of the town to be of no such force as might
resist the battery of cannon, by reason that it was old, and without
any rampires [_ramparts_]; it was devised to make a train with certain
barrels of powder to this purpose, that when the Frenchmen should
enter, as they well knew, that there they would, to have fired the
said train, and blown up the Keep: and for that purpose left never a
man within to defend it. But the Frenchmen, at their entry, espied the
train, and so avoided the same. So that the device came to no purpose;
and, without any resistance, they entered the Castle; and thought to
have entered the town by that way.

But [_on the 6th of January_] by the prowess and hardy courage of Sir
ANTHONY AGER [_AUCHER_], Knight [_see Vol. I., pp. 33, 36_], and
Marshal of the Town, with his soldiers, they were repulsed and driven
back again into the Castle: and followed so hard after, that our men
forced them to close and shut the Castle gate for their surety, lest
it should have been recovered against them. As it was once attempted
[_p._ 199] by Sir ANTHONY AGER: who there, with his son and heir, and a
Pursuivant at Arms called CALAIS, and divers others, to the number of
fifteen or sixteen Englishmen, lost their lives.

The same night, after the recule [_retreat_] of the Frenchmen, whose
number so increased in the Castle, that the town was not able to resist
their force; the Lord WENTWORTH, Deputy of Calais, sent a Pursuivant
called GUISNES, unto the Duke of GUISE, requiring composition; which,
after long debate, was agreed to, upon this sort.

    First. That the town, with all the great artillery, victuals and
    munition, should be freely yielded to the French King.

    The lives of the inhabitants only saved; to whom safe conduct
    should be granted, to pass where they listed.

    Saving the Lord Deputy, with fifty others, such as the Duke should
    appoint, to remain prisoners; and be put to their ransom.

The next morning [_7th of January_], the Frenchmen entered and
possessed the Town: and forthwith all the men, women, and children,
were commanded to leave their houses, and to go into the two churches,
of Our Lady, and Saint Nicholas; upon pain of death. Where they
remained a great part of that day, and one whole night, and until three
o'clock at afternoon the next day [_8th_]: without either meat or drink.

And while they were thus in the churches, the Duke of GUISE, in the
name of the French King, in their hearing, made a Proclamation straitly
charging and commanding all and every person that were inhabitants of
the Town of Calais, having about them any money, plate, or jewels to
the value of [_but_] one groat [4_d._] to bring the same forthwith,
and lay it down on the high altars of the said churches, upon pain of
death: bearing them in hand [_inducing them to think_] also that they
should be searched.

By reason of which Proclamation, there was made a great and sorrowful
Offertory. And while they were at this offering within the churches,
the Frenchmen entered into their houses, and rifled the same; where
was found inestimable riches and treasure, but specially of ordnance,
armour, and other munition.

About two o'clock, the next day at afternoon, being the 7th of January;
all the Englishmen, except the Lord Deputy and the others reserved
for prisoners, were suffered to pass out of the town in safety; being
guarded through the army by a number of Scottish Light Horsemen.

There were in this town of Calais, 500 English soldiers ordinarily,
and no more: and of the townsmen, not fully 200 fighting men: a small
garrison for the defence of such a town! And there were in the whole
number of men, women, and children, as they were counted when they went
out of the gate, 4,200 persons.

But the Lord WENTWORTH, Deputy of Calais; Sir RALPH CHAMBERLAIN,
Captain of the Castle; [JOHN] HARLESTONE, Captain of Risbank; NICHOLAS
ALEXANDER, Captain of Newn[h]ambridge; EDWARD GRIMSTONE, Controller;
with others of the chief of the town, to the number of fifty, as
aforesaid, such as it pleased the Duke of GUISE to appoint, were sent
prisoners into France.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus have ye heard the discourse of the Overthrow and Loss of the Town
of Calais; the which enterprise was begun and ended in less than eight
days, to the great marvel of the world, that a town of such strength,
and so well furnished of all things as that was, should so suddenly be
taken and conquered: but most specially, in the winter season; what
time all the country about, being marsh ground, is commonly overflown
with water.

The said town was won from the French by King EDWARD III. in the time
of PHILIP DE VALOIS, then French King: and, being in the possession of
the Kings of England, 211 years; was, in the time of PHILIP and MARY,
King and Queen of England, lost within less than eight days being the
most notable fort that England had.

For the winning whereof, King EDWARD aforesaid, in the 21st year of
his reign [1346], was fain to continue a siege one whole year or more:
wherefore it was judged of all men, that it could not have so come to
pass, without some secret treachery.

Here is also to be noted, that when Queen MARY and her Council heard,
credibly, of the Frenchmen's sudden approach to that town; she, with
all possible speed, but somewhat too late, raised a great power for the
rescue thereof: which, if wind and weather had served, might, haply,
have brought succour thither in time. But such terrible tempests then
arose, and continued the space of four or five days together, that the
like had not been seen before in the remembrance of man; wherefore
some said "That the same was done by necromancy, and that the Devil
was raised up, and become French:" the truth whereof is known to GOD.
But very true it is that no ship could brook the seas, by reason of
those extreme storms and tempests. And such of the Queen's ships as did
adventure the passage, were so shaken and torn, with the violence of
the weather; as they were forced to return with great danger, and the
loss of all their tackle and furniture.

Thus by the negligence of the Council at home, conspiracy of traitors
elsewhere, force and false practice of enemies, helped by the rage of
most terrible tempests of contrary winds and weather; this famous Fort
of Calais was brought again to the hands and possession of the French.

       *       *       *       *       *

So soon as this Duke of GUISE, contrary to all expectation, had, in a
few days, gained this strong town of Calais, afore thought impregnable,
and had put the same in such order as best seemed for his advantage:
proud of the spoil, and pressing forward upon his sudden fortune,
without giving long time to the residue of the Captains of the forts
there to breathe on their business; the 13th of the same month, with
all provision requisite for a siege, he marched with his army from
Calais into the town and fort of Guisnes, five miles distant from
thence.

Of which town and castle, at the same time, there was as Captain, a
valiant Baron of England, called WILLIAM, Lord GREY of Wilton [_See
Vol. III. p. 76_]: who, not without cause suspecting a siege at hand;
and knowing the town of Guisnes to be of small force (as being without
walls or bulwarks, and only compassed with a trench), before the
Frenchmen's arrival, caused all the inhabitants of the town to advoid
[_depart_]; and so many of them as were apt to bear arms, he caused to
retire into the Castle. Which was a place well fortified, with strong
and massy Bulwarks [_redoubts or batteries_] of brick: having also a
high and mighty tower, of great force and strength, called the Keep.

The town being thus abandoned, the Frenchman had the more easy approach
to the Castle; who, thinking to find quiet lodging in those vacant
houses, entered the same without any fear: and being that night, at
their rest as they thought, a chosen band of soldiers, appointed by
Lord GREY, issued out by a postern of the said Castle, and slew no
small number of their sleepy guests. The rest, they put out of their
new lodgings; and (maugre the Duke and all the French power) consumed
all the houses of the town with fire. That notwithstanding, the said
Duke, with all diligence, began his trenches: and albeit the shot of
the great artillery from the Castle was terrible, and gave him great
impeachment; yet did he continue his work without intermission, and,
for example's sake, wrought in his own person as a common pioneer or
labourer. So that, within less than three days, he brought, to the
number of thirty-five battery pieces, hard to the brim [_edge_] of the
Castle ditch, to batter the same on all sides, as well right forth as
across. But his principal battery, he planted against the strongest
bulwark of all, called Mary Bulwark [_a detached fort_]; thinking by
gaining of the stronger, to come more easily by the weaker.

His battery being thus begun, he continued the same by the space of two
days, with such terrible thundering of great artillery, that, by the
report of [F. DE] RABUTIN a French writer, there were, in those few
days, discharged well near to the number of 8,000 or 9,000 cannon shot.

Through the violence whereof, by the 20th of the said month, the said
great Bulwark was laid wide open, and the breach made reasonable and
easy enough for the assault; nevertheless, the said Duke (being a man
of war, and nothing ignorant of what devices be commonly used in forts
and besieged towns to entrap and damage the assailants) afore he would
put the persons of his good soldiers to the hazard of the assault,
caused the breach to be viewed once or twice by certain forward and
skilful soldiers; who, mounting the top of the breach, brought report
that the place was saultable [_assaultable_]. Nevertheless, to make
the climb more easy; he caused certain harquebussiers to pass over the
ditch, and to keep the defendants occupied with shot, while certain
pioneers with mattocks and shovels, made the breach more plain and
easy. [_See CHURCHYARD's account of this assault at p. 209. He was
one of the defenders._]

Which thing done accordingly, he gave order to Monsieur D'ANDELOT,
Colonel of the French Footmen, that he, with his Bands, should be in
readiness to give the assault, when sign should be given.

In which meantime, the Duke withdrew himself to an higher ground; from
whence he might plainly discover the behaviour as well of his soldiers
in giving the assault, as also of the defendants in answering the
same. And not perceiving so many of the English part appearing for the
defence, as he looked for; he gave order forthwith, that a regiment of
his most forward Lance Knights [_the Reiters_] should mount the breach
to open the first passage, and that Monsieur D'ANDELOT with his Bands
of the French, should back them.

Which order was followed with such hot haste and desperate hardiness,
that, entering a deep ditch full of water, from the bottom whereof to
the top of the breach was well forty feet, without fear either of the
water beneath or the fire above, they mounted the breach: and whereas
the Duke had prepared divers bridges made of plank-boards, borne up
with caske and empty pipes [_i.e., barrels of the size of a Pipe_] tied
one to another, for his men to pass the said ditch; many of the said
assailants, without care of those bridges, plunged into the water, and
took the next way to come to the assault.

Which hot haste notwithstanding, the said assailants were, in this
first assault, so stoutly repulsed and put back by the defendants,
being furnished with great store of wild fire and fricassees for the
purpose, that they were turned down headlong, one upon another, much
faster than they came up: not without great waste and slaughter of
their best and most brave soldiers; to the small comfort of the stout
Duke, who, as is said before, stood, all this while, upon a little hill
to behold this business. Wherefore, not enduring this sight any longer,
as a man arraged [_enraged_], he ran among his men; so reproving some
and encouraging others, that the assault was foot hot renewed with
much more vehemence and fury than before: and with no less obstinacy
and desperation received by the defendants; whereby all the breach
underneath was filled with French carcases.

This notwithstanding, the Duke still redoubled his forces with fresh
companies; and continued so many assaults, one upon another, that at
the last charge, being most vehement of all others, our men being
tired, and greatly minished in the number by slaughter and bloody
wounds, were, of fine [_sheer_] force, driven to avoid, and give place
of entry to the enemy.

Which was not done without a marvellous expense of blood, on both
sides. For, of the French part, there were slain and perished in these
assaults, above the number of 800 or 900 [_CHURCHYARD says, at p. 214,
4,000_]: and of the English, but little fewer [_800, p. 214_]; amongst
whom the greatest loss lighted on the Spaniards, who took upon them
the defence of the said Mary Bulwark: insomuch, as the report went,
that of the 500 [_or rather 450; whereof but 50 were Spaniards, the
rest English and Burgundians, see p. 209_] brave soldiers which King
PHILIP sent thither for succour, under the conduct of a valiant Spanish
Captain, called MOUNT DRAGON, there were not known to have come away
any number worth the reckoning, but all were either slain, maimed or
taken.

These outrageous assaults were given to the Castle of Guisnes, on St.
Sebastian's day, the 20th of January aforesaid.

At the end of which day, there were also gained from the English, two
other principal Bulwarks of the said Castle; which, being likewise made
assaultable by battery, were taken by the Almains [_? Swiss_], who
entered in by the breaches.

The Lord GREY, with his eldest son, and the chief Captains and soldiers
of the said garrison, who kept the Inner Ward of the Castle, where
the most high and principal Tower, called the Keep, stood; thinking
themselves in small surety there (being a place of the old sort of
fortification) after they saw the Utter Ward possessed by the enemy,
and such a number of the most forward soldiers consumed and spent; and
no likelihood of any more aid to come in time: by the advice of the
most expert soldiers there, concluded for the best, to treat with the
Duke for composition: according to the which advice, he sent forth two
gentlemen, with this message in effect. That

    the Duke (being a man of war, and serving under a King) should
    not think it strange if the Lord GREY likewise (being a man of
    war, and serving his Prince, in manner) did his like deavour
    [_endeavour_] in well defending the place committed to his charge,
    so far forth, as to answer and bide the assault; considering that
    otherwise, he could never save his own honour, neither his truth
    and loyalty to his Prince. In respect whereof, according to the law
    of arms, he required honourable composition.

Which message, though it was well accepted of the Duke; yet he deferred
his answer until the morrow. What [_At which_] time, the messengers
repairing to him again, composition was granted in this sort.

    First. That the Castle with all the furniture thereof, as well
    victuals as great artillery, powder, and other munitions of war,
    should be wholly rendered; without wasting, hiding, or minishment
    thereof.

    Secondarily. That the Lord GREY, with all the Captains, Officers,
    and others having charge there, should remain prisoners, at the
    Duke's pleasure; to be ransomed after the manner of war.

    Thirdly. That all the rest, as well soldiers as others, should
    safely depart, with their armour and baggage to what parts, it
    seemed them best: nevertheless, to pass, without sound of drum or
    trumpet, or displaying of an ensigns [_flags_]; but to leave them
    behind.

These conditions being received and approved on either party, the day
following, that is to wit, the 22nd day of the said month of January,
all the soldiers of the said fortress, as well English as strangers,
with all the rest of the inhabitants and others (except the Lord GREY,
Sir ARTHUR his son, Sir HENRY PALMER Knight, MOUNT DRAGON the above
named Captain of the Spaniards, and other men of charge reserved
by the Composition) departed, with their bag and baggages, from
thence, towards Flanders. At whose issuing forth, there was esteemed
[_estimated_] to the number of 800 or 900 able men for the war: part
English, part Burgundians, with a small remnant of Spaniards.

After the winning of this town and Castle, the Duke, advising well upon
the place, and considering that if it should happen to be regained by
Englishmen, what a noisome neighbour the same might be to Calais, now
being French; and specially what impeachment should come thereby for
the passage thither from France; considering also the near standing
thereof to the French King's fortress of Ardes, so that to keep two
garrisons so nigh together should be but a double charge, and not only
needless, but also dangerous, for the cause afore rehearsed: upon these
considerations, as the Frenchmen write, he took order for all the
great artillery, victuals, and other munition to be taken forth; and
the Castle, with all the Bulwarks and other fortifications there, to
be razed and thrown down, with all speed, and the stuff to be carried
away, and employed in other more necessary places.

Then there rested nothing, within all the English Pale on that side,
unconquered, but the little Castle or Pile called Hammes: which, though
it were but of small force, made by art and industry of man's hand,
and altogether of old workmanship, without rampiers [_ramparts_] or
Bulwarks [_redoubts_]; yet, nevertheless, by the natural situation
thereof, being environed on all sides, with fens and marsh grounds, it
could not easily be approached unto: either with great ordnance for the
battery, or else with an army to encamp there, for a siege; having but
one straight passage thereto by a narrow causey [_causeway_], traversed
and cut through, in divers places, with deep ditches always full of
water. Which thing, being well foreseen by EDWARD Lord DUDLEY, then
Captain there, having as good cause to suspect a siege there as his
neighbours, had, afore the Frenchmen's coming to Guisnes, caused all
the bridges of the said causey, which were of wood, to be broken; to
give thereby the more impeachment [_obstacles_] to the French, if they
should attempt to approach the same; as, shortly after, they did, and
kept divers of the passages.

But to deliver the Duke and his soldiers from that care, there came
to him glad news from those that had charge to watch the same causey;
how the Captain, having intelligence of the rendering of Guisnes, had
conveyed himself with his small garrison, secretly, the same night
[_of the 22nd of January_] by a secret passage over the marshes into
Flanders. Whereby, the Duke, being now past care of any further siege
to be laid in all that frontier, took order forthwith to seize the said
little fort into his hands; as it was easy to do, when there was no
resistance.

When this place was once seized by the French, then remained there
none other place or strength of the English on all that side the sea,
for the safeguard of the rest of the country: whereby the French King
became wholly and thoroughly Lord and Master of all the English Pale:
for now, as ye have heard, there was neither town, castle, or fortress,
more or less, on that side (saving Bootes Bulwark, near to Gravelines;
which now, [_in 1568_] King PHILIP keepeth as his); but it was either
taken away by force, or else abandoned and left open to the enemy. And,
as the Frenchmen write, besides the great riches of gold and silver
coin, jewels, plate, wool, and other merchandise (which was inestimable
[_i.e., beyond reckoning_]) there were found 300 pieces of brass,
mounted on wheels, and as many pieces of iron: with such furniture of
powder, pellets [_bullets_], armour, victuals, and other munitions of
war, scarcely credible [_see p. 250_].

Thus have heard the whole discourse of the Conquest of the noble town
of Calais with all the English fortresses and country adjoining, made
by the Duke of GUISE. The news whereof, when it came to the French
King: [_there is_] no need to ask how joyfully it was received! not
only by him and all his Court, but also universally through the whole
realm of France. For the which victory, there was, as the manner is,
_Te DEUM_ sung, and bonfires made everywhere, as it is wont to be in
cases of common joy and gladness for some rare benefit of GOD. Shortly,
upon this conquest, there was a public Assembly at Paris of all the
Estates of France: who frankly (in recompense of the King's charges in
winning Calais and the places aforesaid, and for maintenance of his
wars to be continued afterwards) granted unto him 3,000,000 of French
Crowns [_= about £900,000 then = about £9,000,000 now_]; whereof the
clergy of France contributed 1,000,000 crowns besides their _dîmes_.

And no marvel though the French did highly rejoice at the recovery of
Calais out of the Englishmen's hands! For it is constantly affirmed by
many that be acquainted with the affairs of France, that ever since the
town was first won by the Englishmen, in all solemn Councils appointed
to treat upon the state of France, there was a special person appointed
to put them in remembrance, from time to time, of Calais: as it were
to be wished that the like were used in England until it were regained
from the French.

Now seemed every day a year, to the French King, until he personally
had visited Calais and his new conquered country. Wherefore, about the
end of January, aforesaid, he took his voyage thither, accompanied
with no small number of his nobility. And immediately upon his arrival
there, he perused the whole town and every part thereof, from place to
place: and devising with the Duke of GUISE for the better fortification
thereof; what should be added to the old, what should be made new, and
what should be taken away. And after order taken for that business; he
placed there a noble and no less valiant Knight, called Monsieur DE
THERMES, to be Captain of the town: and so departed again to France.

After the French King's departure from Calais, he made great haste for
the accomplishment of the marriage moved between FRANCIS, his eldest
son, called the Dauphin, and MARY STUART, daughter and sole heir of
JAMES V., late King of Scotland: which Princess (if the Scots had been
faithful of promise, as they seldom be) should have married with King
EDWARD VI. For the breach of which promise, began all the war between
England and Scotland, in the latter end of King HENRY VIII. and in the
beginning of EDWARD VI. [_See PATTEN's account of the Wooing, Vol. III.
p. 51._]

This marriage (though it be not my matter) I thought not to omit; for
many things were meant thereby, which, thanks be to GOD! never came to
pass. But one special point was not hidden to the world, that, by the
means of the same, the Realm of Scotland should, for evermore, have
remained as united and incorporated to the Crown of France; that as
the Son and Heir of every French King doth succeed to the inheritance
and possession of a country, called the Doulphyn [_Dauphiné_], and is
therefore called Doulphyn [_Dauphin_]; and as the Principality of Wales
appertaineth to the Eldest Son of England, who is therefore called
the Prince of WALES: even so, that the Dauphin and Heir of France
should thereby have been King of Scotland, for evermore. Which name
and title, upon this marriage, was accordingly given to FRANCIS the
Dauphin and heir apparent of France, to be called "King Dauphin": the
meaning whereof was, utterly to exclude for evermore any to be King of
Scotland, but only the Eldest Son of France.

This memorable marriage was solemnized in the city of Paris, the 24th
day of April, 1558, with most magnificent pomp and triumph.



                   Lord +WENTWORTH+, the Lord Deputy
                   of Calais, and the Council there.
                _Letter to Queen MARY, 23rd May, 1557._

      [_State Papers. Foreign, MARY, Vol. X. No. 615._ In Public Record
                                                               Office.]


It may please your Highness to understand that, where upon circumspect
consideration and view of your Majesty's store here of munition and
other habiliments of war, there is presently [_at this moment_]
found not only a great want of many kinds thereof, but also such a
decay in divers other things as the same are not serviceable, and will
be utterly lost if they be not with speed repaired and put in better
estate; as this bearer, Master HIGHFIELD, Master of your Ordnance here
[_p. 196_], can declare more amply the particularities thereof, either
unto your Majesty, or unto such of your Council as shall please your
Highness to direct him: we have thought it our bounden duties to be
most humble suitors to your Majesty, that it would please the same to
give immediate order, as well for the supplement of the said lacks, as
also for your warrant to be addressed hither, for the repairing of all
other things requisite to be done within his office.

And thus we continually pray Almighty GOD for the long preservation of
your Highness in most prosperous estate.

From your town of Calais, the 23rd of May, 1557.

                             Your Majesty's
        Most humble bounden and obedient subjects and servants,

  WENTWORTH,
  WILLIAM GREY,
  RALPH CHAMBERLAIN,
  A. CORNWALLIS,
  EDWARD GRYMSTONE,
  EUSTACE HOBYNTON.



                 Lords +WENTWORTH+ and +GREY+, and the
                          Council at Calais.

                        _Report to Queen MARY,_
                        _27th December, 1557._

                       [_State Papers. Foreign, MARY, Vol. XI. No. 698._


Our bounden duties most humbly remembered unto your Highness. Upon the
receipt of the intelligences sent unto your Majesty this other day,
from me your Grace's Deputy; I forthwith dispatched to my Lord GREY
[_at Guisnes_], requiring his Lordship to repair to this town, that we
might consult of the state of your Highness's places and country on
this side.

So his Lordship coming hither, we have conferred together our several
intelligences: and finding the same in effect to agree, it hath very
much augmented our suspicion that this train [_design_] now meant by
the enemy, should be made towards your Highness's country or pieces.
Whereupon we, all together, have considered the state of the same; and
said our opinions therein, as it may appear unto your Highness by these
articles which we send herewith to your Majesty, which we have thought
our duties to signify unto you. Most humbly beseeching your Highness to
return unto us your pleasure therein.

So, we pray JESU, grant your Majesty long and prosperous reign.

At your town of Calais, 27th December, 1557.

                          Your Highness's, &c.

_Our Consultation, made the 27th December, 1557._


                               +GUISNES.+

    _First._ Having no supplement of men other than is presently there,
        we think it meetest, if the enemy should give the attempt, to
        abandon the Town (which could not be, without very great danger
        of the Castle); and defend the Turnpike, which is of the more
        importance, because that way only, in necessity, the relief to
        the Castle is to be looked for.

    _Item._ There is great want of wheat, butter, cheese, and other
        victuals.

    _Item._ It is requisite to have some men of estimation and service
        to be there [_i.e., at Guisnes_], that might be able to take
        the charge in hand; if either sickness or other accident should
        fortune to me the Lord GREY: which I, the said Lord GREY the
        rather require, by reason of Sir HENRY PALMER's hurt; being of
        any other person at this present utterly unfurnished.


                           +HAMPNES CASTLE.+

    _Item._ We think the same sufficiently furnished of men for the
        sudden; albeit this hard and frosty weather, if it continue,
        will give the enemy great advantage: yet we put in as much
        water as is possible.

    Of victuals, that place is utterly unprovided; except the Captain's
    store.

    That we also thought meet to have there some man of estimation and
    service, for the respects contained in the article of Guisnes:
    which also the Lord DUDLEY requires.


                            +NEWNAM BRIDGE.+

    _Item._ We think it meet, upon the occasion, to withdraw the bands
        [_companies of soldiers_] from the Causeway thither; and then
        are of opinion, the same to be sufficient to defend that piece
        for a season; unless the enemy shall get between this town and
        the bridge.

    It is clean without victuals, other than the Captain's own
    provision.


                               +RYSBANK.+

    Because that place standeth upon the sea, and by the shore side,
    may the enemy come in a night to it: we think it meet to appoint
    hither a band [_company_] of the low country [_the open district
    round Calais, within the English pale_] under the leading of
    Captain DODD.

    It is altogether unfurnished of victuals, other than for the
    Captain's own store.


                               +CALAIS.+

    Whereas all your Majesty's pieces on this side, make account to be
    furnished of victuals and other necessaries from hence; it is so,
    that of victuals your Highness hath presently none here: and also
    this town hath none, by reason that the restraint in the realm
    hath been so strait as the victuallers (as were wont to bring
    daily hither good quantities of butter, cheese, bacon, wheat, and
    other things) might not, of late, be suffered to have any recourse
    hither; whereby is grown a very great scarcity of all such things
    here.

       *       *       *       *       *

    _Finally._ Forasmuch as all the wealth and substance of your
        Majesty's whole dominion on this side, is now in your low
        country (a thing not unknown to the enemy): and if with this
        his great power, coming down (as the bruit goeth) for the
        victualling of Ardes, he will give attempt on your Highness's
        country; we do not see that the small number here, in respect
        of their force, can, by any means, defend it.

    And if we should stand to resist their entry into the country [_the
    open district_], and there receive any loss or overthrow; the
    country should nevertheless be overrun and spoiled: and besides
    it would set the enemy in a glory, and also be the more peril to
    your Highness's pieces [_towns_]. We therefore, upon the necessity,
    think it meet to gather all our men into strengths [_fortresses_];
    and with the same to defend your pieces to the uttermost.

    Notwithstanding, all the power on this side is insufficient to
    defend the pieces, in case the enemy shall tarry any space in the
    field.

    WENTWORTH,
  WILLIAM GREY,
  ANTHONY AUCHAR,
  JOHN HARLESTON,
  EDWARDE GRIMESTONE,
  N. ALEXANDER,
  EUSTACE HOBYNGTON.



                     Lord +WENTWORTH+, at Calais.

               _Letter to Queen MARY, 1 January, 1558,_
                               _9 p.m._

                        [_State Papers. Foreign, MARY, Vol. XII. No. 1._


    [One cannot help seeing that in this and the next letter, Lord
    WENTWORTH, quite hopeless of any successful attempt, was trying to
    make things look as pleasant as he could to the Queen.]

It may please your Highness, having retired the Bands from the Causeway
the last night [_31 December 1557_], and placed them at the Bridge [at
_Newhaven_ or _Newnham_] and within the Brayes [_i.e., Calais walls_]:
this morning early, I returned them to the said Causeway, to defend
that passage in case the enemy would attempt to enter there; and also
to offer skirmish to take some of them, and to learn somewhat of their
power.

Between nine and ten, the enemy showed in a very great bravery about
six ensigns [_regiments_] of footmen, and certain horsemen; and came
from the Chalk Pits down the hill towards the Causeway. Whereupon some
of ours issued and offered the skirmish; but the enemy would in no wise
seem to meddle.

During this their stillness, they caused about 200 harquebussiers to
cut over the marsh from Sandgate and get between ours and the Bridge,
and then to have hotly set on them on both sides. In this time also,
at a venture, I had caused your Majesty's Marshal, with the horsemen,
to go abroad, and maintain the skirmish with the footmen: and by that
[_time_] the Marshal came there, the enemy's harquebussiers that passed
the marshes were discovered; and ours took a very honest retire.
Which the enemies on the land side perceiving, came on, both horsemen
and footmen, marvellously hotly; to whom ours gave divers onsets,
continually skirmishing till they came to the Bridge, and there reposed
themselves. The bridge bestowed divers shot upon the enemy, and hurt
some. Of ours, thanked be GOD! none slain nor hurt, save a man-at-arms
stricken in the leg with a currion.

The alarm continued till one o'clock in the afternoon; before the
end whereof our enemy's number increased: for eleven ensigns more of
footmen came in sight, and three troops of horsemen.

Besides, the alarm went round about our country at that instant, even
from Sandgate to Guisnes; and bands of the enemy at every passage.

They have gotten Froyton Church, and plant themselves at all the
streights [_passages_] into this country. The bulwarks [_? earth
works_] of Froyton and Nesle have this day done their duty very well;
to whom I have this afternoon sent aid of men, and some shot and
powder. Howbeit I am in some doubt of Nesle this night.

I am perfectly advertised, their number of horsemen and footmen already
arrived is above 12,000; whereof little less have come in sight here.
The Duke of GUISE is not yet arrived, but [is] hourly looked for with a
more [_greater_] number.

This evening, I have discovered 500 waggons ladened with victuals and
munition; and have further perfect intelligence, that thirty cannons be
departed from Boulogne hitherwards.

They [_i.e., the French army_] are settled at Sandgate, Galley Moat,
Causeway, Froyton, Calkewell, Nesle, and Syntrecase. At one o'clock
after midnight, I look for them; being low water at the passage over
the haven.

Thus having set all things in the best order I can, I make an end of
three days' work; and leave your Majesty to consider for our speedy
succour. Beseeching GOD to grant your Highness victory, with long and
prosperous reign.

At your town of Calais, this New Year's Day, at nine of the night, 1557.

I have received your Majesty's letter [_of 31st December_] by [JOHN
HIGHFIELD] Master of the Ordnance [at Calais], who came in this
morning. The contents whereof I follow as near as I can.

                            Your Highness's
             Most humble and obedient servant and subject,

                                                            +WENTWORTH+.



                      Lord +WENTWORTH+ at Calais.

               _Letter to Queen MARY, 2 January, 1558,_
                               _10 p.m._

                                                   [_State Papers, &c._]


After my humble duty remembered, it may please your Highness. This last
night our enemies lay still, without anything attempting in the places
mentioned in my last letters; as we did well perceive, during the whole
night, by great fires made in the same places.

This morning early, I put out fresh footmen to the Bridge, to relieve
the watched men.

About nine a clock, the enemies in very great number approached the
Bridge, and offered the skirmish: whereupon issued out some of our
harquebussiers and bowmen, and kept them in play, with the help of
the shot from the Bridge, more than an hour; and in the end, being
overmatched with multitude, made their retire with the Turnpike,
without any loss or hurt. The enemies shadowing [_sheltering_]
themselves under the turnpike wall, with their curriors (which
assuredly shot very great bullets, and carry far) kept themselves in
such surety, as our pieces of the Bridge could not annoy them, till
at eleven o'clock, certain of ours, bored holes with augers through
the turnpike, and with harquebusses beat them out into the shot of
ordnance, and so made them retire to the Causeway.

This forenoon, certain Swiss and Frenchmen, to the number of 500, got
within the marshes between Froyton and Nesle bulwarks: and the men of
the Bulwarks seeing themselves to be compassed on all sides, and seeing
also that time yet served them well to depart; and (fearing they should
not so do, if they tarried till they were assailed on both sides, as
they could not indeed), forsook their Bulwarks, and right manfully,
notwithstanding their enemies between them and home, saved themselves
through the marshes. In the retire of the enemies, one COOKSON, a
man-at-arms, and few other soldiers, with the countrymen, rescued most
part of the booty (which was certain kine); and took three prisoners
of the Captain of Abbeville's Band.

The report of this enterprise of the enemy being brought to me, fearing
Colham Hill, I forthwith appointed your Majesty's Marshal with the
Horsemen, and 200 footmen to repair thither; and as they should see
their match, so to demean themselves. Ere these men had marched a
quarter of a mile, the enemies were retired out of the country, upon
occasion that wading, as they entered in, up to the girdle stead; and
perceiving the water to increase, [they] thought good to make a speedy
return: and nevertheless, for all their haste, went up to the breast.
And if they had tarried a little longer, I had put in so much water, as
I think would have put them over head and ears: and, GOD willing, at
the next tide, I will take in more.

This afternoon, they have been quiet, and we, in the meantime, be
occupied in cutting up of passages to let in more water about the
Bridge and that part of the marshes; whereby the enemies shall have
very ill watering.

I would also take in the salt water about the town [_of Calais_], but
I cannot do it, by reason I should infect our own water wherewith we
brew: and, notwithstanding all I can do, our brewers be so behindhand
in grinding and otherwise, as we shall find that one of our greatest
lacks. I therefore make all the haste and provision I can there, and
howsoever the matter go, must shortly be forced to let in the salt
water.

The three men taken to-day be very ragged, and ill-appointed. In
examining, they confess that "there is great misery in their camp,
and great want of money and victuals." They say (and I partly believe
it, because it almost appeareth to me), "their number to be 25,000
footmen, whereof 10,000 [are] Swiss; and 10,000 horsemen. The Duke of
GUISE is already among them, and the only deviser and leader of this
enterprise." They say also, "a shot from the Bridgeway to the Causeway
yesterday, struck off the Master of the Camp's leg, called Captain
GOURDAULT."

I am also perfectly advertised, both by these men and otherwise, that
they have no great ordnance yet come, but look for it daily by sea.
It is eighty pieces, whereof thirty be cannons: and are laden, with
munition and victuals, in 140 vessels which shall land at Sandgate;
or rather I think at Boulogne, it to be taken out of great ships
[there], and so again embarked at Sandgate in lesser vessels, as they
have done most part of their victuals and carriage that they have
hitherto occupied [_used_]. And, surely, if your Majesty's ships had
been on this shore, they might either have letted [_hindered_] their
voyage; or, at the least, very much hindered it: and not unlike[ly]
to have distressed them, being only small boats. Their ordnance that
comes, shall be conveyed in the same sort: it may therefore please your
Majesty to consider it.

I have also now fully discovered their enterprise; and am (as a man
may be) most sure they will first attempt upon Rysbanke; and that
way chiefly assail the town. Marry! I think they lie hovering in the
country, for the coming of their great artillery, and also to be
masters of the sea. And therefore I trust your Highness will haste over
all things necessary for us with expedition.

Under your Majesty's reformation [_correction_], I think, if you please
to set the passage at liberty for all men to come that would, bringing
sufficient victuals for themselves for a season; I am of opinion there
would be enow, and with more speed than can be made by order. Marry!
then must it well be foreseen to transport with expedition, victuals
hither.

I have written to the King's Majesty [PHILIP II.] of the enemies being
here: and was bold humbly to beseech his Majesty to give commission to
the governors of his frontiers [that] I might, in necessity, upon my
letter, have 300 or 400 harquebussiers, Spaniards, that now be placed
about St. Omer; whereof I thought it my duty to advertise your Majesty,
for your pleasure, whether I may write to the Governors to that effect,
upon his Majesty's answer, and take them or not?

I, with the rest of the Council here, are forced to put your Majesty
to some charges: for having taken in a confused number of countrymen
[_i.e., peasantry within the English Pale_], we must needs reduce them
to order, and the commoners also; and have therefore called them into
wages, and appointed Captains of the fittest men that presently [_at
this moment_] be here.

I have placed DODD with his Band in Rysbank, and the rest of the
extraordinary [_i.e., volunteer_] Bands be at the Bridge, and in the
Brayes of this town.

As I was making this discourse, six Ensigns [_regiments_] of footmen,
and certain Bands [_troops_] of horsemen, came from Sandgate by the
downs, within the sight of Rysbank: on whom, that piece, and this town
also, bestowed divers shots.

This evening, they have made their approach to Rysbank, without any
artillery: and, as far as I can perceive, do mind to make the assault
with ladders, hurdles, &c., and other things, and that way get it.

At Calais, the 2nd of January, at ten in the night, 1557.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I was in communication with your Mayor and Aldermen, touching the
state of this town (whom I find of marvellous good courage, and ready
to live and die in this town), I received letters from my Lords of the
Council, of your Majesty's aid provided for us.

I fear this shall be my last letter, for that the enemy will stop my
passage; but I will do what I can tidily [_duly from time to time_]
to signify unto your Majesty, our state.

                Your Majesty's most humble and obedient
                          servant and subject,

                                                            +WENTWORTH+.

[Illustration]



                    +JOHN HIGHFIELD+, Master of the
                          Ordnance at Calais.
                  _To the Queen, our sovereign Lady._

     [Lord HARDWICK's _Miscellaneous State Papers_, i. 114. _Ed._ 1788.]


Pleaseth it your Highness to understand the Declaration of your
humblest and faithful servant JOHN HIGHFIELD, concerning the besieging
and loss of your Grace's town of Calais.

First, being appointed by your most honourable Council [_i.e., the
Privy Council in London_] to repair into England [_on the previous 23rd
May, see p. 186_]; I came. And after some intelligence that the French
Army drew towards the English Pale, I was commanded to return with
diligence to my charge at Calais; and I arrived there on New Year's Day
in the morning, the enemy being encamped about Sandgate.

The said morning, after I had delivered letters to my Lord Deputy, from
your Grace's said Council, the said Lord Deputy told me how the alarm
was made the night before, and also what he thought meet for me to be
done for the better furniture of those fortresses which were in most
danger, as the Bulwarks of the High Country [_Froyton and Nesle_],
Guisnes, Newhaven Bridge, and Rysbank: and also for the defence of the
Low Country, because his Lordship thought their enterprise had tended
only to the spoil thereof. Then I showed that there was a sufficient
store of all munitions, and that I would send to all places as need
required; which was done.

_Item._ On Sunday following [_2nd January, 1558_], we perceived the
French ordnance was brought to their camp; whereby appeared that
the enemy meant to batter some place: and thereupon were two mounts
repaired for the better defence. At the same time, I desired to have
some pioneers appointed to help the cannoneers, who were not forty in
number, for the placing and entrenching of our great ordnance; which
pioneers I could never get.

The same day, the enemy forced our men to forsake the Bulwarks of the
High Country. And then it was moved to my Lord Deputy that the sea
might be let in, as well to drown the Causeway beyond Newhaven Bridge,
as also other places about the town: wherein was answered, "Not to be
necessary without more appearance of besieging," and because that "the
sea being entered in, should hinder the pastures of the cattle, and
also the brewing of the beer."

The same day, my Lord took order that victuals and other necessaries
should be sent to Newhaven Bridge for six days; which was done.

_Item._ On Monday [_3rd January_] in the morning, my Lord Deputy, with
the rest of the Council there, perceiving that the enemy intended to
approach nearer, were in doubt whether they might abandon the Low
Country: and by advice, my Lord gave order that the Bailiff of Marke
should appoint the servants and women of the Low Country, with their
superfluous cattle, to draw (if need happened) into the Flemish Pale;
and the said Bailiff with his best men, to repair to Marke Church, and
there to abide further orders.

The same morning before day, the enemy had made their approaches, and
did batter both Newhaven Bridge and the Rysbank; which were given up
before nine o'clock.

The Captain of Newhaven Bridge had word sent him that if he saw no
remedy to avoid the danger, that then he should retire with his company
into the Town.

The Captain of Rysbank did, about the same time, surrender; because, as
he told me since, his pieces were all dismounted, and the soldiers very
loth to tarry at the breach: wherein I know no more.

But after the enemy was entered, I cause the said Rysbank to be
battered; and when my Lord saw how little it profited, he commanded to
cease.

The same day, the passages being both lost, the enemy planted their
ordnance on the Sand Hill, to batter the north side of the town;
and then I moved my Lord to call in as many countrymen [_English
peasantry_] as he could, and to appoint them Captains and their several
quarters, for the relief of those which did most commonly watch and
attend on the walls. Who answered, "He had determined already so to
do." Howbeit the women did more labour [_watch_] about the ramparts
than the said countrymen; which, for lack of order in time, did absent
themselves in houses and other secret places.

The same evening, Captain SALIGUES [_or SELLYN_] came into Calais;
whereupon the people rejoiced, hoping some succour: but after that
time, it was too late to receive help by land, because the French
horsemen were entered the Low Country.

_Item._ On Tuesday [_4th January_] in the morning, the enemy began
their battery to the Town; on which side I had placed fourteen brass
pieces. Howbeit, within short time, the enemy having so commodious
a place, did dismount certain of our best pieces, and consumed some
of the gunners, which stood very open for lack of mounds and good
fortification. For if the rampart had been finished, then might divers
pieces have been brought from other places; which were above sixty
in number, ready mounted: but lacking convenient place, and chiefly
cannoneers and pioneers, it was hard to displace the French battery.
Which counter battery could not have been maintained for lack of
powder. For, at the beginning, having in store, 400 barrels; I found
there was spent within five days, 100.

_Item._ On Wednesday [_5th January_], the enemy continued their battery
on the town, without great hurt done, because they could not beat the
foot of the wall, for that the _contremure_ was of a good height, and
we reinforced the breach, in the night, with timber, wool, and other
matter sufficiently; and we looked that the enemy would have attempted
the assault the same evening; whereupon I caused two flankers to be
made ready, and also placed two bombards, by the help of the soldiers,
appointing weapons and fireworks to be in readiness at the said breach.
At which time, my Lord commanded the soldiers of the garrison to keep
their ordinary wards, and Master GRIMSTON to the breach with the
residue of the best soldiers. And then my Lord exhorted all men to
fight, with other good words as in such cases appertaineth. And my Lord
told me, divers times, that "although there came no succour; yet he
would never yield, nor stand to answer the loss of such a town."

_Item._ On Thursday [_6th January_], began one other battery to the
Castle; which being a high and weak wall without ramparts, was made
[as]saultable the same day. Whereupon, the Captain of the Castle
desired some more help to defend this breach, or else to know what my
Lord thought best in that behalf. Then, after long debating, my Lord
determined to have the towers overthrown, which one SAULLE took upon
him to do; notwithstanding, I said openly that "if the Castle were
abandoned, it should be the loss of the Town."

The same night, my Lord appointed me to be at the breach of the town
with him: and, about eight of the clock, the enemy waded over the
haven, at the low water, with certain harquebussiers, to view the
breaches; and, coming to the Castle, found no resistance, and so
entered. Then the said SAULLE failed to give fire unto the train of
powder [_see p. 204_].

Then my Lord, understanding that the enemy were entered into the
Castle, commanded me to give order for battering of the Castle;
whereupon incontinent there were bent three cannons and one saker [_p.
251_] before the gate, to beat the bridge; which, being in the night,
did not greatly annoy.

The same time, Master Marshall [_Sir ANTHONY AUCHER, see p. 176_]
with divers soldiers, came towards the Castle, lest the enemy should
enter the town also. And after we had skirmished upon the bridge,
seeing no remedy to recover the Castle, we did burn and break the said
bridge: and there was a trench immediately cast before the Castle,
which was [the] only help at that time.

Within one hour after, upon necessity of things, [my Lord] determined
to send a trumpet with a herald, declaring that "If the Frenchmen would
send one gentleman, then he would send one other in gage." Whereupon
my Lord sent for me, and commanded that I should go forth of the town
for the same purpose; wherein I desired his Lordship that he would send
some other, and rather throw me over the walls. Then he spake likewise
to one WINDEBANKE, and to MASSINGBERD, as I remember, which were both
to go unto such service.

Then my Lord sent for me again, in PEYTON's house; and being
eftsoons commanded by the Council there, I went forth with a trumpet
[_trumpeter_], and received in a French gentleman: who, as I heard,
was brought to my Lord Deputy's house, and treated upon some Articles;
which were brought, within one hour, by one HALL, merchant of the
staple.

Then Monsieur D'ANDELOT entered the town with certain French gentlemen;
and the said HALL and I were brought to Monsieur DE GUISE, who lay in
the sand hills by Rysbank, and there the said HALL delivered a bill:
and we were sent to Monsieur D'ESTREES' tent.

The Friday after [_7th January_], Monsieur D'ESTREES told me that my
Lord Deputy had agreed to render the town with loss of all the goods,
and fifty prisoners to remain.

On Saturday [_8th January_], he brought me into the town, willing me
to tell him what ordnance, powder, and other houses did belong unto my
office; because he would reserve the same from spoiling by the French
soldiers. And after he had knowledge that all my living was on that
side [_i.e., he had only his Mastership of the Ordnance at Calais_],
he was content that I should depart into Flanders.

Notwithstanding, I was driven off till Wednesday, [_12th January_].
Then he said, "He would send me away, if I would promise him to make
suit that his son might be returned in exchange for the Captain of the
Castle," who, being prisoner, desired me also to travail in it, for he
would rather give 3,000 crowns [_= £900 then = about £9,000 now_], than
remain a prisoner. Whereupon I promised to inquire and labour in the
same matter to the best of my power.

On my said return into the town, I found my wife, which showed me
that, in my absence, she had bestowed my money and plate to the value
of £600 [_= about £6,000 now_]; which was found before my coming,
saving one bag with 350 crowns [_= £105 = about £1,000 now_], which I
offered to give unto Monsieur D'ESTREES if he would promise me, on his
honour, to despatch me on horseback to Gravelines [_then held by the
Spaniards_]. Which he did.

       *       *       *       *       *

And there I met with Monsieur DE VANDEVILLE, to whom I told, that "I
thought the enemy would visit him shortly"; and, among other things, I
inquire where Monsieur D'ESTREES' son did lay; who told me, "He was at
Bruges."

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, at my coming to Dunkirk, there were divers Englishmen willing to
serve [_i.e., in PHILIP II.'s army_]: whereupon I spake to the Captain
of the town; who advised me to move it to the Duke of SAVOY.

Then I rode to Bruges, beseeching him to consider the poor men, and
how willing they were to serve the King's Majesty, if they might be
employed. Then he answered, that he "thought my Lord of PEMBROKE would
shortly arrive at Dunkirk and then he would take order."

Further, the said Duke asked me, "After what sort the town was lost?"

I answered that "The cause was not only by the weakness of the Castle,
and the lack of men; but also I thought there was some treason, for,
as I heard, there were some escaped out of the town: and the Frenchmen
told me, that they had intelligence of all our estate within the town."

Then I put the Duke in remembrance of Guisnes; who told me, that "he
would succour the Castle, if it were kept four or five days."

Then I took leave to depart from him, and when I was going out of the
house, he sent his Captain of his Guard to commit me to prison, where I
have remained nine weeks, [_January-March, 1558_], without any matter
laid to my charge; saving he sent to me, within fourteen days after, to
declare in writing, after what sort the town was lost, which I did as
nigh as I could remember.

And at the Duke's next return to Bruges, I sent him a supplication,
desiring that, if any information were made against me, I might answer
it in England, or otherwise at his pleasure.

    [In the Public Record Office, _State Papers, Foreign, MARY_, is the
    following letter in French.

    [Sidenote: 1558 March 14.]

    _EMANUEL PHILIBERT, Duke of SAVOY to Queen MARY._

    [Sidenote: St. Omer.]

    She will have been advertised that, soon after the French had
    entered Calais, JOHN HIGHFIELD, late Master of the Artillery
    there, came to Bruges. From strong suspicion that there had been
    an understanding between him and the French, had caused him to be
    arrested and detained at Bruges, where he has been until now.

    Lately, while repassing through that town, was importuned by the
    prisoner's wife to set him free. Sends her under the charge of a
    French gentleman, FRANCIS DU BOURCH, the bearer.]

Whereupon he took order to send me hither [_i.e., to England_] without
paying any part of my charges, which I have promised to answer.

Most humbly praying your Highness to consider my poor estate, and
willing heart, which I bear, and am most bounden to your Grace's
service: beseeching God to conserve your Majesty in all felicity.


                    +JOHN FOX+, the Martyrologist.

                _Mistress +THORPE's+ Escape at Calais._

                          [_Actes and Monumentes, p. 1702_, _Ed._ 1563.]

The worthy works of the LORD's mercy toward His people be manifold, and
cannot be comprehended: so that who is he living in the earth almost,
who hath not experienced the helping hand of the LORD, at some time or
other upon him?

Amongst many other, what a piece of GOD's tender providence was shewed,
of late, upon our English brethren and countrymen, what time Calais was
taken by the tyrant GUISE (a cruel enemy to GOD's truth, and to our
English nation); and yet by the gracious provision of the LORD, few, or
none at all, of so many that favoured CHRIST and His Gospel, miscarried
in that terrible Spoil.

In the number of whom, I know a godly couple, one JOHN THORPE and his
wife, which fear the LORD and loveth His truth; who being sick the
same time, were cast out into the wild fields, harbourless, desolate,
and despairing of all hope of life; having their young infant moreover
taken from them in the said fields, and carried away by the soldiers.
Yet the LORD so wrought, that the poor woman, being almost past
recovery of life, was fetched and carried, the space of well nigh a
mile, by aliens whom they never knew, into a village, where she was
recovered for that night.

Also the next day, coming towards England, she chanced into the same
inn at the next town, where she found her young child sitting by the
fireside.

[Illustration]


                  Lord +GREY+ of Wilton, Governor of
                               Guisnes.

                      _Letter to Queen MARY, 4th_
                        _January, 1558. 7 a.m._

                   [_State Papers. Foreign, MARY, Vol._ xii. _No. 711_.]

My most bounden duty humbly premised to your Majesty. Whereas I have
heretofore always in effect written nothing to your Highness but
good, touching the service and state of your places here; I am now
constrained, with woful heart, to signify unto your Majesty these
ensuing.

The French have won Newhaven Bridge, and thereby entered into all the
Low Country and the marshes between this [_Guisnes_] and Calais. They
have also won Rysbanke, whereby they be now master of that haven.

And this last night past, they have placed their ordnance of battery
against Calais, and are encamped at St. Peter's Heath before it: so
that I now am clean cut off from all relief and aid which I looked to
have (both out of England, and from Calais) and know not how to have
help by any means, either of men or victuals.

There resteth now none other way for the succour of Calais and the
rest of your Highness's pieces on this side, but a power of men out of
England, or from the King's Majesty [PHILIP II.]; or from both, without
delay, able to distress and keep them from victuals coming to them, as
well by sea as land; which shall force them to leave their siege to the
battle, or else drive them to a greater danger.

For lack of men out of England, I shall be forced to abandon the Town
[_of Guisnes_], and take in the soldiers thereof for the Castle. I have
made as good provision of victuals as I could, by any means, out of the
country; with which, GOD willing! I doubt not to defend and keep this
piece as long as any man, whosoever he be, having no better provision,
and furniture of men and victuals than I have: wherein your Grace
shall well perceive that I will not fail to do the duty of a faithful
subject and Captain, although the enemy attempt never so stoutly;
according to the trust reposed in me.

I addressed letters presently to the King's Majesty by this bearer,
most humbly desiring aid from him; according to the effect aforesaid.

I might now very evil[ly] have spared this bringer, my servant and
trusty Officer here, in this time of service. Howbeit considering the
great importance of his message, I thought him a meet man for the
purpose; desiring your Majesty to credit him fully, and to hear him at
large, even as directly as your Grace would hear me to open my mind in
this complaint of imminent danger.

Thus trusting for relief and comfort forthwith from your Majesty for
the safeguard of Calais, and your other pieces here; I take my leave
most humbly of your Grace.

At your Highness's Castle of Guisnes, most assured English even to the
death, the 4th January, 1557, at seven of the clock in the morning.

                  Your Majesty's most humble servant,
                         And obedient servant,

                                                         +WILLIAM GREY+.

[Illustration]


                     +THOMAS CHURCHYARD+, the Poet.

_Share in, and Eye Witness account of the Siege of Guisnes. 11th-22nd
January, 1558, A.D._

    [Besides living to an extreme age, all through ELIZABETH's reign,
        and writing very many poems and books: it is clear, from this
        account, that CHURCHYARD was one of the heroes of the Mary
        Bulwark at Guisnes.]

[_A General Rehearsal of Wars, &c. 1579_. The title in the headline is
_CHURCHYARD's Choice_.]

Sir William Drury, now [_in 1579_] Lord Justice of Ireland, was so
inclined to martial affairs, that, when foreign wars were ended, he
sought entertainment at Guisnes, and those parts; which had war with
the French, for King PHILLIP's Quarrel. And he, having charge, and a
lusty Band of Horsemen, did many things that merit good liking.

For at that time, [there] was much ado: a Band [_regiment_] of
horsemen, very well appointed and full of gentlemen, was sent from
[Sir THOMAS CHENEY, K.G.] the Lord Warden [of the Cinque Ports],
an honourable and a worthy gentleman, most full of nobleness; the
Lord CHENEY's father, now living. In this band, and belonging to
that charge, were sundry of the KEYES, gentlemen of good service:
Master CRIPPES having the leading of all that company. There were
sent, in like sort, from the Prince [_Sovereign, i.e., Queen MARY_]:
Master WILLIAM HERBERT's (of St. Gillian) brother, called Master
GEORGE HERBERT, with a Band of footmen; and one Captain BORNE, whose
Lieutenant I was, at the siege of Guisnes.

These bands, a good season before Calais and Guisnes were taken,
joining with other bands of Calais, did make divers journeys into
Bollinnoyes [_the Boullognois, or district round Boulogne_]; and sped
very well: Sir WILLIAM DRURY, at every service, deserved no little
praise; and one Captain WINNIBANK, an ancient soldier, was oftentimes
so forward, that he was once run through with a lance. Many Gentlemen
in those services did well and worthily: and sundry times the Lord
Warden's Band was to be praised.

And, at length, a voyage was made, by the consent and whole power of
Calais and Guisnes, to fetch a prey from Boulogne gates; Monsieur
SNARPOULE [_?SENARPONT_] then being Governor of Boulogne: but we could
not handle the matter so privily, but the French, by espial, had gotten
word thereof. Notwithstanding, as soldiers commonly go forward with
their device, so we marched secretly all the whole night to come to
our proposed enterprise: with our footmen, whereof Sir HARRY PALMER, a
man of great experience, had the leading. He remained, with the whole
power of [the] footmen, near the Black Neasts, as a stale [_decoy_] to
annoy the enemy, and succour for such as were driven in, if any such
occasion came. So the Horse Bands [_troops_] brake into the country,
and pressed near Boulogne; where there was a great number of gallant
soldiers to receive them: but our horsemen, making small account of
the matter, began to prey [upon] the country, and drive a booty from
the face of the enemy. The French horsemen, taking their advantage,
offered a skirmish, to detract time, till better opportunity served to
give a charge. This courageous bickering grew so hot, that the French
bands began to show; and our men must abide a shock, or retire hardily
with some foil: whereupon the chiefest of our horsemen charged those
of the French that were nearest danger; by which attempt, the French
stayed a while. But, upon small pause, they charged our men again, and
overthrew of the "Black Lances" a thirty: carrying away with them into
Boulogne, eighteen gentlemen, prisoners. This skirmish began at seven
o'clock in the morning; and lasted, in very great service, till a leven
[_eleven_]. From this overthrow, came divers soldiers, sore wounded,
to our Foot bands [_companies_]; whose heaviness made the valiant sort
pluck up their hearts, and seek a revenge.

Then, albeit, that Foot Captains and gentlemen seldom leave their
Bands, and venture beyond their charge (a rule to be much regarded!),
yet the stoutest Captains and gentlemen found means to horse themselves
on cart horses and victuallers' nags: and put certain scarfs, in manner
of guidons [_standards_] on staves' [_spears'_] ends; showing those
guidons under a hill in several sorts, sometimes appearing with twenty
men, sometimes with fifty. And, last of all, made show of all our
number, which was not fifty; and so, with a courageous cry, set upon
the enemy (leaving some of these devised guidons behind on the hill
top), and charged them with such a fury that they left their booty, and
stood to their defence: but, in fine, were forced to retire, for by the
little stay we held the enemy in, our footmen had leisure to march;
the sound of whose drums gave no great courage to the French. For they
thereon, gave back, and left some of their best soldiers behind them;
whom we brought to Guisnes: driving the prey before us, that was gotten
in the morning, lost in a skirmish, and recovered again at noon. At
this service, were Sir WILLIAM DRURY, Captain ALEXANDER of Newnham
Bridge, Captain CRIPPES, Captain KEYES, and three of his brethren,
Captain GEORGE HERBERT, and sundry others, in like manner, that merit
good respect.

Our power met many times together; and did much hurt in the
Boullognois. We besieged Fines Castle, and wan it: and Blossling
Church, and overthrew it; and killed all the men that we found therein,
because Sir HARRY PALMER was there hurt through the arm, with a shot.
[_A very sorry reason!_]

A long season, our fortune was good; till, at length, by some oversight
or mishap (Let the blame fall where it ought!) we lost Calais and
Guisnes.

       *       *       *       *       *

But a little, I pray you! give me leave to touch truly the Siege of
Guisnes: not because I had some charge there; but because sundry
reports hath been raised thereof, by those that never thoroughly knew
or understood the matter.

The very truth is, after Calais was won, and that all hope was taken
from us of any succour out of England, our General, the honourable Lord
GREY [of Wilton], that is dead [_he died in 1562_], and Master LEWIS
DIVE [_p. 211_], his Lieutenant, Sir HARRY PALMER, and all the Captains
of Guisnes, determined to abide the worst that Fortune or the French
could do.

And the day [_13th of January, 1558_] of the first approach the enemy
made, we offered a hot and stout skirmish; but being driven in by an
over great power, though our whole people were 1,300 men, and kept the
Town awhile. But considering the Castle to be strongest, and doubting
[_fearing_] that by a Cambozade or sudden assault, the town might be
won, for it was but weak; we retired our whole power into the Castle:
and so manned the base Court, the Braies, and Bulwarks, the Keep, the
Catte, the Heart of the Castle, and all that was necessary, with double
men.

At the present siege, there came out of Flanders, fifty valiant
Spaniards; and a band of Burgundians, Monsieur DIEFFKIE, being
their Captain. Monsieur MOUNT DRAGON was leader of the Spaniards:
who were placed in the Braies; where Captain LAMBERT had some shot
[_harquebussiers_] to succour them.

The Burgundians were placed in Mary Bulwark; with Captain BORNE's
Band, whose Lieutenant I was. Against this Bulwark, which was thought
impregnable, the [Frenchmen's] great battery was planted: albeit, three
or four days [_15th-18th January, see pp. 180-81_] were spent (we held
the enemy such play), before the battery was planted.

One day, we issued [forth], and set upon Monsieur [_i.e., the Duke_]
DE GUISE, as he was in a place called Mill Field, viewing the ground;
and had taken him, had he not left his cloak behind him: of the which
white cloak, one of our Gentlemen had hold of. And though he was
succoured, we brought away some of his company: and retired with little
loss or none at all. [Sir ARTHUR], the Lord GREY that now is [1579],
was at the hard escape of Monsieur DE GUISE.

We set upon a great troop of horsemen, not long before this, that came
from the spoil of Calais; and took numbers of them. I had, for my part,
a couple of fair horses and a prisoner. At both these services, were
old Captain ANDREA, Captain JOHN SAVAGE, and a sufficient number of
lusty soldiers.

We made divers sallies, but that prevailed not. For the battery went
off, and many other great cannons did beat at the high towers; the
stones whereof did marvellously annoy us: and the shot was so great;
and the enemy had gotten such great advantage of ground, that we could
not walk, nor go safely any way within the Castle. For our General and
Sir HARRY PALMER sitting on a form, devising for our commodity, were in
such danger, that a cannon shot took away the form, and brake Sir HARRY
PALMER's leg; of which hurt, he died in Paris after. And a great shot
took off Master WAKE's head, as he was sleeping under a great tree. So
sundry, that thought themselves safe, were so dribbed at with cannon
shot, that they never knew who did hurt them.

Well, the time drew on, after the breach was made, we must defend the
assault that was given to Mary Bulwark; which stood out[side] of the
Castle, and far from succour of any: because the gate was rammed up;
and we could not pass into the Castle but by the way, first, along the
Braies, and then, between two gates. Which way, the enemy had espied:
and placed many great shot, full upon that passage.

Now [_i.e., 18th January, 1558_] Monsieur DIFFKIE, Captain BORNE,
Captain OSWOLD LAMBERT [_with their companies_], and the fifty
Spaniards, [_to the number in all of about 450 men_] were forced to
abide the assault; which began at eleven o'clock, and lasted till
night. MOUNT DRAGON came into Mary Bulwark, and three gentlemen more;
and stood stoutly to our defence: two of whom were slain. My Captain's
head was smitten off with a cannon's shot: and unto our Band were left
no more but one Master HOLFORD and I, to guide the whole company. And
Captain DIFFKIE was wounded to the death, whose Band fought manfully in
the revenge of their Captain. The old Captain ANDREA, covetous of fame,
was desirous to have our fellowship: but he had no Band [_company_] nor
people to do us pleasure. Captain LAMBERT was crossed [_struck_] with
a great shot; and mine armour, with the breaking of a great piece, was
stricken flat upon my body; but [it] being unbraced, I might continue
the service. Which service, in mine opinion, was so terribly handled by
the French (Monsieur D'ANDELOT being the leader of the assault), that
both Englishman, Burgundian, and Spaniard, at that Bulwark, had enough
to do to keep the enemy out: and, as I believe, at this assault, we
lost 150 good soldiers.

But the night coming on, the French surceased their fury, and yet
kept themselves closely, under the top of the breach, where our shot
nor flankers could do them no harm: for all our great ordnance was
dismounted, long before the enemy made any approach for the giving of
an assault.

The next day [_the 19th of January_], within three half hours, the
battery had beaten the breach so bare (it moulded away, like a hillock
of sand) that we [_reduced now to about 300 men_] were forced to fight
on our knees. Having been kept waking all the night before, with false
allarummes [_alarms_]; our men began to faint, and wax weary of working
at the breach: but we defended Mary Bulwark so well all that dangerous
day, that the French lost 1,000 soldiers, by their own confession, at
the same service; and yet the assault endured to the very dark night,
with as much cruelty as could be devised. And always when the enemy's
first men did wax feeble with labour; there was a second and new
relief of fresh bands to continue the assault: so that, as long as the
daylight served, it seemed by the fight, a bloody broil hath no end,
nor season to take breath in; which certainly would have daunted any
heart living.

The next night, was so plied with politic practices, that we had
scarcely leisure to take any rest or sustentation. And, indeed, with
overwatching, some of our men fell asleep "in the middle of the tale"
and time of greatest necessity to debate and argue of those things that
pertained to life and liberty, and to avoid utter servitude and shame
[_i.e., they slept in the course of the fight_].

And now we, that were without the Castle, might hear great business and
stir throughout the whole body and heart of the piece [_fortress_].

For, the next morning [_20th of January, 1558_], which was the third
day we were assaulted, our General looked for a general assault, and
to be roundly assailed: as, of troth, he was. In the meanwhile, we
might speak one to another afar off, and our friends answered us over
the wall; for nearer together, we might not come: and for succour or
aid to our soldiers in Mary Bulwark, we hoped not after. Every man was
occupied with his own business and charge; that no one person might be
spared from his place.

Well, as GOD would permit, the poor Spaniards [in the Braie] and
such Burgundians as were left alive in Mary Bulwark, fell to make a
counterscarf, to beat out the enemy from the Braie, when the Bulwark
should be won: as it was likely to be lost, the breach was so bare,
and the entry for the enemy was so large; for, in a manner, they might
assault our Bulwark round about, on all sides. And they did lodge at
the very edge of the breach, to the number of 2,000, of their bravest
Bands: minding to assail us, as soon as the day began to peep out of
the skies.

Which they performed, when the third day approached. For a general
assault was given to every place of the Castle: which assault endured
till the very night came on. The French, in this assault, wan the Base
Court; and were ready to set fire under the gate, and blow it up with
powder.

Monsieur D'ANDELOT, in his own person, with 2,000 soldiers, entered the
Mary Bulwark; who slew the Spaniards in the Braie: and forced, as many
Burgundians and English as were left alive, which were but 15 (Captain
ANDREA, Captain LAMBERT, and MYSELF; with twelve common soldiers) out
of 400, to leap down into the dykes, and so to scramble for their
lives; and creep into a hole of a brick wall that my Lord GREY had
broken out to receive such as escaped from the assault. But when we had
entered the hole in the wall, the French followed at our heels; and we,
to save our lives, turned again, bending pikes against the passage,
and so shot off one hargaboze [_harquibus_]: by which means, the enemy
followed no further.

And yet we were in as great distress as before. For we were between two
gates: and at the gate we should have entered, were two great cannon,
ready charged to be shot off, to drive them back that would have set
fire on the gate. And the cry and noise was so great and terrible, on
all sides, that we could not be heard to speak. But, as GOD would,
Master LEWIS DIVE [_p. 207_] (now, a man of worship in Bedfordshire)
heard my voice. Then I plied the matter so sore, for life: so that,
with much ado, Master DIVE received us into the heart of the Castle.
And yet, in the opening of the gate, the French were like to enter
pelley melley [_pell mell_] with us, if a cannon shot had not made
place, whiles the gate was a shutting.

But now, we were no sooner come before my Lord GREY: but all
the soldiers cried, "Yield up the Castle, upon some reasonable
composition!" And when the soldiers saw they could not have the Castle
yielded; they threatened "to fling my Lord GREY over the walls": and
that was determined; if my Lord had not prevented [_forestalled_] them
with a policy. Whereupon the Captains were called together; and there,
they agreed to send me to Monsieur DE GUISE, with an offer, that "If we
might all march, with bag and baggage, ensign displayed, and six pieces
of ordnance: we would yield the Castle into the hands of the French."

Now it was night, and I must be let out at Master HARRY NORWITCH
his Bulwark; but neither Drum nor Trumpet went with me: because a
Trumpeter was slain as he sounded to have a parley; and, as I heard
say, a Drum[mer] that would have followed me, was shot in the leg. But
there was no remedy. I must wade over the water, in which there lay
certain galthroppes, as they term them, which were great boards, full
of long spikes of iron; on the which, having good boots and a stay in
my hand, I was taught daintily to tread: and the night was so dark,
that the enemy might not take any good mark of me, albeit they shot
divers times.

So, with some hazard, and no great hope to attain that I was sent for,
I was taken by the watch; and brought to Monsieur DE GUISE's tent,
where the Duke D'AUMALE and many great Estates were in presence.

My message being said, with due reverence made: the Duke told me, that
"all our ordnance was dismounted, and that thereby our malice was cut
off; and we could not do his camp any annoyance. Wherefore," said he,
"this was a stout brag, to seek a capitulation with such advantage
upon."

I replied to his Excellency, and told, "We had flankers [_guns with a
cross fire_] and other great pieces, which would not be discovered till
the next assault:" declaring likewise, "Our soldiers had sworn rather
to die in their [own] defence, than not to march away, like men of war."

The noblemen, on this mine answer, bade me "Return! and with the rest
of the Castle, to do the worst they could!"

So I departed, and the Duke of GUISE beholding, as he thought, we were
resolved to see the uttermost of fortune; called me back again: and
fell to questions and arguments with me, such as I liked not [_i.e., he
tried to bribe CHURCHYARD in some way_]; but other answer did I not
make, than you have heard before. Wherewith, he called for some meat;
and made me to sit down.

After I had a little refreshed myself, I demanded to know his pleasure.

Who straightways told me, "There was no help to be had; but to become
all captives and prisoners to the French King."

"Not so, Sir," I answered; "and that should the next assault make trial
of."

Then, he went to talk with the Noblemen; and there, they concluded,
"That the soldiers should march away with bag and baggage: and the
Captains and Officers should remain prisoners:" which I knew would not
be liked: and so desired to be sent to my Lord GREY.

But when I came into the Castle, and the soldiers had gotten word that
they might march away at their will: they came to me, and threatened
me with great words, commanding me, "To make despatch, and yield up
the fort!" For they said, "Since the matter is in talk, and likely to
be brought to a good purpose; they would cut my throat, if I made not,
hastily, an end of the case." And thereupon had they made a great hole
in a wall; and so they thrust me out among the Almains, who rudely
handled me.

But my Lord GREY, at my departure, bade me tell the Duke, that the
Almains were about to break into the Castle, and to set the gate afire:
and my Lord said, "He would shoot off his great ordnance among them; if
the Law of Arms were not better observed!"

But, in the meantime, at another place was entered Monsieur DE TRE
[_D'ESTREES_] Master of the [French] Ordnance; and [Sir ARTHUR] the
Lord GREY that now is, was sent to the Camp, for the pawn [_security_]
of Monsieur D'ESTREES.

But I was come to Monsieur DE GUISE before those things were finished:
and had told him my message. And he, like a noble Prince and faithful
Captain, rode to the gate (causing me to mount behind Master HARRY
DUDLEY); where the Almains were busily occupied about some naughty
practice: and, with a great truncheon, he stroke divers of the
Almains and others, to make them retire; and laying a load [_i.e., of
blows_] about him, he made such way, that the gate was free, and the
capitulation was, at leisure, talked of.

But I was not suffered to enter any more into the Castle; and so stayed
as a prisoner.

Notwithstanding, look what promise Monsieur DE GUISE made, it was so
well kept and observed that our soldiers marched away, with all their
wealth, money, and weapons. And great wealth was borne by them from
Guisnes: insomuch that divers poor soldiers were made thereby, for all
[the] days of their life after. And this is to be noted. There was
great honour in the Duke of GUISE. For the Bands [_originally 1,300
p. 207; but now about 500, having lost 800, see below_] that parted
[_departed_] (either sick or sound, hurt or whole) were honestly
conveyed, and truly dealt withal; even as long as they were in any
danger, albeit they had great sums of money and treasure with them: and
the General with his Captains and Officers were courteously used, so
long as they were in the Duke of GUISE his camp.

And, to say the truth, I think our peace was not so dishonourable, as
some report. For

    Succour, had we no hope of.

    The next assault had overthrown us.

    The whole members [_i.e., the external fortifications_] of the
      Castle were cut off from us.

    There remained but the bare body of the Castle in our custody.

    The enemy's cannons did beat us from the breach _on the inside_.

    The Castle was subject to every shot; both from the Keep, the
      Catte, and the Mary Bulwark.

    The French possessed all the special places of our strength and
      comfort.

    The best and chiefest of our soldiers were slain, or lay maimed in
      most miserable state.

    And we had lost 800 men in these assaults and services; which did
      their duty so well, that the enemy confessed that they had lost
      4,000, before we could be brought to any _parley_ or composition.

But some of our Officers [_? Is our Author here alluding to Captain
Lord DUDLEY at Hammes, p. 183_], by craft and cunning, escaped
homewards out of the Frenchmen's hands; came to Court, and made up
their Bands [_companies_] again; to the great reproach of those that
meant no such matters. So, by that subtilty and shift, they that
escaped got a pay or some reward of the Prince: and those that abode
out the brunt and hazard of the bloody broil, were left in prison.

And the world thought, by seeing so many come home, we had lost but
a few at the siege of Guisnes; which is otherwise to be proved and
affirmed for a truth; when true trial [_inquiry_] shall be made.

Calais was lost before, I cannot declare how. But well I wot, Sir
ANTHONY AGER, a stout gentleman, and a valiant Knight, there lost his
life: and one Captain SAULE was terribly burnt with powder, in making a
train to destroy the enemy [_p. 199_].


                    +JOHN FOX+, the Martyrologist.

                      _The death of Queen MARY._

                    [_The Ecclesiastical History_ ii. 2296, _Ed._ 1570].

Now then after these so great afflictions falling upon this realm from
the first beginning of Queen MARY's reign, wherein so many men, women,
and children were burned; many imprisoned, and in prisons starved,
divers exiled, some spoiled of goods and possessions, a great number
driven from house and home, so many weeping eyes, so many sobbing
hearts, so many children made fatherless, so many fathers bereft of
their wives and children, so many vexed in conscience, and divers
against conscience constrained to recant, and, in conclusion, never a
good man in all the realm but suffered something during all the time
of this bloody persecution. After all this, I say, now we are come at
length, the LORD be praised! to the 17th day of November, which day, as
it brought to the persecuted members of CHRIST rest from their careful
mourning, so it easeth me somewhat likewise of my laborious writing;
by the death, I mean, of Queen MARY. Who, being long sick before,
upon the said 17th day of November, 1558, about three or four a clock
in the morning, yielded her life to nature, and her kingdom to Queen
ELIZABETH, her sister.

As touching the manner of whose death, some say that she died of
a tympany [_dropsy_]; some, by her much sighing before her death,
supposed she died of thought and sorrow. Whereupon her Council seeing
her sighing, and desirous to know the cause, to the end they might
minister the more ready consolation unto her, feared, as they said,
that "She took that thought for the King's Majesty her husband, which
was gone from her."

To whom she answering again, "Indeed," said she, "that may be one
cause; but that is not the greatest wound that pierceth my oppressed
mind!" but what that was, she would not express to them.

Albeit, afterwards, she opened the matter more plainly to Master RYSE
and Mistress CLARENTIUS [_p. 140_] (if it be true that they told me,
which heard it of Master RYSE himself); who (then being most familiar
with her, and most bold about her) told her that "They feared she took
thought for King PHILIP's departing from her."

"Not that only," said she, "but when I am dead and opened; you shall
find Calais lying in my heart," &c.

       *       *       *       *       *

    And here an end of Queen MARY and her persecution. Of which Queen,
        this truly, may be affirmed, and left in story for a perpetual
        Memorial or Epitaph, for all Kings and Queens that shall
        succeed her, to be noted, that before her, never was read in
        story of any King or Queen in England, since the time of King
        LUCIUS, under whom, in time of peace, by hanging, heading,
        burning, and prisoning, so much Christian blood, so many
        Englishmen's lives were spilled within this realm, as under the
        said Queen MARY, for the space of four years, was to be seen;
        and I beseech the LORD may never be seen hereafter.

[Illustration]

[Illustration:



                            _+THE PASSAGE+
                      of our most dread Sovereign
                        Lady, Queen ELIZABETH,
                      through the City of London
                            to Westminster,
                          the day before her
                             Coronation._

                              Anno. 1558.


                           _Cum privilegio._]

[Illustration]


                _The Receiving of the Queen's Majesty._

    [Compare this with the similar Procession of her Mother in Volume
    II. _p._ 46; and of her sister MARY at _p._ 84 of this Volume.

    Here we see the Londoners in a kind of delirium of joy. The horrid
    nightmare of the burnings, of national loss and dishonour at
    Calais, &c., had passed away. Men could now breathe freely, and
    look forward to better times.]

Upon Saturday, which was the 14th day of January, in the year of our
Lord God, 1558 [_i.e., 1559_], about two of the clock, at after noon,
the most noble and Christian Princess, our most dread Sovereign Lady,
ELIZABETH, by the grace of GOD, Queen of England, France, and Ireland,
Defender of the Faith, &c., marched from the Tower, to pass through
the City of London, towards Westminster: richly furnished, and most
honourably accompanied, as well with Gentlemen, Barons, and other
the Nobility of this realm, as also with a noble train of goodly and
beautiful Ladies, richly appointed.

And entering the City, was of the people received marvellous entirely,
as appeared by the assembly's prayers, wishes, welcomings, cries,
tender words, and all other signs: which argue a wonderful earnest love
of most obedient subjects towards their Sovereign. And, on the other
side, Her Grace, by holding up her hands, and merry countenance to such
as stood afar off, and most tender and gentle language to those that
stood nigh to Her Grace, did declare herself no less thankfully to
receive her people's good will, than they lovingly offered it unto her.

To all that "wished Her Grace well!" she gave "Hearty thanks!" and to
such as bade "GOD save Her Grace!" she said again, "GOD save them
all!" and thanked with all her heart. So that, on either side, there
was nothing but gladness! nothing but prayer! nothing but comfort!

The Queen's Majesty rejoiced marvellously to see that so exceedingly
shewed towards Her Grace, which all good Princes have ever desired;
I mean, so earnest Love of Subjects, so evidently declared even to
Her Grace's own person, being carried in the midst of them. The
people, again, were wonderfully ravished with the loving answers and
gestures of their Princess; like to the which, they had before tried,
at her first coming to the town, from Hatfield. This Her Grace's
loving behaviour preconceived in the people's heads, upon these
considerations, was then thoroughly confirmed; and indeed implanted a
wonderful hope in them touching her worthy government in the rest of
her reign.

For in all her Passage, she did not only shew her most gracious love
towards the people in general; but also privately, if the baser
personages had either offered Her Grace any flowers or such like, as a
signification of their good will; or moved to her any suit, she most
gently (to the common rejoicings of all lookers on, and private comfort
of the party) stayed her chariot, and heard their requests. So that,
if a man should say well, he could not better term the City of London
that time, than a Stage wherein was shewed the wonderful Spectacle of a
noble hearted Princess towards her most loving people; and the people's
exceeding comfort in beholding so worthy a Sovereign, and hearing so
prince-like a voice; which could not but have set the enemy on fire,
(since the virtue is in the enemy always commended) much more could not
but inflame her natural, obedient, and most loving people; whose weal
leaneth only upon her Grace, and her government.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus, therefore, the Queen's Majesty passed from the Tower [_see as to
her former dismal visit in March, 1554, at p. 123_], till she came to
Fanchurch [_Fenchurch_]: the people on each side, joyously beholding
the view of so gracious a Lady, their Queen; and Her Grace no less
gladly noting, and observing the same.

Near unto Fanchurch, was erected a scaffold richly furnished; whereon
stood a noise of instruments; and a child, in costly apparel, which
was appointed to welcome the Queen's Majesty, in the whole City's
behalf.

Against which place, when Her Grace came, of her own will she commanded
the chariot to be stayed; and that the noise might be appeased, till
the child had uttered his welcoming Oration, which he spake in English
metre, as here followeth.

    O peerless Sovereign Queen! Behold, what this thy town
    Hath thee presented with, at thy First Entrance here!
    Behold, with how rich hope, she leadeth thee to thy Crown!
    Behold, with what two gifts, she comforteth thy cheer!

    The First is Blessing Tongues! which many a "Welcome!" say.
    Which pray, thou may'st do well! which praise thee to the sky!
    Which wish to thee long life! which bless this happy day!
    Which to thy Kingdom "Heapes!" [_Hips!_], all that in tongues can lie.

    The Second is True Hearts! which love thee from their root!
    Whose Suit is Triumph now, and ruleth all the game,
    Which Faithfulness has won, and all untruth driven out;
    Which skip for joy, when as they hear thy happy name!

    Welcome, therefore, O Queen! as much as heart can think.
    Welcome again, O Queen! as much as tongue can tell,
    Welcome to joyous Tongues, and Hearts that will not shrink!
    "GOD, thee preserve!" we pray; and wish thee ever well!

At which words of the last line, the people gave a great shout;
wishing, with one assent, as the child had said.

And the Queen's Majesty thanked most heartily, both the City for this
her gentle receiving at the first, and also the people for confirming
the same.

Here was noted in the Queen's Majesty's countenance, during the time
that the child spake, besides a perpetual attentiveness in her face,
a marvellous change in look, as the child's words touched either
her person, or the people's Tongues and Hearts: so that she, with
rejoicing visage, did evidently declare that the words took no less
place in her mind, than they were most heartily pronounced by the
child, as from all the hearts of her most hearty citizens.

The same Verses were fastened up in a table [_painted board. Table
is the Elizabethan word for picture_] upon the scaffold; and the Latin
thereof likewise, in Latin verses, in another table, as hereafter
ensueth.

    _Urbs tua quæ ingressu dederit tibi munera primo,_
      _O Regina! parem non habitura, vide!_
    _Ad diadema tuum, te spe quam divite mittat,_
      _Quæ duo letitioe det tibi dona, vide!_
    _Munus habes Primum, Linguas bona multa Precantes,_
      _Quæ te quum laudant, tum pia vota sonant,_
    _Foelicemque diem hunc dicunt, tibi secula longa_
      _Optant, et quicquid denique lingua potest._
    _Altera dona feres, vera, et tui Amantia Corda,_
      _Quorum gens ludum jam regit una tuum:_
    _In quibus est infracta fides, falsumque perosa,_
      _Quæque tuo audito nomine læta salit._
    _Grata venis igitur, quantum Cor concipit ullum!_
      _Quantum Lingua potest dicere, grata venis!_
    _Cordibus infractis, Linguisque per omnia lætis_
      _Grata venis! salvam te velit esse DEUS!_

Now when the child had pronounced his oration, and the Queen's Highness
so thankfully received it; she marched forward towards Gracious
[_Gracechurch_] Street, where, at the upper end, before the sign of the
_Eagle_, the city had erected a gorgeous and sumptuous Ark, as here
followeth.

A Stage was made which extended from one side of the street to the
other, richly vawted [_vaulted_] with battlements, containing three
ports [_gates_]; and over the middlemost was advanced three several
stages, in degrees [_tiers_]. Upon the lowest stage, was made one seat
royal; wherein were placed two personages representing King HENRY VII.,
and ELIZABETH his wife, daughter of King EDWARD IV. Both of these
two Princes sitting under one Cloth of Estate, in their seats; no
otherwise divided, but that th[e] one of them, which was King HENRY
VII., proceeding out of the House of LANCASTER, was enclosed in a red
rose; and the other, which was Queen ELIZABETH, being heir to the House
of YORK, enclosed with a white rose: each of them royally crowned
and decently apparelled, as pertaineth to Princes, with sceptres in
their hands, and one vawt [_vault_] surmounting their heads, wherein
aptly were placed two tables, each containing the title, of those two
Princes. And these personages were so set, that the one of them joined
hands with the other, with the ring of matrimony perceived on the
finger.

Out of the which two roses sprang two branches gathered into one:
which were directed upward to the second stage or degree; wherein was
placed one representing the valiant and noble Prince, HENRY VIII., who
sprang out of the former stock, crowned with a crown imperial. And by
him sate one representing the right worthy Lady, Queen ANNE; wife to
the said HENRY VIII., and mother to our most sovereign Lady, Queen
ELIZABETH that now is. Both apparelled with sceptres and diadems, and
other furniture due to the estate of a King and Queen: and two tables
surmounting their heads, wherein were written their names and titles.

From their seat also, proceeded upwards one branch directed to the
third and uppermost stage or degree, wherein likewise was planted a
seat royal; in the which was set one representing the Queen's most
excellent Majesty, ELIZABETH, now our most dread Sovereign Lady,
crowned and apparelled as the other Princes were.

Out of the forepart of this pageant was made a standing for a child,
which, at the Queen's Majesty's coming, declared unto her the whole
meaning of the said pageant.

The two sides of the same were filled with loud noises of music.

And all empty places thereof, were furnished with sentences concerning
Unity. And the whole pageant was garnished with red and white roses;
and in the forefront of the same pageant, in a fair wreath, was written
the name and title of the same, which was

                        +THE UNITING OF THE TWO+
                    +HOUSES OF YORK AND LANCASTER.+

This pageant was grounded upon the Queen Majesty's name. For like
as the long war between the two Houses of YORK and LANCASTER then
ended, when ELIZABETH, daughter of EDWARD IV., matched in marriage
with HENRY VII., heir to the House of LANCASTER; so since that the
Queen's Majesty's name was ELIZABETH, and forasmuch as she is the only
heir of HENRY VIII., which came of both Houses as the knitting up of
concord: it was devised that like as ELIZABETH was the first occasion
of concord; so She, another ELIZABETH, might maintain the same among
her subjects. So that Unity was the end, whereat the whole device shot;
as the Queen's Majesty's name moved the first ground.

This pageant now against the Queen's Majesty's coming, was addressed
[_set forth_] with children representing the forenamed personages; with
all furniture due unto the setting forth of such a well-meant matter,
as the argument declared, costly and sumptuously set forth, as the
beholders can witness.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, the Queen's Majesty drew near unto the said pageant, and forasmuch
as the noise was great, by reason of the press of people, so that she
could scarce hear the child which did interpret the said pageant; and
her chariot was passed so far forward that she could not well view the
personages representing the Kings and Queens above named; she required
to have the matter opened unto her, and what they signified, with the
End of Unity, and Ground of her Name, according as is before expressed.

For the sight whereof, Her Grace caused her chariot to be removed back;
and yet hardly could she see, because the children were set somewhat
with the farthest in.

But after that Her Grace understood the meaning thereof, she thanked
the City, praised the fairness of the work, and promised that "She
would do her whole endeavour for the continual preservation of
concord!" as the pageant did import.

       *       *       *       *       *

The child appointed in the standing above named, to open the meaning of
the said pageant, spake these words unto Her Grace.

    The two Princes that sit under one Cloth of State:
    The Man in the red rose; the Woman in the white:
    HENRY the SEVENTH, and Queen ELIZABETH his mate,
    By ring of marriage, as man and wife unite.

    Both heirs to both their bloods: to LANCASTER, the King,
    The Queen, to YORK; in one the two Houses do knit.
    Of whom, as Heir to both, HENRY the EIGHTH did spring,
    In whose seat, his true Heir, thou, Queen ELIZABETH! dost sit!

    Therefore as civil war and shed of blood did cease;
    When these two Houses were united into one:
    So now, that jar shall stint and quietness increase,
    We trust, O noble Queen! thou wilt be cause alone!

The which also were written in Latin verses. And both drawn in two
tables upon the forefront of the said pageant, as hereafter followeth.

    _Hii quos jungit idem solium, quos annulus idem:_
      _Hæc albente nitens, ille rubente rosa:_
    _SEPTIMUS HENRICUS rex, regina ELIZABETHA,_
      _Scilicet Hæredes gentis uterque suæ._
    _Hæc EBORACENSIS, LANCASTRIUS ille dederunt_
      _Connubio e geminis quo foret una domus._
    _Excipit hos hæres HENRICUS copula regum_
      _OCTAVUS, magni regis imago potens._
    _Regibus hinc succedis avis regique parenti_
      _Patris justa Hæres ELIZABETHA tui._

               ¶ _+SENTENCES PLACED THEREIN, CONCERNING+
                               +UNITY.+_

    _Nullæ concordes animos vires domant._
    _Qui juncti terrent, dejuncti timent._
    _Discordes animi solvunt, concordes ligant._
    _Augentur parva pace, magna bello cadunt._
    _Conjunctæ manus fortius tollunt onus._
    _Regno pro moenibus æneis civium concordia._
    _Qui diu pugnant, diutius lugent._
    _Dissidentes principes, subditorum lues._

    _Princeps ad pacem natus, non ad arma datur._
    _Filia concordiæ copia, neptis quies._
    _Dissentiens respublica hostibus patet._
    _Qui idem tenent, diutius tenent._
    _Regnum divisum facile dissolvitur._
    _Civitas concors armis frustra tentatur._
    _Omnium gentium consensus firmat fidem._
                    &c.

These Verses and other pretty Sentences were drawn in void places
of this pageant, all tending to one end, that quietness might be
maintained and all dissention displaced: and that by the Queen's
Majesty, Heir to Agreement, and agreeing in name with her which tofore
had joined those Houses, which had been the occasion of much debate
and Civil War with this realm (as may appear to such as well search
Chronicles; but be not to be touched in this Treatise, only declaring
Her Grace's Passage through the City, and what provision the City made
therefore).

And ere the Queen's Majesty came within hearing of this pageant, as
also at all the other pageants; she sent certain to require the people
to be silent, for Her Majesty was disposed to hear all that should be
said unto her.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the Queen's Majesty had heard the child's oration and understood
the meaning of the pageant at large; she marched forward towards
Cornhill, always received with like rejoicing of the people.

And there, as Her Grace passed by the Conduit, which was curiously
trimmed against that time, adorned with rich banners, and a noise of
loud instruments upon the top thereof: she espied the second pageant.
And because she feared, for the people's noise, that she should not
hear the child which did expound the same, she inquired what that
pageant was, ere that she came to it. And there understood, that
there was a child representing Her Majesty's person, placed in a Seat
of Government, supported by certain Virtues which suppressed their
contrary Vices under their feet: and so forth, as, in the description
of the said pageant, shall hereafter appear.

This pageant, standing in the nether end of Cornhill, was extended
from one side of the street to the other; and, in the same pageant
was devised three gates, all open: and over the middle part thereof
was erected one Chair or Seat royal, with Cloth of Estate to the same
appertaining, wherein was placed a child representing the Queen's
Highness, with consideration had for place convenient for a table,
which contained her name and title.

And in a comely wreath, artificially and well devised, with perfect
sight and understanding to the people, in the front of the same
pageant, was written the name and title thereof which is

                    +THE SEAT OF WORTHY GOVERNANCE.+

Which Seat was made in such artificial manner, as to the appearance of
the lookers on, the forepart seemed to have no stay; and therefore, of
force, was stayed by lively [_living_] personages. Which personages
were in number four, standing and staying the forefront of the same
Seat royal, each having his face to the Queen and the people; whereof
every one had a table to express their effects. Which are Virtues,
namely, PURE RELIGION, LOVE OF SUBJECTS, WISDOM, and JUSTICE; which
did tread their contrary Vices under their feet: that is to wit, PURE
RELIGION did tread upon IGNORANCE and SUPERSTITION, LOVE OF SUBJECTS
did tread upon REBELLION and INSOLENCY, WISDOM did tread upon FOLLY and
VAINGLORY, JUSTICE did tread upon ADULATION and BRIBERY. Each of these
personages, according to their proper names and properties, had not
only their names in plain and perfect writing set upon their breasts,
easily to be read of all: but also every of them was aptly and properly
apparelled; so that his apparel and name did agree to express the same
person, that in title he represented. This part of the pageant was thus
appointed and furnished.

The two sides over the two side ports had in them placed a noise of
instruments [_i.e., a band of players_]; which, immediately after the
child's speech, gave a heavenly melody.

Upon the top or uppermost part of the said pageant stood the Arms of
England, royally portraitured; with the proper beasts to uphold the
same. One representing the Queen's Highness sat in this Seat, crowned
with an imperial crown: and before her seat was a convenient place
appointed for one child, which did interpret and apply the said pageant
as hereafter shall be declared.

Every void place was furnished with proper Sentences commending the
Seat supported by the Virtues; and defacing the Vices, to the utter
extirpation of rebellion, and to everlasting continuance of quietness
and peace.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Queen's Majesty approaching nigh unto this pageant, thus beautified
and furnished in all points, caused her chariot to be drawn nigh
thereunto, that Her Grace might hear the child's oration, which was
this:

      While that Religion True shall Ignorance suppress,
    And with her weighty foot, break Superstition's head;
    While Love of Subjects shall Rebellion distress,
    And with Zeal to the Prince, Insolency down tread;

      While Justice can Flattering tongues and Bribery deface;
    While Folly and Vainglory, to Wisdom yield their hands:
    So long, shall Government not swerve from her right race,
    But Wrong decayeth still, and Righteousness upstands.

      Now all thy subjects' hearts, O Prince of peerless fame!
    Do trust these virtues shall maintain up thy throne!
    And Vice be kept down still, the wicked put to shame;
    That good with good may joy, and naught with naught may moan!

Which Verses were painted upon the right side of the same pageant; and
in Latin thereof, on the left side, in another table, which were these.

    _Quæ subnixa alte solio regina superbo est,_
      _Effigiem sanctæ Principis alma refert,_
    _Quam Civilis Amor fulcit, Sapientia firmat,_
      _Justicia illustrat, Religioque beat_
    _Vana Superstitio et crassæ Ignorantia frontis_

      _Pressæ sub Pura Religione jacent._
    _Regis Amor domat Effrænos, animosque rebelles_
      _Justus Adulantes, Donivorosque terit._
    _Cum regit Imperium sapiens, sine luce sedebunt_
      _Stultitia, atque hujus numen inanis honor._

Beside these Verses, there were placed in every void room of the
pageant, both in English and Latin, such Sentences as advanced the Seat
of Governance up-holden by Virtue.

The ground of this pageant was that, like as by Virtues (which do
abundantly appear in Her Grace), the Queen's Majesty was established in
the Seat of Government; so she should sit fast in the same, so long as
she embraced Virtue, and held Vice under foot. For if Vice once got up
the head, it would put the Seat of Government in peril of falling.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Queen's Majesty, when she had heard the child, and understood the
pageant at full, gave the City also thanks there; and most graciously
promised her good endeavour for the maintenance of the said virtues,
and suppression of vices.

       *       *       *       *       *

And so marched on, till she came against the Great Conduit in Cheap;
which was beautified with pictures and sentences accordingly, against
Her Grace's coming thither.

       *       *       *       *       *

Against Soper Lane's end was extended from the one side of the street
to the other, a pageant which had three gates, all open.

Over the middlemost whereof, were erected three several stages, whereon
sat eight children, as hereafter followeth. On the uppermost, one
child; on the middle, three; on the lowest, four; each having the
proper name of the Blessing that he did represent, written in a table,
and placed above his head.

In the forefront of this pageant, before the children which did
represent the Blessings, was a convenient standing cast out for a child
to stand, which did expound the said pageant unto the Queen's Majesty;
as was done in the other before. Every of these children were appointed
and apparelled according to the Blessing, which he did represent.

And on the forepart of the said pageant was written, in fair letters,
the name of the said pageant, in this manner following.

                   +THE EIGHT BEATITUDES, EXPRESSED+
                     +IN THE FIFTH CHAPTER OF THE+
                      +GOSPEL OF SAINT MATTHEW,+
                      +APPLIED TO OUR SOVEREIGN+
                        +LADY QUEEN ELIZABETH.+

Over the two side posts was placed a noise of instruments.

And all void places in the pageant were furnished with pretty Sayings
commending and touching the meaning of the said pageant; which were the
Promises and Blessings of Almighty GOD made to His people.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before the Queen's Highness came into this pageant, she required the
matter somewhat to be opened unto her; that Her Grace might the better
understand what should, afterward, by the child, be said unto her.
Which was so, that the City had there erected the pageant with eight
children, representing the Eight Blessings touched in the Fifth Chapter
of _St. Matthew_; whereof every one, upon just considerations, was
applied unto Her Highness. And that the people thereby put Her Grace
in mind, that as her good doings before, had given just occasion why
that these Blessings might fall upon her; that so, if Her Grace did
continue in her goodness, as she had entered, she should hope for the
fruit of these Promises, due unto them that do exercise themselves in
the Blessings.

Which Her Grace heard marvellously graciously, and required that the
chariot might be removed towards the pageant, that she might perceive
the child's words: which were these, the Queen's Majesty giving most
attentive ear, and requiring that the people's noise might be stayed.

    Thou hast been eight times blest! O Queen of worthy fame!
    By Meekness in thy spirit, when care did thee beset!
    By Mourning in thy grief! by Mildness in thy blame!
    By Hunger and by Thirst, and justice couldst none get!

    By Mercy showed, not felt! by Cleanness of thy heart!
    By seeking Peace always! by Persecution wrong!
    Therefore, trust thou in GOD! since He hath helped thy smart!
    That, as His Promise is, so He will make thee strong!

When these words were spoken, all the people wished that "As the
child had spoken, so GOD would strengthen Her Grace against all her
adversaries!" whom the Queen's Majesty did most gently thank, for their
so loving wish.

       *       *       *       *       *

These Verses were painted on the left side of the said pageant; and
other, in Latin, on the other side, which were these:

    _Qui lugent hilares fient, qui mitia gestant_
      _Pectora, multa soli jugera culta metent._
    _Justitiam esuriens sitiensve replebitur, ipsum_
      _Fas homini puro corde videre DEUM._
    _Quem alterius miseret Dominus miserebitur hujus,_
      _Pacificus quisquis, filius ille DEI est._
    _Propter justitiam quisquis patietur habetque_
      _Demissam mentem, cælica regna capit._
    _Huic hominum generi terram, mare, sidera vovit_
      _Omnipotens, horum quisque beatus erit_.

Besides these, every void place in the pageant was furnished with
Sentences touching the matter and ground of the said pageant.

       *       *       *       *       *

When all that was to be said in this pageant was ended; the Queen's
Majesty passed on forward in Cheap side.

At the Standard in Cheap, which was dressed fair against the time, was
placed a noise of trumpets, with banners and other furniture.

The Cross, likewise, was also made fair and well trimmed. And near unto
the same, upon the porch of Saint Peter's Church door, stood the Waits
of the City; which did give a pleasant noise with their instruments,
as the Queen's Majesty did pass by. Who, on every side, cast her
countenance, and wished well to all her most loving people.

Soon after that Her Grace passed the Cross, she had espied the pageant
erected at the Little Conduit in Cheap; and incontinent required to
know what it might signify. And it was told Her Grace, that there was
placed TIME.

"TIME!" quoth she, "and Time hath brought me hither!" And so forth the
whole matter was opened to Her Grace, as hereafter shall be declared
in the description of the pageant. But when in the opening, Her Grace
understood that the _Bible_ in English, should be delivered unto her
by TRUTH (which was therein represented by a child), she thanked the
City for that gift, and said that she would oftentimes read over that
book; commanding Sir JOHN PARRAT, one of the knights which held up her
canopy, to go before, and to receive it: but learning that it should be
delivered unto Her Grace, down by a silken lace, she caused him to stay.

And so passed forward till she came against the Aldermen, in the high
end of Cheap, tofore the Little Conduit; where the Companies of the
City ended, which began at Fanchurch [_Fenchurch Street_] and stood
along the streets, one by another, enclosed with rails hanged with
cloths, and themselves well apparelled with many rich furs, and their
Livery Hoods upon their shoulders, in comely and seemly manner; having
before them sundry persons well apparelled in silks and chains of gold,
as Whifflers and Guarders of the said Companies: besides a number of
rich hangings (as well of tapestry, arras, cloths of gold, silver,
velvet, damask, satin, and other silks) plentifully hanged all the way,
as the Queen's Highness passed from the Tower through the City. Out at
the windows and penthouses of every house did hang a number of rich and
costly banners and streamers, till Her Grace came to the upper end of
Cheap.

       *       *       *       *       *

And there by appointment, the Right Worshipful Master RANULPH
CHOLMELEY, Recorder of the City, presented to the Queen's Majesty, a
purse of crimson satin, richly wrought with gold; wherein the City gave
unto the Queen's Majesty a thousand marks in gold [_= £666 = about
£5,000 now_]; as Master Recorder did declare briefly unto the Queen's
Majesty. [_Compare the similar usual gift to her Mother 25 years
before, at Vol. II. p. 48._] Whose words tended to this end, that "The
Lord Mayor, his brethren and commonalty of the City, to declare their
gladness and good will towards the Queen's Majesty, did present Her
Grace with that gold; desiring Her Grace to continue their good and
gracious Queen, and not to esteem the value of the gift, but the mind
of the givers."

The Queen's Majesty, with both her hands took the purse, and answered
to him again marvellously pithily; and so pithily that the standers by,
as they embraced entirely her gracious answer, so they marvelled at the
couching thereof: which was in words truly reported these. "I thank my
Lord Mayor, his brethren, and you all! And whereas your request is,
that I should continue your good Lady and Queen: be ye ensured that
I will be as good unto you, as ever Queen was to her people! No will
in me can lack! neither, do I trust, shall there lack any power! And
persuade yourselves that, for the safety and quietness of you all, I
will not spare, if need be, to shed my blood! GOD thank you all!"

Which answer of so noble hearted a Princess, if it moved a marvellous
shout and rejoicing, it is nothing to be marvelled at; since both the
heartiness thereof was so wonderful, and the words so jointly knit.

       *       *       *       *       *

When Her Grace had thus answered the Recorder, she marched towards
the Little Conduit; where was erected a pageant, with square
proportion, standing directly before the same Conduit, with battlements
accordingly. And in the same pageant were advanced two hills or
mountains of convenient height.

The one of them, being on the north side of the same pageant, was
made cragged, barren, and stony; in the which was erected one tree,
artificially made, all withered and dead, with branches accordingly.
And under the same tree, at the foot thereof, sat one, in homely and
rude apparel, crookedly, and in mourning manner, having over his head
in a table, written in Latin and English, his name, which was

                        +_RUINOSA RESPUBLICA_+,
                        +A DECAYED COMMON WEAL.+

And upon the same withered tree, were fixed certain tables wherein were
written proper Sentences, expressing the causes of the Decay of the
Common weal.

The other hill, on the south side, was made fair, fresh, green, and
beautiful; the ground thereof full of flowers and beauty. And on the
same was erected also one tree, very fresh and fair; under which, stood
upright one fresh personage, well apparelled and appointed; whose name
also was written, both in English and in Latin, which was

                     +_RESPUBLICA BENE INSTITUTA_+,
                      +A FLOURISHING COMMON WEAL.+

And upon the same tree also, were fixed certain tables containing
Sentences, which expressed the causes of a Flourishing Common weal.

In the middle, between the said hills, was made artificially, one
hollow place or cave, with door and lock enclosed; out of which,
a little before the Queen's Highness's coming thither, issued one
personage, whose name was TIME (apparelled as an old man, with a scythe
in his hands, having wings artificially made), leading a personage, of
less stature than himself, which was finely and well apparelled, all
clad in white silk; and directly over her head was set her name and
title, in Latin and English, TEMPORIS FILIA, THE DAUGHTER OF TIME.

Which two, so appointed, went forward, towards the south side of the
pageant.

And on her breast was written her proper name, VERITAS, TRUTH; who held
a book in her hand, upon the which was written, _Verbum Veritatis, The
Word of Truth_.

And out of the south side of the pageant, was cast a standing for a
child, which should interpret the same pageant.

       *       *       *       *       *

Against whom, when the Queen's Majesty came, he spake unto Her Grace
these words:

    This old man with the scythe, old Father TIME they call:
    And her, his daughter TRUTH, which holdeth yonder book;
    Whom he out of his rock hath brought forth to us all,
    From whence, these many years, she durst not once outlook.

    The ruthful wight that sitteth under the barren tree,
    Resembleth to us the form when Common weals decay;
    But when they be in state triumphant, you may see
    By him in fresh attire, that sitteth under the bay.

    Now since that TIME again, his daughter TRUTH hath brought;
    We trust, O worthy Queen! thou wilt this Truth embrace!
    And since thou understandest the good estate and nought;
    We trust Wealth thou wilt plant, and Barrenness displace!

    But for to heal the sore, and cure that is not seen,
    Which thing the Book of Truth doth teach in writing plain;
    She doth present to thee, the same, O worthy Queen!
    For that, that words do fly, but writing doth remain.

When the child had thus ended his speech, he reached his book towards
the Queen's Majesty; which, a little before, TRUTH had let down unto
him from the hill: which by Sir JOHN PARRAT was received, and delivered
unto the Queen.

But she, as soon as she had received the book, kissed it; and with
both her hands held up the same, and so laid it upon her breast; with
great thanks to the City therefore. And so went forward toward Paul's
Churchyard.

       *       *       *       *       *

The former matter, which was rehearsed unto the Queen's Majesty, was
written in two tables, on either side the pageant, eight verses: and in
the midst, these in Latin.

    _Ille, vides, falcem lava qui sustinet uncam,_
      _TEMPUS is est, cui stat filia VERA comes;_
    _Hanc pater exesa deductam rupe reponit_
      _In lucem, quam non viderat ante diu._
    _Qui sedet a læva cultu male tristis inepto,_
      _Quem duris crescens cautibus orbis obit_
    _Nos monet effigiæ, qua sit Respublica quando_
      _Corruit, at contra quando beata viget,_
    _Ille docet juvenis forma spectandus amictu_
      _Scitus, et æterna laurea fronde virens._

The Sentences, written in Latin and English upon both the trees,
declaring the causes of both estates, were these:

                    ¶ +_CAUSES OF A RUINOUS COMMON_+
                          _+WEAL ARE THESE.+_

  Want of the Fear of GOD.
  Disobedience to rulers.
  Blindness of guides.
  Bribery in magistrates.
  Rebellion in subjects.
  Civil disagreement.
  Flattering of Princes.
  Unmercifulness in rulers.
  Unthankfulness in subjects.

                     ¶ +_CAUSES OF A FLOURISHING_+
                            +_COMMON WEAL._+

  Fear of GOD.
  A wise Prince.
  Learned rulers.
  Obedience to officers.
  Obedient subjects.
  Lovers of the Common Weal.
  Virtue rewarded.
  Vice chastened.

The matter of this pageant dependeth of them [_i.e., the pageants_]
that went before. For, as the first declared Her Grace to come out
of the House of Unity; the second, that she is placed in the Seat
of Government, stayed with virtues to the suppression of vice; and
therefore in the third, the Eight Blessings of Almighty GOD might
well be applied unto her: so this fourth now, is to put Her Grace in
remembrance of the state of the Common Weal, which TIME, with TRUTH his
daughter, doth reveal: which TRUTH also, Her Grace hath received; and
therefore cannot but be merciful and careful for the good government
thereof.

       *       *       *       *       *

From thence, the Queen's Majesty passed towards Paul's Churchyard.

And when she came over against Paul's School, a child appointed by
the Schoolmaster thereof, pronounced a certain Oration in Latin, and
certain Verses: which also were there written, as follows.

    _Philosophus ille divinus PLATO, inter multa præclare ac
    sapienter dicta, hoc posteris proditum reliquit, Rempublicam
    illam felicissimam fore, cui Princeps sophiæ studiosa,
    virtutibusque ornata contigerit. Quem si vere dixisse censeamus
    (ut quidem verissime) cur non terra Britannica plauderet? cur
    non populus gaudiam atque lætitiam agitaret? immo, cur non hunc
    diem albo (quod aiunt) lapillo notaret? quo Princeps talis
    nobis adest, qualem priores non viderunt, qualemque posteritas
    haud facile cernere poterit, dotibus quum animi, tum corporis
    undique felicissima. Casti quidem corporis dotes ita apertæ sunt,
    ut oratione non egeant. Animi vero tot tantæque, ut ne verbis
    quidem exprimi possint. Hæc nempe Regibus summis orta, morum
    atque animi nobilitate genus exuperat. Hujus pectus CHRISTI
    religionis amore flagrat. Hæc gentem Britannicum virtutibus
    illustrabit, clipeoque justitiæ teget. Hæc literis Græcis et
    Latinis eximia, ingenioque præpollens est. Hac imperante, pietas
    vigebit, Anglia florebit, Aurea Secula redibunt. Vos igitur
    Angli, tot commoda accepturi, ELIZABETHAM Reginam nostram
    celeberrimam ab ipso CHRISTO hujus regni imperio destinatam,
    honore debito prosequimini. Hujus imperiis animo libentissimo
    subditi estote, vosque tali principe dignos præbete. Et quoniam,
    pueri non viribus sed precibus officium prestare possunt, nos
    Alumni hujus Scholæ ab ipso COLETO, olim Templi Paulini Decano,
    extructæ, teneras palmas ad coelum tendentes CHRISTUM Opt. Maxi.
    precaturi sumus, ut tuum celsitudinem annos NESTOREOS summo cum_
    _honore Anglis imperitare faciat, matremque pignoribus charis_
    _beatam reddat. Amen_.

    _Anglia nunc tandem plaudas, lætare, re sulta,_
      _Presto jam vita est, præsidiumque tibi._
    _En tua spes venit tua gloria, lux, decus omne_
      _Venit jam solidam quæ tibi prestat opem._
    _Succurretque tuis rebus quæ pessum abiere._
      _Perdita quæ fuerant hæc reparare volet_
    _Omnia florebunt, redeunt nunc aurea secla._
      _In melius surgent quæ cecidere bona._
    _Debes ergo illi totam te reddere fidam,_
      _Cujus in accessu commoda tot capies._
    _Salve igitur dicas, imo de pectore summo._
      _ELIZABETH Regni non dubitanda salus,_
    _Virgo venit, veniatque optes comitata deinceps._
      _Pignoribus charis, loeta parens veniat._
    _Hoc DEUS omnipotens ex alto donet Olympo,_
      _Qui cælum et terram condidit atque regit_.

Which the Queen's Majesty most attentively hearkened unto. And when the
child had pronounced, he did kiss the Oration, which he had there fair
written on paper, and delivered it unto the Queen's Majesty, which most
gently received the same.

       *       *       *       *       *

And when the Queen's Majesty had heard all that was there offered to be
spoken; then Her Grace marched toward Ludgate: where she was received
with a noise of instruments; the forefront of the Gate being finely
trimmed against Her Majesty's coming.

From thence, by the way, as she went down toward Fleet Bridge, one
about Her Grace, noted the City's charge, that "there was no cost
spared."

Her Grace answered, that "She did well consider the same, and that it
should be remembered!" An honourable answer, worthy a noble Prince:
which may comfort all her subjects, considering there can be no point
of gentleness or obedient love shewed towards Her Grace; which she doth
not most tenderly accept, and graciously weigh.

       *       *       *       *       *

In this manner, the people on either side rejoicing, Her Grace went
forward towards the Conduit in Fleet Street, where was the fifth and
last pageant, erected in the form following.

From the Conduit, which was beautified with painting, unto the north
side of the street, was erected a Stage embattled with four towers, and
in the same, a square plat rising with degrees.

Upon the uppermost degree was placed a Chair or royal Seat; and behind
the same Seat, in curious artificial manner, was erected a tree of
reasonable height, and so far advanced above the seat as it did well
and seemly shadow the same, without endamaging the sight of any part
of the pageant. And the same tree was beautified with leaves as green
as Art could devise, being of a convenient greatness and containing
thereupon the fruit of the date tree; and on the top of the same tree,
in a table was set the name thereof, which was, _A Palm Tree_.

And in the aforesaid Seat or Chair was a seemly and meet personage,
richly apparelled in Parliament robes, with a sceptre in her hand, as a
Queen; crowned with an open crown: whose name and title were in a table
fixed over her head in this sort, _DEBORAH, The Judge and Restorer of
Israel_. Judic. 4.

And the other degrees, on either side, were furnished with six
personages; two representing the Nobility, two the Clergy, and two the
Commonalty. And before these personages, was written in a table,

                     +DEBORAH, WITH HER ESTATES,+
                       +CONSULTING FOR THE GOOD+
                        +GOVERNMENT OF ISRAEL.+

At the feet of these, and the lowest part of the pageant, was ordained
a convenient room for a child to open the meaning of the pageant.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the Queen's Majesty drew near unto this pageant; and perceived, as
in the others, the child ready to speak: Her Grace required silence,
and commanded her chariot to be removed nigher that she might plainly
hear the child speak; which said, as hereafter followeth:

    JABIN, of Canaan King, had long, by force of arms,
    Oppressed the Israelites; which for GOD's People went:
    But GOD minding, at last, for to redress their harms;
    The worthy DEBORAH, as Judge among them sent.

    In war, She, through GOD's aid, did put her foes to flight,
    And with the dint of sword the band of bondage brast;
    In peace, She, through GOD's aid, did always maintain right
    And judgèd Israel, till forty years were past.

    A worthy precedent, O worthy Queen! thou hast!
    A worthy woman, Judge! a woman sent for Stay!
    And that the like to us, endure always thou may'st;
    Thy loving subjects will, with true hearts and tongues, pray!

Which verses were written upon the pageant: and the same in Latin also.

    _Quando DEI populum Canaan, rex pressit JABIN,_
      _Mittitur a magno DEBORA magna DEO:_
    _Quæ populum eriperet, sanctum servaret Judan,_
      _Milite quæ patrio frangeret hostis opes._
    _Hæc Domino mandante DEO lectissima fecit_
      _Foemina, et adversos contudit ense viros._
    _Hæc quater denos populum correxerat annos_
      _Judicio, bello strenua, pace gravis._
    _Sic, O sic, populum, belloque et pace, guberna!_
      _DEBORA sis Anglis, ELIZABETHA tuis!_

The void places of the pageant were filled with pretty Sentences
concerning the same matter.

The ground of this last pageant was, that forasmuch as the next pageant
before, had set before Her Grace's eyes the Flourishing and Desolate
States of a Common Weal; she might by this, be put in remembrance to
consult for the worthy Government of her people; considering GOD,
ofttimes, sent women nobly to rule among men, as DEBORAH which governed
Israel in peace, the space of forty years; and that it behoveth both
men and women so ruling, to use advice of good counsel.

       *       *       *       *       *

When the Queen's Majesty had passed this pageant; she marched towards
Temple Bar.

But at St. Dunstan's, where the children of the Hospital [_i.e.,
Christ's Hospital, now known as the Blue Coat School, see p. 246_],
were appointed to stand with their Governors; Her Grace perceiving
a child offered to make an oration unto her, stayed her chariot;
and did cast up her eyes to heaven, as who should say, "I here see
this merciful work towards the poor; whom I must, in the midst of my
royalty, needs remember." And so, turned her face towards the child,
which, in Latin, pronounced an Oration to this effect.

    That after the Queen's Highness had passed through the City; and
    had seen so sumptuous, rich, and noble spectacles of the citizens,
    which declared their most hearty receiving and most joyous
    welcoming of Her Grace into the same: this one Spectacle yet rested
    and remained; which was the everlasting Spectacle of Mercy unto
    the poor members of Almighty GOD, furthered by that famous and
    most noble Prince, King HENRY VIII., Her Grace's Father; erected
    by the City of London; and advanced by the most godly, virtuous,
    and gracious Prince, King EDWARD VI., Her Grace's dear and loving
    brother. Doubting nothing of the mercy of the Queen's most gracious
    clemency: by the which they may not only be relieved and helped,
    but also stayed and defended; and therefore incessantly, they would
    pray and cry unto Almighty GOD for the long life and reign of Her
    Highness, with most prosperous victory against her enemies.

The child, after he had ended his Oration, kissed the paper wherein the
same was written, and reached it to the Queen's Majesty; who received
it graciously both with words and countenance, declaring her gracious
mind towards their relief.

       *       *       *       *       *

From thence, Her Grace came to Temple Bar, which was dressed finely,
with the two images of GOTMAGOT the Albion, and CORINEUS the Briton;
two giants big in stature, furnished accordingly: which held in their
hands, even above the gate, a table, wherein was written, in Latin
verses, the effect of all the pageants which the City before had
erected. Which Verses are these:

    _Ecce sub aspectu jam contemplaberis uno_
      _O Princeps populi sola columna tui!_
    _Quicquid in immensa passim perspexeris urbe_
      _Quæ cepere omnes unus hic arcus habet._
    _Primus, te solio regni donavit aviti,_
      _Hæres quippe tui vera parentis eras._
    _Suppressis vitiis, domina virtute, Secundus,_
      _Firmavit sedem regia virgo tuam._
    _Tertius, ex omni posuit teparte beatam_
      _Si, qua coepisti pergere velle, velis._
    _Quarto, quid verum, Respublica Lapsa quid esset,_
      _Quæ Florens staret te docuere tui._
    _Quinto, magna loco monuit te DEBORA, missam_
      _Cælitus in regni gaudia longa tui._
    _Perge ergo Regina! tuæ spes unica gentis!_
      _Hæc Postrema urbis suscipe Vota tuæ._
    _"Vive diu! regnaque diu! virtutibus orna_
      _Rem patriam, et populi spem tueare tui!_
    _Sic, O sic petitur coelum! Sic itur in astra!_
      _Hoc virtutis opus, cætera mortis erunt!"_

Which Verses were also written in English metre, in a lesse[r] table,
as hereafter followeth.

    Behold here, in one view, thou mayst see all that plain;
    O Princess, to this thy people, the only stay!
    What eachwhere thou hast seen in this wide town; again,
    This one Arch, whatsoever the rest contained, doth say.

    The First Arch, as true Heir unto thy Father dear,
    Did set thee in thy Throne, where thy Grandfather sat!
    The Second, did confirm thy Seat as Princess here;
    Virtues now bearing sway, and Vices beat down flat!

    The Third, if that thou wouldst go on as thou began,
    Declareth thee to be blessed on every side!
    The Fourth did open Truth, and also taught thee when
    The Common Weal stood well, and when it did thence slide!

    The Fifth, as DEBORAH, declared thee to be sent
    From heaven, a long comfort to us thy subjects all!
    Therefore, go on, O Queen! (on whom our hope is bent)
    And take with thee, this wish of thy Town as final!

    "Live long! and as long, reign! adorning thy country
    With virtues; and maintain thy people's hope of thee!
    For thus, thus heaven is won! thus, must thou pierce the sky!
    This is by virtue wrought! All other must needs die!"

On the south side [_i.e., of Fleet Street, at Temple Bar_] was
appointed by the City, a noise of singing children; and one child
richly attired as a Poet, which gave the Queen's Majesty her Farewell,
in the name of the whole City, by these words.

    As at thine Entrance first, O Prince of high renown!
    Thou wast presented with Tongues and Hearts for thy fair;
    So now, sith thou must needs depart out of this Town,
    This City sendeth thee firm Hope and earnest Prayer!

    For all men hope in thee, that all virtues shall reign;
    For all men hope that thou, none error wilt support;
    For all men hope that thou wilt Truth restore again,
    And mend that is amiss; to all good men's comfort!

    And for this Hope, they pray thou mayst continue long
    Our Queen amongst us here, all vice for to supplant!
    And for this Hope, they pray that GOD may make thee strong,
    As by His grace puissant, so in His truth constant!

    Farewell! O worthy Queen! and as our hope is sure,
    That into Error's place, thou wilt now Truth restore!
    So trust we that thou wilt our sovereign Queen endure
    And loving Lady stand, from henceforth, evermore!

While these words were in saying, and certain wishes therein repeated
for the maintenance of Truth, and rooting out of Error; she, now and
then, held up her hands to heaven-ward, and willed the people to say
"Amen!"

When the child had ended, she said, "Be ye well assured, I will stand
your good Queen!"

At which saying, Her Grace departed forth, through Temple Bar towards
Westminster, with no less shooting [_i.e., firing of guns_] and
crying of the people, than, when she entered the City, with a great
noise of ordnance which the Tower shot off, at Her Grace's entrance
first into Tower Street.

       *       *       *       *       *

The child's saying was also, in Latin verses, written in a table which
was hanged up there.

    _O Regina potens! quum primam urbem ingredereris_
      _Dona tibi, Linguas fidaque Corda dedit._
    _Discedenti etiam tibi nunc duo munera mittit,_
      _Omina plena Spei, votaque plena Precum._
    _Quippe tuis Spes est, in te quod provida virtus_
      _Rexerit, errori nec locus ullus erit._
    _Quippe tuis Spes est, quod ut verum omne reduces_
      _Solatura bonas, dum mala tollis, opes._
    _Hac Spe freti orant, longum ut Regina gubernes,_
      _Et regni excindas crimina cuncta tui._
    _Hac Spe freti orant, divina ut gratia fortem,_
      _Et veræ fidei te velit esse basin._
    _Jam, Regina, vale! et sicut nos spes tenet una,_
      _Quod vero indueto, perditus error erit._
    _Sic quoque speramus quod eris Regina benigna_
      _Nobis per regni tempora longa tui!_

Thus the Queen's Highness passed through the City! which, without any
foreign person, of itself, beautified itself; and received Her Grace at
all places, as hath been before mentioned, with most tender obedience
and love, due to so gracious a Queen, and sovereign Lady.

And Her Grace likewise, of her side, in all Her Grace's Passage, shewed
herself generally an Image of a worthy Lady and Governor; but privately
these especial points were noted in Her Grace, as signs of a most
Prince-like courage, whereby her loving subjects may ground a sure hope
for the rest of her gracious doings hereafter.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


_Certain Notes of the Queen's Majesty's great mercy, clemency, and
wisdom used in this Passage._

About the nether end of Cornhill, toward Cheap, one of the Knights
about Her Grace, had espied an ancient Citizen which wept, and turned
his head back. And therewith said this Gentleman, "Yonder is an
Alderman," for so he termed him, "which weepeth, and turneth his face
backward! How may it be interpreted that he doth so? For sorrow! or for
gladness?"

The Queen's Majesty heard him; and said, "I warrant you, it is for
gladness!" A gracious interpretation of a noble courage, which would
turn the doubtful to the best. And yet it was well known, that (as
Her Grace did confirm the same) the party's cheer was moved, for very
pure gladness for the sight of Her Majesty's person; at the beholding
whereof, he took such comfort, that with tears he expressed the same.

In Cheapside, Her Grace smiled; and being thereof demanded the cause,
answered, "For that she had heard one say, _Remember old King HENRY
VIII!_" A natural child! which at the very remembrance of her father's
name took so great a joy; that all men may well think that as she
rejoiced at his name whom this Realm doth hold of so worthy memory, so,
in her doings, she will resemble the same.

When the City's charge without partiality, and only the City, was
mentioned unto Her Grace; she said, "It should not be forgotten!" Which
saying might move all natural Englishmen heartily to shew due obedience
and entireness to their so good a Queen, which will, in no point,
forget any parcel of duty lovingly shewed unto her.

The answer which Her Grace made unto Master Recorder of London, as the
hearers know it to be true and with melting hearts heard the same,
so may the reader thereof conceive what kind of stomach and courage
pronounced the same.

What more famous thing do we read in ancient histories of old time,
than that mighty Princes have gently received presents offered them
by base and low personages. If that be to be wondered at, as it is
passingly! let me see any writer that in any one Prince's life is able
to recount so many precedents of this virtue, as Her Grace shewed in
that one Passage through the City. How many nosegays did Her Grace
receive at poor women's hands? How ofttimes stayed she her chariot,
when she saw any simple body offer to speak to Her Grace? A branch of
rosemary given to Her Grace, with a supplication, by a poor woman,
about Fleet Bridge, was seen in her chariot till Her Grace came to
Westminster; notwithstanding the marvellous wondering of such as knew
the presenter, and noted the Queen's most gracious receiving and
keeping the same.

What hope the poor and needy may look for, at Her Grace's hand;
she, as in all her journey continually, so in her hearkening to the
poor children of Christ's Hospital, with eyes cast up unto heaven,
did fully declare; as that neither the wealthier estate could stand
without consideration had to the poverty, neither the poverty be duly
considered unless they were remembered, as commanded to us by GOD's own
mouth.

As at her first Entrance, she, as it were, declared herself prepared to
pass through a City that most entirely loved her; so she, at her last
Departing, as it were, bound herself by promise to continue good Lady
and Governor unto that City, which, by outward declaration, did open
their love to their so loving and noble Prince, in such wise as she
herself wondered thereat.

       *       *       *       *       *

But because Princes be set in their Seat by GOD's appointment, and
therefore they must first and chiefly render the glory of Him from whom
their glory issueth; it is to be noted in Her Grace, that, forasmuch
as GOD hath so wonderfully placed her in the Seat of Government over
this realm; she in all doings, doth shew herself most mindful of
His goodness and mercy shewed unto her. And amongst all other, two
principal signs thereof were noted in this Passage.

First, in the Tower: where Her Grace, before she entered her chariot,
lifted up her eyes to heaven, and said:

    O LORD! Almighty and everlasting GOD! I give Thee most hearty
    thanks, that as Thou hast been so merciful unto me, as to spare me
    to behold this joyful day! And I acknowledge that Thou hast dealt
    as wonderfully and mercifully with me, as Thou didst with thy true
    and faithful servant DANIEL, the prophet; whom thou deliveredst
    out of the den, from the cruelty of the greedy and raging lions:
    even so, was I overwhelmed, and only by Thee! delivered. To Thee!
    therefore, only, be thanks, honour, and praise for ever! Amen.

The second was, the receiving of the _Bible_, at the Little Conduit,
in Cheap. For when Her Grace had learned that the _Bible_ in English,
should there be offered; she thanked the City therefore, promised the
reading thereof most diligently, and incontinent commanded that it
should be brought. At the receipt whereof, how reverently, she did,
with both her hands, take it! kiss it! and lay it on her breast! to the
great comfort of the lookers on!

GOD will undoubtedly preserve so worthy a Prince; which, at His honour,
so reverently taketh her beginning. For this saying is true, and
written in the Book of Truth: "He that first seeketh the Kingdom of
GOD, shall have all other things cast unto him."

Now, therefore, all English hearts, and her natural people must needs
praise GOD's mercy, which hath sent them so worthy a Prince; and pray
for Her Grace's long continuance amongst us.

                 #Imprinted at London in Fleet Street#
                #within Temple Bar, at the sign of the#
                 #Hand and Star, by Richard Tottill,#
                     #the .rriii. day of January.#
                                [1559]



                     Rev. +WILLIAM HARRISON+, B.D.

                    Canon of Windsor, and Rector of
                              Radwinter.

                 _ELIZABETH arms England, which MARY_
                        _had left defenceless._

        [Book II., Chap. 16 of _Description of England_, in HOLINSHED's
     _Chronicle_. Ed. 1587[-8]. Reprinted by F. J. FURNIVALL, M.A., for
                          _New Shakspere Society_, _p._ 278, Ed. 1877.]


How well, and how strongly our country hath been furnished, in times
past, with armour and artillery, it lieth not in me, as of myself to
make rehearsal.

Yet that it lacked both, in the late time of Queen MARY; not only the
experience of mine elders, but also the talk of certain Spaniards, not
yet forgotten, did leave some manifest notice.

Upon the first, I need not stand: for few will deny it.

For the second, I have heard that when one of the greatest Peers of
Spain [_evidently in Queen MARY's reign_] espied our nakedness in this
behalf, and did solemnly utter in no obscure place, that "It should be
an easy matter, in short time, to conquer England; because it wanted
armour!" his words were then not so rashly uttered, as they were
politicly noted.

For, albeit, that, for the present time, their efficacy was dissembled;
and semblance made as though he spake but merrily: yet at the very
Entrance of this our gracious Queen unto the possession of the
Crown, they were so providently called to remembrance, and such
speedy reformation sought, of all hands, for the redress of this
inconveniency, that our country was sooner furnished with armour and
munition from divers parts of the main [_the Continent_], besides
great plenty that was forged here at home, than our enemies could get
understanding of any such provision to be made.

By this policy also, was the no small hope conceived by Spaniards
utterly cut off; who (of open friends, being now become our secret
enemies; and thereto watching a time wherein to achieve some heavy
exploit against us and our country) did thereupon change their
purposes: whereby England obtained rest; that otherwise might have been
sure of sharp and cruel wars.

Thus a Spanish word uttered by one man at one time, overthrew, or, at
the least, hindered sundry privy practices of many at another time.

       *       *       *       *       *

In times past, the chief force of England consisted in their long bows.
But now we have in manner generally given over that kind of artillery,
and for long bows indeed, do practice to shoot compass for our pastime;
which kind of shooting can never yield any smart stroke, nor beat down
our enemies, as our countrymen were wont to do, at every time of need.
Certes, the Frenchmen and Reitters [_i.e., Reiters, the German or
Swiss Lance-knights_] deriding our new archery, in respect of their
corslets, will not let, in open skirmish, if any leisure serve, to turn
up their tails, and cry, "Shoot, English!" and all because our strong
shooting is decayed, and laid in bed.

But if some of our Englishmen now lived, that served King EDWARD III.
in his wars with France: the breech of such a varlet had been nailed to
his back with one arrow; and another feathered in his bowels, before he
should have turned about to see who shot the first.

But as our shooting is thus, in manner, utterly decayed among us one
way: so our countrymen wax skilful in sundry other points; as in
shooting in small pieces, the caliver, and handling of the pike; in the
several uses whereof, they are become very expert.

Our armour differeth not from that of other nations; and therefore
consisteth of corslets, almain rivets, shirts of mail, jacks quilted
and covered with leather, fustian, or canvas over thick plates of iron
that are sewed in the same. Of which, there is no town or village
that hath not her convenient furniture. The said armour and munition
likewise is kept in one several place of every town, appointed by the
consent of the whole parish; where it is always ready to be had and
worn within an hour's warning.

Sometimes also it is occupied [_used_], when it pleaseth the
magistrate, either to view the able men and take note of the well
keeping of the same; or finally to see those that are enrolled, to
exercise each one his several weapon: at the charge of the townsmen
of each parish, according to his appointment. Certes there is almost
no village so poor in England, be it never so small, that hath not
sufficient furniture in a readiness to set forth three or four soldiers
(as, one archer, one gunner, one pike, and a bill-man), at the least.
No, there is not so much wanting as their very liveries [_uniforms_]
and caps; which are least to be accounted of, if any haste required. So
that if this good order continue, it shall be impossible for the sudden
enemy to find us unprovided.

As for able men for service, thanked be GOD! we are not without good
store. For by the Musters taken in 1574 and 1575, our number amounted
to 1,172,674; and yet they were not so narrowly taken, but that a third
part of this like multitude was left unbilled and uncalled.

What store of munition and armour, the Queen's Majesty hath in her
storehouses, it lieth not in me to yield account; sith I suppose the
same to be infinite. And whereas it was commonly said, after the loss
of Calais, that England would never recover the store of ordnance there
left and lost; the same is proved false: since some of the same persons
do now confess that this land was never better furnished with these
things in any King's days, since the Conquest.

The names of our greatest ordnance are commonly these:

    _Robinet_, whose weight is 200 lbs.; and it hath 1-1/4 inches
      within the mouth.

    _Falconet_, weighing 500 lbs., and his wideness is 2 inches within
      the mouth.

    _Falcon_ hath 800 lbs., and 2-1/2 inches within the mouth.

    _Minion_ poiseth [_weigheth_] 1,100 lbs., and hath 3-1/4 inches
      within the mouth.

    _Sacre_ hath 1,500 lbs., and is 3-1/2 inches wide in the mouth.



    _Demi-Culverin_ weigheth 3,000 lbs., and hath 4-1/2 inches within
      the mouth.

    _Culverin_ hath 4,000 lbs., and 5-1/2 inches within the mouth.

    _Demi-Cannon_, 6,000 lbs., and 6-1/2 inches within the mouth.

    _Cannon_, 7,000 lbs., and 8 inches within the mouth.

    _E. Cannon_, 8,000 lbs., and 7 inches within the mouth.

    _Basilisk_, 9,000 lbs., and 8-3/4 inches within the mouth.

By which proportions, also, it is easy to come by the weight of every
shot, how many scores [_i.e., of yards_] it doth fly at point blank,
how much powder is to be had to the same, and finally how many inches
in height, each bullet ought to carry.

  The names of the        Weight of   Scores [of      Pounds of  Height of
  Great Ordnance          the Shot.    yards] of       Powder.    Bullet.
                    hath    lbs.       carriage.                  Inches.

  _Robinet_                 1             10              1/2      1

  _Falconet_                2             14            2          1-1/4

  _Falcon_                  2-1/2         16            2-1/2      2-1/4

  _Minion_                  4-1/2         17            4-1/2      3

  _Sacre._                  5             18            5          3-1/4

  _Demi-Culverin_           9             20            9          4

  _Culverin_               18             25           18          5-1/4

  _Demi-Cannon_            30             38           28          6-3/4

  _Cannon_                 60             20           44          7-3/4

  _E. Cannon_              42             20           20          6-3/4

  _Basilisk_               60             21           60          8-1/4

As for the Armouries of some of the Nobility (whereof I also have seen
a part), they are so well furnished, that within some one Baron's
custody, I have seen three score or a hundred corslets at once; besides
calivers, hand-guns, bows, sheafs of arrows, pikes, bills, pole-axes,
flasks, touch-boxes, targets, &c.: the very sight whereof appalled my
courage.

       *       *       *       *       *

Seldom shall you see any of my countrymen, above eighteen or twenty
years old, to go without a dagger at the least, at his back or by his
side; although they be aged burgesses or magistrates of any city who,
in appearance, are most exempt from brabling and contention.

Our Nobility commonly wear swords or rapiers, with their daggers; as
doth every common serving man also that followeth his lord and master.

       *       *       *       *       *

Finally, no man travelleth by the way, without his sword or some such
weapon, with us; except the Minister, who commonly weareth none at all,
unless it be a dagger or hanger at his side.

[Illustration]



                              _ALCILIA:_

                           _PHILOPARTHEN's_

                            _Loving Folly._

                _Non Deus (ut perhibent) amor est, sed_
                          _amaror, et error._


                             [Illustration]

                              AT LONDON.

                _Printed by R. R. for William Mattes,_
             dwelling in Fleet street, at the sign of the
                          _Hand and Plough._
                                 1595.

    [The only copy of the 1595 edition, at present known, is in the
    City Library, at Hamburg.

    It was recovered, and reprinted in 1875 by Herr WILHELM WAGNER,
    Ph.D., in Vol. X. of the _Deutschen Shakespeare-Gesellschaft
    Jahrbuch_; copies of this particular text being also separately
    printed.

    A limited Subscription edition, of fifty-one copies, was printed by
    Rev. A. B. GROSART, LL.D., F.S.A., of Blackburn, in 1879: with a
    fresh collation of the text by B. S. LEESON, Esq., of Hamburg.

    The present modernized text is based on a comparison of the above
    two reprints of the 1595 edition with the text of the London
    edition of 1613 in which some headings (herein inserted between [],
    on _pp._ 256, 276, 278) first occur.]

[Illustration]


                _A Letter written by a Gentleman to the_
                         _Author, his friend._

+FRIEND PHILOPARTHEN+,

In perusing your Loving Folly, and your Declining from it; I do
behold Reason conquering Passion. The infirmity of loving argueth
you are a man; the firmness thereof, discovereth a good wit and the
best nature: and the falling from it, true virtue. Beauty was always
of force to mislead the wisest; and men of greatest perfection have
had no power to resist Love. The best are accompanied with vices, to
exercise their virtues; whose glory shineth brightest in resisting
motives of pleasure, and in subduing affections. And though I cannot
altogether excuse your Loving Folly; yet I do the less blame you, in
that you loved such a one as was more to be commended for her virtue,
than beauty: albeit even for that too, she was so well accomplished
with the gifts of Nature as in mine conceit (which, for good cause, I
must submit as inferior to yours) there was nothing wanting, either
in the one or the other, that might add more to her worth, except it
were a more due and better regard of your love; which she requited
not according to your deserts, nor answerable to herself in her other
parts of perfection. Yet herein it appeareth you have made good use of
Reason; that being heretofore lost in youthful vanity, have now, by
timely discretion, found yourself!

Let me entreat you to suffer these your Passionate Sonnets to be
published! which may, peradventure, make others, possessed with the
like Humour of Loving, to follow your example, in leaving; and move
other ALCILIAS (if there be any) to embrace deserving love, while they
may!

Hereby, also, she shall know, and, it may be, inwardly repent the
loss of your love, and see how much her perfections are blemished by
ingratitude; which will make your happiness greater by adding to your
reputation, than your contentment could have been in enjoying her love.
At the least wise, the wiser sort, however in censuring them, they may
dislike of your errors; yet they cannot but commend and allow of your
reformation: and all others that shall with indifferency read them, may
reap thereby some benefit, or contentment.

Thus much I have written as a testimony of the good will I bear you!
with whom I do suffer or rejoice according to the quality of your
misfortune or good hap. And so I take my leave; resting, as always,

                                                     Yours most assured,
                                                           +PHILARETES.+

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                    Author ipse ~philoparthenos~ ad
                             libellum suum.

    _Parve liber Domini vanos dicture labores,_
      _Insomnes noctes, sollicitosque dies,_
    _Errores varios, languentis tædia vitæ,_
      _Mærores certos, gaudia certa minus,_
    _Peruigiles curas, suspiria, vota, querelas,_
      _Et quæcunque pati dura coegit amor._
    _I precor intrepidus, duram comiterque salutans_
      _Hæc me ejus causa sustinuisse refer._
    _Te grato excipiet vultu rubicundula, nomen_
      _Cum titulo inscriptum viderit esse suum._
    _Forsitan et nostri miserebitur ilia doloris,_
      _Dicet et, ah quantum deseruisse dolet:_
    _Seque nimis soevam, crudelemque ipsa vocabit,_
      _Cuinon est fidei debita cura meæ;_
    _Quod siquidem eveniet, Domino solaminis illud,_
      _Et tibi supremi muneris instar erit._
    _Si quis (ut est æquum) fatuos damnaverit ignes,_
      _Pigritiæ fructus ingeniique levis:_
    _Tu Dominum cæcis tenebris errasse, sed ipsum_
       _Erroris tandem pænituisse sui,_
    _Me quoque re vera nec tot, nec tanta tulisse,_
      _Sed ficta ad placitum multa fuisse refer._
    _Ab quanto satius (nisi mens mihi vana) fuisset_
      _Ista meo penitus delituisse sinu:_
    _Quam levia in lucem prodire, aut luce carentis_
      _Insanam Domini prodere stultitiam._
    _Nil amor est aliud, quam mentis morbus et error._
      _Nil sapienter agit, nil bene, quisquis amat._
    _Sed non cuique datur sapere, aut melioribus uti,_
      _Forte erit alterius, qui meus error erat._
    _Cautior incedit, qui nunquam labitur, atqui_
      _Jam proprio evadam cautior ipse malo._
    _Si cui delicto gravior mea poena videtur;_
      _Illius in laudes officiosus eris._
    _Te si quis simili qui carpitur igne videbit,_
      _Ille suam sortem flebit, et ille meam._
    _ALCILIÆ obsequium supplex præstare memento,_
      _Non minima officii pars erit illa tui._
    _Te fortasse sua secura recondet in arca,_
      _Et Solis posthæc luminis orbus eris._
    _Nil referet, fateor me non prudenter amasse;_
      _Ultima deceptæ sors erit illa spei._
    _Bis proprio PHOEBUS cursu lustraverat orbem,_
      _Conscius erroris, stultitioeque meæ,_
    _A quo primus amor coepit penetrare medullas,_
      _Et falsa accensos nutriit arte focos._
    _Desino jam nugas amplecti, seria posthæc_
      _(Ut Ratio monet) ac utiliora sequor._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                          _Amoris Præludium._

                     [_Vel, Epistola ad Amicam._]

    To thee, ALCILIA! solace of my youth!
    These rude and scattered rhymes I have addressed!
    The certain Witness of my Love and Truth,
    That truly cannot be in words expressed:
    Which, if I shall perceive thou tak'st in gree,
    I will, from henceforth, write of none but thee!

    Here may you find the wounds yourself have made!
    The many sorrows, I have long sustained!
    Here may you see that LOVE must be obeyed!
    How much I hoped, how little I have gained!
    That as for you, the pains have been endured;
    Even so by you, they may, at length, be cured!

    I will not call for aid to any Muse
    (It is for learned Poets so to do):
    Affection must, my want of Art excuse,
    My works must have their patronage from You!
    Whose sweet assistance, if obtain I might!
    I should be able both to speak and write.

[Sidenote: Nemini datur amare simul et sapere.]

    Meanwhile, vouchsafe to read this, as assigned
    To no man's censure; but to yours alone!
    Pardon the faults, that you therein shall find;
    And think the writer's heart was not his own!
    Experience of examples daily prove
    "That no man can be well advised, and love!"

    And though the work itself deserve it not
    (Such is your Worth, with my great Wants compared!);
    Yet may my love unfeignèd, without spot,
    Challenge so much (if more cannot be spared!).
    Then, lovely Virgin! take this in good part!
    The rest, unseen, is sealed up in the heart.

    Judge not by this, the depth of my affection!
    Which far exceeds the measure of my skill;
    But rather note herein your own perfection!
    So shall appear my want of Art, not will:
    Wherefore, this now, as part in lieu of greater,
    I offer as an insufficient debtor!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                 _Sic incipit Stultorum Tragicomedia._

    It was my chance, unhappy chance to me!
    As, all alone, I wandered on my way;
    Void of distrust, from doubt of dangers free,
    To pass a grove where LOVE in ambush lay;
    Who aiming at me with his feathered dart,
    Conveyed it by mine eye unto my heart.

    Where, retchless boy! he let the arrow stick,
    When I, as one amazèd, senseless stood.
    The hurt was great, yet seemèd but a prick!
    The wound was deep, and yet appeared no blood!
    But inwardly it bleeds. Proof teacheth this.
    When wounds do so, the danger greater is.

    Pausing a while, and grievèd with my wound,
    I looked about, expecting some relief:
    Small hope of help, no ease of pain I found.
    Like, all at once, to perish in my grief:
    When hastily, I pluckèd forth the dart;
    But left the head fast fixèd in my heart.

    Fast fixèd in my heart, I left the head,
    From whence I doubt it will not be removed.
    Ah, what unlucky chance that way me led?
    O LOVE! thy force thou might'st elsewhere have proved!
    And shewed thy power, where thou art not obeyed!
    "The conquest's small, where no resist is made."

    But nought, alas, avails it to complain;
    I rest resolved, with patience to endure.
    The fire being once dispersed through every vein,
    It is too late to hope for present cure.
    Now PHILOPARTHEN must new follies prove,
    And learn a little, what it is to love!

[Illustration]


         _These Sonnets following were written by the Author_
        _(who giveth himself this feigned name of PHILOPARTHEN_
       _as his accidental attribute), at divers times, and upon_
           _divers occasions; and therefore in the form and_
             _matter they differ, and sometimes are quite_
             _contrary one to another: which ought not to_
              _be misliked, considering the very nature_
                    _and quality of Love; which is_
                     _a Passion full of variety,_
                           _and contrariety_
                             _in itself._

                                   I.

[Sidenote: _Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error._]

    Vnhappy Eyes! that first my heart betrayed,
    Had you not seen, my grief had not been such!
    And yet, how may I, justly, you upbraid!
    Since what I saw delighted me so much?
    But hence, alas, proceedeth all my smart:
    Unhappy Eyes! that first betrayed my heart!

                                  II.

    To seek adventures, as Fate hath assigned,
    My slender Bark now floats upon the main;
    Each troubled thought, an Oar; each sigh, a Wind,
    Whose often puffs have rent my Sails in twain.
    LOVE steers the Boat, which (for that sight, he lacks)
    Is still in danger of ten thousand wracks.

                                  III.

    What sudden chance hath changed my wonted cheer,
    Which makes me other than I seem to be?
    My days of joy, that once were bright and clear,
    Are turned to nights! my mirth, to misery!
    Ah, well I ween that somewhat is amiss;
    But, sooth to say, I know not what it is!

                                  IV.

    What, am I dead? Then could I feel no smart!
    But still in me the sense of grief reviveth.
    Am I alive? Ah, no! I have no heart;
    For she that hath it, me of life depriveth.
    O that she would restore my heart again;
    Or give me hers, to countervail my pain!

                                   V.

    If it be Love, to waste long hours in grief;
    If it be Love, to wish, and not obtain;
    If it be Love, to pine without relief;
    If it be Love, to hope and never gain;
    Then may you think that he hath truly loved,
    Who, for your sake! all this and more, hath proved!

                                  VI.

    If that, in ought, mine eyes have done amiss;
    Let them receive deservèd punishment!
    For so the perfect rule of Justice is,
    Each for his own deeds, should be praised, or shent.
    Then, doubtless, is it both 'gainst Law and Sense,
    My Heart should suffer for mine Eyes' offence.

                                  VII.

    I am not sick, and yet I am not sound;
    I eat and sleep, and yet, methinks, I thrive not.
    I sport and laugh, and yet my griefs abound;
    I am not dead, and yet, methinks, I live not.
    "What uncouth cause hath these strange passions bred,
    To make at once, sick, sound, alive, and dead?"

                                 VIII.

    Something I want; but what, I cannot say.
    O, now I know! It is myself I want!
    My Love, with her, hath ta'en my heart away;
    Yea, heart and all, and left me very scant.
    "Such power hath Love, and nought but Love alone,
    To make divided creatures live in one."

                                  IX.

    PHILOPARTHEN. "Come, gentle Death! and strike me with thy dart!
                  Life is but loathsome to a man opprest."
    DEATH.        "How can I kill thee! when thou hast no heart?
                  That which thou hadst, is in another's breast!"
    PHILOPARTHEN. "Then, must I live, and languish still in pain?"
    DEATH.        "Yea, till thy Love restore thy heart again!"

                                   X.

    Were Love a Fire, my tears might quench it lightly;
    Or were it Water, my hot heart might dry it.
    If Air, then might it pass away more slightly;
    Or were it Earth, the world might soon descry it.
    If Fire nor Water, Air nor Earth it be;
    What then is it, that thus tormenteth me?

                                  XI.

    To paint her outward shape and gifts of mind,
    It doth exceed my wit and cunning far.
    She hath no fault, but that she is unkind.
    All other parts in her so complete are,
    That who, to view them throughly would devise,
    Must have his body nothing else but eyes.

                                  XII.

    Fair is my Love! whose parts are so well framed,
    By Nature's special order and direction;
    That She herself is more than half ashamed,
    In having made a work of such perfection.
    And well may Nature blush at such a feature;
    Seeing herself excelled in her creature.

                                 XIII.

    Her body is straight, slender, and upright;
    Her visage comely, and her looks demure
    Mixt with a cheerful grace that yields delight;
    Her eyes, like stars, bright, shining, clear and pure:
    Which I describing, LOVE bids stay my pen,
    And says, "It's not a work for mortal men!"

                                  XIV.

    The ancient poets write of Graces three,
    Which meeting all together in one creature,
    In all points, perfect make the Frame to be;
    For inward virtues, and for outward feature
    But smile, ALCILIA! and the world shall see
    That in thine eyes, a hundred Graces be!

                                  XV.

    As LOVE had drawn his bow, ready to shoot,
    Aiming at me, with resolute intent;
    Straight, bow and shaft he cast down at his foot,
    And said, "Why, needless, should one shaft be spent?
    I'll spare it then, and now it shall suffice
    Instead of shafts, to use ALCILIA's eyes."

                                  XVI.

    Blush not, my Love! for fear lest PHOEBUS spy!
    Which if he do, then, doubtless, he will say,
    "Thou seek'st to dim his clearness with thine eye!"
    That clearness, which, from East, brings gladsome day:
    But most of all, lest JOVE should see, I dread;
    And take thee up to heaven like GANYMEDE.

                                 XVII.

    PHILOPARTHEN.  "What is the cause ALCILIA is displeased?"
    LOVE.          "Because she wants that which should most content her."
    PHILOPARTHEN.  "O did I know it, soon should she be eased!"
    LOVE.          "Perhaps, thou dost! and that doth most torment her."
    PHILOPARTHEN.  "Yet, let her ask! what she desires to have."
    LOVE.          "Guess, by thyself! For maidens must not crave!"

                                 XVIII.

    My Love, by chance, her tender finger pricked;
    As, in the dark, I strivèd for a kiss:
    Whose blood, I seeing, offered to have licked,
    But half in anger, she refusèd this.
    O that she knew the difference of the smart
    'Twixt her pricked finger, and my piercèd heart!

                                  XIX.

    PHILOPARTHEN. "I pray thee, tell! What makes my heart to tremble,
                  When, on a sudden, I, ALCILIA spy?"
    LOVE.         "Because thy heart cannot thy joy dissemble!
                  Thy life and death are both lodged in her eye."
    PHILOPARTHEN. "Dost thou not her, with self-same passion strike?"
    LOVE.         "O, no! Her heart and thine are not alike."

                                  XX.

    Such are thy parts of body and of mind;
    That if I should not love thee as I do,
    I should too much degenerate from Kind,
    And think the world would blame my weakness too.
    For he, whom such perfections cannot move,
    Is either senseless, or not born to love.

                                  XXI.

    ALCILIA's eyes have set my heart on fire,
    The pleasing object that my pain doth feed:
    Yet still to see those eyes I do desire,
    As if my help should from my hurt proceed.
    Happy were I, might there in her be found
    A will to heal, as there was power to wound.

                                 XXII.

    Unwise was he, that painted LOVE a boy;
    Who, for his strength, a giant should have been.
    It's strange a child should work so great annoy;
    Yet howsoever strange, too truly seen.
    "But what is he? that dares at LOVE repine;
    Whose works are wonders, and himself divine!"

                                 XXIII.

    My fair ALCILIA! gladly would I know it,
    If ever Loving Passion pierced thy heart?
    O, no! For, then, thy kindness soon would show it!
    And of my pains, thyself wouldst bear some part.
    Full little knoweth he that hath not proved,
    What hell it is to love, and not be loved.

                                 XXIV.

    LOVE! Art thou blind? Nay, thou canst see too well!
    And they are blind that so report of thee!
    That thou dost see, myself by proof can tell;
    (A hapless proof thereof is made by me);
    For sure I am, hadst thou not had thy sight,
    Thou never couldst have hit my heart so right.

                                  XXV.

    Long have I languished, and endured much smart
    Since hapless I, the Cruel Fair did love;
    And lodged her in the centre of my heart.
    Who, there abiding, Reason should her move.
    Though of my pains she no compassion take;
    Yet to respect me, for her own sweet sake.

                                 XXVI.

    In midst of winter season, as the snow,
    Whose milk white mantle overspreads the ground;
    In part, the colour of my love is so.
    Yet their effects, I have contrary found:
    For when the sun appears, snow melts anon;
    But I melt always when my sun is gone.

                                 XXVII.

    The sweet content, at first, I seemed to prove
    (While yet Desire unfledged, could scarcely fly),
    Did make me think there was no life to Love;
    Till all too late, Time taught the contrary.
    For, like a fly, I sported with the flame;
    Till, like a fool, I perished in the same.

                                XXVIII.

    After dark night, the cheerful day appeareth;
    After an ebb, the river flows again;
    After a storm, the cloudy heaven cleareth:
    All labours have their end, or ease of pain.
    Each creature hath relief and rest, save I,
    Who only dying, live; and living, die!

                                 XXIX.

    Sometimes I seek for company to sport,
    Whereby I might my pensive thoughts beguile;
    Sometimes, again, I hide me from resort,
    And muse alone: but yet, alas, the while
    In changing place, I cannot change my mind;
    For wheresoe'er I fly, myself I find.

                                  XXX.

[Sidenote: _Meritum petere grave._]

    Fain would I speak, but straight my heart doth tremble,
    And checks my tongue that should my griefs reveal:
    And so I strive my Passions to dissemble,
    Which all the art I have, cannot conceal.
    Thus standing mute, my heart with longing starveth!
    "It grieves a man to ask, what he deserveth."

                                 XXXI.

    Since you desire of me the cause to know,
    For which these divers Passions I have proved;
    Look in your glass! which will not fail to show
    The shadowed portrait of my best beloved.
    If that suffice not, look into my heart!
    Where it's engraven by a new found art.

                                 XXXII.

    The painful ploughman hath his heart's delight;
    Who, though his daily toil his body tireth,
    Yet merrily comes whistling home at night,
    And sweetly takes the ease his pain requireth:
    But neither days nor nights can yield me rest;
    Born to be wretched, and to live opprest!

                                XXXIII.

    O well were it, if Nature would devise
    That men with men together might engender,
    As grafts of trees, one from another rise;
    Then nought, of due, to women should we render!
    But, vain conceit! that Nature should do this;
    Since, well we know, herself a woman is!

                                 XXXIV.

    Upon the altar where LOVE's fires burnèd,
    My Sighs and Tears for sacrifice I offered;
    When LOVE, in rage, from me his countenance turnèd,
    And did reject what I so humbly proffered.
    If he, my heart expect, alas, it's gone!
    "How can a man give that, is not his own?"

                                 XXXV.

    ALCILIA said, "She did not know my mind,
    Because my words did not declare my love!"
    Thus, where I merit most, least help I find;
    And her unkindness all too late I prove.
    Grant, LOVE! that She, of whom thou art neglected,
    May one day love, and little be respected!

                                 XXXVI.

[Sidenote: _Amor est otiosorum negotium._]

    The Cynic[4] being asked, "When he should love?"
    Made answer, "When he nothing had to do;
    For Love was Sloth!" But he did never prove
    By his experience, what belonged thereto.
    For had he tasted but so much as I,
    He would have soon reformed his heresy.

                                XXXVII.

    O judge me not, sweet Love, by outward show!
    Though sometimes strange I seem, and to neglect thee!
    Yet didst thou, but my inward Passions know,
    Thou shouldst perceive how highly I respect thee!
    "When looks are fixed, the heart ofttimes doth tremble!"
    "Little loves he, that cannot much dissemble!"

                                XXXVIII.

    Parting from thee! even from myself I part.
    Thou art the star, by which my life is guided!
    I have the body, but thou hast the heart!
    The better part is from itself divided.
    Thus do I live, and this I do sustain,
    Till gracious Fortune make us meet again!


    Open the sluices of my feeble eyes,
    And let my tears have passage from their fountain!
    Fill all the earth, with plaints! the air, with cries!
    Which may pierce rocks, and reach the highest mountain:
    That so, LOVE's wrath, by these extremes appeased;
    My griefs may cease, and my poor heart be eased.

                                  XL.

    "After long sickness, health brings more delight."
    "Seas seem more calm, by storms once overblown."
    "The day more cheerful, by the passed night."
    "Each thing is, by his contrary best known."
    "Continual ease is pain: Change sometimes meeter."
    "Discords in music make music sweeter."

                                  XLI.

    Fear to offend forbids my tongue to speak,
    And signs and sighs must tell my inward woe:
    But (ay the while) my heart with grief doth break,
    And she, by signs, my sorrow will not know.
    "The stillest streams we see in deepest fords;
    And Love is greatest, when it wanteth words."

                                 XLII.

    "No pain so great but may be eased by Art."
    "Though much we suffer, yet despair we should not."
    "In midst of griefs, Hope always hath some part;
    And Time may heal, what Art and Reason could not."
    O what is then this Passion I endure,
    Which neither Reason, Art, nor Time can cure?

                                 XLIII.

    Pale Jealousy! Fiend of the eternal Night!
    Misshapen creature, born before thy time!
    The Imp of Horror! Foe to sweet Delight!
    Making each error seem an heinous crime.
    Ah, too great pity! (were there remedy),
    That ever Love should keep Thee company!

                                 XLIV.

[Sidenote: _Solstit: brumal._

_This Sonnet was devised upon the shortest day of the year._]

    The days are now come to their shortest date;
    And must, in time, by course, increase again.
    But only I continue at one state,
    Void of all hope of help, or ease of pain;
    For days of joy must still be short with me,
    And nights of sorrow must prolongèd be.

                                  XLV.

    Sleep now, my Muse! and henceforth take thy rest!
    Which all too long thyself in vain hath wasted.
    Let it suffice I still must live opprest;
    And of my pains, the fruit must ne'er be tasted.
    Then sleep, my Muse! "Fate cannot be withstood."
    "It's better sleep; than wake, and do no good."

                                 XLVI.

    Why should I love, since She doth prove ungrateful:
    Since, for reward, I reap nought but disdain.
    Love thus to be requited, it is hateful!
    And Reason would, I should not love in vain.
    Yet all in vain, when all is out of season,
    For "Love hath no society with Reason."

                                 XLVII.

    Heart's Ease and I have been at odds, too long!
    I follow fast, but still he flies from me!
    I sue for grace, and yet sustain the wrong;
    So gladly would I reconcilèd be.
    LOVE! make us one! So shalt thou work a wonder;
    Uniting them, that were so far asunder.

                                XLVIII.

    "Uncouth, unkist," our ancient Poet[5] said.
    And he that hides his wants, when he hath need,
    May, after, have his want of wit bewrayed;
    And fail of his desire, when others speed.
    Then boldly speak! "The worst is at first entering!"
    "Much good success men miss, for lack of venturing!"


    Declare the griefs wherewith thou art opprest,
    And let the world be witness of thy woes!
    Let not thy thoughts lie buried in thy breast;
    But let thy tongue, thy discontents disclose!
    For "who conceals his pain when he is grieved,
    May well be pitied, but no way relieved."

                                   L.

[Sidenote: _Ne amor ne signoria vuole compagnia._]

    Wretched is he that loving, sets his heart
    On her, whose love, from pure affection swerveth;
    Who doth permit each one to have a part
    Of that, which none but he alone deserveth.
    Give all, or none! For once, of this be sure!
    "Lordship and Love no partners may endure."

                                  LI.

    Who spends the weary day in pensive thought,
    And night in dreams of horror and affright;
    Whose wealth is want; whose hope is come to nought;
    Himself, the mark for Love's and Fortune's spite:
    Let him appear, if any such there be!
    His case and mine more fitly will agree.

                                  LII.

    Fair tree, but fruitless! sometimes full of sap!
    Which now yields nought at all, that may delight me!
    Some cruel frost, or some untimely hap
    Hath made thee barren, only to despite me!
    Such trees, in vain, with hope do feed Desire;
    And serve for fuel to increase Love's fire.

                                 LIII.

    In company (whiles sad and mute I sit,
    My thoughts elsewhere, than there I seem to be)
    Possessed with some deep melancholy fit;
    One of my friends observes the same in me,
    And says in jest, which I in earnest prove,
    "He looks like one, that had lost his First Love!"

                                  LIV.

    'Twixt Hope and Fear, in doubtful balance peazed,
    My fate, my fortune, and my love depends.
    Sometimes my Hope is raised, when LOVE is pleased;
    Which Fear weighs down, when ought his will offends.
    The heavens are sometimes clear, and sometimes lower;
    And "he that loves, must taste both sweet and sour!"

                                  LV.

    Retire, my wandering Thoughts! unto your rest!
    Do not, henceforth, consume yourselves in vain!
    No mortal man, in all points, can be blest;
    What now is mine, may be another's pain.
    The watery clouds are clear, when storms are past;
    And "things, in their extremes, long cannot last."

                                  LVI.

[Sidenote: _Visus. Sermo. Tactus._]

    The fire of Love is first bred in the Eye,
    And thence conveys his heat unto the Heart,
    Where it lies hid, till time his force descry.
    The Tongue thereto adds fuel for his part;
    The touch of Lips, which doth succeed the same,
    Kindles the rest, and so it proves a flame.

                                 LVII.

    The tender Sprigs that sprouted in the field,
    And promised hope of fruit to him that planted;
    Instead of fruit, doth nought but blossoms yield,
    Though care, and pain to prune them never wanted
    Even so, my hopes do nought but blossoms prove,
    And yield no fruits to recompense my love.

                                 LVIII.

    Though little sign of love in show appear;
    Yet think, True Love, of colours hath no need!
    It's not the glorious garments, which men wear,
    That makes them other than they are indeed:
    "In meanest show, the most affection dwells;
    And richest pearls are found in simplest shells."

                                  LIX.

[Sidenote: _MARTIAL._

_Ille dolet vere, qui sine teste dolet._]

    Let not thy tongue, thy inward thoughts disclose!
    Or tell the sorrows that thy heart endures!
    Let no man's ears be witness of thy woes!
    Since pity, neither help nor ease procures:
    And "only he is, truly, said to moan,
    Whose griefs none knoweth but himself alone."

                                  LX.

[Sidenote: _Alteri inserviens meipsum conficio._]

    A thousand times; I curse these idle rhymes,
    Which do their Maker's follies vain set forth;
    Yet bless I them again, as many times,
    For that in them, I blaze ALCILIA's worth.
    Meanwhile, I fare, as doth the torch by night,
    Which wastes itself in giving others light.

                                  LXI.

    Enough of this! For all is nought regarded!
    And She, not once, with my complaints is moved.
    Die, hapless love! since thou art not rewarded;
    Yet ere thou die, to witness that I loved!
    Report my truth! and tell the Fair unkind,
    That "She hath lost, what none but She shall find!"

                                 LXII.

    Lovers, lament! You that have truly loved!
    For PHILOPARTHEN, now, hath lost his love:
    The greatest loss that ever lover proved.
    O let his hard hap some compassion move!
    Who had not rued the loss of her so much;
    But that he knows the world yields no more such.

                                 LXIII.

    Upon the ocean of conceited error,
    My weary spirits, many storms have past;
    Which now in harbour, free from wonted terror,
    Joy the possession of their rest at last.
    And, henceforth, safely may they lie at road!
    And never rove for "Had I wist!" abroad!

[Illustration]


               _LOVE's Accusation at the Judgement Seat_
                _of REASON; wherein the Author's whole_
                   _success in his love is covertly_
                             _deciphered._
        [Compare this, with GASCOIGNE's poem, _Vol. I. p. 63_.]

    In REASON's Court, myself being Plaintiff there,
    LOVE was, by process, summoned to appear.
    That so the wrongs, which he had done to me,
    Might be made known; and all the world might see:
    And seeing, rue what to my cost I proved;
    While faithful, but unfortunate I loved.

    After I had obtainèd audience;
    I thus began to give in evidence.

                [_The Author's Evidence against LOVE._]

    "Most sacred Queen! and Sovereign of man's heart!
    Which of the mind dost rule the better part!
    First bred in heaven, and from thence, hither sent
    To guide men's actions by thy regiment!
    Vouchsafe a while to hear the sad complaint
    Of him that LOVE hath long kept in restraint;
    And, as to you it properly belongs,
    Grant justice of my undeservèd wrongs!

    It's now two years, as I remember well,
    Since first this wretch, (sent from the nether hell,
    To plague the world with new-found cruelties),
    Under the shadow of two crystal Eyes,
    Betrayed my Sense; and, as I slumbering lay,
    Feloniously conveyed my heart away;
    Which most unjustly he detained from me,
    And exercised thereon strange tyranny.

    Sometime his manner was, in sport and game,
    With briars and thorns, to raze and prick the same;
    Sometime with nettles of Desire to sting it;
    Sometime with pincons[6] of Despair to wring it;
    Sometime again, he would anoint the sore,
    And heal the place that he had hurt before:
    But hurtful helps! and ministered in vain!
    Which servèd only to renew my pain.
    For, after that, more wounds he added still;
    Which piercèd deep, but had no power to kill.
    Unhappy medicine! which, instead of cure,
    Gives strength to make the patient more endure!

    But that which was most strange of all the rest
    (Myself being thus 'twixt life and death distrest),
    Ofttimes, when as my pain exceeded measure,
    He would persuade me that the same was pleasure;
    My solemn sadness, but contentment meet;
    My travail, rest; and all my sour, sweet;
    My wounds, but gentle strokes: whereat he smiled,
    And by these slights, my careless youth beguiled.

    Thus did I fare, as one that living died,
    (For greater pains, I think, hath no man tried)
    Disquiet thoughts, like furies in my breast
    Nourished the poison that my spirits possesst.
    Now Grief, then Joy; now War, then Peace unstable,
    Nought sure I had, but to be miserable.

    I cannot utter all, I must confess.
    Men may conceive more than they can express!
    But (to be short), which cannot be excused,
    With vain illusions, LOVE, my hope abused;
    Persuading me I stood upon firm ground
    When, unawares, myself on sands I found.
    This is the point which most I do enforce!
    That Love, without all pity or remorse,
    Did suffer me to languish still in grief
    Void of contentment, succour, or relief:
    And when I looked my pains should be rewarded,
    I did perceive, that they were nought regarded.

    For why? Alas, these hapless eyes did see
    ALCILIA loved another more than me!
    So in the end, when I expected most;
    My hope, my love, and fortune thus were crost."

           *       *       *       *       *

    Proceeding further, REASON bad me stay
    For the Defendant had some thing to say.
    Then to the Judge, for justice, loud I cried!
    And so I pausèd: and LOVE thus replied.

                    [_LOVE's Reply to the Author._]

    "Since REASON ought to lend indifferent ears
    Unto both parties, and judge as truth appears;
    Most gracious Lady! give me leave to speak,
    And answer his Complaint, that seeks to wreak
    His spite and malice on me, without cause;
    In charging me to have transgressed thy laws!
    Of all his follies, he imputes the blame
    To me, poor LOVE! that nought deserves the same.
    Himself it is, that hath abusèd me!
    As by mine answer, shall well proved be.

    Fond youth! thou knowest what I for thee effected!
    Though, now, I find it little be respected.
    I purged thy wit, which was before but gross.
    The metal pure, I severed from the dross,
    And did inspire thee with my sweetest fire
    That kindled in thee Courage and Desire:
    Not like unto those servile Passions
    Which cumber men's imaginations
    With Avarice, Ambition, and Vainglory;
    Desire of things fleeting and transitory.
    No base conceit, but such as Powers above
    Have known and felt, I mean, th' Instinct of Love;
    Which making men, all earthly things despise,
    Transports them to a heavenly paradise.

    Where thou complain'st of sorrows in thy heart,
    Who lives on earth but therein hath his part?
    Are these thy fruits? Are these thy best rewards
    For all the pleasing glances, sly regards,
    The sweet stol'n kisses, amorous conceits,
    So many smiles, so many fair intreats,
    Such kindness as ALCILIA did bestow
    All for my sake! as well thyself dost know?
    That LOVE should thus be used, it is hateful!
    But 'all is lost, that's done for one ungrateful.'

    Where he allegeth that he was abusèd
    In that he truly loving, was refusèd:
    That's most untrue! and plainly may be tried.
    Who never asked, could never be denied!
    But he affected rather single life,
    Than yoke of marriage, matching with a wife.
    And most men, now, make love to none but heires[ses]
    Poor love! GOD wot! that poverty empairs.
    Worldly respects, LOVE little doth regard.
    'Who loves, hath only love for his reward!'

[Sidenote: _The description of a foolhardy Lover._]

      He merits a lover's name, indeed!
    That casts no doubts, which vain suspicion breed:
    But desperately at hazard, throws the dice,
    Neglecting due regard of friends' advice;
    That wrestles with his fortune and his fate,
    Which had ordained to better his estate;
    That hath no care of wealth, no fear of lack,
    But ventures forward, though he see his wrack;
    That with Hope's wings, like ICARUS doth fly,
    Though for his rashness, he like fortune try;
    That, to his fame, the world of him may tell
    How, while he soared aloft, adown he fell.
    And so True Love awarded him his doom
    In scaling heaven, to have made the sea his tomb;
    That making shipwreck of his dearest fame,
    Betrays himself to poverty and shame;
    That hath no sense of sorrow, or repent,
    No dread of perils far or imminent;
    But doth prefer before all pomp or pelf,
    The sweet of love as dearer than himself.
    Who, were his passage stopped by sword and fire,
    Would make way through, to compass his Desire.
    For which he would (though heaven and earth forbad it)
    Hazard to lose a kingdom, if he had it.

    These be the things wherein I glory most,
    Whereof, this my Accuser cannot boast:
    Who was indifferent to his loss or gain;
    And better pleased to fail, than to obtain.
    All qualified affections, LOVE doth hate!
    And likes him best that's most intemperate.
    But hence, proceeds his malice and despite;
    While he himself bars of his own delight.
    For when as he, ALCILIA first affected,
    (Like one in show, that love little respected)
    He masqued, disguised, and entertained his thought
    With hope of that, which he in secret sought;
    And still forbare to utter his desire,
    Till his delay receive her worthy hire.
    And well we know, what maids themselves would have,
    Men must sue for, and by petition crave.
    But he regarding more his Wealth, than Will;
    Hath little care his Fancy to fulfil.
    Yet when he saw ALCILIA loved another;
    The secret fire, which in his breast did smother,
    Began to smoke, and soon had proved a flame:
    If Temperance had not allayed the same.
    Which, afterward, so quenched he did not find
    But that some sparks remainèd still behind.
    Thus, when time served, he did refuse to crave it;
    And yet envied another man should have it!

    As though, fair maids should wait, at young men's pleasure,
    Whilst they, 'twixt sport and earnest, love at leisure.
    Nay, at the first! when it is kindly proffered!
    Maids must accept; least twice, it be not offered!
    Else though their beauty seem their good t'importune,
    Yet may they lose the better of their fortune.

    Thus, as this Fondling coldly went about it;
    So in the end, he clearly went without it.
    For while he, doubtful, seemed to make a stay,
    A Mongrel stole the maiden's heart away;
    For which, though he lamented much in shew,
    Yet was he, inward, glad it fell out so.

    Now, REASON! you may plainly judge by this,
    Not I, but he, the false dissembler is:
    Who, while fond hope his lukewarm love did feed,
    Made sign of more than he sustained indeed:
    And filled his rhymes with fables and with lies,
    Which, without Passion, he did oft devise;
    So to delude the ignorance of such
    That pitied him, thinking he loved too much.
    And with conceit, rather to shew his Wit,
    Than manifest his faithful Love by it.

    Much more than this, could I lay to his charge;
    But time would fail to open all at large.
    Let this suffice to prove his bad intent,
    And prove that LOVE is clear and innocent."

           *       *       *       *       *

    Thus, at the length, though late, he made an end,
    And both of us did earnestly, attend
    The final judgement, REASON should award:
    When thus she 'gan to speak. "With due regard,
    The matter hath been heard, on either side.
    For judgement, you must longer time abide!
    The cause is weighty, and of great import."
    And so she, smiling, did adjourn the Court.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Little availed it, then, to argue more;
    So I returned in worse case than before.

                           _LOVE Deciphered._

       *       *       *       *       *

    Love and I are now divided,
    Conceit, by Error, was misguided.
    ALCILIA hath my love despised!
    "No man loves, that is advised."
    "Time at length, hath Truth detected."
    LOVE hath missed what he expected.
    Yet missing that, which long he sought;
    I have found that, I little thought.
    "Errors, in time, may be redrest,"
    "The shortest follies are the best."

    Love and Youth are now asunder;
    Reason's glory, Nature's wonder.
    My thoughts, long bound, are now enlarged;
    My Folly's penance is discharged:
    Thus Time hath altered my estate.
    "Repentance never comes too late."
    Ah, well I find that Love is nought
    But folly, and an idle thought.
    The difference is 'twixt LOVE and me,
    That he is blind, and I can see.

    Love is honey mixed with gall!
    A thraldom free, a freedom thrall!
    A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour!
    Got in a year, lost in an hour!
    A peaceful war, a warlike peace!
    Whose wealth brings want; whose want, increase!
    Full long pursuit, and little gain!
    Uncertain pleasure, certain pain!
    Regard of neither right nor wrong!
    For short delights, repentance long!

    Love is the sickness of the thought!
    Conceit of pleasure, dearly bought!
    A restless Passion of the mind!
    A labyrinth of errors blind!
    A sugared poison! fair deceit!
    A bait for fools! a furious heat!
    A chilling cold! a wondrous passion
    Exceeding man's imagination!
    Which none can tell in whole, or part,
    But only he that feels the smart.

    Love is sorrow mixt with gladness!
    Fear, with hope! and hope, with madness!
    Long did I love, but all in vain;
    I loving, was not loved again:
    For which my heart sustained much woe.
    It fits not maids to use men so!
    Just deserts are not regarded,
    Never love so ill rewarded!
    But "all is lost that is not sought!"
    "Oft wit proves best, that's dearest bought!"

    Women were made for men's relief;
    To comfort, not to cause their grief.
    Where most I merit, least I find:
    No marvel! since that love is blind.
    Had She been kind, as She was fair,
    My case had been more strange and rare.
    But women love not by desert!
    Reason in them hath weakest part!
    Then, henceforth, let them love that list,
    I will beware of "Had I wist!"

    These faults had better been concealed,
    Than to my shame abroad revealed.
    Yet though my youth did thus miscarry,
    My harms may make others more wary.
    Love is but a youthful fit,
    And some men say "It's sign of wit!"
    But he that loves as I have done;
    To pass the day, and see no sun:
    Must change his note, and sing _Erravi!_
    Or else may chance to cry _Peccavi!_

    The longest day must have his night,
    Reason triumphs in Love's despite.
    I follow now Discretion's lore;
    "Henceforth to like; but love no more!"
    Then gently pardon what is past!
    For LOVE draws onwards to his last.
    "He walks," they say, "with wary eye;
    Whose footsteps never tread awry!"
    My Muse a better work intends:
    And here my Loving Folly ends.

    After long storms and tempests past,
    I see the haven at the last;
    Where I must rest my weary bark,
    And there unlade my care and cark.
    My pains and travails long endured,
    And all my wounds must there be cured.
    Joys, out of date, shall be renewed;
    To think of perils past eschewed.
    When I shall sit full blithe and jolly,
    And talk of lovers and their folly.

    Then LOVE and FOLLY, both adieu!
    Long have I been misled by you.
    FOLLY may new adventures try!
    But REASON says that "LOVE must die!"
    Yea, die indeed, although grieve him;
    For my cold heart cannot relieve him!
    Yet for her sake, whom once I loved,
    (Though all in vain, as time hath proved)
    I'll take the pain, if She consent!
    To write his Will and Testament.

                   _LOVE's last Will and Testament._

    My Spirit, I bequeath unto the air!
      My Body shall unto the earth repair!
      My Burning Brand, unto the Prince of Hell;
    T'increase men's pains that there in darkness dwell!
    For well I ween, above nor under ground,
    A greater pain than that, may not be found.
      My sweet Conceits of Pleasure and Delight,
    To EREBUS! and to Eternal Night!
      My Sighs, my Tears, my Passions, and Laments,
    Distrust, Despair; all these my hourly rents,
    With other plagues that lovers' minds enthral:
    Unto OBLIVION, I bequeath them all!
      My broken Bow, and Shafts, I give to REASON!
      My Cruelties, my Slights, and forgèd Treason,
    To Womankind! and to their seed, for aye!
    To wreak their spite, and work poor men's decay.
    Reserving only for ALCILIA's part,
    Small kindness, and less care of lovers' smart.

    For She is from the vulgar sort excepted;
    And had She, PHILOPARTHEN's love respected,
    Requiting it with like affection,
    She might have had the praise of all perfection.
      This done; if I have any Faith and Troth;
    To PHILOPARTHEN, I assign them both!
    For unto him, of right, they do belong
    Who loving truly, suffered too much wrong.
      TIME shall be sole Executor of my will;
    Who may these things, in order due fulfil,
      To warrant this my Testament for good;
    I have subscribed it, with my dying blood.

    And so he died, that all this bale had bred.
    And yet my heart misdoubts he is not dead:
    For, sure, I fear, should I ALCILIA spy;
    She might, eftsoons, revive him with her eye!
    Such power divine remaineth in her sight;
    To make him live again, in Death's despite.

[Illustration]


          _The Sonnets following were written by the Author,_
            _after he began to decline from his Passionate_
                _Affection; and in them, he seemeth to_
                 _please himself with describing the_
                     _Vanity of Love, the Frailty_
                         _of Beauty, and the_
                           _sour fruits of_
                             _Repentance._

       *       *       *       *       *

                                   I.

    Now have I spun the web of my own woes,
    And laboured long to purchase my own loss.
    Too late I see, I was beguiled with shows.
    And that which once seemed gold, now proves but dross.
    Thus am I, both of help and hope bereaved.
    "He never tried that never was deceived."

[Sidenote: _Chi non si fida, non viene ingannato._]

                                  II.

    Once did I love, but more than once repent;
    When vintage came, my grapes were sour, or rotten.
    Long time in grief and pensive thoughts I spent;
    And all for that, which Time hath made forgotten.
    O strange effects of time! which, once being lost,
    Make men secure of that they lovèd most.

                                  III.

    Thus have I long in th'air of Error hovered,
    And run my ship upon Repentance's shelf.
    Truth hath the veil of Ignorance uncovered,
    And made me see; and seeing, know myself.
    Of former follies, now, I must repent,
    And count this work, part of my time ill spent.

                                  IV.

    What thing is LOVE? "A tyrant of the Mind!"
    "Begot by heat of Youth; brought forth by Sloth;
    Nursed with vain Thoughts, and changing as the wind!"
    "A deep Dissembler, void of faith and troth!"
    "Fraught with fond errors, doubts, despite, disdain,
    And all the plagues that earth and hell contain!"

                                   V.

    Like to a man that wanders all the day
    Through ways unknown, to seek a thing of worth,
    And, at the night, sees he hath gone astray;
    As near his end, as when he first set forth:
    Such is my case, whose hope untimely crost,
    After long errors, proves my labour lost.

                                  VI.

    Failed of that hap, whereto my hope aspired,
    Deprived of that which might have been mine own:
    Another, now, must have what I desired;
    And things too late, by their events are known.
    Thus do we wish for that cannot be got;
    And when it may, then we regard it not.

                                  VII.

    Ingrateful LOVE! since thou hast played thy part!
    (Enthralling him, whom Time hath since made free)
    It rests with me, to use both Wit and Art,
    That of my wrongs I may revengèd be:
    And in those eyes, where first thou took'st thy fire!
    Thyself shalt perish, through my cold desire.

                                 VIII.

    "Grieve not thyself, for that cannot be had!
    And things, once cureless, let them cureless rest!"
    "Blame not thy fortune, though thou deem it bad!
    What's past and gone will never be redrest."
    "The only help, for that cannot be gained,
    Is to forget it might have been obtained."

                                  IX.

    How happy, once, did I myself esteem!
    While Love with Hope, my fond Desire did cherish;
    My state as blissful as a King's did seem,
    Had I been sure my joys should never perish.
    "The thoughts of men are fed with expectation."
    "Pleasures themselves are but imagination."

                                   X.

    Why should we hope for that which is to come,
    Where the event is doubtful, and unknown?
    Such fond presumptions soon receive their doom,
    When things expected we count as our own;
    Whose issue, ofttimes, in the end proves nought
    But hope! a shadow, and an idle thought.

                                  XI.

    In vain do we complain our life is short,
    (Which well disposed, great matters might effect)
    While we ourselves, in toys and idle sport,
    Consume the better part without respect.
    And careless (as though time should never end it)
    'Twixt sleep, and waking, prodigally spend it.

                                  XII.

    Youthful Desire is like the summer season
    That lasts not long; for winter must succeed:
    And so our Passions must give place to Reason;
    And riper years, more ripe effects must breed.
    Of all the seed, Youth sowed in vain desires,
    I reapèd nought, but thistles, thorns, and briars.

                                 XIII.

[Sidenote: _Chi non fa, non falla; chi falla, l'amenda._]

    "To err and do amiss, is given to men by Kind."
    "Who walks so sure, but sometimes treads awry?"
    But to continue still in errors blind,
    A bad and bestial nature doth descry.
    "Who proves not; fails not; and brings nought to end:
    Who proves and fails, may, afterward, amend."

                                  XIV.

    There was but One, and doubtless She the best!
    Whom I did more than all the world esteem:
    She having failed, I disavow the rest;
    For, now, I find "things are not as they seem."
    "Default of that, wherein our will is crost,
    Ofttimes, unto our good availeth most."

                                  XV.

[Sidenote: _Chi va, e ritorna, fa buon viaggio._]

    I fare like him who, now his land-hope spent,
    By unknown seas, sails to the Indian shore;
    Returning thence no richer than he went,
    Yet cannot much his fortune blame therefore.
    Since "Whoso ventures forth upon the Main,
    Makes a good mart, if he return again."

                                  XVI.

    Lovers' Conceits are like a flatt'ring Glass,
    That makes the lookers fairer than they are;
    Who, pleased in their deceit, contented pass.
    Such once was mine, who thought there was none fair,
    None witty, modest, virtuous but She;
    Yet now I find the Glass abusèd me.

                                 XVII.

    Adieu, fond Love! the Mother of all Error!
    Replete with hope and fear, with joy and pain.
    False fire of Fancy! full of care and terror.
    Shadow of pleasures fleeting, short, and vain!
    Die, loathèd Love! Receive thy latest doom!
    "Night be thy grave! and Oblivion be thy tomb!"

[Sidenote: _Nihil agendo male agere discimus._]

                                XVIII.

    Who would be rapt up into the third heaven
    To see a world of strange imaginations?
    Who, careless, would leave all at six and seven,
    To wander in a labyrinth of Passions?
    Who would, at once, all kinds of folly prove;
    When he hath nought to do, then let him love!

                                  XIX.

    What thing is Beauty? "Nature's dearest Minion!"
    "The Snare of Youth! like the inconstant moon
    Waxing and waning!" "Error of Opinion!"
    "A Morning's Flower, that withereth ere noon!"
    "A swelling Fruit! no sooner ripe, than rotten!"
    "Which sickness makes forlorn, and time forgotten!"

                                  XX.

    The Spring of Youth, which now is in his prime;
    Winter of Age, with hoary frosts shall nip!
    Beauty shall then be made the prey of Time!
    And sour Remorse, deceitful Pleasures whip!
    Then, henceforth, let Discretion rule Desire!
    And Reason quench the flame of CUPID's fire!

                                  XXI.

    O what a life was that sometime I led!
    When Love with Passions did my peace encumber;
    While, like a man neither alive nor dead,
    I was rapt from myself, as one in slumber:
    Whose idle senses, charmed with fond illusion,
    Did nourish that which bred their own confusion.

                                 XXII.

    The child, for ever after, dreads the fire;
    That once therewith by chance his finger burned.
    Water of Time distilled doth cool Desire.
    "And far he ran," they say, "that never turned."
    After long storms, I see the port at last.
    Farewell, Folly! For now my love is past!

                                 XXIII.

    Base servile thoughts of men, too much dejected,
    That seek, and crouch, and kneel for women's grace!
    Of whom, your pain and service is neglected;
    Yourselves, despised; rivals, before your face!
    The more you sue, the less you shall obtain!
    The less you win, the more shall be your gain!

                                 XXIV.

    In looking back unto my follies past;
    While I the present, with times past compare,
    And think how many hours I then did waste
    Painting on clouds, and building in the air:
    I sigh within myself, and say in sadness,
    "This thing which fools call Love, is nought but Madness!"

                                  XXV.

    "The things we have, we most of all neglect;
    And that we have not, greedily we crave.
    The things we may have, little we respect;
    And still we covet, that we cannot have.
    Yet, howsoe'er, in our conceit, we prize them;
    No sooner gotten, but we straight despise them."

                                 XXVI.

    Who seats his love upon a woman's will,
    And thinks thereon to build a happy state;
    Shall be deceived, when least he thinks of ill,
    And rue his folly when it is too late.
    He ploughs on sand, and sows upon the wind,
    That hopes for constant love in Womankind.

                                 XXVII.

    I will no longer spend my time in toys!
    Seeing Love is Error, Folly, and Offence;
    An idle fit for fond and reckless boys,
    Or else for men deprived of common sense.
    'Twixt Lunacy and Love, these odds appear;
    Th' one makes fools, monthly; th' other, all the year.

                                XXVIII.

    While season served to sow, my plough stood still;
    My graffs unset, when other's trees did bloom.
    I spent the Spring in sloth, and slept my fill;
    But never thought of Winter's cold to come;
    Till Spring was past, the Summer well nigh gone;
    When I awaked, and saw my harvest none.

                                 XXIX.

    Now LOVE sits all alone, in black attire;
    His broken bow, and arrows lying by him;
    His fire extinct, that whilom fed Desire;
    Himself the scorn of lovers that pass by him:
    Who, this day, freely may disport and play;
    For it is PHILOPARTHEN's Holiday.

                                  XXX.

[Sidenote: _Otia si tollas periere Cupidinis arcus._]

    Nay, think not LOVE! with all thy cunning slight,
    To catch me once again! Thou com'st too late!
    Stern Industry puts Idleness to flight:
    And Time hath changèd both my name and state.
    Then seek elsewhere for mates, that may befriend thee!
    For I am busy, and cannot attend thee!

                                 XXXI.

    Loose Idleness! the Nurse of fond Desire!
    Root of all ills that do our youth betide;
    That, whilom, didst, through love, my wrack conspire:
    I banish thee! and rather wish t'abide
    All austere hardness, and continual pain;
    Than to revoke thee! or to love again!

                                 XXXII.

    The time will come when, looking in a glass,
    Thy rivelled face, with sorrow thou shalt see!
    And sighing, say, "It is not as it was!
    These cheeks were wont more fresh and fair to be!
    But now, what once made me so much admired
    Is least regarded, and of none desired!"

                                XXXIII.

[Sidenote: _Temporis solius honesta est avaritia._]

    Though thou be fair, think Beauty but a blast!
    A morning's dew! a shadow quickly gone!
    A painted flower, whose colour will not last!
    Time steals away, when least we think thereon.
    Of which alone, the sparing is commended.

                                 XXXIV.

    How vain is Youth that, crossed in his Desire,
    Doth fret and fume, and inwardly repine;
    As though 'gainst heaven itself, he would conspire;
    And with his fraility, 'gainst his fate combine,
    Who of itself continues constant still;
    And doth us good, ofttimes against our will.

                                 XXXV.

    In prime of Youth, when years and Wit were ripe,
    Unhappy Will, to ruin led the way.
    Wit danced about, when Folly 'gan to pipe;
    And Will and he together went astray.
    Nought then but Pleasure, was the good they sought!
    Which now Repentance proves too dearly bought.

                                 XXXVI.

[Sidenote: _Est virtus pracitis abstinuisse bonis._]

    He that in matters of delight and pleasure,
    Can bridle his outrageous affection;
    And temper it in some indifferent measure,
    Doth prove himself a man of good direction.
    In conquering Will, true courage most is shown;
    And sweet temptations makes men's virtues known.

                                XXXVII.

[Sidenote: _Invidia fatorum series summisque negatum stare
diu._]

    Each natural thing, by course of Kind, we see,
    In his perfection long continueth not.
    Fruits once full ripe, will then fall from the tree;
    Or in due time not gathered, soon will rot.
    It is decreed, by doom of Powers Divine,
    Things at their height, must thence again decline.

                                XXXVIII.

    Thy large smooth forehead, wrinkled shall appear!
    Vermillion hue, to pale and wan shall turn!
    Time shall deface what Youth has held most dear!
    Yea, these clear Eyes (which once my heart did burn)
    Shall, in their hollow circles, lodge the night;
    And yield more cause of terror, than delight!

                                 XXXIX.

[Sidenote: _Quanto piace al mondo, e breve sogno._]

    Lo here, the Record of my follies past,
    The fruits of Wit unstaid, and hours misspent!
    Full wise is he that perils can forecast,
    And so, by others' harms, his own prevent.
    All Worldly Pleasure that delights the Sense,
    Is but a short Sleep, and Time's vain expense!

                                  XL.

    The sun hath twice his annual course performed,
    Since first unhappy I, began to love;
    Whose errors now, by Reason's rule reformed,
    Conceits of Love but smoke and shadows prove.
    Who, of his folly, seeks more praise to win;
    Where I have made an end, let him begin!

                                                                  _J.C._

                                 FINIS.

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[4] _DIOGENES._

[5] _CHAUCER._

[6] _pincers._



                          Sir THOMAS OVERBURY

                                  HIS

                            _OBSERVATIONS_,

                            IN HIS TRAVELS,

                        _UPON THE STATE OF THE_

                        _SEVENTEEN PROVINCES_,

                   _AS THEY STOOD ANNO DOMINI 1609_;
               _THE TREATY OF PEACE BEING THEN ON FOOT_.


                             [Illustration]

                          Printed. M.DC.XXVI.

[In approximately estimating the present value of the money of 1609; we
have multiplied by 4-1/2.]


                                  Sir

                           THOMAS OVERBURY's

                             OBSERVATIONS,

                            IN HIS TRAVELS,

                        _UPON THE STATE OF THE_

                        _SEVENTEEN PROVINCES_,

                  _AS THEY STOOD ANNO, DOMINI 1609_;
               _THE TREATY OF PEACE BEING THEN ON FOOT_.


                 _And first, Of the Provinces United._

All things concurred for the rising and maintenance of this State: the
disposition of the people, being as mutinous as industrious and frugal;
the nature of the country, everywhere fortifiable with water; the
situation of it, having behind them the Baltic sea, which yields them
all materials for ships, and many other commodities; and for men, hard
before them France and England, both fearing the Spanish greatness, and
therefore both concurring for their aid; the remoteness of their Master
from them; the change of religion, falling out about the time of their
Revolt; and now the Marquis of BRANDENBURGH, a Protestant, like[ly] to
become [the] Duke of CLEVE.

The discontentments of the Low Countries did first appear soon after
the going away of the Kings of Spain, while the Duchess of PARMA
governed. To suppress which beginnings, the Duke of ALVA being sent,
inflamed them more upon attempting to bring in the Inquisition, and
Spanish decimation; upon the beheading of Count HORN and Count EGMONT,
persecuting those of the Religion: and undertaking to build citadels
upon all their towns; which he effected at Antwerp, but enterprising
the like at Flushing, that town revolted first, and under it began the
war.

But the more general Revolt of the Provinces happened after the death
of Don LOUIS DE REQUIESCENS, and upon the coming down of Don JOHN of
Austria: when all the Provinces, excepting Luxemburg (upon the sack
of Antwerp and other insolences), proclaimed the Spaniards "rebels,
and enemies to the King." Yet the abjuring of their obedience from the
Crown of Spain, was not in a year or two after.

Holland and Zealand (upon their first standing out) offered the
Sovereignty of themselves to the Queen, then the Protection, both
which she neglected; and that, while the French sent greater aid, and
more men of quality than we: but after the Civil War began in France,
that kept them busy at home; and then the Queen, seeing the necessity
of their being supported, upon the pawning of Brill and Flushing,
sent money and men. And since that, most part of the great exploits
there, have been done by the English, who were commonly the third part
of their army; being four regiments, besides 1,100 in Flushing and
the Ramekins, and 500 in the Brill. But, of late, the King of France
appearing more for them than ours, and paying himself the French
[soldiers] that are there; they give equal, if not more countenance
to that nation. But upon these two Kings, they make their whole
dependency: and though with more respect to him that is stronger for
the time; yet so, as it may give no distaste unto the other.

For the manner of their Government. They have, upon occasion, an
Assembly of the General States, like our Parliament; being composed of
those which are sent from every Province upon summons; and what these
Enact, stands for Law. Then is there besides, a Council of State,
residing, for the most part, at the Hague: which attends [to] daily
occasions; being rather employed upon Affairs of State than particular
[_individual_] justice. The most potent in this Council was BARNEVELD,
by reason of his Advocates of Holland. And besides both these, every
Province and great Town have particular Councils of their own. To all
which Assemblies, as well of the General States as the rest, the gentry
is called for order sake, but the State indeed is democratical: the
merchant and the tradesman being predominant, the gentry, now, but few
and poor; and, even at the beginning, the Prince of ORANGE saw it safer
to rely upon the towns than [upon] them. Neither are the gentry so
much engaged in the Cause: the people having more advantages in a Free
State; they, in a Monarchy.

Their care in Government is very exact and particular, by reason that
every one hath an immediate interest in the State. Such is the equality
of justice, that it renders every man satisfied; such is the public
regularity, as a man may see [that] their laws were made to guide,
and not to entrap; such their exactness in casting the expense of an
army, as that it shall be equally far from superfluity and want; and
as much order and certainty in their acts of war, as in ours of peace;
teaching it to be both civil and rich. And they still retain that sign
of a Commonwealth yet uncorrupted, "Private poverty, and public weal!"
for no one private man there is exceeding rich, and few very poor; and
no State more sumptuous in all public things. But the question is,
whether this, being a free State, will, as well subsist in peace, as it
hath hitherto done in war. Peace leaving every one to attend [to] his
particular wealth: when fear, while the war lasts, makes them concur
for their common safety. And Zealand, upon the least security, hath
ever been envious at the predominancy of Holland and Utrecht; ready
to mutiny for religion: and besides, it is a doubt, whether the same
care and sincerity would continue if they were at their Consistence, as
appears yet, while they are but in Rising.

The Revenue of this State ariseth chiefly from the Earl of HOLLAND's
domains; and confiscated church livings; the rising and falling of
money, which they use with much advantage; their fishing upon our
coasts, and those of Norway; contributions out of the enemy's country,
taxes upon all things at home, and impositions [_import duties_] upon
all merchandise from abroad.

Their Expenses upon their Ambassadors, their shipping, their ditches,
their rampiers [_dykes_] and munition; and commonly they have in pay,
by sea and land, 60,000 men.

For the strength. The nature of the country makes them able to defend
themselves long by land. Neither could anything have endangered them
so much as the last great frost [_of 1608, see Vol. I. p. 77_], had
not the Treaty been then on foot: because the enemy, being then master
of the field; that rendered their ditches, marshes, and rivers as firm
ground.

There belongs to that State, 20,000 vessels of all sorts. So that if
the Spaniard were entirely beaten out of those parts; the Kings of
France and England would take as much pains to suppress, as ever they
did to raise them. For being our enemies, they are [_would be_] able
to give us the law at sea; and eat us out of all trade, much more the
French: having at this time three ships for our one, though none so
good as our best.

Now that whereupon the most part of their Revenue depends is their
traffic, in which mystery of State they are, at this day, the wisest.
For all the commodities that this part of the world wants, and the
Indies have (as spice, silk, jewels, gold), they are become the
conveyers of them for the rest of Christendom, excepting us: as the
Venetians were of old. And all those commodities that those Northern
countries abound with, and these Southern countries stand in need
of: they likewise convey thither; which was the ancient trade of the
Easterlings [_Baltic cities_]. And this they do, having little to
export of their own, by buying of their neighbour-countries the former;
and selling them again what they bring back, at their own prices: and
so consequently, live upon the idleness of others. And to this purpose,
their situation serves fitly. For the rivers of the Rhine, the Maas,
and [the] Scheldt all end in their dominions; and the Baltic sea lies
not far from them: all which afford them whatever the great continent
of Germany, Russia, and Poland yields.

Then they, again, lying between Germany and the sea, do furnish it
back, with all commodities foreign.

To remember some pieces of their discipline, as patterns of the rest.
The Watches at night are never all of one nation [_race_], so that
they can hardly concur to give up any one town. The Commissaries are
nowhere so strict upon Musters, and where he finds a company thither,
he reduceth them: so that, when an army marcheth, the List and the Poll
are never far disagreeing. The army is ever well clothed, well armed;
and had never yet occasion to mutiny for pay or victuals. The soldiers
commit nowhere fewer insolences upon the burghers, few robberies upon
the country; nor the Officers fewer deceits upon the soldiers. And
lastly, they provide well that their General shall have small means
to invade their liberties. For first, their Army is composed of many
nations, which have their several Commanders; and the commands are
disposed by the States themselves, not by the General. And secondly, he
hath never an implicit commission left to discretion: but, by reason
their country hath no great bounds, receives daily commands what to do.

Their territory contains six entire Provinces; Holland, Zealand,
Utrecht, Groningen, Overyssel, and Friesland, besides three parts of
Guelderland, and certain towns in Brabant and Flanders: the ground
of which is, for the most part, fruitful; the towns nowhere are so
_equally_ beautiful, strong, and rich: which equality grows by reason
that they appropriate some one staple commodity to every town of note;
only Amsterdam not only passeth them all, but even Seville, Lisbon,
or any other Mart Town in Christendom. And to it, is appropriated the
trade of the East Indies, where they maintain commonly forty ships;
besides which, there go, twice a year, from it and the adjoining towns,
a great fleet to the Baltic sea. Upon the fall of Antwerp, that [town
of Amsterdam] rose, rather than Middleburgh; though it [_that_] stands
at the same river's mouth, and is the second Mart Town; to which is
appropriated our English cloth.

Concerning the people. They are neither much devout, nor much wicked;
given all to drink, and, eminently, to no other vice; hard in
bargaining, but just; surly, and respectless, as in all democracies;
thirsty [?_thrifty_], industrious, and cleanly; disheartened upon the
least ill-success, and insolent upon good; inventive in manufactures;
cunning in traffic. And generally, for matter of action, that natural
slowness of theirs suits better (by reason of the advisedness and
perseverance it brings with it) than the rashness and changeableness of
the French and Florentine wits. And the equality of spirits which is
among them and the Swiss, renders them so fit for a Democracy; which
kind of Government, nations, of more unstable wits, being once come to
a Consistent Greatness, have seldom long endured.

[Illustration]


                 _Observations upon the State of the_

                      _Archduke's Country, 1609._
                        By Sir THOMAS OVERBURY.

As soon as I entered into the Archduke's country, which begins after
Lillow; presently, I beheld [the] works of a Province, and those of
a Province distressed with war. The people heartless; and rather
repining against their Governors than revengeful against their enemies.
The bravery of that gentry which was left, and the industry of the
merchant, quite decayed. The husbandman labouring only to live, without
desire to be rich to another's use. The towns (whatsoever concerned
not the strength of them) ruinous. And, to conclude, the people here
growing poor with less taxes, than they flourish with on the States'
side.

This war hath kept the King of Spain busy ever since it began, which
[is] some thirty-eight years ago: and, spending all the money that
the Indies, and all the men that Spain and Italy could afford, hath
withdrawn him from persevering in any other enterprise. Neither could
he give over this, without foregoing the means to undertake anything
hereafter upon France or England; and, consequently, the Hope of the
Western Monarchy. For without that handle [_i.e._, _that hope_] the
mines of Peru had done little hurt in these parts, in comparison
of what they have. The cause of the expensefulness of it, is the
remoteness of those Provinces from Spain; by reason of which every
soldier of Spain or Italy, before he can arrive there, costs the King a
100 crowns [= _£30 then_ = _£135 now_], and not above one in ten that
arrive, proves good. Besides, by reason of the distance, a great part
of the money is drunk up betwixt the Officers that convey it, and pay
it.

The cause of the continuance of it, is not only the strength of the
enemy; but partly, by reason that the Commanders themselves are content
[that] the war should last, so to maintain and render themselves
necessary; and partly, because the people of those Countries are not
so eager to have the other reduced, as willing to be in the like state
themselves.

The usual revenue of those Provinces which the Archduke hath, amounts
to 1,200,000 crowns [= _at 6s. the Crown, £360,000 then_ = _about
£1,600,000 now_] a year. Besides which, there come from Spain every
month, to maintain the war, 150,000 crowns [= _£45,000 a month, or
£540,000 a year, then_; = _£2,430,000 annually now_]. It was, at the
first, 300,000 crowns a month [_or, in present annual value, about
£5,000,000_]; but it fell by fifties [_i.e., 50,000_] to this, at the
time when the Treaty began. Flanders pays more towards the war, than
all the rest; as Holland doth, with the States. There is no Spaniard of
[_belonging to_] the Council of State, nor Governor of any Province:
but of the Council of War, which is only active; there [_in which_]
they only are, and have in their hands all the strong towns and castles
of those Provinces, of which the Governors have but only the title.

The nations of which their army consists are chiefly Spaniards and
Italians, emulous one of another there; as on the other side, [are]
the French and English: and of the country, chiefly Burgundians and
Walloons. The Pope's Letters, and SPINOLA's inclination keep the
Italians there; almost in equality of command with the Spaniard himself.

The Governors for the King of Spain there, successively, have been the
Duke of ALVA, Don LOUIS DE REQUIESCENS, Don JOHN of Austria, the Prince
of PARMA, the Archduke EARNEST, the Cardinal ANDREW of Austria, and the
Cardinal ALBERT till he married the Infanta.

Where the dominion of the Archduke and the States part, there also
changeth the nature of the country; that is, about Antwerp. For all
below, being flat, and betwixt meadow and marsh; thence, it begins to
rise and become champion [_open country_]: and consequently, the people
are more quick and spiritful, as the Brabanter, Fleming, and Walloon.

The most remarkable place on that side is Antwerp, which rose upon the
fall of Bruges; equally strong and beautiful; remaining yet so upon the
strength of its former greatness: twice spoiled by the Spaniards, and
the like attempted by the French. The Citadel was built there by the
Duke of ALVA, but renewed by the Prince of PARMA, after his eighteen
months' besieging it; the town accepting a castle, rather than a
garrison to mingle among them. There are yet in the town, of citizens
30,000 fighting men, 600 of which keep watch nightly; but they [are]
allowed neither cannon upon the rampier [_ramparts_], nor magazines of
powder. In the Castle are 200 pieces of ordnance, and commonly 700 or
800 soldiers.

Flanders is the best of the Seventeen Provinces, but the havens thereof
are naught [_worthless_].

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


             _Observations on the State of France, 1609,_
                           _under HENRY IV._
                        By Sir THOMAS OVERBURY.

Having seen the form of a Commonwealth, and a Province, with the
different effects of wars in them; I entered France, flourishing
with peace; and of Monarchies, the most absolute. Because the King
there, not only makes peace and war, calls and dissolves Parliaments,
pardoneth, naturaliseth, ennobleth, names the value of money,
[im]presseth to the war; but even makes laws, and imposes taxes at his
pleasure. And all this he doth alone. For, as for that form that his
Edicts must be authorised by the next Court of Parliament, that is,
the next Court of Sovereign Justice: first, the Presidents thereof
are to be chosen by him, and to be put out by him; and secondly, when
they concur not with the King, he passeth anything without them, as he
did the last Edict [? _of Nantes_] for the Protestants. And for the
Assembly of the Three Estates, it is grown now almost as extraordinary
as a General Council [of the Church]; with the loss of which, their
liberty fell: and when occasion urgeth, it is possible for the King
to procure that all those that shall be sent thither, shall be his
instruments. For the Duke of GUISE effected as much, at the Assembly
of Blois.

The occasion that first procured the King that supremacy, that his
Edicts should be Laws, was the last invasion of the English. For, at
that time, they possessing two parts of France, the Three Estates could
not assemble: whereupon they did then grant that power unto CHARLES
VII. during the war. And that which made it easy, for LOUIS XI. and
his successors to continue the same, the occasion ceasing; was that
the Clergy and the Gentry did not run the same fortune with the People
there, as in England. For most of the taxes falling only upon the
people; the Clergy and Gentry, being foreborne [_exempt_], were easily
induced to leave them to the King's mercy. But the King having got
strength upon [_subverted_] the peasants, hath been since the bolder to
invade part of both their [_the Clergy's and Gentry's_] liberties.

For the succession of this monarchy. It hath subsisted, without
intermission, these 1,200 years, under three Races of Kings. No nation
hath, heretofore, done greater things abroad, in Palestine and Egypt,
besides all parts of Europe; but, for these last four hundred years,
they have only made sallies into Italy, and [have] often suffered
at home. Three hundred years the English afflicted them, making
two firm invasions upon them, and taking their King prisoner: the
second greatness of Christendom (next [to] the Emperor) being then in
competition betwixt us and them. And to secure themselves against us,
rather than the House of Austria, as it then stood; they chose to marry
the heir of Brittany before that of Burgundy. And for this last hundred
years, the Spaniard undertaking [_attacking_] them, hath eaten them out
of all but France, and endangered that too!

But for this present, France had never, as France, a more entire
greatness; though it hath often been richer. For since the war; the
King has only [_simply_] got aforehand, the country is but yet in
recovering; the war having lasted, by spaces, thirty two years; and so
generally, that [as there was] no man but had an enemy within three
miles, so the country became frontier all over. Now that which hath
made them, at this time, so largely great at home, is their adopting
into themselves the lesser adjoining nations, without destruction or
leaving any mark of strangeness upon them: as the Bretons, Gascons,
Provençals, and others which are not French. Towards which unions,
their nature, which is easy and harborous [_receptive_] to strangers;
hath done more than any laws could have effected but with long time.

The King, as I said, enjoying what LOUIS XI. did gain, hath the entire
Sovereignty in himself; because he can make the Parliament do what he
pleases, or else do what he pleases without them.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the other Three Estates. The Church is there very rich, being
estimated to enjoy the third part of the revenue of France, but
otherwise is nothing so potent as elsewhere; partly because the
Inquisition is not admitted in France: but principally because the
Pope's ordinary power is much restrained there, by the liberties which
the French Church claimeth; which liberties do not so much enfranchise
the Church itself, as confer the authority the Pope loseth upon the
King, as Firstfruits and the Disposing of all spiritual preferments.
And by reason of this neutrality of authority, the church men
[_clergy_] suffer more there, than either in England, where they wholly
depend upon the King; or in Spain and Italy, where they wholly subsist
by the Pope: because the Pope is not able totally to support them, and
the King takes occasion ever to suppress them, as being not entirely
his subjects; and to him, they pay, yearly, both the tenth of all their
tithe, and of all their temporal land.

The Gentry are the only entire Body, there, which participate with
the prerogatives of the Crown. For from it, they receive privileges
above all other men and a kind of limited regality upon their tenants;
besides [a] real supply to their estates by governments and pensions,
and freedom from tallies [_taxations_] upon their own lands, that is,
upon their domains and whatsoever they manure by their servants: but so
much as they let to tenants is, presently, tallieable [_taxable_] which
causeth [a] proportionate abatement in the rent. And in recompense
of this, they owe to the King the Ban and the Arrière Ban; that is,
to serve him and his Lieutenant, three months within the land, at
their own charges. And as in war, they undergo the greatest part of
the danger, so then is their power most peremptory above the rest:
whereas in the time of peace, the King is ready to support inferior
persons against them, and is glad to see them to waste one another by
contention at law for fear they grow rich; because he forsees that, as
the Nobility, only, can do him service, so they only, misapplied, can
do him harm.

The ancient Gentry of France was most of it consumed in the wars of
GODFREY DE BOULOGNE, and some in those of St. LOUIS; because on their
setting out they pawned all their fiefs to the Church, and few of them
were after[wards] redeemed: by reason, whereof the Church possesseth
at this day the third part of the best fiefs in France. And that
Gentry was afterwards made up by advocates, financiers, and merchants
ennobled, which are now reputed ancient; and are daily eaten out again,
and repaired by the same kind of men.

For the people. All those that have any kind of profession or trade,
live well; but for the mere peasants that labour the ground, they are
only sponges to the King, to the Church, and to the Nobility! having
nothing to their own, but to the use of them: and are scarce allowed,
as beasts, enough to keep them able to do service; for besides their
rent, they pay usually two-thirds to the King.

       *       *       *       *       *

The manner of Government in France is mixt between Peace and War; being
composed as well of military discipline as [of] civil justice: because
having open frontiers and strong neighbours, and therefore obnoxious
[_liable_] to sudden invasions; they cannot, as in England, join ever
peace and security together.

For the Military Part, there is ever a Constable and a Marshal in
being, troops of horse and regiments of foot in pay, and in all
Provinces and places of strength, Governors and garrisons distributed:
all which are means for the preferment of the Gentry. But those, as
they give security against the enemy, so when there is none, they
disturb the enjoying of peace, by making the countries taste somewhat
of a Province. For the Gentry find a difference betwixt the Governor's
favour and disfavour; and the soldiers often commit insolences upon the
people.

The Governments there, are so well disposed by the King, as no Governor
hath means to give over a Province into the enemy's hands; the commands
thereof are so scattered. For the Governor commands the country,
and, for the most part, the chief town: then there is a Lieutenant
to the King, not to him! of the same; and betwixt these two there is
ever jealousy nourished. Then hath every town and fortress particular
Governors, which are not subaltern [_subordinate_] to that of the
Province; but hold immediately from the Prince: and many times the Town
hath one Governor, and the Castle another.

The advantages of the Governors, besides their pay from the King, are
presents from the country, dead payes [_? pay drawn for dead men_],
making their magazines of corn and powder more than they need, at
the King's price; and, where they stand upon the sea, overseeing of
unlawful goods: thus much in peace. In war, they are worth as much as
they will exact. Languedoc is the best, then Brittany: Provence is
worth, by all these means, to the Duke of GUISE, 20,000 crowns [_=
£6,000 or about £25,000 in present value_] a year; but Provence only,
he holds without a Lieutenant.

Concerning the Civil Justice there: it is nowhere more corrupt or
expenseful. The corruptness of it proceeds, First, by reason that the
King sells the places of justice at as high a rate as can honestly
be made of them: so that all thriving is left to corruption; and
the gain the King hath that way, tempts him to make a multitude of
officers, which are another burden to the subject. Secondly, the
Presidents are not bound to judge according to the written Law, but
according to the equity drawn out of it; which liberty doth not so
much admit Conscience, as leave Wit without limits. The expensefulness
of it ariseth from the multitude of laws, and multiplicity of forms
of processes; the which too doth beget doubt, and make them long in
resolving. And all this _chicanery_, as they call it, was brought into
France from Rome, upon the Popes coming to reside at Avignon.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the strength of France. It is at this day, the greatest united
force of Christendom. The particulars in which it consists, are these.
The shape of the country; which being round, no one part is far from
succouring another. The multitude of good towns and places of strength
therein are able to stay an army, if not to waste it; as Metz did the
Emperor's. The mass of treasure which the King hath in the Bastille.
The number of arsenals distributed upon the frontiers, besides that of
Paris: all which are full of good arms and artillery. And for ready
men, the five Regiments bestowed up and down in garrisons, together
with the 2,000 of the Guard [and] the troops of Ordinary and Light
Horse: all ever in pay. Besides their Gentry, all bred soldiers; of
which they think there are, at this present, 50,000 fit to bear arms.
And to command all these, they have, at this day, the best Generals of
Christendom; which were the only commodity the Civil Wars did leave
them.

The weaknesses of it are, First, the want of a sufficient Infantry,
which proceeds from the ill distribution of their wealth: for the
peasant having no share allowed him, is heartless and feeble; and
consequently unserviceable for all military uses. By reason of which,
they are, first, forced to borrow aid of the Switzers at a great
charge; and secondly, to compose their armies, for the most part, of
Gentlemen: which makes the loss of a battle there almost irrecoverable.
The Second, is the unproportionable part of the land which the Church
holds, all which is likewise dead to military uses: for as they
say there, "The Church will lose nothing, nor defend nothing." The
Third, is the want of a competent number of ships and galleys: by
reason of which defect, first, the Spaniard overmasters them upon
the Mediterranean, and the English and Hollander upon the Ocean; and
secondly, it renders them poor in foreign trade; so that, all the great
actions of Christendom for these fifty years having been bent upon the
[_West_] Indies, they, only, have sat idle. The Fourth, is the weakness
of their frontiers: which is so much the more dangerous because they
are possessed, all but the Ocean, by the Spaniard; for Savoy hath
been always as his own, for all uses against France. The Last, is the
difference of religion among themselves; which will ever yield matter
of civil dissension, and consequently cause the weaker to stand in need
of foreign succours.

The ordinary revenue of the King is, as they say now, some 14,000,000
of crowns [_= £4,200,000 sterling, or in present value, about
£18,000,000_]; which arise principally from the domains of the Crown,
the _gabel_ of salt, tallies [_taxes_] upon the country, customs upon
the merchandise, sale of offices, the yearly tithe of all that belongs
to the Church, the rising and falling of money, fines and confiscations
cast upon him by the law: but as for Wardships, they are only known in
Normandy.

His expense is, chiefly, Ambassadors, munition, building, fortifying,
and maintaining of galleys, (as for ships when he needs them, he
makes an embarque [_embargo_]); in pay for soldiers, wages for
officers, pensions at home and abroad; upon the entertaining his
House, his State, and his private pleasures. And all the first, but
the domains, were granted in the beginning upon some urgent occasion;
and afterwards by Kings made perpetual, the occasion ceasing: and the
domains themselves granted because the King should live upon his own
without oppressing his subjects. But at this day, though the revenue
be thus great, and the taxes unsupportable; yet do they little more
than serve for necessary public uses. For the King of Spain's greatness
and neighbourhood forceth the King there to live continually upon his
guard: and the treasure which the Spaniard receives from his Indies,
constrains him to raise his revenue thus by taxes, so to be able, in
some proportion, to bear up against him; for fear, else, he should be
bought out of all his confederates and servants.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the relation of this State to others. It is first to be considered
that this part of Christendom is balanced betwixt the three Kings of
Spain, France, and England; as the other part [is] betwixt the Russian,
the Kings of Poland, Sweden, and Denmark. For as for Germany, which if
it were entirely subject to one Monarchy, would be terrible to all the
rest: so being divided betwixt so many Princes and those of so equal
power, it serves only to balance itself, and entertain easy war with
the Turk; while the Persian withholds him in a greater. And every one
of those first three hath his particular strength, and his particular
weakness. Spain hath the advantage of both the rest in treasure, but
is defective in men: his dominions are scattered and the conveyance
of his treasure from the Indies lies obnoxious to [_at the mercy of_]
the power of any nation that is stronger by sea. France abounds with
men, lies close together, and hath money sufficiently. England, being
an island, is hard to be invaded, abounds with men, but wants money
to employ them. For their particular [_several_] weakness, Spain is
to be kept busy in the Low Countries, France to be afflicted with the
Protestants, and England, in Ireland. England is not able to subsist
against any [_either_] of the other [two] hand in hand; but joined with
the Low Countries it can give law to both by sea: joined with either of
them two, it is able to oppress the third, as HENRY VIII. did.

Now the only entire body in Christendom that makes head against the
Spanish Monarchy is France: and therefore they say in France, that,
"The day of the ruin of France is the eve of the ruin of England." And
thereupon England hath ever, since the Spanish greatness, inclined
rather to maintain France, rather than to ruin it: as when King FRANCIS
[I.] was taken prisoner, the King of England lent money towards the
payment of his ransom; and the late Queen [_ELIZABETH_], when the
Leaguers, after the Duke of GUISE's death, had a design to Cantonize
France, though offered a part of that country, would not consent.
So then, this reason of State, of mutual preservation, conjoining
them; England may be accounted a sure confederate of France; and
Holland, by reason it partly subsists by it; the Protestant Princes
of Germany, because they have countenance from it, against the house
of Austria; the Protestant Switzers, for religion and money; and the
Venetians, for protection against the Spaniard in Italy. So that all
their [_the French's_] friends are either Protestants or inclining
thereto; and whosoever is extremely Catholic is their enemy, and
factor for the Spanish Monarchy: as the Pope and Cardinals, for the
most part; and totally, the Jesuits, the Catholic Princes of Germany,
and the Catholics of England and Ireland. For the Jesuits, which are
the Ecclesiastical Strength of Christendom, France--notwithstanding
the many late obligations--hath cause to despair of them. For they
intending as "one Pope, so one King" to suppress the Protestants; and
for the better support of Christendom against the Turks: and seeing
Spain the likelier to bring this to pass, they follow the nearer
probability of effecting their end.

No addition could make France so dangerous to us, as that of our Low
Countries; for so it were worse, than if the Spaniard himself had
them entirely. As for their hopes of regaining Italy; it concerns the
Spaniard immediately, rather than us.

Concerning the state of the Protestants in France. During peace, they
are protected by their Edict [_of Nantes_]. For their two Agents at
Court defend the general from wrong; and their _chambres impartis_
every particular person. And if troubles should arise, some scattered
particulars might be in danger; but the main body is safe. Safe to
defend themselves, though all France join against them! and if it break
out into factions, the safest; because they are both ready and united.

The particulars of their strength are, First, their Towns of Surety,
two of which command the river of the Loire. Secondly, their situation.
The greatest part of them lying near together, as Poitou, Saintonge,
High [_Upper_] Gascony, Languedoc, and Dauphiny: near the sea, so
consequently fit to receive succours from abroad; and remote from
Paris, so that the quality of an army is much wasted, before it
can approach them. The Third, is the sufficiency of their present
Governors, BOULOGNE and DESDEGUIERS, and other second Commanders. And
for the Princes of the Blood, whom the rest may, in shew, without
emulation, obey; when they come once to open action, those which want
a party, will quickly seek them. The Last, is the aid they are sure of
from foreign Princes; for whosoever are friends to France in general,
are more particularly their friends: and besides, the Protestant party
being grown stronger of late, as the Low Countries; and more united,
as England and Scotland, part of that strength reflects upon them.
And even the King of Spain himself, who is [the] enemy of France
in general, would rather give them succour than see them utterly
extirpated. For as soon as they get an Edict with better conditions,
they turn head against him that now succoured them; as they did against
us, at Newhaven [_Hâvre in 1562_].

Concerning the proportion of their number, they are not above the
Seventeenth or Eighteenth part of the People: but of the Gentlemen,
there are 6,000 of the [Protestant] Religion. But since the peace [_?
in 1602_] they have increased in People, as principally in Paris,
Normandy, and Dauphiny, but lost in the Gentry: which loss cometh to
pass by reason that the King when he finds any Gentleman that will
but hearken, he tempts him with preferment; and those that he finds
utterly obstinate, he suppresseth. And by such means, he hath done
them more harm in peace; than both his predecessors in war. For in
all their Assemblies, he corrupts some of their Ministers to betray
the counsel in hand. Of the 106,000 crowns [_= £31,800, or in present
value £140,000_] a year which he pays the Protestants to entertain
their Ministers and pay their garrisons, he hath gotten the bestowing
of 16,000 of them, upon what gentleman of the [Protestant] Religion he
pleaseth; whom by that means he moderates, if not gains. And besides,
they were wont to impose upon him their two Deputies, which are to stay
at Court: but now he makes them propose six, out of which he chooseth
the two, and by that, obligeth those; and yet notwithstanding all
this, in some occasions he makes good use of them too. For as towards
England, he placeth none in any place of strength but firm Catholics;
so towards Spain and Savoy, he often gives charge to Protestants, as to
LA FORCE in Bearn, DESDEGUIERS and BOISSE in Bresse.

       *       *       *       *       *

Concerning the King himself. He is a person wonderful, both in war and
peace. For his acts in War, he hath manumized [_manumitted_] France
from the Spaniard: and subdued the League, being the most dangerous
plot that hath been laid; weakening it by Arms, but utterly dissolving
it by Wit. That is, by letting the Duke of GUISE out of prison, and
capitulating with the heads of it, every one apart; by which means,
he hath yet left a continual hatred among them. Because every one
sought by preventing [_anticipating_] other, to make his conditions
the better. So that now there remains little connection of it, amongst
the Gentry: only there continue some dregs still among the Priests,
and consequently the People; especially when they are angered with the
increase and prosperity of the Protestants.

For his acts of Peace. He hath enriched France with a greater
proportion of wool and silk, erected goodly buildings, cut passages
[_canals_] betwixt river and river, and is about to do the same betwixt
sea and sea, redeemed much of the mortgaged domains of the Crown,
better husbanded the money (which was wont to be drunk up, two parts
of it, in the officers' hands), got aforehand in treasure, arms, and
munition, increased the infantry and suppressed the unproportionable
cavalry, and left nothing undone but the building of a navy.

And all this may be attributed to himself, only: because in a Monarchy,
officers are active or careless, as the Prince is able to judge and
distinguish of their labours; and withal to participate of them
somewhat, himself.

Sure it is, that the peace of France, and somewhat that of Christendom
itself, is secured by this Prince's life. For all titles and
discontents, all factions of religion there suppress themselves till
his death: but what will ensue afterwards? What the rest of the House
of BOURBON will enterprise upon the King's children? What the House of
GUISE, upon that of BOURBON? What the League? What the Protestants?
What the Kings of Spain and England, if they see a breach made by civil
dissension? I choose rather to expect, than conjecture! Because GOD
hath so many ways to turn aside from human foresight; as He gave us a
testimony upon the death of our late Queen [_ELIZABETH_].

       *       *       *       *       *

This country of France, considering the quantity, is the fairest and
richest of all Christendom; and contains in it, most of the countries
adjoining. For Picardy, Normandy, and Brittany resemble England;
Languedoc, Spain; Provence, Italy; and the rest is France.

Besides, all the rivers that pass through it, end in it. It abounds
with corn, wine, and salt, and hath a competency of silk; but is
defective in wool, leather, metals, and horses: and hath but few very
good havens, especially on the north side.

       *       *       *       *       *

Concerning the people. Their children, at first sight, seem men,
and their men, children; but whoso, in negotiating, presumes upon
appearances shall be deceived! compassionate towards their own nation
and country; loving to the Prince, and so they may have liberty in
ceremony and free access to him, they will be better content that he
shall be absolute in matter of substance: impatient of peace any longer
than while they are in recovering the ruins of war: the presentness
[_presence_] of danger inflames their courage, but any expectation
makes it languish. For the most part, they are all Imagination and no
Judgement; but those that prove solid, excel!

Their Gentlemen are all good outward men, good Courtiers, good
soldiers, and knowing enough in men and business; but merely [_simply_]
ignorant in matters of Letters, because at fifteen they quit books and
begin to live in the world: when indeed a mediocrity [_medium_] betwixt
their form of education and ours, would do better than either. No men
stand more punctually [_punctiliously_] upon their honour in matter of
valour; and, which is strange, in nothing else: for otherwise, in their
conversation, the custom, and shifting, and over-speaking, hath quite
overcome the shame of it.

                                 FINIS.

[Illustration]



                           +ABRAHAM COWLEY.+

                           _The Chronicle._
                              _A BALLAD._

                                          [_Miscellanies. Works._ 1668.]


                                   I.

    MARGARITA first possest,
      If I remember well, my breast;
      MARGARITA, first of all!
    But when a while the wanton maid,
    With my restless heart had played,
      MARTHA took the flying ball.

                                  II.

    MARTHA soon did it resign
      To the beauteous CATHARINE:
      Beauteous CATHARINE gave place
    (Though loath and angry she, to part
    With the possession of my heart)
      To ELIZA's conquering face.

                                  III.

    ELIZA, till this hour might reign,
      Had she not evil counsels ta'en.
      Fundamental laws she broke,
    And still new favourites she chose!
    Till up in arms my Passions rose,
      And cast away her yoke.

                                  IV.

    MARY then, and gentle ANNE
      Both to reign at once began:
      Alternately they swayed,
    And sometimes MARY was the Fair,
    And sometimes ANNE the Crown did wear,
      And sometimes both I obeyed.

                                   V.

    Another MARY then arose,
      And did rigorous laws impose.
      A mighty tyrant she!
    Long, alas, should I have been
    Under that iron sceptred Queen;
      Had not REBECCA set me free!

                                  VI.

    When fair REBECCA set me free,
      'Twas then a golden time with me!
      But soon those pleasures fled;
    For the gracious Princess died,
    In her youth and beauty's pride:
      And JUDITH reigned in her stead!

                                  VII.

    One month, three days, and half an hour,
      JUDITH held the sovereign power.
      Wondrous beautiful her face;
    But so weak and small her wit,
    That she to govern was unfit:
      And so SUSANNA took her place!

                                 VIII.

    But when ISABELLA came,
      Armed with a resistless flame
      And th' artillery of her eye;
    Whilst she proudly march'd about,
    Greater conquests to find out,
      She beat out SUSAN by the bye.

                                  IX.

    But in her place, I then obeyed
      Black-eyed BESS, her Viceroy-maid:
      To whom ensued a Vacancy.
    Thousand worst passions then possess'd
    The interregnum of my breast.
      Bless me, from such an anarchy!

                                   X.

    Gentle HENRIETTE then,
      And a third MARY next began;
      Then JOAN, and JANE, and ANDRIA;
    And then a pretty THOMASINE,
    And then another KATHERINE,
      And then a long _Et cetera_!

                                  XI.

    But should I now to you relate
      The strength and riches of their State!
      The powder, patches, and the pins!
    The ribbons, jewels, and the rings!
    The lace, the paint, and warlike things,
      That make up all their magazines!

                                  XII.

    If I should tell their politic arts
      To take, and keep men's hearts!
      The letters! embassies! and spies!
    The frowns! and smiles! and flatteries!
    The quarrels! tears! and perjuries!
      Numberless, nameless mysteries!

                                 XIII.

    And all the little lime twigs laid
      By MACHIAVEL, the waiting maid!
      I, more voluminous should grow,
    (Chiefly if I, like them, should tell,
    All change of weathers that befell,)
      Than HOLINGSHED, or STOW!

                                  XIV.

    But I will briefer with them be;
      Since few of them were long with me!
      A higher and a nobler strain,
    My present Empress does claim;
    HELEONORA, First o' the name,
      Whom, GOD grant long to reign!

[Illustration]



                               England's

                              WAY TO WIN

                      Wealth, and to employ Ships
                             and Mariners;


                                  OR,

          A plain description what great profit it will bring
          into the Common Wealth of England, by the erecting,
                  building, and adventuring of Busses
                          to sea, a fishing.

    With a true Relation of the inestimable wealth, that is yearly
          taken out of His Majesty's seas by the Hollanders,
                by their great number of Busses, Pinks,
                            and Line-boats.

                               AND ALSO,

    A Discourse of the sea coast towns of England, and the most fit
          and commodious places and harbours that we have for
           Busses; and of the small number of our fishermen;
            and also of the true valuation and whole charge
               of building and furnishing to sea, Busses
                 and Pinks, after the Holland manner.

       *       *       *       *       *

              By TOBIAS GENTLEMAN, Fisherman and Mariner.

                   *       *       *       *       *

                               _LONDON_:
                 Printed by _NATHANIEL BUTTER_. 1614.

[This is the tract referred to at _Vol. III. p. 623_. It appears from
_p._ 623 of that Volume, that T. GENTLEMAN was a Yarmouth man.]

[Illustration]


                          TO THE RIGHT NOBLE
                     LEARNED AND TRULY HONOURABLE
                         HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF
                    NORTHAMPTON, BARON OF MARNHILL,
                   Constable of the Castle of Dover,
                  Lord Warden, Chancellor and Admiral
                 of the Cinque Ports, Lord Privy Seal,
                    Knight of the most noble Order
                     of the Garter, and one of His
                       Majesty's most honourable
                            Privy Council.


                          _RIGHT HONOURABLE_,

_Seeing that, by Nature, our country challengeth a greater interest
in us, than our parents, friends, or children can; and that we
ought for preservation thereof, oppose_ [expose] _our lives unto
the greatest dangers: it is the part of every native to endeavour
something to the advancement and profit thereof: and not to affect
it, for that we possess in it; but to love it for itself, as being
the common Mother and Nourisher of us all. For mine own part, albeit
my short fathom can compass no such great design as I desire: yet
from a willing mind (as he that offered his hands full of water to
great ARTAXERXES), I am bold to present this Project of my honest
and homely labours; beseeching your Lordship, whose virtues have
truly ennobled you, to take the same into your protection! and
prefer it to the view of our most royal Sovereign, recommending
the good effecting thereof to his gracious favour and furtherance_!
_Doubtless your actions and endeavours, having all been full of
virtue and goodness, are not the least prevailing motives whereby
His Majesty hath so endeared you unto him. In this, then, you shall
not think yourself disparaged! the matter being both honest and
commendable; and in true value, of as great substance, as the offer
of SEBASTIAN CABOTA to King HENRY the SEVENTH for the discovery of
the West Indies._

                _Humbly at your Lordship's commandment_,

                                                     _TOBIAS GENTLEMAN_.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


    _England's Way to win Wealth, and to employ Ships and Mariners_.

Noble Britons! Forasmuch as it hath pleased the Almighty GOD to make us
a happy Nation, by blessing and enriching this noble Kingdom with the
sweet dew of His heavenly Word truly and plentifully preached amongst
us; and also in situating our country in a most wholesome climate,
and stored with many rich and pleasant treasures for our benefit,
which also yieldeth in abundance all things necessary, so that we do
not only excel other nations in strength and courage, but also all
other kingdoms far remote are by our English Commodities relieved and
cherished: it seemeth also that the wisdom of our gracious GOD hath
reserved us, as some precious gem, unto Himself; in environing our
country with the plenteous ocean sea, and dividing of us from the whole
Continent of the rest of the inferior world by our rich and commodious
element of water, which in due seasons, yieldeth to us in abundance.
For although our champion [_champagne_] soil, by the diligence of the
husbandman, be plentiful unto us; yet doth these watery regions and
dominions yield yearly great variety of all kind of most wholesome and
dainty fishes: so that it may seem strange and disputable, and hard
to determine, which of His Majesty's Dominions, of the Land or Seas,
be richer? Myself being the most unworthiest of all, in that I am no
scholar, but born a fisherman's son by the seaside, and spending my
youthful time at sea about fisher [_fishing_] affairs, whereby now I am
more skilful in nets, lines, and hooks, than in rhetoric, logic, or
learned books: yet in those few which I have read, besides the instinct
of Nature, which maketh me to know that every one should endeavour
himself (the best he is able) to be beneficial and profitable to the
kingdom and common wealth wherein he is born; which was a forcible
motive to incite me to think of this present Discourse, the penning
whereof was thus occasioned.

It was my fortune, some two years past [_i.e., in 1611_], to be sent
for into the company of one Master JOHN KEYMAR, who is a man very well
deserving of his country; and he, knowing me to have experience in
fisher [_fishing_] affairs, demanded of me the Charge both of Busses
and Line-boats, after the Hollanders' fashion: and showed unto me some
few notes that he had gathered and gotten from other men of my trade,
which he seemed greatly to esteem of, for that himself was altogether
unexperimented in such business. And further I delivered to him certain
principal notes which he seemed greatly to esteem; for that, he said,
that "He did mind to show them unto the right honourable Council."

Whereupon I entered into the cogitation of writing this True Relation
out of my own experience and knowledge, touching the inestimable sums
of money taken yearly for fish and herrings out of His Majesty's seas
by strangers. Whereby they have not only maintained their wars against
the Spaniard, both by land and sea, he being one of the great Monarchs
of the world; and at length they have not only wearied him in the wars
and brought him to good terms and reasonable Composition: but also,
it is most apparent, notwithstanding the huge charge of their wars,
so long continued, which would have made any other nation poor and
beggarly; they, to the contrary, are grown exceeding rich and strong in
fortified towns and beautiful buildings, in plenty of money and gold,
in trade and traffic with all other nations, and have so increased and
multiplied their shipping and mariners, that all other nations and
countries in the world do admire [_wonder at_] them.

Moreover, whereas one haven in one of their towns did, in former times,
contain their ships and shipping; with infinite cost, now they have
cut out two havens more to a town: and at this present, are all three
havens scarce sufficient with room enough to contain their ships and
shipping. And by reason of their industrious fisher-trade, not one of
their people is idle, nor none seen to beg amongst them, except they
be some of our own English nation.

And what their chiefest trade is, or the principal Gold Mine, is well
known to all merchants that have used those parts, and to myself and
all fishermen: namely, that His Majesty's Seas are their chiefest,
principal, and only rich Treasury; whereby they have so long time
maintained their wars, and have so greatly prospered and enriched
themselves.

If that their little country of the United Provinces can do this (as is
most manifest before our eyes they do), then what may we His Majesty's
subjects do, if this trade of fishing were once erected among us? We
having in our own countries [_counties_], sufficient store of all
necessaries to accomplish the like business.

For the Hollanders have nothing growing in their own land for that
business; but they are compelled to fetch all their wood, timber, and
plank, wherewith they build and make all their ships of, out of divers
countries: their iron out of other places; their hemp and cordage out
of the Eastern [_Baltic_] Countries; the hoops and barrel-boards out of
Norway and Sprucia [_Prussia_]; their bread-corn out of Poland and the
East Parts; their malt, barley, and best Double Drink from England; and
also all their fish and chiefest wealth out of His Majesty's seas.

The which they do transport unto the foresaid countries; and return
for the procedue [_proceeds_] of fish and herrings, the forenamed
commodities: whereby their ships and mariners are set on work, and
continually multiplied; and into their countries is plentiful store of
money and gold daily brought, only [_solely_] for the sales of fish and
herrings.

And their country being, as it were, a small plot of ground in
comparison of Great Britain; for two of His Majesty's counties, Suffolk
and Norfolk, do equal, if not exceed, in spaciousness, all their
Provinces: and yet it is manifest, that for shipping and seafaring men,
all England, Scotland, France, and Spain, for quantity of shipping and
fishermen, cannot make so great a number.

Howsoever this may seem strange unto many that do not know it; yet do
I assure myself, that a great number besides myself, know I affirm
nothing herein but the truth. Wherefore seeing the great benefit
that this business by the Busses, bonadventures, or fisherships;
by erecting of this profitable and new trade, which will bring
plenty unto His Majesty's Kingdoms and be for the general good of
the Common wealth; in setting of many thousands of poor people on
work, which now know not how to live; and also for the increasing
of ships and fishermen, which shall be employed about the taking of
fish and herrings out of His Majesty's own streams; and also for the
employing of ships, and increasing of mariners for the strengthening
of the Kingdom against all foreign invasions; and for the enriching
of Merchants with transportation of fish and herrings into other
countries; and also for the bringing in of gold and money: which now is
grown but scarce, by reason that the Dutch and Hollanders have so long
time been suffered to carry away our money and best gold for fish and
herrings taken out of His Majesty's own streams; which His Majesty's
own subjects do want and still are like[ly] to do, if that they be not
forbidden for bringing us fish and herrings; and this worthy common
wealth's business of Busses fostered and furthered by His Majesty's
honourable Council, and the worshipful and wealthy subjects; by putting
to their helping Adventures now at the first, for that those that be
now the fishermen, of themselves be not able to begin.

Those poor boats and sorry nets that our fishermen of England now
have, are all their chiefest wealth; but were their ability better,
they would soon be employing themselves: for that it is certain that
all the fishermen of England do rejoice now at the very name and news
of building of Busses, with a most joyful applaud, praying to GOD to
further it! for what great profit and pleasure it will bring they do
well understand, and I will hereafter declare.

First, I shall not need to prove that it is lawful for us that be His
Majesty's own subjects, to take with all diligence the blessings that
Almighty GOD doth yearly send unto us, at their due times and seasons;
and which do offer themselves freely and abundantly to us, in our own
seas and nigh our own shores.

Secondly, to prove that it is feasible for us; for what can be more
plain than that we see daily done before our eyes by the Hollanders!
that have nothing that they use, growing in their own land, but are
constrained to fetch all out of other countries: whereas we have all
things that shall be used about that business growing at home in our
own land; pitch and tar only excepted.

Thirdly, to prove it will be profitable, no man need to doubt; for
that we see the Hollanders have long maintained their wars: and are
nevertheless grown exceeding rich: which are things to be admired,
insomuch that themselves do call it their _chiefest trade, and
principal Gold Mine; whereby many thousands of their people of
trades and occupations be set on work, well maintained, and do
prosper_. These be the Hollanders' own words in a Dutch Proclamation,
and translated into English; and the copy of that Proclamation is here
annexed unto the end of my book [_see p._ 350].

And shall we neglect so great blessings! O slothful England, and
careless countrymen! look but on these fellows, that we call the plump
Hollanders! Behold their diligence in fishing! and our own careless
negligence!

In the midst of the month of May, do the industrious Hollanders begin
to make ready their Busses and fisher-fleets; and by the first of their
June [_i.e., N.S._] are they yearly ready, and seen to sail out of the
Maas, the Texel, and the Vlie, a thousand Sail together; for to catch
herrings in the North seas.

Six hundred of these fisherships and more, be great Busses some six
score tons, most of them be a hundred tons, and the rest three score
tons, and fifty tons: the biggest of them having four and twenty men;
some twenty men, and some eighteen, and sixteen men a piece. So that
there cannot be in this Fleet of People, no less than twenty thousand
sailors.

These having with them bread, butter, and Holland cheese for their
provision, do daily get their other diet out of His Majesty's seas;
besides the lading of this Fleet three times a piece commonly before
Saint Andrew['s day, _October 24_] with herrings, which being sold by
them but at the rate of Ten Pounds the Last, amounteth unto much more
than the sum of one million of pounds [= £4,500,000 _in present value_]
sterling; only [_solely_] by this fleet of Busses yearly. No King
upon the earth did ever see such a fleet of his own subjects at any
time; and yet this Fleet is, there and then, yearly to be seen. A most
worthy sight it were, if they were my own countrymen; yet have I taken
pleasure in being amongst them, to behold the neatness of their ships
and fishermen, how every man knoweth his own place, and all labouring
merrily together: whereby the poorest sort of themselves, their wives
and children, be well maintained; and no want seen amongst them.

[Sidenote: Shetland is the greatest Isle of all the Oreades, and lieth
in the height of 60° N. Lat.]

And thus North-West-and-by-North hence along they steer, then being
the very heart of summer and the very yolk of all the year, sailing
until they do come unto the Isle of Shetland, which is His Majesty's
dominions. And with this gallant fleet of Busses, there have been seen
twenty, thirty, and forty ships of war to waft [_convoy_] and guard
them from being pillaged and taken by their enemies and Dunkirkers: but
now the wars be ended, they do save that great charge, for they have
not now about four or six to look unto them, for [_from_] being spoiled
by rovers and pirates.

Now if that it happen that they have so good a wind as to be at
Shetland before the 14th day of their June [_i.e., N.S._] as most
commonly they have, then do they all put into Shetland, nigh
Swinborough [_Sumburgh_] Head; into a sound called Bracies [_Bressa_]
Sound, and there they frolic it on land, until that they have sucked
out all the marrow of the malt and good Scotch ale, which is the best
liquor that the island doth afford: but the 14th day of June being once
come, then away all of them go, for that is the first day, by their
own law, before which time they must not lay a net; for until then the
herrings be not in season, nor fit to be taken to be salted.

From this place, being nigh two hundred leagues from Yarmouth, do
they now first begin to fish, and they do never leave the shoals of
herrings, but come along amongst them, following the herrings as they
do come, five hundred miles in length [_along_], and lading their
ships twice or thrice before they come to Yarmouth, with the principal
and best herrings, and sending them away by the merchant ships that
cometh unto them, that bringeth them victuals, barrels, and more salt,
and nets if that they do need any, the which ships that buyeth their
herrings they do call Herring Yagers [_now spelt_ Jagers]: and these
Yagers carry them, and sell them in the East [_Baltic_] Countries, some
to Revel and to Riga, and some so far as Narva and Russia, Stockholm in
Sweden, Quinsborough [? _Konigsberg_], Dantsic, and Elving [_Elbing_],
and all Poland, Sprucia, and Pomerland, Letto [_Lithuania_],
Burnt-Hollume, Stettin, Lubeck, and Jutland and Denmark. Returning
hemp, flax, cordage, cables, and iron; corn, soap ashes, wax, wainscot,
clapholt [? _clap-boards_], pitch, tar, masts, and spruce deals, hoops
and barrel-boards [_staves_]; and plenty of silver and gold: only
[_solely_] for their procedue [_proceeds_] of herrings.

Now besides this great Fleet of the Busses, the Hollanders have a huge
number more of smaller burden, only for to take herrings also; and
these be of the burden from fifty tons unto thirty tons, and twenty
tons. The greatest of them have twelve men a piece, and the smallest
eight and nine men a piece; and these are vessels of divers fashions
and not like unto the Busses, yet go they only for herrings in the
season, and they be called, some of them, Sword-Pinks, Flat-Bottoms,
Holland-Toads, Crab-Skuits, and Yevers: and all these, or the most part
do go to Shetland; but these have no Yagers to come unto them; but they
go themselves home when they be laden, or else unto the best market.
There have been seen and numbered of Busses and these, in braces
[_rigged_], sound, and going out to sea; and at sea in sight at one
time, two thousand Sail, besides them that were at sea without [_out
of_] sight, which could not be numbered.

It is Bartholomewtide [_August 24_] yearly, before that they be come
from Shetland with the herrings so high as [_down to_] Yarmouth:
and all those herrings that they do catch in the Yarmouth seas from
Bartholomewtide until Saint Andrew['s day, _October 24_], the worst
that be, the roope-sick herrings that will not serve to make barrelled
herrings by their own law, they must not bring home into Holland;
wherefore they do sell them for ready money or gold unto the Yarmouth
men, that be no fishermen, but merchants and engrossers of great
quantities of herrings, if that, by any means, they can get them. So
that the Hollanders be very welcome guests unto the Yarmouthian [!]
herring-buyers, and the Hollanders do call them their "hosts," and they
do yearly carry away from Yarmouth many a thousand pounds, as it is
well known.

But these Hollanders, with the ladings of the best, which they make
their best brand herrings to serve for Lenten store, they send some
for Bordeaux, some for Rochelle, Nantes, Morlaix; and Saint Malo and
Caen in Normandy; Rouen, Paris, Amiens, and all Picardy and Calais: and
they do return from these places wines, salt, feathers, rosin, woad,
Normandy canvas, and Dowlais cloth, and money and French crowns. But
out of all the Archduke's countries they return nothing from thence
but ready money, in my own knowledge; and their ready payment was all
double Jacobuses, English twenty-[five] shilling pieces. I have seen
more there, in one day, than ever I did in London at any time.

[Sidenote: I have seen a small haddock sold there for two shillings
[and] sixpence: and a turbot for a Jacobus.]

For at Ostend, Newport, and Dunkirk, where and when the Holland Pinks
cometh in, there daily the Merchants, that be but women (but not such
women as the fishwives of Billingsgate; for these Netherland women do
lade away many waggons with fresh fish daily, some for Bruges, and
some for Brussels, Yperen, Dixmuiden, and Rissels [_Lille_], and at
Sas by Ghent), I have seen these Women-Merchants have their aprons
full of nothing but English Jacobuses, to make all their payment of;
and such heaps and budgetfuls in the counting-houses of the Fish
Brokers, which made me much to wonder how they should come by them. And
also I know that capons are not so dearly sold by the poulterers in
Gratious [_Gracechurch_] Street in London, as fresh fish is sold by the
Hollanders in all those Roman Catholic and Papistical countries.

       *       *       *       *       *

And whereas I have made but a true relation of their Fleets of Busses,
and only the herring fishermen that be on His Majesty's seas from June
until November: I will here set down the fishermen that, all the year
long, in the seasons, do fish for Cod and Ling continually, going and
returning laden with barrelled fish.

And these be Pinks and Well-boats of the burden of forty tons, and the
smallest thirty tons. These have some twelve men a piece, one with
another. There is of this sort of fisherboats, beginning at Flushing,
Camefere, Surwick Sea, the Maas, the Texel, and the Vlie, and the other
sandy islands, about five hundred or six hundred Sail which, all the
year long, are fishing for Cod; whereof they do make their barrelled
fish, which they do transport in the summer into the East parts, but in
winter all France is served by them and all the Archduke's countries
before spoken of: both of barrelled fish and fresh fish, which they
of purpose do keep alive in their boats in wells. And to us here in
England, for love of our strong beer, they bring us barrelled fish in
winter; and carry away our money and gold every day in great quantities.

Besides all these Pinks and Well-boats, the Hollanders have
continually, in the season, another fleet of fishermen, at the
north-east head of Shetland, which be of another quality: and there are
more than two hundred of these, and these be called Fly-boats. These do
ride at anchor all the season at Shetland, in the fishing grounds, and
they have small boats within them, which be like unto Cobles, the which
they do put out to lay and haul their lines, whereby they do take great
store of Ling: the which they do not barrel, but split them and salt
them in the ship's bulk [_hold_]; and these they sell commonly for four
and five pounds the hundred. These go by the name of Holland Lings:
but they are taken out of His Majesty's seas, and were Shetland Lings
before they took them there; and for these Lings they do carry away
abundance of England's best money daily.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now having declared according unto truth, the numbers of their
fishermen in Holland for herrings upon His Majesty's seas; and also
of their Pinks and Well-boats; and their courses for taking, venting,
and selling of their barrelled fish and fresh fish; and also of their
Fly-boats at the north-east head of Shetland, for Shetland Lings:
I think it now best, truly to show the true number of our English
fishermen, and how they do employ themselves all the year long;
first beginning at Colchester, nigh the mouth of the Thames, and so
proceeding northward.

I can scarce afford these men of that Water the name of fishermen; for
that their chiefest trade is dredging for oysters: yet have they, in
the summer, some eight or ten boats in the North seas for Cod; which if
that they happen to spend all their salt, and to speed well, they may
get some twenty pounds in a summer clear.

But here, by the way, I will make known a great abuse that is offered
to the common wealth, and especially to all the herring fishermen of
England, only by those men of Colchester Water. For these men, from
Saint Andrew [_October 24_] until Candlemas [_February 2_], and
sometimes longer, do set forth Stale-boats, amongst the sands in the
Thames' mouth, for to take sprats, with great stale-nets, with a great
poke [_bag_]; and they standing in the Swinne or the King's Channel
on the back of the Gunfleet, they do there take instead of sprats,
infinite thousands of young herrings, smaller than sprats and not good
to be eaten, for one sprat is better worth than twenty of those Bleaks
or young herrings. But because they do fill the bushel at Billingsgate,
where they do sell them for sprats; the which, if that they were let
[a]live, would all be, at Midsummer, a fat Summer full Herring. And a
peck is sometimes there sold for twopence; which number of herrings
at Midsummer would make a barrel of summer herrings, worth twenty or
thirty shillings.

If that they could take sprats it were good, for they be good victuals
for the City; but for every cartload or bushel of sprats, they take
a hundred cartloads or bushels of these young herrings; which be the
very spawn of the shoals of the herrings that cometh from Shetland
every summer: and whereas they come into Yarmouth seas yearly about
Saint Luke's [day, _September 21_] and (sometimes before, if that it do
blow a hard easterly wind) do always at that season become roope-sick
and do spawn and become shotten [_empty_] betwixt Wintertonness and
Orfordness. And those fry of that spawn, those young little creatures,
by the wisdom of the great Creator, seeketh into the shore and shallow
places, there to be nourished, and also into the Thames' mouth into the
sweetest waters; for that the water nigh the shore and in the Thames'
mouth is not so briny salt as it is farther off in the deep water.
Where these Bleaks yearly seeking to be nourished, they be always at
that season taken and destroyed. But if that these men will needs use
their Stale-boats and nets, let them go where the good sprats be.
They must then stand at Orfordness and in Dunwich bay, where there be
excellent sprats: and for the good of all the herring fishermen of
England, I wish that they might be prohibited to sell that which is not
wholesome to be eaten; which is as much as to sell hemlock for parsnips.

The next to Colchester, is Harwich Water. A royal harbour and a proper
town, fit for the use of Busses (no place in all Holland comparable
to it, for there is both land and strand and dry beach enough for four
hundred Sail); but the chiefest trade of the inhabitants of this place
is with Caravels for Newcastle coals: but they have three or four ships
yearly that they do send to Iceland for Cod and Ling from March until
September; and some years they get, and some years they lose. But if
that they had but once the trade of Busses, this would soon be a fine
place: but those Caravels and Ships which they now have, be all their
chiefest wealth.

Six miles up Harwich water stands Ipswich; which is a gallant town and
rich. This Town is such a place for the Busses, as in all England and
Holland I know no place so convenient. First, it is the best place
in all England for the building of Busses; both for the plenty of
timber and plank, and excellent workmen for making of ships. There are
more there, than there are in six of the best towns in all England.
Secondly, it is a principal place for good housewives for spinning of
yarn, for the making of pouldavice [_canvas_]; for there is the best
that is made. Which town with the use of the making of twine, will soon
be the best place of all England for to provide nets for the Busses. It
is also a most convenient place for the wintering of the Busses, for
that all the shores of that river are altogether ooze and soft ground,
fit for them to lie on in winter.

[Sidenote: This Town is most fit and convenient place to make a Staple
Town for corn for all England, for the return and sale of the Busses'
herrings from Dantsic and Poland.]

Also the Ipswich men be the chiefest Merchant Adventurers of all
England, for all the East Lands [_Baltic Countries_], for the Suffolk
cloths: and they have their factors lying, all the year long, in all
those places where the Hollanders do vent their herrings, and where
the best price and sale is continually. And although that yet there be
no fishermen, yet have they store of seafaring men, and for Masters
for the Busses, they may have enough from Yarmouth and So[uth]w[o]ld
and the sea-coast towns [_villages_] down their river. From Nacton
and Chimton, Holbroke, Shotley, and Cowlness they may get men that
will soon be good fishermen with but little use. For understand
thus much! that there is a kind of emulation in Holland between the
fishermen that go to sea in Pinks and Line-boats, winter and summer;
and those fishermen that go in the Busses. For they in the Pinks make
a scorn of them in the Busses, and do call them _koe-milkens_ or
"cow-milkers": for indeed the most part of them be men of occupations
[_handicraftsmen_] in winter, or else countrymen; and do milk the cows
themselves and make all the Holland cheese, when they be at home.

This place is also most convenient for the erecting of salt-pans, for
the making of "Salt upon Salt." For that the harbour is so good that,
at all times, ships may come unto them with salt from Mayo, or Spanish
salt, to make brine or pickle; and also the Caravels from Newcastle
with coals for the boiling of it at the cheapest rates, at any time may
come thither.

To the north-east of this place, three or four leagues, is Orford
Haven; and in the towns of Orford and Aldborough especially be many
good fishermen. And there are belonging to those towns some forty
or fifty North Sea boats, that yearly go to sea, having seven men a
piece; and ten or twelve Iceland barks, which sometimes get something,
and sometimes little or nothing. If that these men's wealth were in
Busses and nets, and had but once the trade, they would put down
the Hollander! for they be great plyers of any voyage that they do
undertake.

[Sidenote: Dunwich in ancient times hath been the seat of the Kings of
the East Angles, but [is] now all ruined.]

About three leagues to the northward is So[uth]w[o]ld Haven, and in the
towns of So[uth]w[o]ld, Dunwich, and Walderswick be a very good breed
of fishermen; and there are belonging unto those three towns, of North
Sea boats some twenty sail; and of Iceland barks some fifty sail, which
yearly they send for Cod and Ling to Iceland.

[Sidenote: My father lived in this town until he was 98 years of age,
and gave these Composition Ling seventy years unto four Princes, viz.
King EDWARD, Queen MARY, Queen ELIZABETH, and until the sixth year
[1609] of the reign of our most gracious Sovereign. Which cometh to
much more than one thousand pounds, for one man of that town.]

This town of So[uth]w[o]ld, of a sea town, is the most beneficial unto
His Majesty, of all the towns in England; by reason all their trade is
unto Iceland for Ling, and His Majesty's Serjeant Caterer hath yearly
gratis out of every ship and bark, one hundred of the choicest and
fairest Lings, which be worth more than ten pound the hundred; and they
call them "Composition Fish." But these men of this place are greatly
hindered, and in a manner undone, by reason their haven is so bad, and
in a manner often stopped up with beach and shingle stone that the
wind and tide and the sea do beat thither, so that many time, in the
season, when they be ready to go to sea; they cannot get out when time
is to go to sea; neither can they get in when they return from sea,
but oftentimes do cast away their goods and themselves. This haven if
that it had but a south pier built of timber, would be a far better
haven than Yarmouth haven, with one quarter of the cost that hath been
bestowed on Yarmouth haven. They be now suitors unto His Majesty: GOD
grant that they may speed! For it is pitiful, the trouble and damage
that all the men of these three towns do daily sustain by their naughty
[_inadequate_] harbour.

To the northward of So[uth]w[o]ld Haven three leagues, are Kirkley and
Layestof [_Lowestoft_], decayed towns. They have six or seven North Sea
boats: but they of Lowestoft make benefit yearly of buying of herrings
of the Hollanders; for likewise these Hollanders be "hosted" with the
Lowestoft men, as they be with the Yarmouthians.

[Sidenote: In all His Majesty's kingdoms, not any town, comparable unto
it for brave buildings.]

To the northward, two leagues, is the town of Great Yarmouth, very
beautifully built upon a very pleasant and sandy plain of three miles
in length. This town is a place of great resort of all the herring
fishermen of England. For thither do resort all the fishermen of the
Cinque Ports and the rest of the West Country men of England, as far
as Burport [_Bridport_], and Lyme [Regis] in Dorsetshire: and those
herrings that they do take they do not barrel, because their boats be
but small things, but they sell all unto the Yarmouth herring-buyers
for ready money. And also the fishermen of the north countries, beyond
Scarborough and Robin Hood's Bay, and some as far as the Bishopric of
Durham do thither resort yearly, in poor little boats called "Five-Men
Cobbles"; and all the herrings that they do take they do sell fresh
unto the Yarmouth men, to make red herrings.

Also to Yarmouth, do daily come into the haven up to the quay, all or
the most part of the great Fleet of Hollanders, which before I made
relation of, that go in the Sword-Pinks, Holland-Toads, Crab-Skuits,
Walnut-Shells, and great and small Yevers; one hundred and two hundred
sail at one time together, and all their herrings that they do bring
in, they do sell them all, for ready money, to the Yarmouth men.

And also the Frenchmen of Picardy and Normandy, some hundred sail of
them at a time, do come thither; and all the herrings they catch, they
sell fresh unto these Herring-mongers of Yarmouth, for ready money. So
that it amounteth unto a great sum of money, that the Hollanders and
Frenchmen do carry away from Yarmouth yearly into Holland and France:
which money doth never come again into England.

This town is very well governed by wise and civil [_prudent_]
Magistrates, and good orders carefully observed for the maintenance of
their Haven and Corporation. And this town, by reason of the situation,
and the fresh rivers that belong to it, one [_the Wensum_] up to the
city of Norwich; and another [_the Wavency_] that runneth far up into
Suffolk, a butter and cheese country, about Bunga [_Bungay_] and
Betkels [_Beccles_]; and a third [_the Bure_] that runneth far up into
Flegg [_by Aylesham_] a corn country; by reason whereof this town of
Yarmouth is always well served with all kind of provision at good and
cheap rates: whereby they of the town do relieve the strangers, and
also do benefit themselves.

To this town belongeth some twenty Iceland barks, which yearly they
do send for Cod and Ling, and some hundred and fifty sail of North
Sea boats. They make a shift to live; but if that they had the use
of Busses and also barrelled fish, they would excel all England and
Holland. For they be the only fishermen for North seas, and also the
best for the handling of their fish that be in all this land.

The herring buyers of Yarmouth doth profit more than doth the fishermen
of Yarmouth, by reason of the resort of the Hollanders; for that they
are suffered to sell all their roope-sick herrings at Yarmouth to
the Merchants there. And also the barrelled fish that the Flemings
do bring in winter to London, Ipswich, Lynn, and Hull do also gale
[_gaul_] them: but for that [_seeing that_] our fishermen may, if they
please, make barrelled fish themselves; and therefore I will not moan
[_bemoan_] them!

[Sidenote: Yarmouth haven is the only refuge, in distress of weather,
for all the fishermen of the Cinque Ports and all others that do fish
in those seas: and it is built all of timber, against the violence of
the main sea. It is now in great danger to come to ruin; if they have
not help in time.]

The merchant herring buyer of Yarmouth that hath a stock of his own,
so long as he can make his gains so certain with buying of roope-sick
herrings of the Hollanders, will never lay out his money to build or
set forth Busses; and the fishermen be now so poor, by reason that
they only do bear the whole charge of that costly haven, the merchant
herring buyers being not at any charge thereof: but all that great
cost cometh out of the fishermen's labours for the maintenance of that
wooden haven [_pier_], which amounteth to some five hundred pounds
a year, and some years more. So that though they be willing, yet
their ability will not suffer them to do it; neither can they forbear
[_invest_] their money to adventure their herrings into the East
[_Baltic_] Countries, where the best sales always be.

To the northward of Yarmouth eight leagues, are the towns of Blackney
and Wells, good harbours and fit for Busses: and they have good store
of fishermen. And these towns have some twenty Sail of barks that they
do yearly send unto Iceland. But these towns be greatly decayed, to
that they have been in times past: the which places, if that they had
but twenty Busses belonging to them, would soon grow rich towns in
short time.

Then is there [King's] Lynn, a proper gallant town for seafaring men,
and for men for Iceland. This is a rich town, and they have some twenty
Sail of Iceland ships, that they yearly send for Cod and Ling: and I am
in hope to see them fall to the use of Busses as soon as any men.

To the northward is Boston, a proper town; and like unto Holland's
soil, for low ground and sands coming in: but yet there are but few
fishermen; but it is a most fit place for Busses. If that they had but
once the taste of them, they would soon find good liking.

Next to Boston, some twenty leagues to the northward, is the great
river of Humber, wherein there is Hull, a very proper town of sailors
and shipping: but there be but few fishermen. But it is a most
convenient place for to adventure Busses.

There are also Grimsby, Paul, and Patrington. In all these places
now there is great store of poor and idle people, that know not how
to live; and the most of all these places be decayed, and the best
of them all grow worse and worse: which with the use of Busses would
soon grow rich merchant towns, as is in Holland. For to these places
would be transported of the East lands all manner of commodities for
the use of Busses; and houses and work-yards erected for coopers, and
ropemakers, and great numbers of net-makers. And with the recourse of
the ships that shall bring salt and other commodities, and ships that
shall lade away their herrings and fish, these places shall soon become
populous; and money stirring plentifully in these places returned for
the procedue [_proceeds_] of fish and herrings: which places now be
exceeding poor and beggarly.

In all these fisher towns, that I have before named, as Colchester,
Harwich, Orford, Aldborough, Dunwich, Walderswick, So[uth]w[o]ld,
Yarmouth, Blackney, Wells, Lynn, Boston, and Hull--these be all the
chiefest towns; and all that useth the North seas in summer: and all
these towns, it is well known, be ruinated.

[Sidenote: I crave pardon, for that I omit the particular numbers and
total sum; which I could here set down if I were commanded.[7]]

In all these towns I know to be ---- Iceland barks, and ---- North Sea
boats; and all these fishermen having ---- men a piece amounteth to
the sum of ----. But admit that there are in all the West Country of
England of fisherboats, tag and rag, that bringeth home all fresh fish,
which seldom or never useth any salt; say, that they have other ----
men a piece which makes the sum of ---- in all England.

But in all these I have not reckoned the fishermen, mackerel-catchers,
nor the Cobble-men of the north country, which having ---- men a piece,
cometh to ---- men in all England.

But so many in all England, and I have truly showed before, that the
Hollander hath in one fleet of Busses, twenty thousand fishermen;
besides all them that goeth in the Sword-Pinks, Flat-Bottoms,
Crab-Skuits, Walnut-Shells, and Great Yevers, wherein there are not
less than twelve thousand more: and all these are only for to catch
herrings in the North seas. Besides all they that go in the Fly-boats
for Shetland Ling, and the Pinks for barrelled fish, and Trammel-boats:
which cometh unto five thousand more.

So that it is most true, that as they have the sum of ---- fishermen
more than there is in all this land: and by reason of their Busses and
Pinks and fishermen that set their Merchant-ships on work [_a work_];
so have they ---- ships and ---- mariners more than we.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now in our sum of ---- fishermen; let us see what vent [_sale_] have
we for our fish into other countries? and what commodities and coin
is brought into this kingdom? and what ships are set on work by them,
whereby mariners are bred or employed? Not one! It is pitiful!

For when our fishermen cometh home the first voyage [_i.e., in the
summer_] from the North Seas, they go either to London, Ipswich,
Yarmouth, Lynn, Hull, or Scarborough; and there they do sell, at good
rates, the first voyage. But the second voyage (because that they which
be now the fishermen, have not yet the right use of making of barrelled
fish, wherewith they might serve France, as do the Hollanders) they be
now constrained to sell in England. For that it is staple [_standard_]
fish; and not being barrelled, the French will not buy it.

But if that our fishermen had but once the use of Pinks and Line-boats
and barrelled fish; then they might serve France as well as the
Hollanders: which by this new trade of Busses being once erected, and
Pinks, and Line-boats after the Holland manner; there will be fishermen
enough to manage the Pinks for barrelled fish, from November unto
the beginning of May, only the most part of those men that shall be
maintained by the Busses. For that, when the Busses do leave work, in
the winter, their men shall have employment by the Pinks for barrelled
fish; which men now do little or nothing. For this last winter at
Yarmouth, there were three hundred idle men that could get nothing to
do, living very poor for lack of employment; which most gladly would
have gone to sea in Pinks, if there had been any for them to go in.

[Sidenote: No more English but two ships this year laded there.]

[Sidenote: Note here how the Hollanders employ themselves and their
Ships! First, in taking of the herrings quick [_alive_]; and yet are
not content! but catch them again, after they be dead! and do set both
their ships and mariners on work: and English ships lie up a rotting!]

And whereas I said before, that there was not one ship set on work by
our fishermen: there may be objected against me this. That there doth
every year commonly lade at Yarmouth four or five London ships for the
Straits [_of Gibraltar_], which is sometimes true. And the Yarmouth
men themselves do yearly send two or three ships to Bordeaux, and two
or three boats laden with herrings, to Rouen, or to Nantes, or Saint
Malo: whereby there are returned salt, wines, and Normandy canvas;
whereby the King hath some custom. But there is no _money_ returned
into England for these herrings, which cost the Yarmouthians _ready
gold_, before that they had them of the Hollanders and Frenchmen to
lade these ships: and therefore I may boldly say, Not one!

And this last year now the Hollanders themselves have also gotten
that trade, for there did lade twelve sail of Holland ships with red
herrings at Yarmouth for Civita Vecchia, Leghorn, Genoa, and Marseilles
and Toulon. Most of them being ladened by the English merchants. So
that if this be suffered, the English owners of ships shall have but
small employment for theirs.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now to show truly, what the whole charge of a Buss will be, with all
her furniture, as masts, sails, anchors, cables, and with all her
fisher's implements and appurtenances, at the first provided all new.
It is a great charge, she being between thirty and forty Last [= _60 to
80 Tons_] and will cost some five hundred pounds [= _about £2,250 in
present value_].

By the grace of GOD, the Ship or Buss will continue twenty years, with
small cost and reparations: but the yearly slite [_fraying_] and wear
of her tackle and war-ropes and nets will cost some eighty pounds.

And the whole charge for the keeping of her at sea for the whole
summer, or three voyages; for the fitting of a hundred Last of caske or
barrels.

[Sidenote: If any will know all the particulars of Weys of Salt, or
Barrels of Beer, or Hundred[weight]s of Biscuits, I will willingly
resolve [_explain to_] him; but here is the whole charge, and with
the most [_at the outside_.]]

  100 Last of Barrels          £72
  For Salt, four months         88
  Beer, four months             42
  For Bread, four months        21
  Bacon and Butter              18
  For Pease, four months         3
  For Billet, four months        3
  For men's wages, four months  88
                              ----
                              £335

One hundred Last of herrings, filled and sold at £10 the Last, cometh
to one thousand pounds.

  Herrings                   £1000
  The whole charge             335
                              ----
  Gotten                      £665

   [See full particulars in the later work _Britain's Buss_ in Vol.
                             III. p. 621.]

Here plainly appeareth that there is gotten £665 in one summer,
whereout if that you do deduct £100 for the wear of the ship and the
reparations of her nets against the next summer; yet still there £565
remaining for clear gains, by one Buss in one year.

[Sidenote: And I have rated the Herrings, but at £10 the Last; which is
with the least. For they be commonly sold by the Hollanders at Dantsic
for £15 and £20 the Last.]

The Hollanders do make [_consider_] the profit of their Busses so
certain, that they do lay out their own children's money, given them by
their deceased friends, in adventuring in the Busses; and also there is
in Holland a Treasury for Orphans opened and laid out in adventuring in
the Busses.

[Sidenote: Ready money; or tallies, which are as Bills of Exchange, to
be paid at first sight.]

The Hollanders do make both a profitable and a pleasant trade of this
summer fishing. For there was one of them that having a gallant great
new Buss of his own, and he having a daughter married unto one that
was his Mate in the Buss: the Owner that was Master of this Buss did
take his wife with him aboard, and his Mate his wife; and so they
did set sail for the North seas, with the two women with them, the
mother and the daughter. Where, having a fair wind, and being fishing
in the North seas, they had soon filled their Buss with herrings;
and a Herring-Yager cometh unto them, and brings them gold and fresh
supplies, and copeth [_bargaineth_] with them, and taketh in their
herrings for ready money, and delivereth them more barrels and salt;
and away goeth the Yager for the first market into Sprucia [_Prussia_].
And still is the Buss fishing at sea, and soon after again was full
laden and boone [_bound_] home: but then another Yager cometh unto him
as did the former, and delivering them more provision of barrels, salt,
and ready money, and bids them farewell. And still the Buss lieth at
sea, with the mother and daughter, so long, and not very long before
they had again all their barrels full; and then they sailed home into
Holland, with the two women, and the buss laden with herrings, and a
thousand pounds of ready money.

If that any man should make question of the truth of this, it will be
very credibly approved by divers of good credit that be now in the city
of London.

Now to show the charge of a Pink of eighteen or twenty Last [= _36
to 40 tons_]. The Pink being built new, and all things new into her,
will not cost £260, with all her lines, hooks, and all her fisher
appurtenances.

And

  15 Last of barrels will cost             £10
  5 Weys of "Salt upon Salt"                15
  For Beer and Cask                          7
  For Bread                                  3
  For Butter                                 1
  For the Petty Tally                        1
  For men's wages for two months, Master
    and all together                        20
                                           ---
                                           £57

Fifteen Last of barrelled fish at £14 8s. the Last, which is but
twenty-four shillings the barrel, amounteth to £216; whereout if that
you do deduct £57 for the charge of setting her to sea, there is still
resting £159 clear gain by one Pink, with fifteen Last of fish, for two
months.

Wherefore, seeing the profit so plain; and, by the grace of GOD, so
certain; both by the Busses and Line-boats, whereby the Hollanders have
so long gained by: let all noble, worshipful, and wealthy subjects put
to their adventuring and helping hands, for the speedy launching and
floating forward of this great good common wealth business, for the
strengthening of His Majesty's dominions with two principal pillars,
which are, with plenty of coin brought in for Fish and herrings from
other nations, and also for the increasing of mariners against all
common invasions. And also for the bettering of trades and occupations,
and setting of thousands of poor and idle people on work, which now
know not how to live; which by this Trade of Busses shall be employed:
as daily we see is done, before our eyes, by the Hollanders. And, as
always it hath been seen, that those that be now the fishermen of
England have been always found to be sufficient to serve His Majesty's
ships in former time, when there has been employment: which fellows,
by this new trade of building and setting forth of Busses will be
greatly multiplied and increased in this land. Which fellows, as we
see the Hollanders, being well fed in fishing affairs, and strong[er]
and lustier than the sailors that use the long southern voyages that
sometimes are greatly surfeited and hunger-pined: but these courageous,
young, lusty, fed-strong younkers, that shall be bred in the Busses,
when His Majesty shall have occasion for their service in war against
the enemy, will be fellows for the nonce! and will put more strength
to an iron crow at a piece of great ordnance in traversing of a cannon
or culvering, with the direction of the experimented [_experienced_]
Master Gunner, than two or three of the forenamed surfeited sailors.
And in distress of wind-grown sea, and foul winter's weather, for
flying forward to their labour, for pulling in a topsail or a
spritsail, or shaking off a bonnet in a dark night! for wet and cold
cannot make them shrink, nor stain that the North seas and the Busses
and Pinks have dyed in the grain, for such purposes.

And whosoever shall go to sea for Captain to command in martial
affairs, or to take charge for Master in trade of merchandise (as in
times past I have done both) will make choice of these fellows: for I
have seen their resolution in the face of their enemy, when they have
been _legeramenta_ [Italian for _light-hearted_] and frolicsome, and as
forward as about their ordinary labours or business.

[Sidenote: It is not unknown, that last year [1613] there was a general
press along the coast of England, from Hull in Yorkshire unto St.
Michael's Mount in Cornwall, only for sailors to furnish but seven
ships, for the wafting over [_conveying_] of the Count Palantine and
his noble Princess but twenty-eight leagues.]

And when His Majesty shall have occasion and employment for the
furnishing of his Navy, there will be no want of Masters, Pilots,
Commanders, and sufficient directors of a course and keeping of
computation; but now there is a pitiful want of sufficient good men to
do the offices and labours before spoken of. All which, these men of
the Busses and Pinks will worthily supply.

And to the art of sailing they may happily attain. For hitherto it
hath been commonly seen, that those men that have been brought up in
their youth in fishery, have deserved as well as any in the land for
artificial [_scientific_] sailing: for at this time is practised all
the projections of circular and mathematical scales and arithmetical
sailing by divers of the young men of the sea-coast towns, even as
commonly amongst them, as amongst the Thamesers.

[Sidenote: Some of these be 60 and 80 tons, the burden.]

Besides all the Hollanders before spoken of, the Frenchmen of Picardy
have also a hundred sail of fishermen, only [_solely_] for herrings on
His Majesty's seas every year in the summer season; and they be almost
like unto the Busses: but they have not any Yagers that cometh unto
them, but they do lade themselves, and return home twice every year;
and find great profit by their making but two voyages every summer
season.

[Sidenote: The Hollanders do yearly take so many, as they do make more
than two millions of pounds sterling. And we, his Majesty's subjects,
do take no more than do bait our hooks!]

And it is much to be lamented that we, having such a plentiful country,
and such store of able and idle people, that not one of His Majesty's
subjects is there to be seen all the whole summer to fish or to take
one herring; but only the North Sea boats of the sea-coast towns that
go to take Cod, they do take so many as they do need to bait their
hooks and no more.

We are daily scorned by these Hollanders for being so negligent of our
profit, and careless of our fishing; and they do daily flout us that be
the poor fishermen of England, to our faces at sea, calling to us and
saying, _Ya English! ya zall, or oud scove dragien_, which in English
is this, "You English! we will make you glad for to wear our old shoes."

And likewise the Frenchmen, they say, "We are apish," for that we do
still imitate them in all needless and fantastical jags [_tatters_]
and fashions. As it is most true indeed. For that they have no fashion
amongst them in apparel nor lace, points, gloves, hilts, nor garters;
even from the spangled shoe-latchet unto the spangled hat and hatband
(be it never so idle and costly): but after that we do once get it, it
is far bettered by our nation.

[Sidenote: The sailor's proverb, The sea and the gallows refuse none!]

Wherefore, seeing that we can excel all other nations, wastefully
to spend money; let us in one thing learn of other nations! to get
thousands out of His Majesty's sea! and to make a general profit of
the benefits that Almighty GOD doth yearly send unto us, in far more
greater abundance than the fruit of our trees! which although they
[_the fishes_] be more changeable in the gathering together, yet is
the profit far more greater unto this kingdom and common wealth of
all His Majesty's subjects, increasing the wealth of the Adventurers;
as also for the enriching of Merchants, and maintaining of trades,
occupations, and employing of ships, and increasing of mariners which
now do but little or nothing; as also for the setting of poor and idle
people on work, which now know not how to live. And to teach many a
tall fellow to know the proper names of the ropes in a ship, and to
haul the bowline; that now for lack of employment many such, by the
inconvenience of idle living, are compelled to end their days with a
rope by an untimely death; which by the employment of the Busses might
be well avoided, and they in time become right honest, serviceable, and
trusty subjects.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here since my book came to the press, I have been credibly certified
by men[8] of good worth (being Fishmongers) that since Christmas last,
unto this day; there hath been paid to the Hollanders, here in London,
only for barrels of fish and Holland Ling, the sum of Twelve thousand
pounds [= _about £50,000 in the present day_].

       *       *       *       *       *

And last of all, if that there be any of worshipful Adventurers
that would have any directions for the building of these Busses or
fisherships, because I know that the ship carpenters of England be not
yet skilful in this matter; wherefore if that any shall be pleased
to repair to me, I will be willing to give them directions and plain
projections and geometrical demonstrations for the right building of
them, both for length, breadth, and depth, and also for their mould
under water, and also for the contriving of their rooms and the laying
of their gear,[9] according to the Hollanders' fashion. Any man shall
hear of me at Master NATHANIEL BUTTER's, a Stationer's shop at Saint
Austen's Gate in Paul's Churchyard. Farewell this 18th of February
[1614].

                                _FINIS._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                        The States Proclamation.
                       _Translated out of Dutch._

_The States General of the United Provinces of the Low Countries,
unto all those that shall see or hear these presents greeting.
We let you to wit, that whereas it is well known, that the great
fishing and catching of herrings is the chiefest trade and principal
Gold Mine of these United Countries, whereby many thousands of
households, families, handicrafts, trades, and occupations are set
on work, well maintained, and prosper; especially the sailing and
navigation, as well within as without these Countries, is kept in
great estimation: moreover, many returns of money, with the increase
of the means, convoys, customs, and revenues of these countries are
augmented thereby and prosper. And forasmuch as there are made, from
time to time, many good Orders concerning the catching, salting, and
beneficial uttering_ [disposal] _of the said herrings, to the end to
preserve and maintain the said Chief Trade in the United Provinces;
which trade, by divers encounters of some that seek their own gain,
is envied in respect of the great good it bringeth to the United
Countries; and We are informed that a device is put in practice to
the prejudice of the trade, to transport out of the United Countries
into other countries staves for herring-barrels made here, and half
herring-barrels put into other barrels, and nets; to cross the good
orders and policy here intended to them of these countries for
the catching, salting, and selling the herrings dressed in other
countries after the order of these countries, whereby this chief
trade should be decayed here, and the inhabitants of these countries
damnified_ [damaged] _if we make not provision in time against such
practices_.

_Therefore We, after mature judgement and deliberation, have
forbidden and interdicted, and by these presents do forbid and
interdict all and every one, as well home-born inhabitants as
strangers frequenting these parts, to take up any herring-barrels
or half ones prepared, or any kind of nets, in any ship, town, or
haven of the United Provinces, to be sent into other countries or
places; upon pain of confiscation of the same, and the ship also
wherein they shall be found, besides a penalty of one hundred of
Netherland Silver Royals, for the first time: and for the second
time, above confiscation of ship and goods, and four hundred of the
said Royals of Silver: and for the third time, above confiscation of
ship and goods and six hundred of the said Royals of Silver, corporal
punishment._

_All which confiscations and penalties shall be distributed one
third part to the profit of the plaintiff_ [informer--? including the
corporal punishment]; _one third part to the poor; and one third part
to the Officers, where the said confiscation shall be demanded_.

_And not only they shall incur this penalty, which after shall be
taken with the deed, but they also that within one year after the
deed shall be convicted; and that none may pretend ignorance, and
that this order may be in all places duly observed, and the offenders
punished according to justice, We will and require, our dear and
well beloved Estates, Governors, Deputies of the Council, and the
Estates of the respective Provinces of Guelderland, and the county
of Satfill in Holland, West Friesland, Zealand, Utrecht, Friesland,
Merizel, the town of Groningen, and the circumjacent places: and to
all Justices and Officers, that they cause to be published in all
places and proclaimed where the usual proclamation and publication
is made: We do charge also the Chancellors and Provincial Council,
and the Council of Admiralty, the Advocatistical, and the Procurer
General, and all other Officers, Judges, and Justices of these United
Provinces, and to all general colonies, Admirals and Vice-Admirals,
Captains, Officers, and Commanders, to perform and cause to be
performed this order and commandment, and to proceed and cause to be
proceeded against the offenders without grace, favour, dissimulation,
or composition: because we have found it necessary for the good and
benefit of the said United Provinces._

_Dated in Hague, this 19th of July._

                                 FINIS.

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Our Author has however already specified the number to be, at
least, Iceland barks 126, and North Sea boats 237.

[8] Master WILLIAM SNELLING, Master STEPHEN TOPLEY, and divers others
of the Company of Fishmongers.

[9] And for providing of their Cordage and Nets, after the most neatest
and cheapest rates.



                             _FAIR VIRTUE,
                                  THE
                              +MISTRESS+
                                  OF
                             PHIL'ARETE._

                               Written by
                             GEO. WITHER.


                   *       *       *       *       *

                          CATUL. Carmen. XV.

                            _nihil veremur_
             _Istos, quid in platea, modo huc, modo illuc_
                   _In re pretereunt sua occupati._

                   *       *       *       *       *

                                LONDON.

                      Printed for John Grismand.
                              M.DC.XXII.

[It is singular that this truly astonishing Poem, a poetical _tour
de force_ as it is, should not hitherto have obtained a universal
acceptance and recognition. In it we see WITHER at his prime; and
cannot but admire as much the sterling integrity of his Character, as
the wonderful fertility of his poetical Invention.

His mastery herein over rhythm and rhyme, also amply vindicates the
opinion of Dryden: who, considering himself unmatched by any in
facility of versification, openly excepted WITHER, and F. QUARLES.

Well has our Poet said--

      _When other noble Dames,_
      _By greater men attended,_
      _Shall, with their lives and names,_
      _Have all their glories ended:_
    _With fairest Queens, shall She_
    _Sit, sharing equal glory;_
    _And Times to come shall be_
    _Delighted with our Story._

                                              First stanza on _p._ 386.]

[Illustration]


                             THE STATIONER
                             TO THE READER.

This being one of the Author's first poems, was composed many
years agone; and (unknown to him) gotten out of his custody by an
acquaintance of his. And coming lately to my hands, without a name:
it was thought to have so much resemblance of the Maker, that many,
upon the first sight, undertook to guess who was the author of it; and
[were] persuaded that it was likely also, to become profitable both to
them and me.

Whereupon, I got it authorised, according to Order [_It was entered
at Stationers' Hall, on 31st January, 1622_]; intending to publish it
without further inquiry.

But attaining by chance, a more perfect knowledge, to whom it most
properly belonged; I thought it fitting to acquaint him therewithal.
And did so, desiring also both his good will to publish the same, and
leave to pass it under his name. Both [of] which, I found him very
unwilling to permit; least the seeming lightness of such a subject
might somewhat disparage the more serious studies, which he hath since
undertaken.

Yet doubting (this being got out of his custody) some more imperfect
copies might be scattered abroad, in writing; or be (unknown to him)
imprinted: he was pleased, upon my importunities, to condescend
[_agree_] that it might be published without his name.

And his words were these:

"When," said he, "I first composed it, I well liked thereof; and it
well enough became my years; but, now, I neither like nor dislike it.
That, therefore, it should be divulged, I desire not! and whether it
be; or whether, if it so happen, it be approved or not, I care not!
For this I am sure of, howsoever it is valued, it is worth as much as
I prize it at. Likely it is also, to be as beneficial to the world, as
the world hath been to me; and will be more than those who like it not,
ever deserved at my hands."

These were his speeches. And if you looked for a Prologue, thus much
he wished me to tell you, instead thereof, "because," as he said, "he
himself had somewhat else to do."

Yet, to acknowledge the truth, I was so earnest with him, that, busy
as he would seem to be, I got him to write this _Epistle_ for me. And
have thereunto set _my_ name: which he wished me to confess, partly,
to avoid the occasion of belying my invention; and partly, because he
thought some of you would suppose so much.

I entreated him to explain his meaning in certain obscure passages.
But he told me how "that were to take away the employment of his
interpreters [_critics_]: whereas he would, purposely, leave something
remaining doubtful, to see what Sir POLITIC WOULD-BE and his companions
would pick out of it."

I desired him also to set down, to what good purposes, this Poem would
serve. But his reply was how "that would be well enough found out in
the perusing, by all such as had honest understandings; and they who
are not so provided, he hopes will not read it."

More, I could not get from him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whether, therefore, the _Mistress of PHIL'ARETE_ be really a Woman,
shadowed under the name of _VIRTUE_; or Virtue only, whose loveliness
is represented by the beauty of an excellent Woman: or whether it mean
both together, I cannot tell you!

But thus much dare I promise for your money, that, here, you shall
find, familiarly expressed, both such beauties as young men are most
entangled withal; and the excellency also of such as are most worthy
their affection. That seeing both impartially set forth by him, that
was capable of both; they might the better settle their love on the
best.

Hereby, also, those women, who desire to be truly beloved, may know
what makes them so to be: and seek to acquire those accomplishments
of the Mind which may endear them, when the sweetest features of a
beautiful Face shall be converted into deformities.

And here is described that Loveliness of theirs, which is the principal
object of wanton affection, to no worse end, but that those (who would
never have looked on this Poem, if Virtue and Goodness had been therein
no otherwise represented, than as they are Objects of the Soul) might
(where they expected the satisfaction of their sensuality only) meet
with that also, which would insinuate into them an Apprehension of
more reasonable, and most excellent perfections. Yea, whereas the
common opinion of Youth hath been, that only old men, and such as are
unable, or past delighting in a bodily loveliness, are those who are
best capable of the Mind's perfections; and that they do, therefore, so
much prefer them before the other, because their age or stupidity hath
deprived them of being sensible what pleasures they yield: though this
be the vulgar error; yet, here, it shall appear, that he who is able to
conceive the most excellent Pleasingness which could be apprehended in
a corpor[e]al Beauty, found it (even when he was most enamoured with
it) far short of that inexpressible Sweetness, which he discovered in a
virtuous and well tempered Disposition.

And if this be not worth your money; keep it!

                                                           JOHN MARRIOT.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                              PHIL'ARETE.
                           _To his Mistress._

    Hail! thou Fairest of all Creatures,
    Upon whom the sun doth shine!
    Model of all rarest features,
    And perfections most divine!
        Thrice, All Hail! And blessed be,
        Those that love and honour thee!

    Of thy worth, this rural Story,
    Thy unworthy Swain hath penned;
    And to thy ne'er-ending glory,
    These plain Numbers doth commend:
        Which ensuing Times shall warble,
        When 'tis lost, that's writ in marble.

    Though thy praise, and high deservings,
    Cannot all, be here expressed;
    Yet my love and true observings
    Some way, ought to be professed!
        And where greatest love we see,
        Highest things attemptèd be.

    By thy Beauty, I have gainèd
    To behold the best perfections;
    By thy Love, I have obtainèd
    To enjoy the best affections.
        And my tongue to sing thy praise!
        Love and Beauty thus doth raise.

    What although in rustic shadows,
    I, a Shepherd's breeding had!
    And confinèd to these meadows,
    So in home-spun russet clad!
        Such as I, have, now and then,
        Dared as much as greater men.

    Though a stranger to the Muses,
    Young, obscurèd, and despised;
    Yet such Art, thy love infuses!
    That I, thus, have poetised.
        Read! and be content to see
        Thy admirèd power in me!

    And O grant, thou Sweetest Beauty!
    (Wherewith ever Earth was graced),
    That this Trophy of my duty
    May, with favour be embraced!
        And disdain not, in these rhymes,
        To be sung to after Times!

    Let those doters on Apollo,
    That adore the Muses so,
    (And, like geese, each other follow)
    See what Love alone can do!
        For in love lays, Grove and Field;
        Nor to Schools, nor Courts will yield!

    On this Glass of thy Perfection,
    If that any women pry;
    Let them, thereby, take direction
    To adorn themselves thereby!
        And if aught amiss they view;
        Let them dress themselves anew!

    Young men shall, by this, acquainted
    With the truest Beauties, grow;
    So the counterfeit, or painted,
    They may shun, when them they know.
        But the Way, all will not find;
        For some eyes have, yet are blind.

    Thee! entirely! I have loved:
    So thy Sweetness on me wrought.
    Yet thy Beauty never moved
    Ill temptations in my thought.
        But, still, did Beauty's ray
        Sun-like, drive those fogs away.

    Those, that Mistresses are named;
    And for that, suspected be:
    Shall not need to be ashamed,
    If they pattern take, by Thee!
        Neither shall their Servants fear,
        Favours, openly to wear.

    Thou, to no man favour deignest!
    But what's fitting to bestow.
    Neither Servants entertainest!
    That can ever wanton grow.
        For, the more they look on Thee,
        Their Desires still better be!

    This, thy Picture, therefore, show I
    Naked unto every eye:
    Yet no fear of rival know I,
    Neither touch of jealousy.
        For the more make love to Thee!
        I, the more shall pleased be.

    I am no Italian lover
    That will mew thee in a gaol;
    But thy Beauty I discover,
    English-like, without a veil.
        If thou mayest be won away:
        Win and wear thee, he that may!

    Yet in this, Thou may'st believe me!
    (So indifferent, though I seem):
    Death with tortures would not grieve me
    More, than loss of thy esteem!
        For if VIRTUE me forsake!
        All a scorn of me will make.

    Then, as I, on Thee relying,
    Do no changing fear in Thee!
    So, by my defects supplying;
    From all changing, keep thou me!
        That unmatched we may prove:
        Thou, for Beauty! I, for Love!

    Then, while their loves are forgotten,
    Who to Pride and Lust were slaves;
    And their Mistresses, quite rotten,
    Lie, unthought on, in their graves:
        King and Queens, in their despite,
        Shall, to mind us, take delight.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                             FAIR VIRTUE,

                                  OR
                      THE MISTRESS OF PHIL'ARETE.

    _Two pretty rills do meet; and meeting, make_
    _Within one valley, a large silver lake:_
    _About whose banks, the fertile mountains stood_
    _In ages passèd, bravely crowned with wood;_
    _Which lending cold-sweet shadows, gave it grace_
    _To be accounted CYNTHIA's bathing-place._
    _And from her father NEPTUNE's brackish Court,_
    _Fair THETIS thither, often, would resort;_
    _Attended by the fishes of the sea,_
    _Which, in these sweeter waters came to play._
    _There, would the Daughter of the Sea God dive:_
    _And thither came the Land Nymphs, every eve,_
    _To wait upon her; bringing for her brows,_
    _Rich garlands of sweet flowers, and beechy boughs._
      _For pleasant was that Pool;[10] and near it, then,_
    _Was neither rotten marsh, nor boggy fen._
    _It was not overgrown with boisterous sedge,_
    _Nor grew there rudely, then, along the edge_
    _A bending willow, nor a prickly bush,_
    _Nor broad-leafed flag, nor reed, nor knotty rush:_
    _But here, well ordered, was a grove with bowers;_
    _There, grassy plots set round about with flowers._
    _Here, you might, through the water, see the land_
    _Appear, strewed o'er with white or yellow sand._
    _Yon, deeper was it; and the wind, by whiffs,_
    _Would make it rise, and wash the little cliffs;_
    _On which, oft pluming, sate, unfrighted then,_
    _The gagling wild goose, and the snow-white swan,_
    _With all those flocks of fowls, which, to this day,_
    _Upon those quiet waters breed and play._
      _For, though those excellences wanting be_
    _Which once it had, it is the same that we,_
    _By transposition, name the Ford of Arle:[11]_
    _And out of which, along a chalky marl,_
    _That river trills, whose waters wash the fort_
    _In which brave ARTHUR kept his royal Court._[12]

      _North-east, not far from this great Pool, there lies_
    _A tract of beechy mountains, that arise,_
    _With leisurely ascending, to such height_
    _As from their tops, the warlike Isle of Wight_
    _You, in the Ocean's bosom, may espy:_
    _Though near two hundred furlongs thence it lie._
    _The pleasant way, as up those hills you climb,_
    _Is strewed o'er with marjoram and thyme,_
    _Which grow unset. The hedgerows do not want_
    _The cowslip, violet, primrose; nor a plant_
    _That freshly scents: as birch, both green and tall;_
    _Low sallows, on whose bloomings, bees do fall;_
    _Fair woodbines which, about the hedges twine;_
    _Smooth privet, and the sharp-sweet eglantine;_
    _With many more, whose leaves and blossoms fair,_
    _The Earth adorn, and oft perfume the Air._
      _When you, unto the highest do attain;_
    _An intermixture both of wood and plain,_
    _You shall behold! which, though aloft it lie,_
    _Hath downs for sheep, and fields for husbandry:_
    _So much, at least, as little, needeth more;_
    _If not enough to merchandise their store._
      _In every row, hath Nature planted there;_
    _Some banquet for the hungry passenger._
    _For here, the hasle-nut and filbird grows;_
    _There, bulloes; and little further, sloes._
    _On this hand, standeth a fair wielding-tree;_
    _On that, large thickets of black cherries be._
    _The shrubby fields are raspice orchards, there;_
    _The new felled woods, like strawberry gardens are._
    _And had the King of Rivers blest those hills,_
    _With some small number of such pretty rills_
    _As flow elsewhere, Arcadia had not seen_
    _A sweeter plot of earth than this had been._
      _For what offence, this place was scanted so_
    _Of springing waters, no record doth show;_
    _Nor have they old tradition left, that tells;_
    _But till this day, at fifty-fathom wells,_
    _The Shepherds drink. And strange it was, to hear_
    _Of any Swain that ever livèd there,_
    _Who, either in a Pastoral Ode had skill,_
    _Or knew to set his fingers to a quill:_
    _For rude they were, who there inhabited,_
    _And to a dull contentment being bred,_
    _They no such Art esteemed; nor took much heed_
    _Of anything the world without them, did._
      _Ev'n there, and in the least frequented place_
    _Of all these mountains, is a little space_
    _Of pleasant ground hemmed in with dropping trees,_
    _And those so thick, that PHOEBUS scarcely sees_
    _The earth they grow on, once in all the year;_
    _Nor what is done among the shadows there:_
      _Along those lovely paths, (where never came_
    _Report of PAN's, or of APOLLO's name;_
    _Nor rumour of the Muses, till of late)_
    _Some Nymphs were wandering, and, by chance or fate,_
    _Upon a laund[13] arrived, where they met_
    _The little flock of Pastor PHILARET._
      _They were a troop of Beauties known well nigh_
    _Through all the plains of happy Brittany._
      _A Shepherd's Lad was He, obscure and young,_
    _Who, being first that ever there had sung,_
    _In homely verse, expressèd country loves,_
    _And only told them to the beechy groves;_
    _As if to sound his name, he never meant,_
    _Beyond the compass that his sheepwalk went._
      _They saw him not, nor them perceivèd he;_
    _For in the branches of a maple tree,_
    _He shrouded sate: and taught the hollow hill_
    _To echo forth the music of his quill;_
    _Whose tattling voice redoubled so the sound,_
    _That where he was concealed, they quickly found._
    _And there, they heard him sing a Madrigal_
    _That soon betrayed his cunning to them all._
      _Full rude it was, no doubt, but such a Song,_
    _Those rustic and obscurèd shades among,_
    _Was never heard, they say, by any ear,_
    _Until his Muses had inspired him there._
    _Though mean and plain, his country habit seemed,_
    _Yet by his Song, the Ladies rightly deemed_
    _That either he had travellèd abroad,_
    _Where Swains of better knowledge make abode;_
    _Or else, that some brave Nymph who used that grove,_
    _Had deignèd to enrich him with her love._
      _Approaching nearer, therefore, to this Swain,_
    _Them, him saluted; and he, them again,_
    _In such good fashion, as well seemed to be_
    _According to their state, and his degree._
    _Which greetings being passed, and much chat_
    _Concerning him, the place, with this and that;_
    _He, to an arbour doth those Beauties bring,_
    _Where he, them prays to sit; they, him to sing,_
    _And to express that untaught Country Art,_
    _In setting forth the Mistress of his heart;_
    _Which they o'erheard him practice, when unseen,_
    _He thought no ear had witness of it been._
      _At first, as much unable, he refused,_
    _And seemèd willing to have been excused_
    _From such a task, "For trust me, Nymphs!" quoth he,_
    _"I would not purposely uncivil be,_
    _Nor churlish in denying what you crave!_
    _But, as I hope great PAN my flock will save!_
    _I rather wish that I might, heard of none,_
    _Enjoy my music by myself alone;_
    _Or that the murmurs of some little flood,_
    _Joined with the friendly echoes of the wood,_
    _Might be the impartial umpires of my wit;_
    _Than vent it where the world might hear of it._
    _And doubtless, I had sung less loud while-ere,_
    _Had I but thought of any such so near._
    _Not that I either wish obscurified_
    _Her matchless Beauty, or desire to hide_
    _Her sweet Perfections. For, by LOVE I swear!_
    _The utmost happiness I aim at here_
    _Is but to compass Worth enough to raise_
    _A high built Trophy equal to her praise._
      _Which, fairest Ladies! I shall hope in vain,_
    _For I was meanly bred on yonder plain!_
    _And though I can well prove my blood to be_
    _Derived from no ignoble Stems, to me:_
    _Yet Fate and Time them so obscured and crosst_
    _That with their fortunes, their esteem is lost;_
    _And whatsoe'er repute I strive to win,_
    _Now from myself alone, it must begin._
    _For I have no estate, nor friends, nor fame,_
    _To purchase either credit to my name,_
    _Or gain a good opinion; though I do_
    _Ascend the height I shall aspire unto._
      _If any of those virtues yet I have_
    _Which honour to my predecessors gave;_
    _There's all, that's left me! And though some contemn_
    _Such needy jewels: yet it was for them,_
    _My Fair One did my humble suit affect;_
    _And deignèd my adventurous love, respect:_
    _And by their help, I passage hope to make,_
    _Through such poor things as I dare undertake._
      _But, you may say, 'What goodly thing, alas,_
    _Can my despisèd meanness bring to pass?_
    _Or what great Monument of Honour raise_
    _To VIRTUE, in these vice abounding days?_
    _In which, a thousand times, more honour finds,_
    _Ignoble gotten Means, than noble Minds.'_
    _Indeed, the world affordeth small reward_
    _For honest minds, and therefore her regard_
    _I seek not after; neither do I care,_
    _If I have bliss, how others think I fare!_
    _For, so my thoughts have rest; it irks not me,_
    _Though none, but I, do know how blest they be._
      _Here, therefore, in these groves and hidden plains,_
    _I pleasèd, sit alone, and many strains_
    _I carol to myself, these hills among,_
    _Where no man comes to interrupt my song._
    _Whereas, if my rude Lays, make known I should,_
    _Beyond their home; perhaps, some carpers would_
    _(Because they have not heard from whence we be)_
    _Traduce, abuse, and scoff both them and me._
    _For if our great and learned Shepherds (who_
    _Are graced with Wit, and Fame, and Favours too)_
    _With much ado, escape uncensured may;_
    _What hopes have I to pass unscorched, I pray!_
    _Who yet unto the Muses am unknown,_
    _And live unhonoured, here, among mine own?_
      _A gadding humour seldom taketh me,_
    _To range out further than yon mountains be;_
    _Nor hath applausive Rumour borne my name_
    _Upon the spreading wings of sounding Fame:_
    _Nor can I think, fair Nymphs! that you resort_
    _For other purpose, than to make a sport_
    _At that simplicity, which shall appear_
    _Among the rude untutored Shepherds here._
      _I know, that you, my noble Mistress ween,_
    _At best, a homely milkmaid on the green,_
    _Or some such country lass as taskèd stays_
    _At servile labour until holidays._
    _For poor men's virtues so neglected grow,_
    _And are now prizèd at a rate so low;_
    _As, 'tis impossible, you should be brought_
    _To let it with belief possess your thought,_
    _That any Nymph, whose love might worthy be,_
    _Would deign to cast respective eyes on me._
      _You see I live, possessing none of those_
    _Gay things, with which the world enamoured grows._
    _To woo a Courtly Beauty, I have neither_
    _Rings, bracelets, jewels; nor a scarf, nor feather._
    _I use no double-dyèd cloth to wear;_
    _No scrip embroidered richly, do I bear:_
    _No silken belt, nor sheephook laid with pearls,_
    _To win me favour from the shepherds' girls._
    _No Place of Office or Command I keep,_
    _But this my little flock of homely sheep._
    _And, in a word; the sum of all my pelf_
    _Is this_, I am the Master of myself!
      _No doubt, in Courts of Princes you have been!_
    _And all the pleasures of the Palace seen!_
    _There, you beheld brave Courtly passages_
    _Between Heroes and their Mistresses._
    _You, there, perhaps, in presence of the King,_
    _Have heard his learned Bards and Poets sing!_
    _And what contentment, then, can wood or field,_
    _To please your curious understandings yield?_
    _I know you walkèd hither, but to prove_
    _What silly Shepherds do conceive of love?_
    _Or to make trial how our simpleness,_
    _Can Passions' force, or Beauty's power express?_
    _And when you are departed, you will joy_
    _To laugh, or descant on the Shepherd's Boy!_
      _But yet, I vow! if all the Art I had_
    _Could any more esteem or glory add_
    _To her unmatchèd worth; I would not weigh_
    _What you intended," "Prithee, Lad!" quoth they,_
    _"Distrustful of our courtesy do not seem!_
    _Her nobleness can never want esteem,_
    _Nor thy concealèd Measures be disgraced;_
    _Though in a meaner person they were placed._
    _If thy too modestly reservèd quill_
    _But reach that height, which we suppose it will;_
    _Thy meanness or obscureness cannot wrong_
    _The Nymph thou shalt eternize in thy Song._
    _For, as it higher rears thy glory, that_
    _A noble Mistress thou hast aimèd at;_
    _So, more unto her honour it will prove_
    _That (whilst deceiving shadows others move)_
    _Her constant eyes could pass unmovèd by_
    _The subtle Time's bewitching bravery;_
    _And those obscurèd virtues love in thee,_
    _That with despisèd meanness clouded be._
      _Now then, for Her sweet sake! whose beauteous eye_
    _Hath filled thy Soul with heavenly Poesy;_
    _Sing in her praise some new inspirèd Strain!_
    _And if, within our power, there shall remain_
    _A favour to be done to pleasure thee;_
    _Ask and obtain it, whatsoe'er it be!"_
      _"Fair Ladies!" quoth the Lad, "such words as those,_
    _Compel me can": and therewithal he rose,_
    _Returned them thanks, obeisance made; and then_
    _Down sate again, and thus to sing began._

                           [_The Prologue._]

    You that, at a blush, can tell
    Where the best perfections dwell!
    And the substance can conjecture,
    By a shadow or a picture!
    Come and try, if you, by this,
    Know my Mistress, who she is?
    For, though I am far unable
    Here to match APELLES' table;
    Or draw ZEUXES' cunning lines
    (Who so painted BACCHUS' vines
    That the hungry birds did muster
    Round the counterfeited cluster);
    Though I vaunt not to inherit
    PETRARCH's yet unequalled spirit;
    Nor to quaff the sacred well
    Half so deep as _ASTROPHEL_;
    Though the much-commended _CELIA_,
    Lovely _LAURA_, _STELLA_, _DELIA_,
    (Who, in former times, excelled)
    Live in lines unparalleled,
    Making us believe, 'twere much
    Earth should yield another such:
      Yet, assisted but by Nature,
    I assay to paint a Creature,
    Whose rare worth, in future years,
    Shall be praised as much as theirs.

      Nor let any think amiss
    That I have presumèd this;
    For a gentle Nymph is She,
    And hath often honoured me.
    She's a noble spark of light
    In each part so exquisite;
    Had she, in times passèd been,
    They had made her, Beauty's Queen.
      Then, shall coward Despair
    Let the most unblemished Fair,
    (For default of some poor Art,
    Which her favour may impart)
    And the sweetest Beauty fade
    That was ever born or made?
    Shall, of all the fair ones, She,
    Only so unhappy be,
    As to live in such a Time,
    In so rude, so dull a clime;
    Where no spirit can ascend
    High enough, to apprehend
    Her unprizèd excellence,
    Which lies hid from common sense?
      Never shall a stain so vile
    Blemish this, our Poets' Isle!
    I myself will rather run
    And seek out for Helicon!
    I will wash, and make me clean
    In the waves of Hippocrene!
    And, in spite of Fortune's bars,
    Climb the Hill that braves the stars!
    Where, if I can get no Muse,
    That will any skill infuse,
    Or my just attempt prefer;
    I will make a Muse of Her!
    Whose kind heat shall soon distil
    Art into my ruder quill.
    By her favour, I will gain
    Help to reach so rare a Strain;
    That the Learned Hills shall wonder
    How the Untaught Valleys under,
    Met with raptures so divine;
    Without the knowledge of the Nine.
      I, that am a Shepherd's Swain
    Piping on the lowly plain,
    And no other music can
    Than what learned I have of PAN;
    I, who never sang the Lays,
    That deserve APOLLO's bays;
    Hope, not only here to frame
    Measures which shall keep Her name
    From the spite of wasting Times:
    But (enshrined in sacred rhymes)
    Place her, where her form divine
    Shall, to after ages, shine;
    And, without respect of odds,
    Vie renown with Demi-Gods.

      Then, whilst of her praise I sing;
    Harken Valley! Grove! and Spring!
    Listen to me, sacred Fountains!
    Solitary Rocks! and Mountains!
    Satyrs! and you wanton Elves
    That do nightly sport yourselves!
    Shepherds! you that, on the reed,
    Whistle, while your lambs do feed!
    Agèd Woods and Floods! that know
    What hath been, long times, ago!
    Your more serious notes among,
    Hear, how I can, in my Song,
    Set a Nymph's perfection forth!
    And, when you have heard her worth,
    Say, if such another Lass
    Ever known to mortal was!
      Listen Lordlings! you that most
    Of your outward honours boast!
    And you Gallants! (that think scorn,
    We, to lowly fortunes born,
    Should attain to any graces,
    Where you look for sweet embraces)
    See! if all those vanities
    Whereon your affection lies;
    Or the titles, or the powers,
    (By your fathers' virtues, yours)
    Can your Mistresses enshrine
    In such State, as I will mine!
    Who am forced to importune
    Favours, in despite of Fortune.
      Beauties, listen! chiefly you
    That yet know not Virtue's due!
    You, that think there are no sports,
    Nor no honours, but in Courts!
    (Though of thousands, there live not
    Two, but die and are forgot).
    See, if any Palace yields
    Ought more glorious than the Fields!
    And consider well, if we
    May not, as high-flying be
    In our thoughts, as you that sing
    In the chambers of a King!
    See! if our contented minds,
    Whom Ambition never blinds,
    (We, that, clad in homespun gray,
    On our own sweet meadows play)
    Cannot honour, if we please,
    Where we list, as well as these!
    Or, as well, of worth approve!
    Or, with equal Passions, love!
    See, if beauties may not touch
    Our soon-loving hearts as much!
    Or our services effect
    Favours, with as true respect,
    In your good conceits to rise,
    As our painted butterflies!
      And you, Fairest! give her room,
    When your Sex's Pride doth come!

    For that subject of my Song,
    I invoke these groves among
    To be witness of the Lays
    Which I carol in her praise.
    And because she soon will see
    If my Measures faulty be,
    Whilst I chant them, let each rhyme
    Keep a well-proportioned time;
    And with Strains, that are divine,
    Meet her thoughts in every line!
    Let each accent there, present
    To her soul, a new content!
    And, with ravishings, so seize her,
    She may feel the height of pleasure!
      You enchanting Spells, that lie
    Lurking in sweet Poesy!
    (And to none else will appear,
    But to those, that worthy are)
    Make Her know! there is a power
    Ruling in these charms of yours;
    That transcends, a thousand heights,
    Ordinary men's delights;
    And can leave within her breast
    Pleasures not to be exprest!
    Let her linger on each Strain
    As if She would hear't again!
    And were loath to part from thence
    Till She had the quintessence
    Out of each conceit, she meets!
    And had stored her, with those sweets!
      Make Her, by your Art to see!
    I, that am her Swain, was he
    Unto whom all beauties here,
    Were alike and equal dear:
    That I could of freedom boast,
    And of favours with the most;
    Yet, now, nothing more affecting,
    Sing of Her! the rest neglecting.
      Make her heart, with full compassion,
    Judge the merit of True Passion!
    And, as much my love prefer,
    As I strive to honour Her!
      Lastly, you that will, I know,
    Hear me, whe'er you should or no!
    You, that seek to turn all flowers,
    By your breath's infectious powers,
    Into such rank loathsome weeds,
    As your dunghill nature breeds!
    Let your hearts be chaste! or here
    Come not, till you purge them clear!
    Mark! and mark then, what is worst!
    For whate'er it seem at first,
    If you bring a modest mind,
    You shall nought immodest find!
      But if any, too severe,
    Hap to lend a partial ear,
    Or, out of his blindness, yawn
    Such a word as, _O profane_!
    Let him know thus much from me,
    If here's ought profane, 'tis he
    Who applies these excellences
    Only to the touch of Senses;
    And, dim sighted, cannot see
    Where the Soul of this may be!
      Yet, that no offence may grow;
    'Tis their choice, to stay or go!
      Or if any for despite
    Rather comes, than for delight;
    For his presence, I'll not pray,
    Nor his absence. Come he may!
    Critics shall admitted be,
    Though I know they'll carp at me:
    For I neither fear nor care
    What in this, their censures are.
      If the Verse here used, be
    Their dislike. It liketh me!
    If my Method they deride,
    Let them know _Love is not tied,_
    _In his free discourse, to choose_
    _Such strict Rules as Arts-men use_.
    These may prate of LOVE, but they
    Know him not! For he will play
    From the matter, now and then!
    Off and on! and off again!
      If this Prologue, tedious seem,
    Or the rest too long they deem;
    Let them know my love they win,
    Though they go, ere they begin:
    Just as if they should attend me
    Till the last; and, there, commend me.
    For I will, for no man's pleasure,
    Change a Syllable or Measure;
    Neither for their praises add
    Ought to mend what they think bad.
    Since it never was my fashion
    To make Work of Recreation.
      Pedants shall not tie my strains
    To our antique Poets' veins;
    As if we, in latter days,
    Knew to love, but not to praise.
    Being born as free as these,
    I will Sing, as I shall please!
    Who, as well new paths may run,
    As the best before have done.
    I disdain to make my Song,
    For their pleasures, short or long;
    If I please, I'll end it here!
    If I list, I'll sing this year!
    And, though none regard of it,
    By myself, I pleased can sit;
    And, with that contentment, cheer me,
    As if half the world did hear me.
      But because I am assured
    All are either so conjured,
    As they will my Song attend,
    With the patience of a friend;
    Or, at least, take note that I
    Care not much. Now willingly,
    I, these goodly colours lay,
    Wind, nor rain shall wear away;
    But retain their purest glass,
    When the statues made of brass,
    For some Prince's more renown,
    Shall be wholly overthrown;
    Or consumed with cankered rust,
    Lie neglected in the dust.

      And my Reason gives direction
    When I sing of such Perfection,
    First, _those beauties_ to declare,
    _Which_ (though hers) _without her are_.
      To advance her fame, I find,
    Those are of a triple kind.
    _Privileges_ she hath store
    _At her birth_, _since_, and _before_.
    From before her birth, the fame,
    She of high descents may claim,
    Whose well-gotten honours may
    Her deserving more display,
    For, from heavenly race she springs,
    And from high and mighty Kings.
      At her birth, She was, by Fate,
    In those Parents fortunate,
    Whose estate and virtues stood
    Answerable to their blood.
      Then the Nation, Time, and Place
    To the rest, may add some grace.
    For the People, with the Clime,
    And the fashions of the Time;
    (In all which, she hath been blest,
    By enjoying them at best)
    Do not only mend the features,
    But, oft times, make better natures:
    Whereas, those who hap not so,
    Both deformed, and ruder grow.
      In these climes, and latter days,
    To deserve sweet Beauty's praise,
    (Where so many females dwell,
    That each seemeth to excel)
    In more glory twenty-fold
    Than it was in days of old:
    When our ordinary fair ones
    Might have been esteemèd rare ones;
    And have made a subject fit,
    For their bravest Poet's wit.
    Little rushlights, or a spark
    Sheweth fairly in the dark;
    And to him occasion gives,
    That from sight of greater, lives,
    To adore it. Yet the ray
    Of one torch will take away
    All the light of twenty more
    That shined very well before.
    So, those petty Beauties which
    Made the Times before us, rich;
    Though but sparkles, seemed a flame
    Which hath been increased by Fame,
    And their true affections, who,
    Better, never lived to know:
    Whereas, Her, if they had seen
    She had, sure, adorèd been!
    And taught Ages past, to sing
    Sweeter in the Sonneting.
      Such a Ray, so clear! so bright!
    Hath outshinèd all the light
    Of a thousand, such as theirs
    Who were then esteemèd Stars;
    And would have enlightened near
    Half the world's wide hemisphere.

      She is fairest, that may pass
    For a fair one, where the Lass
    Trips it on the country green;
    That may equal Sparta's Queen.
    Where, in every street, you see
    Throngs of Nymphs and Ladies be,
    That are fair enough to move
    Angels, and enamour JOVE.
    She must matchless features bring
    That now moves a Muse to sing:
    When as one small Province may
    Shew more beauties in one day,
    Than the half of Europe could
    Breed them, in an age of old.
    Such is She! and such a lot
    Hath her rare perfection got!

    _Since her birth_ (to make the colour
    Of so true a Beauty fuller;
    And to give a better grace
    To that sweetness in the face)
    She hath all the furtherance had,
    Noble educations add.
    And not only knoweth all,
    Which our Ladies, Courtship call;
    With those knowledges that do
    Grace her sex, and suit thereto:
    But She hath attained to find
    (What is rare with Womankind)
    Excellences, whereby She
    May in Soul delighted be;
    And reap more contentment than
    One of twenty thousand can.
      By this means, hath bettered been
    All without her, and within;
    For it hath, by adding Arts,
    To adorn her native parts,
    Raised to a noble flame,
    (Which shall lighten forth her fame)
    Those dear sparks of sacred fire,
    Which the Muses did inspire
    At her birth: that She, complete,
    Might, with them befit a seat.
      But, perhaps, I do amiss,
    To insist so long on this.
    These are superficial things;
    And but slender shadowings
    To the work I have in hand.
    Neither can you understand
    What Her excellence may be,
    Till Herself described you see!
      Nor can mine or any pen
    Paint her half so lovely, than
    As She is indeed. For, here,
    Might those deities appear,
    Which young PARIS viewed at will,
    Naked, upon Ida hill!
    That I, from those Three might take
    All their beauties, One to make;
    (Those, no question! well compact,
    Would have made up one exact)
    Something, yet, we miss, of might
    To express her Sweetness right.
    JUNO's majesty would fit;
    VENUS' beauty, PALLAS' wit
    Might have brought to pattern hers
    In some shewed particulars;
    But they never can express
    Her whole frame or worthiness
    With those excellences, which
    Make both Soul and Body rich.
      PALLAS, sometimes, was untoward,
    VENUS wanton, JUNO froward:
    Yea all three, infected were
    With such faults as women are;
    And, though falsely deified,
    Frailties had, which She'll deride.
      By Her Self, must therefore She;
    Or by nothing patterned be!
    And I hope to paint her so,
    By Her Self, that you shall know
    I have served no common Dame,
    Of mean worth, or vulgar fame!
    But a Nymph, that's fairer than
    Pen or pencil, portrait can!

    And to-morrow, if you stray
    Back again this uncouth way,
    I, my simple Art will show:
    But the time prevents me now.
    For, except at yonder glade,
    All the laund is under shade;
    That, before these ewes be told;
    Those my wethers, in the fold;
    Ten young weanlings driven down
    To the well beneath the town;
    And my lambkins changèd from
    Brome leaze, to the mead at home;
    'Twill be far in night: and so,
    I shall make my father woe
    For my stay; and be in fear
    Somewhat is mischancèd here.

    On your way, I'll, therefore, bring you!
    And a Song or two I'll sing you!
    Such as I, half in despair,
    Made when first I wooed my Fair:
    Whereunto, my boy shall play;
    That my voice assist, it may!

                                   I.

    _Come, my Muse! If thou disdain!_
      _All my comforts are bereft me!_
    _No delight doth now remain;_
      _I, nor friend, nor flock have left me._
    _They are scattered on the plain._

    _Men, alas, are too severe,_
      _And make scoffs at lovers' fortunes._
    _Women, hearted like the bear;_
      _That regards not who importunes,_
    _But doth all in pieces tear._

    _If I should my sorrows shew_
      _Unto rivers, springs, or fountains;_
    _They are senseless to my woe:_
      _So are groves, and rocks, and mountains._
    _Then, O, whither shall I go?_

    _Means of harbour, me to shield_
      _From despair; ah, know you any?_
    _For no city, grange, nor field,_
      _Though they lend content to many,_
    _Unto me, can comfort yield._

    _I have kept, and sighèd too,_
      _For Compassion to make trial;_
    _Yea, done all that words can do,_
      _Yet have nothing but denial._
    _What way is there, then, to woo?_

    _Shall I swear, protest, and vow?_
      _So have I done, most extremely!_
    _Should I die? I know not how!_
      _For from all attempts unseemly,_
    _Love and Virtue keep me now._

    _I have heard that Time prevails;_
      _But I fear me, 'tis a fable._
    _Time, and all Endeavour fails!_
      _To bear more, my heart's unable;_
    _Yet none careth what it ails!_

    _Lines to some, have op'ed the door_
      _And got entrance for Affection._
    _Words well spoken, much implore,_
      _By the Gestures' good direction:_
    _But a Look doth ten times more!_

    _'Tis the Eye that only reads_
      _To the heart, Love's deepest Lectures!_
    _By a moving Look, it pleads_
      _More than common Sense conjectures,_
    _And a way to Pity leads._

    _This I knowing, did observe;_
      _Both by Words and Looks complaining:_
    _Yet, for Pity I may starve!_
      _There's no hope of my obtaining,_
    _Till I better can deserve._

    _Yea, and he that thinks to win_
      _By Desert, may be deceivèd!_
    _For they who have worthiest bin,_
      _Of their right, have been bereavèd;_
    _And a groom admitted in._

    _Wherefore, Muse! to thee I call!_
      _Thou, since nothing else avails me,_
    _Must redeem me from my thrall!_
      _If thy sweet enchantment fails me;_
    _Then, adieu Love, Life, and all!_

                                  II.

    _Tell me, my heart! What thoughts, these pantings move?_
                              _My thoughts of Love!_
    _What flames are these, that set thee so on fire?_
                                  _Flames of Desire!_
    _What means hast thou, contentment's flower to crop?_
                                  _No means but Hope!_
    _Yet let us feed on Hope, and hope the best!_
    _For they, amid their griefs, are something blest,_
    _Whose thoughts, and flames, and means have such free scope,_
    _They may, at once, both Love, Desire, and Hope._

    _But say! What fruit will love at last obtain?_
                                    _Fruitless Disdain!_
    _What will those hopes prove, which yet seem so fair?_
                                    _Hopeless Despair!_
    _What end shall run those Passions, out of breath?_
                                    _An endless Death!_
    _O can there be such cruelty in love?_
    _And doth my fortune so ungentle prove,_
    _She will no fruit, nor hope, nor end bequeath,_
    _But cruelest Disdain, Despair, and Death?_

    _Then what new study shall I now apply?_
                                        _Study to Die!_
    _How might I end my care, and die content?_
                                      _Care to Repent!_
    _And what good thoughts may make my end more holy?_
                                  _Think on thy Folly!_
    _Yes, so I will! and since my fate can give_
    _No hope, but ever without hope to live,_
    _My studies, cares, and thoughts, I'll all apply_
    _To weigh my Folly well! Repent! and Die!_

                                  III.

        _Sad Eyes! What do you ail,_
        _To be thus ill disposed?_
        _Why doth your sleeping fail,_
        _Now all men's else are closed?_
    _Was't I, that ne'er did bow_
    _In any servile duty!_
    _And will you make me, now,_
    _A slave to Love and Beauty?_

        _What though my Mistress smile,_
        _And in her love affects thee!_
        _Let not her eye beguile;_
        _I fear she disrespects thee!_
    _Do not, poor Heart! depend_
    _On those vain thoughts that fill thee!_
    _They'll fail thee, in the end!_
    _So must thy Passions kill thee!_

        _What hopes have I, that She_
        _Will hold her favours ever;_
        _When so few women be_
        _That constant can persèver?_
    _Whate'er She do protest!_
    _When fortunes do deceive me,_
    _Then She, with all the rest,_
    _I fear, alas, will leave me!_

        _Whil'st Youth, and Strength remains,_
        _With Art that may commend her;_
        _Perhaps, She nought disdains_
        _Her Servant should attend her._
    _But it is one to ten,_
    _If crosses overtake me,_
    _She will not know me, then;_
    _But scorn, and so forsake me!_

        _Shall then, in earnest truth,_
        _My careful eyes observe her?_
        _Shall I consume my youth;_
        _And short' my time to serve her?_
    _Shall I, beyond my strength,_
    _Let Passions' torments prove me?_
    _To hear her say, at length_,
    Away! I cannot love thee!

        _O, rather let me die_
        _Whil'st I, thus gentle find her!_
        _'Twere worse than death, if I_
        _Should find She proves unkinder!_
    _One frown, though but in jest,_
    _Or one unkindness feignèd,_
    _Would rob me of more rest_
    _Than e'er could be regainèd._

        _But in her eyes, I find_
        _Such signs of pity moving;_
        _She cannot be unkind,_
        _Nor err, nor fail in loving:_
    _And on her forehead, this_
    _Seems written to relieve me_,
    My heart, no joy shall miss
    That Love, or She can give me!

        _Which if I find, I vow_
        _My service shall persèver!_
        _The same that I am now;_
        _I will continue ever!_
    _No others' high degree,_
    _No beauteous look shall change me!_
    _My love shall constant be,_
    _And no estate estrange me!_

        _When other noble Dames,_
        _By greater men attended,_
        _Shall, with their lives and names,_
        _Have all their glories ended:_
    _With fairest Queens, shall She_
    _Sit, sharing equal glory;_
    _And Times to come shall be_
    _Delighted with our Story._

        _In spite of others' hates,_
        _More honour I will do her!_
        _Than those that with estates_
        _And help of fortune woo her:_
    _Yea, that True Worth I spy;_
    _Though monarchs strove to grace it,_
    _They should not reach more high_
    _Than I dare hope to place it!_

        _And though I never vaunt_
        _What favours are possessed;_
        _Much less content I want_
        _Than if they were expressed:_
    _Let others make their mirth,_
    _To blab each kiss or toying!_
    _I know no bliss on earth_
    _Like secret love enjoying._

        _And this shall be the worst_
        _Of all that can betide me._
        _If I (like some accurst)_
        _Should find my hopes deride me;_
    _My cares will not be long;_
    _I know which way to mend them!_
    _I'll think, "Who did the wrong!"_
    _Sigh! break my heart! and end them!_


                    [_The Picture of Fair VIRTUE._]

    Hail, fair Beauties! and again,
    Hail to all your goodly train!

    What I promised yesterday,
    If it please you, hear ye may!
    For now, once begun have I,
    Sing I will, though none were by;
      And though freely on I run
    Yet confused paths to shun.
    First, that part shall be disclosed,
    That's of Elements composed.

      There the two unequal pair,
    Water, Fire; Earth and Air
    (Each one suiting a complexion)
    Have so cunning a commixtion,
    As they, in proportion sweet,
    With the rarest temper meet!
    Either, in as much as needeth;
    So as neither, ought exceedeth.
      This pure substance is the same
    Which the Body we do name.
    Were that of immortal stuff,
    'Tis refined and pure enough
    To be called a Soul! for, sure,
    Many souls are not so pure.
      I, that with a serious look
    Note of this rare Model took,
    Find that Nature in their places
    So well couchèd all the Graces,
    As the curious'st eyes that be
    Cannot blot, nor blemish see.

      Like a pine it groweth straight,
    Reaching an approvèd height,
    And hath all the choice perfections
    That inflame her best affections.
    In the motions of each part,
    Nature seems to strive with Art;
    Which her gestures most shall bless,
    With the gifts of Pleasingness.

      When She sits, methinks I see
    How all virtues fixèd be
    In a frame, whose constant mould
    Will the same unchangèd hold.

      If you note her, when She moves:
    CYTHEREA, drawn with doves,
    May come learn such winning notions
    As will gain to love's devotions,
    More than all her painted wiles;
    Such as tears, or sighs, or smiles.

      Some, whose bodies want true graces,
    Have sweet features in their faces:
    Others (that do miss them there),
    Lovely are, some other where,
    And to our desires, do fit
    In behaviour, or in wit;
    Or some inward worth appearing
    To the soul, the soul endearing.
    But in Her, your eye may find
    All that's good in Womankind.
    What in others, we prefer,
    Are but sundry parts of Her;
    Who, most perfect, doth present
    What might One and All content.
    Yea, he that, in love still ranges,
    And, each day, or hourly changes;
    (Had he judgement but to know
    What perfections in her grow)
    There, would find the spring of store,
    Swear a faith, and change no more.
    Neither, in the total Frame,
    Is She only void of blame;
    But each part, surveyed asunder
    Might beget both love and wonder.
    If you dare to look so high
    Or behold such majesty;
    Lift your wondering eyes, and see
    Whether ought can bettered be!
      There's her Hair, with which LOVE angles,
    And beholders' eyes entangles!
    For in those fair curlèd snares,
    They are hampered unawares;
    And compelled to swear a duty
    To her sweet enthralling beauty.
    In my mind, 'tis the most fair
    That was ever callèd hair:
    Somewhat brighter than a brown;
    And her tresses waving down
    At full length, and, so dispread,
    Mantles her, from foot to head.
      If you saw her archèd Brow;
    Tell me, pray! how Art knows how
    To have made it in a line
    More exact, or more divine!
    Beauty, there, may be descried
    In the height of all her pride.
      'Tis a meanly rising plain,
    Whose pure white hath many a vein
    Interlacing, like the springs
    In the earth's enamellings.
    If the tale be not a toy,
    Of the little wingèd Boy:
    When he means to strike a heart,
    Thence! he throws the fatal dart,
    Which, of wounds still makes a pair;
    One of Love, one of Despair.
      Round, her Visage; or so near
    To a roundness, doth appear,
    That no more of length it takes,
    Than what best proportion makes.
      Short her Chin is; and yet so
    As it is just long enow.
    Loveliness doth seem to glory
    In that circling promontory,
    Pretty moving features skip
    'Twixt that hillock and the lip,
    If you note her, but the while
    She is pleased to speak, or smile.
      And her Lips, that shew no dulness,
    Full are, in the meanest fulness.
    Those, the leaves be, whose unfolding
    Brings sweet pleasures to beholding:
    For such pearls they do disclose;
    Both the Indies match not those!
    Yet are so in order placed,
    As their whiteness is more graced.
    Each part is so well disposed
    And her dainty mouth composed,
    So as, there, is no distortion
    Misbeseems that sweet proportion.
      When her ivory Teeth she buries
    'Twixt her two enticing cherries,
    There appears such pleasures hidden,
    As might tempt what were forbidden.
    If you look again the whiles,
    She doth part those lips in smiles;
    'Tis as when a flash of light
    Breaks from heaven to glad the night.
      Other parts, my pencil crave;
    But those lips I cannot leave!
    For, methinks, [if] I should go
    And forsake those cherries so;
    There's a kind of excellence
    Holds me from departing hence.
    I would tell you, what it were;
    But my cunning fails me there.
    They are like, in their discloses,
    To the morning's dewy roses;
    That, besides the name of "fair,"
    Cast perfumes that sweet the air.
    Melting soft her kisses be!
    And had I, now, two or three,
    More inspirèd by their touch,
    I had praised them twice as much!
      But, sweet Muses! mark ye how
    Her fair Eyes do check me now!
    That I seemed to pass them so,
    And their praises overgo:
    And yet, blame me not that I
    Would so fain have passed them by!
    For I fearèd to have seen them,
    Least there were some danger in them!
    Yet such gentle looks they lend,
    As might make her foe, a friend;
    And by their allurings move
    All beholders unto love.
    Such a power is also there,
    As will keep those thoughts in fear;
    And Command enough I saw,
    To hold impudence in awe.
    There, may he that knows to love,
    Read contents which are above
    Their ignoble aims, who know
    Nothing that so high doth grow.
    Whilst She, me beholding is,
    My heart dares not think amiss!
    For her sight, most piercing clear,
    Seems to see what's written there.
      Those bright Eyes (that, with their light,
    Oftentimes have blest my sight;
    And in turning thence their shining,
    Left me, in sad darkness, pining)
    Are the rarest, lovliest gray;
    And do cast forth such a ray
    As the man that black prefers,
    More would like, this gray of hers.
      When their matchless beams she shrouds;
    'Tis like CYNTHIA hid in clouds!
    If again she shew them light,
    'Tis like morning after night!
    And 'tis worthy well beholding
    With how many a pretty folding,
    Her sweet Eyelids grace that Fair,
    Meanly fringed with beaming hair,
    Whereby, neatly overspread,
    Those bright lamps are shadowèd.
      'Twixt the eyes, no hollow place,
    Wrinkle, nor undecent space
    Disproportions Her in ought;
    Though by Envy, faults were sought!
      On those Eyebrows never yet,
    Did disdainful scowling sit.
    Love and Goodness gotten thither,
    Sit, on equal thrones together;
    And do throw just scorn on them,
    That their Government contemn.
      Then, almost obscured, appears
    Those her jewel-gracing Ears!
    Whose own beauties more adorn,
    Than the richest pearl that's worn
    By the proudest Persian dames,
    Or the best that Nature frames.
    There, the voice, in love's meanders,
    Through their pretty circlings, wanders!
    Whose rare turnings will admit
    No rude speech to enter it.
      Stretching from Mount Forehead lies
    Beauty's Cape, betwixt her eyes:
    Which two crystal-passing lakes,
    Love's delightful Isthmus makes!
    Neither more nor less extending
    Than most meriteth commending.
    Those in whom that part hath been
    Best deserving praises seen;
    Or, surveyed without affection,
    Came the nearest to perfection;
    Would scarce handsome ones appear
    If with Her, compared they were:
    For it is so much excelling,
    That it passeth means of telling!
      On the either side of this,
    Love's most lovely Prospect is!
    Those, her smiling Cheeks, whose colour
    Comprehends True Beauty fuller
    Than the curious'st mixtures can,
    That are made by Art of man.
    It is Beauty's Garden-knot,
    Where, as in a true-love-knot,
    So, the snowy Lily grows,
    Mixèd with the crimson Rose.
    That as friends they joinèd be.
    Yet they seem to disagree,
    Whether of the two shall reign?
    And the lilies oft obtain
    Greatest sway, unless a blush
    Help the roses at a push.
      Hollow fallings none there are!
    There's no wrinkle! there's no scar!
    Only there's a little Mole,
    Which from VENUS' cheek was stole.
      If it were a thing in Nature
    Possible, that any creature
    Might decaying life repair,
    Only by the help of air;
    There were no such salve for death,
    As the balm of her sweet Breath!
    Or, if any human power
    Might detain the soul an hour
    From the flesh, to dust bequeathing,
    It would linger on her breathing!
    And be half in mind, that there
    More than mortal pleasures were.
    And whose fortune were so fair
    As to draw so sweet an air,
    Would, no doubt, let slighted be
    The perfumes of Araby.
    For the English Eglantine
    Doth, through envy of Her, pine.
    Violets and Roses too
    Fear that She will them undo:
    And it seems that in her Breast
    Is composed the Phoenix's nest.
      But, descend a while, mine eye!
    See, if polished ivory,
    Or the finest fleecèd flocks,
    Or the whitest Albion rocks,
    For comparisons may stand,
    To express that snowy Hand!
    When She draws it from her glove
    It hath virtue to remove,
    Or disperse, if there be ought
    Cloudeth the beholder's thought.
    If that palm but toucheth yours,
    You shall feel a secret power
    Cheer your heart, and glad it more!
    Though it drooped with grief before.
      Through the Veins disposèd true
    Crimson, yields a sapphire hue,
    Which adds grace and more delight
    By embracing with the white.
    Smooth, and moist, and soft, and tender
    Are her Palms! the Fingers, slender,
    Tipt with mollifièd pearl!
    And if that transformèd girl,
    Whose much cunning made her dare
    With JOVE's daughter to compare,
    Had that hand worn, maugre spite,
    She had shamed the goddess quite!
    For, there is, in every part,
    Nature perfecter than Art.
      These were joinèd to those Arms,
    That were never made for harms!
    But possess the sweetest graces
    That may apt them for embraces.
    Like the silver streams they be,
    Which, from some high hill, we see
    Clipping-in a goodly vale,
    That grows proud of such a thrall.
      Neither alabaster rocks,
    Pearl-strewed shores, nor Cotswold flocks,
    Nor the mountains tipt with snow,
    Nor the milk-white swans of Po,
    Can appear so fair to me,
    As her spotless Shoulders be!
    They are like some work of state,
    Covered with the richest plate,
    And a presence have that strike
    With devotions, goddess-like.
      'Twixt those shoulders, meanly spread
    To support that globe-like head,
    Riseth up her Neck! wherein
    Beauty seemeth to begin
    To disclose itself in more
    Tempting manner than before.
    How therein she doth excel,
    Though I would, I cannot tell!
    For I nought on earth espy
    That I may express it by.
      There, should lovers (as in duty)
    Hang rich Trophies up to Beauty!
    'Tis proportioned to a height
    That is even with Delight.
    Yet is a great deal higher
    Than to answer base Desire.
      Where the neck hath end, begins
    That smooth path, where LOVE's close gins
    Are thick placèd, to enthrall
    Such as, that way straggle shall.
    There, a pleasing passage lies
    Far beyond the sight of eyes;
    And much more delight contains
    Than the old Elizian fields.
      Whatsoever others say
    There's alone the Milky Way!
    That to Beauty's Walks doth go;
    Which, if others came to know,
    In possessing their delight,
    They should never reach the height
    Of the pleasures, which I share:
    Whilst that those debarrèd are.
      Yet unspoken of, there rests
    Her two twin-like lovely Breasts!
    Whose round-rising, pretty panting
    I would tell, but Art is wanting!
    Words can never well declare
    Her fair sweet perfections there;
    For, would Measures give me leave
    To express what I conceive,
    I do know I should go near
    Half to ravish all that hear.
    And but that I learn to season
    What I apprehend with Reason,
    It had made my Passions' weight
    Sink me, through my own conceit.
    There, I find so large a measure
    Of an unexpressèd pleasure,
    That my heart, through strong surmise,
    In a pleasing fainting lies.
    He that there may rest to prove
    Softer finds those beds of love,
    That the cotton ripest grown;
    Or fine pillows of such down
    As, in time of moulting, fans
    From the breasts of silver swans.
      Those two sisters are a pair,
    Smooth alike, like soft, like fair,
    If together they be viewed:
    Yet if they apart be shewed;
    That you touch or see, seems smoother,
    Softer, fairer than the other.
      That the colour may delight;
    So much red as makes the white
    Purer seem, is shed among:
    And then, here and there, along
    Runs a sapphire-mine, whose blue
    Shadowed, makes so brave a show
    On those lily mounts, as though
    Beauty's simples there did grow.
      In the vale, 'twixt either hill,
    Lies Desire in ambush still,
    And surpriseth every eye
    Which doth that way dare to pry.
      There is, sure, the twi-top hill,
    Where the Poets learn their skill!
    That's Parnassus, where the Muses
    Chaste, and wise MINERVA uses!
      Her two Cherrilets are those
    Whence the pleasant'st nectar flows;
    And no fruits e'er equalled these,
    Fetched from the Hesperides.
      Once, as CYNTHIA's games she chased,
    And, for air, left half unlaced
    Her light summer robe of green
    (Beauty's safe, but slender screen!)
    Unawares, I partly spied,
    That fair lily-field unhid
    Which you may her Belly name!
    Yet, nor She, nor I to blame.
    For it was, but what mine eye
    Might behold with modesty.
      'Tis a fair and matchless plain
    Where unknown delights remain!
    'Tis the store-house wherein Pleasure
    Hides the richest of her treasure!
    Which, True Modesty, in ward,
    Keeps, with a continual guard
    Of such Virtues, as she's sure,
    No corruption can allure.
      There, they say, (for, mind it well!
    I do this, by hearsay tell)
    Grows her Navel, which doth seem
    Like some jewel of esteem:
    With so wondrous cunning wrought
    That an injury, 'tis thought,
    Such a beauty, with the rest,
    Should (unknown) be unexprest.
      Somewhat else there is, that's hidden
    Which to name I am forbidden;
    Neither have I ever pried
    After that should be unspied.
    Never shall my maiden Muse
    So herself, and me abuse
    As to sing what I may fear
    Will offend the choicest ear!
    Though I know, if none be by,
    But true friends to modesty;
    I might name each part at will,
    And yet no man's thought be ill.
      Yet, for fear loose hearers may
    Judge amiss, if more I say;
    I descend, to shun all blame,
    To the Pillars of the Frame.
    Where though I ne'er aimed so high
    As her dainty youthful Thigh;
    Whose rare softness, smoothness, fulness
    Being known, would teach my dulness
    Such a Strain as might befit
    Some brave Tuscan Poet's wit.
      Once a saucy bush, I spied
    Pluck her silken skirts aside,
    So discovered unto me
    All those beauties to the Knee:
    And before the thorns' entanglings
    Had let go the silver spanglings,
    I perceive the curious knitting
    Of those joints was well befiting
    Such a noble piece of work:
    'Mongst whose turnings seem to lurk
    Much to entertain the sight
    With new objects of delight.
      Then the Leg, for shape as rare,
    Will admit of no compare!
    Straight it is; the Ankle lean!
    Full the Calf, but in the mean!
    And the slender Foot doth fit
    So, each way, to suit with it;
    As She nothing less excels
    Therein, than in all things else.
      Yea, from head to foot, her feature
    Shews her an Unblemished Creature,
    In whom, Love with Reason might
    Find so matchless a Delight,
    That more cannot be acquired;
    Nor a greater bliss desired.

      Yet, if you will rest an hour
    Under yonder shady bower!
    I, anon, my Muse will raise
    To a higher pitch of praise!
    But a while with raspice-berries,
    Strawberries, ripe pears, and cherries,
    (Such as these our groves do bear)
    We will cool our palates there.
    And, those homely cates among
    Now and then, a Pastoral Song,
    Shall my lad, here, sing and play!
    Such as you had yesterday.

                                  _I._

    _A lad, whose faith will constant prove,_
      _And never know an end;_
    _Late, by an oversight in love,_
      _Displeased his dearest Friend:_
    _For which incensed, she did retake_
      _The favours which he wore;_
    _And said, "He never, for her sake,_
      _Should wear, or see them more!"_

    _The grief whereof, how near it went,_
      _And how unkindly took,_
    _Was figured by the discontent_
      _Appearing in his look._
    _At first, he could not silence break,_
      _So heavy sorrow lay;_
    _But when his sighs gave way to speak,_
      _Thus, sadly, did he say._

    _"My only Dear!" and with that speech,_
      _Not able to sustain_
    _The floods of grief at sorrow's breach,_
      _He paused awhile again._
    _At length, nigh fainting, did express_
      _These words, with much ado,_
    _"O Dear! Let not my love's excess,_
      _Me, and my love undo!"_

    _She, little movèd with his pain,_
      _His much distraction eyed;_
    _And changing love into disdain,_
      _Thus, still unkind, replied._
    _"Forbear to urge one kindness more!_
      _Unless you long to see_
    _The good respect you had before,_
      _At once, all lost in me!"_

    _With that dismayed, his suit he ceased,_
      _And down his head he hung;_
    _And as his Reason's strength decreased,_
      _His Passion grew more strong._
    _But seeing she did slight his moan;_
      _With willow garlands wreathed,_
    _He sate him down, and all alone,_
      _This sad complaint he breathed._

    _"O Heavens!" quoth he, "Why do we spend_
      _Endeavours thus in vain?_
    _Since what the Fates do fore-intend_
      _They never change again._
    _Nor Faith, nor Love, nor true Desert,_
      _Nor all that man can do,_
    _Can win him place within her heart,_
      _That is not born thereto!"_

    "_Why do I fondly waste my youth_
      _In secret sighs and tears?_
    _Why to preserve a spotless truth,_
      _Taste I, so many cares?_
    _For women that no worth respect,_
      _Do so ungentle prove;_
    _That some shall win by their neglect,_
      _What others lose with love._"

    "_Those that have set the best at naught,_
      _And no man could enjoy;_
    _At last, by some base gull are caught,_
      _And gotten with a toy._
    _Yea, they that spend an Age's light,_
      _Their favours to obtain;_
    _For one unwilling oversight,_
      _May lose them all again!_"

    "_How glad, and fain, alas, would I,_
      _For her, have underwent_
    _The greatest care, ere she should try_
      _The smallest discontent?_
    _Yet She, that may my life command,_
      _And doth those Passions know!_
    _Denieth me a poor demand,_
      _In height of all my woe._"

    "_O, if the Noblest of her time,_
      _And best beloved of me:_
    _Could for so poor, so slight a crime_
      _So void of pity be!_
    _Sure, had it been some common one,_
      _Whose patience I had tried;_
    _No wonder I had been undone,_
      _Or unforgiven, died!_"

    "_A thousand lives I would have laid!_
      _(So well I once believed)_
    _She would have deigned to lend me aid_
      _If she had seen me grieved._
    _But now, I live to see the day,_
      _When I presumèd so,_
    _I neither dare for pity pray,_
      _Nor tell her of my woe!_"

    "_Yet, let not, poor despised heart!_
      _Her worth ought questioned be!_
    _Hadst thou not failèd in desert_
      _She had not failèd thee!_
    _But lest, perhaps, they flout thy moan,_
      _That should esteem thee dear;_
    _Go, make it by thyself alone,_
      _Where none may come to hear!_

    "_Still keep thy forehead crowned with smiles!_
      _What Passion e'er thou try;_
    _That none may laugh at thee, the whiles_
      _Thou discontented lie!_
    _And let no wrong, by change distain_
      _A love so truly fair;_
    _But rather, never hope again!_
      _And thou shall ne'er despair!_"

                                 _II._

    _O'ertired by cruel Passions that oppress me,_
    _With heart nigh broken, Time, no hope would give me;_
    _Upon my bed: I laid me down to rest me:_
    _And gentle Sleep, I wooèd to relieve me._
        _But O, alas! I found that, on the morrow,_
        _My sleeping Joys brought forth my waking Sorrow._

    _For, lo, a dream I had, so full of pleasure,_
    _That to possess, what to embrace I seemed,_
    _Could not effect my joy in higher measure,_
    _Than now it grieves me, that I have but dreamed._
        _O let my dreams be Sighs and Tears hereafter!_
        _So I (that sleeping, weep) may wake in laughter._

    _Fain would I tell how much that Shadow pleased me,_
    _But tongue and pen want words, and art in telling;_
    _Yet this I'll say, to shew what horror seized me_
    _(When I was robbed of bliss, so much excelling),_
        _Might all my dreams be such; O, let me never_
        _Awake again! but sleep, and dream for ever!_

    _For when I waking, saw myself deceivèd,_
    _And what an inward hell it had procurèd:_
    _To find myself of all my hopes bereavèd_
    _It brought on Passions not to be endurèd._
        _And, knew I, next night had such dreams in keeping;_
        _I'd make my eyes foreswear, for ever, sleeping!_

                                 _III._

    _You woody Hills! you Dales! you Groves!_
      _You Floods! and every Spring!_
    _You creatures come, whom nothing moves,_
      _And hear a Shepherd sing!_
    _For to Heroès, Nymphs, and Swains,_
      _I, long, have made my moan;_
    _Yet what my mournful Verse contains_
      _Is understood of none._

    _In song, APOLLO gave me skill;_
      _Their love, his Sisters deign:_
    _With those that haunt Parnassus' hill,_
      _I friendship entertain._
    _Yet this is all in vain to me,_
      _So haplessly I fare!_
    _As those things which my glory be,_
      _My cause of ruin are._

    _For Love hath kindled in my breast,_
      _His never quenchèd fire:_
    _And I! who often have exprest_
      _What other men desire,_
    _(Because I could so dive into_
      _The depth of others' moan);_
    _Now, I, my own afflictions shew,_
      _I heeded am of none!_

    _Oft have the Nymphs of greatest worth,_
      _Made suit, my Songs to hear;_
    _As oft (when I have sighèd forth,_
      _Such notes as saddest were):_
    _"Alas," said they, "poor gentle heart!_
      _Whoe'er that Shepherd be!"_
    _But none of them suspects my smart,_
      _Nor thinks, it meaneth Me!_

    _When I have reached so high a Strain_
      _Of Passion in my Song,_
    _That they have seen the tears to rain_
      _And trill, my cheek along;_
    _Instead of sigh, or weeping eye_
      _To sympathise with Me!_
    _"O were he once in love!" they cry,_
      _"How moving would he be?"_

    _O pity me, you Powers above!_
      _And take my skill away!_
    _Or let my hearers think I love_
      _And feign not what I say!_
    _For if I could disclose the snare_
      _Which I, unknown, do bear;_
    _Each line would make them sighs impart,_
      _And every word, a tear._

    _Had I a Mistress, some do think_
      _She should revealèd be;_
    _And I would favours wear, or drink_
      _Her health, upon my knee._
    _Alas, poor fools! they aim awry!_
      _Their fancy flags too low!_
    _Could they, my love's rare course espy,_
      _They would amazèd grow._

    _But let nor Nymph, nor Swain conceive_
      _My tongue shall ever tell_
    _Who, of this rest doth me bereave;_
      _Or where I am not well._
    _But if you, sighing me espy_
      _Where rarest features be;_
    _Mark where I fix a weeping eye,_
      _And swear you! "There is She!"_

    _Yet, ere, my eyes betray me shall,_
      _I'll swell, and burst with pain!_
    _And for each drop they would let fall,_
      _My heart shall bleed me twain!_
    _For since my soul more sorrow bears_
      _Than common lovers know;_
    _I scorn my Passions should, like theirs,_
      _A common humour shew._

    _Ear never heard of, heretofore,_
      _Of any love like mine;_
    _Nor shall there be, for evermore,_
      _Affection so divine!_
    _And that to fain it, none may try,_
      _When I dissolved must be;_
    _The first I am, it livèd by!_
      _And die it shall, with me!_


                    [_Fair VIRTUE's sweet Graces._]

    Boy! ha' done! For now my brain
    Is inspirèd fresh again;
    And new raptures pressing are,
    To be sung in praise of Her,
    Whose fair Picture lieth nigh,
    Quite unveiled to every eye.
      No small favour hath it been,
    That such Beauty might be seen;
    Therefore, ever may they rue it,
    Who, with evil eyes shall view it!
    Yea, what ancient stories tell
    Once to rude ACTEON fell
    (When, with evil thoughts, he stood
    Eying CYNTHIA in the flood);
    May that fatal hornèd curse
    Light upon them, or a worse!
      But, whatever others be,
    Lest some fault be found in me,
    If imperfect this remain;
    I will over-trim't again!
    Therefore, turn where we begun!

    And, now all is overrun.
    Mark, if everything exprest
    Suit not so unto the rest,
    As if Nature would prefer
    All perfections unto her!
      Wherefore seems it strange to any
    That they daily see so many,
    Who were, else, most perfect creatures,
    In some one part, want true features;
    Since from all the fair'st that live,
    Nature took the best, to give
    Her, perfection in each part?
    I, alone except her heart;
    For, among all Womankind,
    Such as hers is hard to find!
      If you truly note her Face,
    You shall find it hath a grace,
    Neither wanton, nor o'er serious,
    Nor too yielding, nor imperious;
    But, with such a feature blest,
    It is that which pleaseth best,
    And delights each several eye
    That affects with modesty.
    Lowliness hath, in her look,
    Equal place with Greatness took:
    And if Beauty, anywhere,
    Claims prerogatives, 'tis there!
    For, at once, thus much 'twill do;
    Threat! command! persuade! and woo!
      In her Speech, there is not found
    Any harsh, unpleasing sound;
    But a well beseeming power,
    Neither higher, neither lower,
    Than will suit with her perfection.
    'Tis the Loadstone of Affection!
    And that man, whose judging eyes,
    Could well sound such mysteries,
    Would in love, make her his choice,
    Though he did but hear her voice!
    For such accents breathe not, whence
    Beauty keeps non-residence.
    Never word of hers I hear,
    But 'tis music to mine ear,
    And much more contentment brings
    Than the sweetly-touchèd strings
    Of the pleasing Lute, whose strains
    Ravish hearers, when it 'plains.
      Raised by her Discourse, I fly
    In contented thoughts so high
    That I pass the common measures
    Of the dullèd senses' pleasures;
    And leave far below my sight
    Vulgar pitches of delight.
      If She smile, and merry be;
    All about her are as She!
    For each looker on takes part
    Of the joy that's in her heart.
      If She grieve, or you but spy
    Sadness peeping through her eye;
    Such a grace it seems to borrow
    That you'll fall in love with Sorrow;
    And abhor the name of Mirth,
    As the hateful'st thing on earth.
      Should I see her shed a tear,
    My poor eyes would melt, I fear:
    For much more in Hers appears,
    Than in other women's tears;
    And her look did never feign
    Sorrow, where there was no pain.
      Seldom hath She been espied,
    So impatient as to chide!
    For if any see her so,
    They'll in love with Anger grow.
      Sigh, or speak, or smile, or talk,
    Sing, or weep, or sit, or walk;
    Every thing that She doth do,
    Decent is, and lovely too.
    Each part that you shall behold
    Hath within itself enrolled
    What you could desire to see,
    Or your heart conceive to be:
    Yet, if from that part, your eye
    Moving, shall another spy,
    There, you see as much or more
    Than you thought to praise before.
      While the eye surveys it! you
    Will imagine that her Brow
    Hath all beauty: when her Cheek
    You behold! it is as like
    To be deemèd fairest too;
    So much there, can Beauty do.
    Look but thence, upon her Eye!
    And you wonder, by-and-by,
    How there may be anywhere,
    So much worthy praise as there.
    Yet, if you survey her Breast,
    Then, as freely, you'll protest
    That in them, perfection is!
    Though, I know, that one poor kiss
    From her tempting Lips, would then
    Make all that, foresworn again!
    For the selfsame moving grace
    Is, at once, in every place.
      She, her beauty never foils
    With your ointments, waters, oils!
    Nor no loathsome _fucus_ settles,
    Mixed with Jewish fasting spetles!
    Fair by Nature being born,
    She doth, borrowed beauty scorn!
    Whoso kisses her, needs fear
    No unwholesome varnish there.
    For from thence, he only sips
    The pure nectar of her lips,
    And, at once, with these he closes,
    Melting rubies, cherries, roses.
      Then, in her Behaviour, She
    Striveth but Herself to be:
    Keeping such a decent state,
    As, indeed, she seems to hate
    Precious leisure should be spent
    In abusèd compliment.
    Though she knows what others do,
    (And can all their Courtship too)
    She is not in so ill case,
    As to need their borrowed grace.
      Her Discourses sweetened are,
    With a kind of artless care
    That expresseth greater Art,
    Than affected words impart.
    So, her Gestures (being none
    But that freeness, which alone
    Suits the braveness of her mind)
    Make her, of herself, to find
    Postures more becoming far
    Than the mere acquired are.
      If you mark, when, for her pleasure,
    She vouchsafes to foot a measure.
    Though, with others' skill, She pace;
    There's a sweet delightful grace
    In herself, which doth prefer
    Art beyond that Art, in her.
      Neither needs She beat her wit
    To devise what dressings fit!
    Her complexion, and her feature
    So beholding are to Nature,
    If She, in the fashions go,
    All the reason She doth so,
    Is, because She would not err
    In appearing singular;
    Doubtless, not for any thought,
    That 'twill perfect her in ought.
      Many a dainty-seeming Dame
    Is, in native beauties lame.
    Some are gracèd by their tires,
    As their quoifs, their hats, their wires.
    One, a ruff doth best become;
    Falling-bands much altereth some.
    And their favours, oft, we see
    Changèd as their dressings be.
    Which her beauty never fears,
    For it graceth all She wears.
    If ye note her tire to-day;
    "That doth suit her best!" you'll say.
    Mark, what She, next morn, doth wear!
    "That becomes her best!" you'll swear.
    Yea, as oft as Her you see,
    Such new graces still there be.
    As She ever seemeth graced
    Most by that she weareth last;
    Though it be the same She wore
    But the very day before.
      When she takes her tires about her,
    (Never half so rich without her!)
    At the putting on of them,
    You may liken every gem
    To those lamps, which, at a Play,
    Are set up to light the day:
    For their lustre adds no more
    To what TITAN gave before;
    Neither doth their pretty gleamings
    Hinder ought, his greater beamings.
    And yet (which is strange to me)
    When those costly deckings be
    Laid away; there seems descried
    Beauties, which those veils did hide;
    And She looks, as doth the Moon,
    Past some cloud, through which she shone:
    Or some jewel Watch, whose case,
    Set with diamonds, seems to grace
    What it doth contain within,
    Till the curious work be seen;
    Then, 'tis found, that costly Shrining
    Did but hinder t'others' shining.
      If you chance to be in place
    Where her Mantle, She doth grace;
    You would presently protest
    "Irish dressings were the best!"
    If again, She lay it down,
    While you view her in a Gown,
    And how those her dainty limbs
    That close-bodied garment trims:
    You would swear, and swear again,
    "She appeared loveliest then!"
      But if She, so truly fair,
    Should untie her shining hair
    And, at length, that treasure shed;
    JOVE's endurèd GANYMEDE,
    Neither CYTHEREA's joy,
    Nor the sweet self-loving Boy
    Who in beauty did surpass,
    Nor the fair'st that ever was,
    Could, to take your prisoner, bring
    Looks so sweetly conquering.
      She excels her, whom APOLLO
    Once, with weeping eyes, did follow;
    Or that Nymph, who, shut in towers,
    Was beguiled with golden showers;
    Yea, and she, whose Love was wont
    To swim o'er the Hellespont
    For her sake (though in attire
    Fittest to enflame desire)
    Seemed not half so fair to be
    Nor so lovely as is She.
    For the man, whose happy eye
    Views her in full majesty,
    Knows She hath a power that moves
    More than doth the Queen of Loves,
    When she useth all her power
    To inflame her paramour.

      And, sometimes, I do admire
    All men burn not with Desire!
    Nay, I muse her Servants are not
    Pleading love: but O, they dare not!
    And I, therefore, wonder why
    They do not grow sick, and die.
      Sure, they would do so, but that,
    By the Ordinance of Fate,
    There is some concealèd thing
    So each gazer limiting,
    He can see no more of merit
    Than beseems his worth and spirit.
    For, in her, a Grace there shines
    That o'erdaring thoughts confines,
    Making worthless men despair
    To be loved of one so fair.
      Yea, the Destinies agree
    Some good judgements blind should be;
    And not gain the power of knowing
    Those rare beauties, in her growing.
    Reason doth as much imply,
    For, if every judging eye
    Which beholdeth her, should there
    Find what excellences are;
    All, o'ercome by those perfections,
    Would be captive to affections.
    So (in happiness, unblest)
    She, for lovers, should not rest.
      This, well heeding, think upon!
    And, if there be any one
    Who alloweth not the worth
    Which my Muse hath painted forth;
    Hold it no defect in Her!
    But that he's ordained to err.
    Or if any female wight
    Should detract from this I write;
    She, I yield, may shew her wit,
    But disparage Her no whit:
    For, on earth few women be,
    That from envy's touch are free;
    And whoever, Envy, knew,
    Yield those honours that were due?

      Though, sometimes, my Song I raise
    To unusèd heights of praise,
    And break forth, as I shall please,
    Into strange hyperboles,
    'Tis to shew, Conceit hath found
    Worth beyond Expression's bound.
    Though her Breath I do compare
    To the sweet'st perfumes that are;
    Or her Eyes, that are so bright,
    To the morning's cheerful light:
    Yet I do it not so much
    To infer that she is such,
    As to shew that, being blest
    With what merits name of Best,
    She appears more fair to me,
    Than all creatures else that be.
      Her true beauty leaves behind
    Apprehensions in my mind,
    Of more sweetness than all Art
    Or Inventions can impart:
    Thoughts too deep to be expressed,
    And too strong to be suppressed.
    Which, oft, raiseth my conceits
    To so unbelievèd heights
    That, I fear, some shallow brain
    Thinks my Muses do but feign.
    Sure, he wrongs them, if he do!
    For, could I have reachèd to
    So like Strains, as these you see;
    Had there been no such as She?
    Is it possible that I
    Who scarce heard of Poesy
    Should a mere _Idea_ raise
    To as true a pitch of praise,
    As the learned Poets could,
    (Now, or in the times of old)
    All those real Beauties bring,
    Honoured by the Sonneting?
    Having Arts, and favours too,
    More t' encourage what they do?
    No! If I had never seen
    Such a Beauty, I had been
    Piping in the country shades
    To the homely dairy maids,
    For a country fidler's fees,
    "Clouted cream, and bread and cheese."
      I, no skill in Numbers had,
    More than every Shepherd's Lad,
    Till She taught me Strains that were
    Pleasing to her gentle ear.
    Her fair splendour and her worth;
    From obscureness, drew me forth;
    And because I had no Muse,
    She herself deigned to infuse
    All the skill by which I climb
    To these praises in my rhyme.
      Which if she had pleased to add
    To that, Art, sweet DRAYTON had;
    Or that happy Swain, that shall
    Sing _Britannia's Pastoral_;
    Or to theirs, whose verse set forth
    ROSALYND's and STELLA's worth;
    They had doubled all their skill
    Gainèd on APOLLO's hill:
    And as much more set Her forth,
    As I'm short of them in worth:
    They had, unto heights aspired,
    Might have justly been admired,
    And, in such brave Strains had moved,
    As, of all, had been approved.
      I must praise Her, as I may!
    Which I do, mine own rude way,
    Sometimes setting forth her glories
    By unheard-of allegories.

      Think not, though, my Muse now sings
    Mere absurd or feignèd things!
    If to gold, I like her hair;
    Or to stars, her eyes so fair:
    Though I praise her skin by snow;
    Or, by pearls, her double-row;
    'Tis that you might gather thence
    Her unmatchèd excellence.
      Eyes as fair (for eyes) hath She
    As stars fair, for Stars may be.
    And each part as fair doth show
    In its kind, as white in Snow.
    'Tis no grace to her, at all;
    If her hair, I, Sunbeams call.
    For, were there power in Art,
    So to portrait every part,
    All men might those beauties see
    As they do appear to me:
    I would scorn to make compare
    With the glorious'st things that are,
      Nought I e'er saw, fair enow
    But the Hair, the hair to show:
    Yet some think him over bold
    That compares it but to gold.
    He, from Reason seems to err,
    Who, commending of his Dear,
    Gives her lips, the rubies' hue;
    Or by pearls, her teeth doth shew:
    But what pearls, what rubies can
    Seem so lovely fair to man,
    As her lips, whom he doth love,
    When in sweet discourse they move?
    Or her lovelier teeth, the while
    She doth bless him with a smile?
      Stars, indeed, fair creatures be!
    Yet, amongst us, where is he
    Joys not more, the while he lies
    Sunning in his mistress' eyes,
    Than in all the glimmering light
    Of a starry winter's night?
      Him, to flatter, most suppose,
    That prefers before the rose,
    Or the lilies while they grow,
    Or the flakes of new-fall'n snow,
    Her complexion, whom he loveth:
    And yet this, my Muse approveth.
    For in such a beauty, meets
    Unexpressèd moving sweets,
    That, the like unto them, no man
    Ever saw but in a Woman.
      Look on moon! on stars! or sun!
    All GOD's creatures overrun!
    See, if all of them presents
    To your mind, such sweet contents;
    Or if you, from them can take,
    Ought that may a beauty make,
    Shall, one half, so pleasing prove
    As is hers, whom you do love!
      For, indeed, if there had been
    Other mortal beauties seen,
    Objects for the love of man;
    Vain was their Creation then!
    Yea, if this could well be granted,
    ADAM might, his EVE have wanted!
    But a Woman is the creature,
    Whose proportion with our nature
    Best agrees; and whose perfections
    Sympathise with our affections:
    And, not only find our Senses
    Pleasure in their excellences;
    But our Reason also knows
    Sweetness in them, that outgoes
    Human wit to comprehend!
    Much more, truly to commend!
      Note the beauty of any Eye!
    And, if ought you praise it by,
    Leave such Passion in your mind:
    Let my Reason's Eye be blind!
      Mark if ever red or white,
    Anywhere, gave such delight,
    As when they have taken place
    In a worthy woman's face!
    He that so much hath not noted,
    Will not! or is grown besotted.
      Such as lovers are, conceive
    What impressions beauty leaves!
    And those hearts that fire have took
    By a love-inflaming look:
    Those believe, what here I say!
    And suppose not that I stray
    In a word, by setting forth
    Any praise beyond true worth!
      And yet, wherefore should I care
    What another's censures are?
    Since I know Her to be such
    As no praise can be too much.
    All that see Her, will agree
    In the self-same mind with me;
    If their Wit be worth the having
    Or their Judgement merit craving.
    And the man that kens Her not,
    Speaks, at best, he knows not what;
    So his envy, or goodwill,
    Neither doth her good, nor ill.
      Then, fools' cavils I disdain!
    And call back my Muse again,
    To decipher out the rest,
    For I have too long digressed.

      This is She, in whom there meets
    All variety of sweets!
    An Epitome of all
    That on earth, we, Fair may call.
    Nay, yet more, I dare aver.
    He that is possessed of Her,
    Shall, at once, all pleasure find,
    That is reaped from Womankind.
      O, what man would further range,
    That in one, might find such change?
    What dull eye, such worth can see,
    And not sworn a lover be?
    Or, from whence was he, could prove
    Such a monster in his love,
    As, in thought, to use amiss
    Such unequalled worth as this?
      Pity 'twere, that such a creature
    Phoenix-like, for matchless feature,
    Should so suffer, or be blamed
    With what, now, the Times are shamed.
    Beauty (unto me, Divine!)
    Makes my honest thoughts incline
    Unto better things than that
    Which the vulgar aimeth at.
    And, I vow! I grieve to see
    Any fair, and false to be;
    Or when I, sweet pleasures find
    Matched with a defilèd mind.
      But, above all others, Her
    So much doth my soul prefer,
    That to him, whose ill desire
    Should so nurse a lawless fire,
    As to 'tempt to that which might
    Dim her sacred virtue's light;
    I could wish that he might die
    Ere he did it! though 'twere I!
      For, if She should hap to stray,
    All this beauty would away!
    And not her alone undo,
    But kill him that praised her too!
    But I know her Maker will
    Keep her undistainèd still;
    That ensuing Ages may
    Pattern out, by Her, the way
    To all goodness. And if Fate,
    That appoints all things a date,
    Hear me would; I'd wish that She
    Might, for aye, preservèd be!
    And that neither wasting cares,
    Neither all-consuming years,
    Might, from what She is, estrange her!
    Or in mind or body change her!
      For, O, why should envious Time
    Perpetrate so vile a crime
    As to waste, or wrong, or stain
    What shall ne'er be matched again?
      Much I hope it shall not be
    For, if love deceive me not,
    To that height of Fair she grows,
    Age, or Sickness (Beauty's foes!)
    Cannot so much wrong it there,
    But enough there will appear
    Ever worthy to be loved:
    And that heart shall more be moved
    (Where there is a judging eye)
    With those prints it doth espy
    Of her Beauty wronged by Time,
    Than by others, in their prime.
      One advantage she hath more
    That adds grace to all before.
    It is this. Her Beauty's fame
    Hath not done her Honour shame,
    For where Beauty we do find,
    Envy still is so unkind,
    That although their virtues are
    Such as pass their beauties far,
    Yet, on Slander's rocks they be
    Shipwrecked, oftentimes, we see;
    And are subject to the wrongs
    Of a thousand spiteful tongues:
    When the greatest fault they had
    Was, that some would make them bad!
    And not finding them for action,
    Sought for vengeance by detraction.
      But her Beauty, sure, no tongue
    Is so villainous to wrong!
    Never did the jealous'st ear
    Any muttering rumour hear
    That might cause the least suspects
    Of indifferent defects.
    And, which somewhat stranger is,
    They, whose slanders few can miss
    (Though set on by Evil Will
    And Habituated Ill)
    Nothing can of Her invent
    Whence to frame disparagement.
      Which, if we respect the crimes
    Of these loose injurious Times,
    Doth not only truly prove
    Great discretion in her love;
    And that she hath lived upright,
    In each jealous tongue's despite:
    But it must be understood
    That her private thoughts are good.
    Yea! 'tis an apparent sign
    That her Beauty is Divine!
    And that angels have a care
    Men's polluting tongues should spare
    To defile, what GOD hath given
    To be dear to Earth and Heaven!

      Tell me, you that hear me now!
    Is there any one of you
    Wanteth feeling of affection?
    Or that loves not such perfection?
    Can there be so dull an ear
    As of so much worth to hear,
    And not seriously incline
    To this saint-like friend of mine?
    If there be, the fault doth lie
    In my artless Poesy.
    For if I could reach the Strain
    Which, methinks, I might obtain;
    Or but make my Measures fly
    Equal with my Fantasy:
    I would not permit an ear
    To attend unravished here;
    If but so much sense it knew,
    As the blocks that ORPHEUS drew.
      Think on this description well!
    And your noblest Ladies tell
    "Which of you (that worth can see),
    This my Mistress would not be?"
      You brave English! who have run
    From the rising of the sun,
    Till, in travelling, you found
    Where he doth conclude his round!
    You! that have the beauties seen
    Which, in farthest lands have been;
    And surveyed the fair resorts
    Of the French and Spanish Courts,
    With the rest that Fame renowns
    In the rich Trans-Alpine towns;
    Do not (with our brainless fry,
    That admire each novelty)
    Wrong your country's fame in ought!
    But, here, freely speak your thought!
    And I durst presume you'll swear
    She's not matched anywhere.
      Gallants! you that would so fain
    Nymphs' and Ladies' loves obtain!
    You that strive to serve and please
    Fairest Queens and Empresses!
    Tell me this, and tell me right!
    If you would not, so you might,
    Leave them all, despised, to prove
    What contents are in her love?
      Could your fathers ever tell
    Of a Nymph, did more excel?
    Or hath any Story told
    Of the like, in times of old?
      DIDO was not such a one!
    Nor the Trojans' paragon!
    Though they, so much favour found,
    As to have their honours crowned
    By the best of Poets' pens,
    Ever known before or since.
      For had DIDO been so fair;
    Old ANCHISES's noble heir,
    JOVE's command had disobeyed!
    And with her, in Carthage stayed:
    Where he would have quite foreswore
    Seeing the Lavinian shore.
    Or had LEDA's daughter been,
    When she was the Spartan Queen,
    Equal with this Lovely One!
    MENELAUS had never gone
    From her sight so far away,
    As to leave her for a prey;
    And his room to be possesst
    By her wanton Phrygian guest.

      But lest yet, among you some,
    Think She may behind these come;
    Stay a little more, and hear me!
    In another Strain I'll rear me!
    I'll unmask a Beauty, now,
    Which to kiss, the gods may bow!
    And so feelingly will move,
    That your souls shall fall in love!
      I have, yet, the best behind;
    Her most fair, unequalled Mind!
    This that I have, here, exprest
    Is but that which veils the rest!
    An incomparable Shrine
    Of a Beauty more Divine!

      Whereof, ere I farther speak;
    Off again, my Song I'll break.
    And if you, among the roses,
    Which yon quickset hedge incloses,
    Will, with plucking flowers, beguile
    Tedious-seeming Time awhile;
    Till I step to yonder green,
    Whence the sheep so plain are seen,
    I will be returnèd ere
    You, an hour have stayèd there!
      And, excuse me now, I pray!
    Though I rudely go away!
    For affairs I have to do,
    Which unless I look into;
    I may sing out Summer here!
    Like the idle grasshopper:
    And at Winter, hide my head!
    Or else fast, till I am dead!
      Yet if rustic Pastoral Measures
    Can ought add unto your pleasures;
    I will leave you some of those,
    Which it pleased me to compose
    When despairing fits were over,
    And I, made a happy lover,
    Exercised my Loving Passion
    In another kind of fashion;
    Than to utter, I devised,
    When I feared to be despised.
      Those shall lie in gage for me,
    Till I back returnèd be.
    And in writing, here, you have them!
    Either sing! or read! or leave them!


                              _SONNET I._

    _Admire not, Shepherd's Boy!_
    _Why I my pipe forbear?_
    _My Sorrows and my Joy_
    _Beyond expression are!_
        _Though others may_
        _In Songs display_
    _Their Passions, when they woo;_
        _Yet, mine do fly_
        _A pitch too high_
    _For Words to reach unto._

    _If such weak thoughts as those_
    _Which others' Fancies moves;_
    _Or if my heart did 'close_
    _But common Strains of Love:_
        _Or Passions' store_
        _Learned me no more_
    _To feel, than others do:_
        _I'd paint my cares_
        _As black as theirs,_
    _And teach my lines to woo!_

    _But, O, thrice happy! ye_
    _Whose mean conceit is dull!_
    _You, from those thoughts are free!_
    _That stuff my breast so full._
        _My love's excess_
        _Lets to express_
    _What Songs are usèd to:_
        _And my delights_
        _Take such high flights,_
    _My joys will me undo._

    _I have a Love that's fair,_
    _Rich, wise, and nobly born;_
    _She's True Perfection's Heir,_
    _Holds nought but vice in scorn._
        _A heart to find,_
        _More chaste, more kind,_
    _Our plains afford no mo._
        _Of her degree,_
        _No blab I'll be;_
    _For doubt some Prince should woo._

    _And yet, I do not fear,_
    _(Though She, my meanness knows)_
    _The willow branch to wear;_
    _No, nor the yellow hose!_
        _For if great JOVE_
        _Should sue for love,_
    _She would not me forego._
        _Resort I may,_
        _By night or day,_
    _Which braver dare not do!_

    _You Gallants, born to pelf!_
    _To lands', to titles' store!_
    _(I'm born but to Myself,_
    _Nor do I care for more)_
        _Add to your earth!_
        _Wealth! honours! birth!_
    _And all you can, thereto!_
        _You cannot prove_
        _That height of love_
    _Which I, in meanness, do!_

    _Great men have helps, to gain_
    _Those favours they implore:_
    _Which, though I win with pain,_
    _I find my joys the more._
        _Each clown may rise_
        _And climb the skies_
    _When he hath found a stair;_
        _But joy to him_
        _That dares to climb,_
    _And hath no help, but air!_

    _Some say that "Love repents_
    _Where fortunes disagree."_
    _I know the high'st contents_
    _From low beginnings be._
        _My love's unfeigned_
        _To Her that deigned_
    _From greatness, stoop thereto._
        _She loves, 'cause I_
        _So mean, dared try_
    _Her better worth to woo._

    _And yet although much joy,_
    _My fortune seems to bless;_
    _'Tis mixt with more annoy_
    _That I shall e'er express._
        _For, with much pain_
        _Did I obtain_
    _The Gem I'll ne'er forego!_
        _Which yet I dare_
        _Nor shew, nor wear!_
    _And that breeds all my woe._

    _But fie! my foolish tongue!_
    _How losely now it goes!_
    _First, let my knell be rung_
    _Ere I do more disclose!_
        _Mount thoughts on high!_
        _Cease words! For why?_
    _My meaning to divine;_
        _To those I leave,_
        _That can conceive_
    _So brave a Love as mine._

    _And, now, no more I'll sing_
    _Among my fellow swains;_
    _Nor groves, nor hills shall ring_
    _With echoes of my plains._
        _My Measures be_
        _Confused, you see!_
    _And will not suit thereto:_
        _'Cause I have more_
        _Brave thoughts in store_
    _Than words can reach unto._


                              _SONNET II._

    _Hence, away! you Syrens! Leave me!_
    _And unclasp your wanton arms!_
    _Sugared words shall ne'er deceive me,_
    _Though thou prove a thousand charms._
        _Fie! fie! forbear!_
        _No common snare_
    _Could ever my affection chain._
        _Your painted baits_
        _And poor deceits_
    _Are all bestowed on me in vain!_

    _I'm no slave to such as you be!_
    _Neither shall a snowy breast,_
    _Wanton eye, or lip of ruby_
    _Ever rob me of my rest!_
        _Go! go! Display_
        _Your beauty's ray_
    _To some o'ersoon enamoured Swain!_
        _Those common wiles_
        _Of sighs and smiles_
    _Are all bestowed on me in vain!_

    _I have elsewhere, vowed a duty;_
    _Turn away thy tempting eyes!_
    _Show me not a naked beauty!_
    _Those impostures I despise!_
        _My spirit loaths_
        _Where gaudy clothes_
    _And feigned oaths may love obtain!_
        _I love Her so,_
        _Whose look swears "No!"_
    _That all your labours will be vain!_

    _Can he prize the tainted posies_
    _Which on every breast are worn;_
    _That may pluck the spotless roses_
    _From their never-touchèd thorn?_
        _I can go rest_
        _On her sweet breast,_
    _That is the pride of CYNTHIA's train._
        _Then hold your tongues!_
        _Your Mermaid songs_
    _Are all bestowed on me in vain!_

    _He's a fool, that basely dallies,_
    _Where each peasant mates with him!_
    _Shall I haunt the throngèd valleys,_
    _Whilst there's noble hills to climb?_
        _No, no! Though clowns_
        _Are scared with frowns;_
    _I know the best can but disdain:_
        _And those I'll prove!_
        _So shall your love_
    _Be all bestowed on me in vain!_

    _Yet I would not deign embraces_
    _With the greatest fairest She;_
    _If another shared those graces_
    _Which had been bestowed on me!_
        _I gave that One_
        _My love, where none_
    _Shall come to rob me of my gain._
        _Your fickle hearts_
        _Make tears and Arts!_
    _And all bestowed on me in vain._

    _I do scorn, to vow a duty,_
    _Where each lustful lad may woo:_
    _Give me Her, whose sun-like beauty,_
    _Buzzards dare not soar unto!_
        _She! She it is_
        _Affords that bliss!_
    _For which, I would refuse no pain._
        _But such as you!_
        _Fond fools! adieu!_
    _You seek to capture me in vain!_

    _Proud she seemed, in the beginning,_
    _And disdained my looking on;_
    _But that "Coy One in the winning,_
    _Proves a True One, being won!"_
        _Whate'er betide_
        _She'll ne'er divide_
    _The favour She to me shall deign;_
        _But your fond love_
        _Will fickle prove!_
    _And all that trust in you, are vain!_

    _Therefore know! When I enjoy One,_
    _And for love employ my breath;_
    _She I court, shall be a Coy One,_
    _Though I win her with my death!_
        _A favour there,_
        _Few aim at, dare._
    _And if, perhaps, some lover plain;_
        _She is not won_
        _Nor I undone_
    _By placing of my love in vain._

    _Leave me! then, you Syrens! leave me!_
    _Seek no more to work my harms!_
    _Crafty wiles cannot deceive me;_
    _Who am proof against your charms!_
        _You labour may_
        _To lead astray_
    _The heart, that constant shall remain:_
        _And I, the while,_
        _Will sit and smile,_
    _To see you spend your time in vain._


                             _SONNET III._

    _When PHILOMELA, with her strains,_
      _The Spring had welcomed in;_
    _And FLORA to bestrew the plains,_
      _With daisies did begin:_
    _My Love and I (on whom suspicious eyes_
            _Had set a thousand spies)_
        _To cozen ARGOS strove;_
            _And seen of none,_
            _We got alone_
        _Into a shady grove._

    _On every bush, the eglantine,_
      _With leaves perfumèd hung:_
    _The primrose made the hedgerows fine;_
      _The woods, of music rung:_
    _The earth, the air, and all things did conspire_
            _To raise contentment higher;_
        _That, had I come to woo,_
            _Nor means of grace,_
            _Nor time, nor place_
        _Were wanting thereunto._

    _With hand in hand, alone we walked,_
      _And oft each other eyed;_
    _Of Love and Passions past we talked,_
      _Which our poor hearts had tried:_
    _Our souls infused into each other were._
            _And what may be her care_
        _Did my more sorrow breed._
            _One mind we bore,_
            _One faith we swore,_
        _And both in one agreed._

    _Her dainty palm, I gently prest,_
      _And with her lips I played;_
    _My cheek, upon her panting breast,_
      _And on her neck, I laid;_
    _And yet we had no sense of wanton lust;_
            _Nor did we then mistrust_
        _The Poison in the Sweet._
            _Our bodies wrought_
            _So close, we thought,_
        _Because our souls should meet._

    _With pleasant toil, we breathless grew,_
      _And kist in warmer blood:_
    _Upon her lips, the honey dew,_
      _Like drops on roses stood._
    _And on those flowers, played I the busy bee,_
            _Whose sweets, were such to me,_
        _Them could I not forego._
            _No, not to feast_
            _On VENUS' breast,_
        _Whence streams of sweetness flow._

    _But kissing and embracing, we_
      _So long together lay;_
    _Her touches all inflamèd me,_
      _And I began to stray._
    _My hands presumed so far, they were too bold!_
            _My tongue unwisely told_
        _How much my heart was changed._
            _And Virtue quite_
            _Was put to flight;_
        _Or, for the time, estranged._

    _O, what are we, if in our strength_
      _We over boldly trust?_
    _The strongest forts will yield at length,_
      _And so our virtues must._
    _In Me, no force of Reason had prevailed,_
            _If She had also failed._
        _But ere I further strayed,_
            _She, sighing, kist_
            _My naked wrist:_
        _And thus, in tears, she said._

    _"Sweet Heart!" quoth she, "if in thy breast_
      _Those virtues real be,_
    _Which, hitherto, thou hast profest,_
      _And I believed in thee;_
    _Thyself and Me, O seek not to abuse!_
            _Whilst thee I thus refuse,_
        _In hotter flames I fry!_
            _Yet let us not,_
            _Our true love, spot!_
        _O, rather, let me die!"_

    _"For if thy heart should fall from good,_
      _What would become of mine?_
    _As strong a Passion stirs my blood,_
      _As can distemper thine!_
    _Yet in my breast, this rage I smother would,_
            _Though it consume me, should;_
        _And my desires contain._
            _For where we see_
            _Such breaches be,_
        _They seldom stop again."_

    _"Are we the two that have so long_
      _Each other's loves embraced;_
    _And never did Affection wrong_
      _Nor think a thought unchaste?_
    _And shall, O shall we, now, our matchless Joy_
            _For one poor touch destroy?_
        _And all Content forego?_
            _O no, my Dear!_
            _Sweet Heart, forbear!_
        _I will not lose thee so!"_

    _"For should we do a deed so base_
      _As it can never be,_
    _I could no more have seen thy face!_
      _Nor wouldst thou look on me!_
    _I should, of all our Passions grow ashamed;_
            _And blush, when thou art named._
        _Yea, though thou constant wert,_
            _I being nought,_
            _A jealous thought_
        _Would still torment my heart._

    _"What goodly thing, do we obtain_
      _If I consent to thee?_
    _Rare joys we lose, and what we gain_
      _But common pleasures be._
    _Yea, 'those,' some say, 'who are to lust inclined,_
            _Drive Love out of the mind!_
        _And so much Reason miss_
            _That they admire_
            _What kind of fire_
        _A chaste affection is.'"_

    _"No vulgar bliss I aimèd at,_
      _When first I heard thee woo;_
    _I'll never prize a Man for that_
       _Which every groom can do._
    _If that be love, the basest men that be_
            _Do love as well as we!_
        _Who, if we bear us well,_
            _Do pass them then,_
            _As Angels, men_
        _In glory do excel."_

    _Whilst thus she spake, a cruel Band_
      _Of Passions seized my soul;_
    _And what one seemèd to command,_
      _Another did control._
    _'Twixt Good and Ill, I did, divided lie._
            _But as I raised mine eye,_
        _In her, methought, I saw_
            _Those Virtues shine,_
            _Whose rays divine_
        _First gave Desire, a Law._

    _With that, I felt the blush of shame_
      _Into my cheek return._
    _And Love did, with a chaster flame,_
      _Within my bosom burn._
    _My Soul, her light of Reason had renewed;_
            _And by those beams, I viewed_
        _How slily Lust ensnares!_
            _And all the fires_
            _Of ill Desires,_
        _I quenchèd with my tears._

    _Go, wantons, now, and flout at this!_
      _My coldness, if you list!_
    _Vain fools! You never knew the bliss_
      _That doth in Love consist!_
    _You sigh, and weep, and labour to enjoy_
            _A Shade, a Dream, a Toy!_
        _Poor Folly, you pursue!_
            _And are unblest;_
            _Since every beast,_
        _In pleasure, equals you!_

    _You never took so rich content_
      _In all your wanton play;_
    _As this to me, hath pleasure lent,_
      _That chaste, She went away._
    _For as some sins, which we committed have,_
            _Sharp stings behind them leave;_
        _Whereby we vexèd are:_
            _So, Ill supprest,_
            _Begetteth rest,_
        _And peace without compare._

    _But lest this conquest slight you make,_
      _Which on Myself I won;_
    _Twelve labours I will undertake_
      _With JOVE's victorious son,_
    _Ere I will such another brunt endure!_
            _For had DIANA pure,_
        _Thus tempted been to sin;_
            _That Queen of Night_
            _(With her chaste light)_
        _Had scarce a maiden been!_


                        [_Fair VIRTUE's Mind._]

    O, how honoured are my Songs,
    Graced by your melodious tongues!
    And how pleasing do they seem,
    Now your voices carol them!
    Were not, yet, that task to do,
    Which my word enjoins me to;
    I would beg of you, to hear
    What your own inventions are?
    But, before I aught will crave,
    What I promised, you shall have!

      And as I, on mortal creatures
    Called, to view her body's features!
    Shewing how to make the Senses
    Apprehend her excellences:
    Now, I speak of no worse subject
    Than a Soul's, and Reason's object;
    And relate a Beauty's glories
    Fitting heavenly auditories.
      Therefore, whilst I sit and sing,
    Hem me, Angels! in a ring!
    Come, ye Spirits! which have eyes
    That can gaze on Deity's!
    And unclogged with brutish senses
    Comprehend such excellences!
    Or if any mortal ear
    Would be granted leave to hear,
    And find profit with delight,
    In what now I shall indite;
    Let him, first, be sure to season
    A preparèd heart with Reason!
    And, with judgement, drawing nigh,
    Lay all fond affections by!
    So, through all her veilings, he
    Shall the Soul of Beauty see!

      But, avoid! you earth-bred wights
    Cloyed with sensual appetites!
    On base objects, glut your eyes!
    Till your starveling pleasure dies.
    Feed your ears with such delights
    As may match your gross conceits
    For, within your muddy brain,
    These, you never can contain!
      Think not, you, who by the Sense,
    Only judge of excellence!
    Or do all contentment place
    In the beauty of a face!
    That these higher thoughts of ours
    Soar so base a pitch as yours!
    I can give, as well as you,
    Outward beauties all their due!
    I can, most contentments see,
    That, in love, or women be!
      Though I dote not on the features
    Of our dantiest female creatures,
    (Nor was e'er so void of shames,
    As to play their lawless games!)
    I more prize a snowy hand,
    Than the gold on Tagus strand!
    And a dainty lip before
    All the greatest Monarch's store!
    Yea, from these, I reap as true,
    And as large contents as you!
      Yet, to them I am not tied!
    I have rarer sweets espied;
    Wider prospects of true Pleasure,
    Than your curbèd thoughts can measure!
    In her Soul, my soul descries
    Objects that may feed her eyes;
    And the beauty of her Mind
    Shews my Reason where to find
    All my former pleasure doubled;
    Neither with such Passion troubled
    As wherewith it oft was crost,
    Nor so easy to be lost.
      I that ravished lay, well nigh,
    By the lustre of her eye;
    (And had almost sworn affection
    To the fore-expressed perfection;
    As if nothing had been higher,
    Whereunto I might aspire);
    Now, have found, by seeking nearer,
    Inward Worth, that shining clearer,
    (By a sweet and secret moving)
    Draws me to a dearer loving.
    And whilst I, that love conceive;
    Such impressions it doth leave
    In the intellective part,
    As defaceth from my heart
    Every thought of those delights
    Which allure base appetites:
    And my mind so much employs
    In contemplating those joys,
    Which a purer sight doth find
    In the beauty of her Mind;
    That I, so thereon am set
    As, methinks, I could forget
    All her sweetest outward graces,
    Though I lay in her embraces.
      But some thinking, with a smile,
    What they would have done the while;
    Now suppose my words are such
    As exceed my power too much.
    For all those--our wantons hold
    Void of vigour, dull and cold;
    Or, at best, but fools--whose flame
    Makes not way unto their shame.
    Though, at length, with grief they see,
    _They_, the fools do prove to be!
      These, the body so much minded,
    That their Reason, over blinded
    By the pleasures of the Sense,
    Hides from them, that Excellence,
    And that Sweetness, whose true worth
    I am here, to blazon forth!
      'Tis not, 'tis not those rare graces
    That do lurk in women's faces;
    'Tis not a displayed perfection,
    Youthful eyes, nor clear complexion;
    Nor a skin, smooth, satin-like;
    Nor a dainty rosy cheek;
    That to wantonness can move
    Such as virtuously do love.
    Beauty, rather, gently draws
    Wild Desires to Reason's Laws!
    And oft frights men from that sin,
    They had else, transgressèd in;
    Through a sweet amazement, stroke
    From an overruling look.
    Beauty never tempteth men
    To lasciviousness; but when
    Careless Idleness hath brought
    Wicked longings into thought.
    Nor doth Youth, or heat of blood
    Make men prove what is not good.
    Nor the strength, of which they vaunt,
    'Tis the strength and power they _want_!
    And the baseness of the mind
    Makes their brute desires inclined
    To pursue those vain delights
    Which affect their appetites;
    And so blinded! do they grow,
    (Who are overtaken so)
    As their dulness cannot see,
    Nor believe that better be!
      Some have blood as hot as theirs
    Whose affections loosest are;
    Bodies that require no Art
    To supply weak Nature's part;
    Youth, they have; and, sure, might, too,
    Boast of what some, shameless, do:
    Yet their minds, that aim more high
    Than those baser pleasures lie,
    Taught by Virtue, can suppress
    All attempts of wantonness;
    And such powerful motives frame
    To extinguish Passions' flame,
    That, by Reason's good direction,
    Qualifying loose affection
    They'll, in midst of beauty's fires,
    Walk unscorched with ill Desires.
    Yet no such, as stupid Shame
    Keeps from actions worthy blame.
    But, in all, so truly Man!
    That their apprehensions can
    Prize the body's utmost worth;
    And find many pleasures forth
    In those beauties, more than you,
    That abuse them, ever knew!

      But, perhaps, her outward grace,
    Here described, hath ta'en such place
    In some o'er-enamoured breast;
    And so much his heart possest,
    As he thinks, it passeth telling,
    How she may be more excelling!
    Or what worth I can prefer
    To be more admired in her.
      Therefore, now, I will be brief
    To prevent that misbelief;
    And if there be present here,
    Any one whose nicer ear
    Tasks my Measures, as offending
    In too seriously commending
    What affects the Sense, or may
    Injure Virtue any way:
    Let them know, 'tis understood,
    That if they were truly good,
    It could never breed offence,
    That I shewed the excellence;
    With the power of GOD and Nature,
    In the beauty of His creature.
    They, from thence, would rather raise
    Cause to meditate His praise:
    And thus think, "How fair must He,
    That hath made this Fair One, be!"
      That was my proposèd end:
    And to make them more attend
    Unto this! so much excelling
    As it passeth means of telling.
      But, at worst, if any Strain
    Makes your memories retain
    Sparks of such a baneful fire
    As may kindle ill Desire:
    This, that follows after, shall,
    Not alone extinguish all;
    But e'en make you blush with shame,
    That your thoughts were so to blame.
      Yet I know, when I have done,
    In respect of that bright Sun,
    Whose inestimable light
    I would blazon to your sight!
    These ensuing flashes are
    As to CYNTHIA's beams, a star;
    Or a petty comet's ray,
    To the glorious Eye of Day.
    For what power of Words, or Art,
    Can her Worth at full, impart?
    Or what is there, may be found,
    Placed within the Sense's bound,
    That can paint those sweets to me,
    Which the Eyes of Love do see?
    Or the beauties of her Mind
    Which her body hath enshrined?
      Can I think, the Guide of Heaven
    Hath so bountifully given
    Outward features, 'cause He meant
    To have made less excellent
    Her divine part? or suppose
    Beauty, Goodness doth oppose!
    Like those fools who do despair
    To find any Good and Fair?
    Rather, there, I seek a Mind
    Most excelling; where I find
    GOD hath to the Body lent
    Most beseeming ornament.
    But though He that did inspire
    First, the true Promethean fire,
    In each several soul did place
    Equal excellence and grace;
    As some think: yet, have not they
    Equal beauties, every way!
    For they, more or less appear
    As the outward organs are;
    Following much the temp'rature
    Of the body, gross or pure.
    And I do believe it true
    That as we the Body view,
    Nearer to perfection grow:
    So the Soul herself doth shew
    Others, more and more excelling,
    In her Power, as in her Dwelling.
    For that pureness giveth way
    Better to disclose each ray
    To the dull conceit of man;
    Than a grosser substance can.
    Thus, through spotless crystal, we
    May the day's full glory see,
    When, if clearest sunbeams pass
    Through a foul polluted glass;
    So discoloured they'll appear,
    As those stains they shone through, were.
      Let no critics cavil then,
    If I dare affirm again,
    That her Mind's perfections are
    Fairer than her Body's, far!
    And I need not prove it by
    Axioms of Philosophy;
    Since no proof can better be
    Than their rare effect in me!
    For, while other men complaining,
    Tell their Mistress's disdaining:
    Free from care, I write a Story
    Only of her Worth, and Glory!
      While most lovers pining, sit,
    Robbed of liberty and wit,
    Vassaling themselves with shame
    To some proud imperious Dame;
    Or, in Songs, their fate bewailing,
    Shew the world, their faithless failing;
    I, enwreathed with boughs of myrtle,
    Fare like the beloved Turtle.
      Yea, while most are most untoward!
    Peevish! vain! inconstant! froward!
    While their best contentments bring
    Nought but after sorrowing:
    She (those childish humours slighting)
    Hath conditions so delighting,
    And doth so my bliss endeavour,
    As my joy increaseth ever.

      By her actions, I can see
    That her Passions so agree
    Unto Reason, as they err,
    Seldom, to distemper her.
      Love She can, and doth; but so
    As She will not overthrow
    Love's content, by any folly,
    Or by deeds that are unholy.
    Dotingly, She ne'er affects;
    Neither willingly neglects
    Honest love: but means doth find,
    With discretion to be kind.
    'Tis not thundering phrase, nor oaths,
    Honours, wealth, nor painted clothes,
    That can her goodliking gain;
    If no other Worth remain.
      Never took her heart delight
    In your Court Hermaphrodite,
    Or such frothy gallants as
    For the Times, heroès pass:
    Such who, still in love, do all,
    "Fair!" and "Sweet!" and "Lady!" call;
    And where'er they hap to stray,
    Either prate the rest away,
    Or, of all discourse to seek,
    Shuffle in at _Cent_ or _Gleek_.
      Goodness more delights her, than
    All their Mask of Folly can.
    Fond, She hateth to appear;
    Though She hold her Friend as dear
    As her part of life unspent,
    Or the best of her content.
      If the heat of youthful fires
    Warm her blood with those desires,
    Which are, by the course of Nature,
    Stirred in every perfect creature;
    As those Passions kindle, so
    Doth Heaven's grace, and Reason grow
    Abler to suppress in her
    Those rebellions; and they stir
    Never more affection, than
    One good thought allays again.
      I could say, so chaste is She
    As the new blown roses be;
    Or the drifts of snow that none
    Ever touched, or looked upon:
    But that were not worth a fly,
    Seeing so much chastity
    Old PIGMALION's picture had!
    Yea, those eunuchs born, or made
    Ne'er to know Desire, might say
    "She deserved no more than they!"
    Whereas, while their worth proceeds
    From such wants, as they must needs
    Be unmoved ('cause Nature framed
    No affections to be tamed)
    Through her dainty limbs are spread
    Vigour, heat; and freely shed
    Life blood into every vein
    Till they fill, and swell again:
    And no doubt they strive to force
    Way in some forbidden course;
    Which by Grace, She still resists,
    And so curbs within their lists
    Those Desires, that She is chaster
    Than if she had none to master.
      Malice, never lets She in;
    Neither hates She ought, but sin.
    Envy, if She could admit,
    There's no means to nourish it:
    For her gentle heart is pleased
    When She knows another's eased;
    And there's none whoever got
    That perfection, she hath not.
    So that no cause is there, why
    She should any one envy.
      Mildly Angry She'll appear;
    That the baser rout may fear,
    Through presumption, to misdo.
    Yet, She often feigns that too:
    But let wrong be whatsoever,
    She gives way to Choler, never!
      If She e'er, of Vengeance thought,
    'Twas nor life, nor blood was sought;
    But, at most, some prayer to move
    Justice for abusèd love;
    Or that Fate would pay again
    Love's neglectors with disdain.
      If she ever craved of Fate
    To obtain a higher state;
    Or, ambitiously were given:
    Sure, 'twas but to climb to heaven!
    Pride is from her heart, as far
    As the poles in distance are.
    For her Worth, nor all this Praise
    Can her humble spirit raise;
    Less to prize me than before,
    Or herself to value more.
      Were She Vain, She might allege
    'Twere her sex's privilege;
    But She's such, as, doubtless, no man
    Knows less folly in a woman.
      To prevent a being Idle,
    Sometimes with her curious needle,
    Though it be her meanest glory,
    She so limns an antique Story,
    As MINERVA (would she take it!)
    Might her richest Sample[r] make it.
      Otherwhile, again, she rather
    Labours with delight, to gather
    Knowledge from such learned writs
    As are left by famous wits:
    Where, She chiefly seeks to know
    GOD! Herself! and what we owe
    To our neighbour! since, with these,
    Come all needful knowledges.
      She, with ADAM, never will
    Long to learn both Good and Ill;
    But her state well understood,
    Rests herself content with Good.
      Avarice, abhorreth She,
    As the loathsom'st things that be;
    Since she knows it is an Ill
    That doth ripest virtue kill.
    And where'er it comes to rest,
    Though in some strict matron's breast;
    But she ne'er so seeming just,
    I'll no shews of goodness trust!
    For if you, but gold can bring;
    Such are hired to anything!
      If you think She Jealous be,
    You are wide! For, credit me!
    Her strong'st jealousies nought are
    Other than an honest care
    Of her friends. And most can tell,
    Whoso wants that, loves not well!
      Though some little Fear she shows;
    'Tis no more than Love allows,
    So the Passion do not move her
    Till she grieve or wrong her lover!
    She may think he may do ill,
    Though She'll not believe he will!
    Nor can such a harmless thought
    Blemish true affection ought;
    Rather, when as else it would,
    Through security, grow cold;
    This, her Passion, keeping measure,
    Strengthens Love, and sweetens Pleasure!
      Cruelty, her soul detests!
    For, within her bosom rests
    Noblest Pity; ushered by
    An unequalled Courtesy:
    And is grieved at good men's moan,
    As the grief were all her own.
      Just, She is. So just, that I
    Know she would not wrong a fly;
    Or oppress the meanest thing,
    To be Mistress to a King.
      If our painters would include
    Temperance and Fortitude
    In one picture; She would fit,
    For the nonce, to pattern it!
      Patient as the lamb is She!
    Harmless, as the turtles be!
    Yea, so largely stored with all
    Which we mortals, Goodness call;
    That if ever Virtue were,
    Or may be incarnate here
    This is She! whose praises I
    Offer to Eternity.

      She's no Image trimmed about,
    Fair within, and foul without!
    But a Gem that doth appear,
    Like a diamond, everywhere
    Sparkling rays of beauty forth!
    All of such unblemished worth,
    That wer 't possible, your eye
    Might her inmost thoughts espy,
    And behold the dimmest part
    Of the lustre in her heart:
    It would find that Centre 'pass
    What the Superficies was;
    And that every angle there,
    Like a diamond's inside were.
      For although that excellence
    Pass the piercing'st eye of Sense;
    By their operations, we
    Guess at things, that hidden be.
    So, beyond our common reach,
    Wise men can, by reason teach,
    What the influences been
    Of a Planet, when unseen;
    Or the beauty of a star
    That doth shine above us far.
    So by that wide beaming light,
    Wherewith TITAN courts our sight;
    By his clothing of the earth;
    By the wondrous, various birth
    Of new creatures, yearly bred
    Through his heat, and nourished:
    And by many virtues mo[r]e
    Which our Senses reach unto,
    We conclude, they are not all,
    Which make fair that goodly Ball.

      Though she prize her Honour more
    Than the far-fetched precious store
    Of the rich Moluccas, or
    All the wealth was trafficed for,
    Since our vessels passage knew
    Unto Mexico, Peru,
    Or those spacious kingdoms which
    Made the proud Iberians rich.
    'Tis not that uncertain blast
    Keeps my Mistress Good, or Chaste!

      She, that but for Honour's sake,
    Doth of Ill a conscience make
    (More in fear what rumour says,
    Than in love to virtuous ways);
    Though she seemed more civil than
    You have seen a courtezan,
    For an honour; and cries "O, fie!"
    At each shew of vanity;
    Though she censure all that be
    Not so foolish coy as she;
    Though she, with the Roman Dame
    Kill herself, to purchase fame:
    She would prostitute become,
    To the meanest, basest groom;
    If so closely they may do it,
    As the world should never know it.
    So, at best, those women prove
    That for Honour, Virtue love.

    Give me her that goodness chooseth
    For its own sake! and refuseth
    To have greatest honours gained
    With her secret conscience stained.
    Give me her! that would be poor;
    Die disgraced; nay, thought a whore;
    And each Time's reproach become
    Till the general Day of Doom:
    Rather than consent to act
    Pleasing sin: though by the fact,
    With esteem of "virtuous," she
    Might the German Empress be!
      Such my Mistress is! and nought
    Shall have power to change her thought.
    Pleasures cannot tempt her eye,
    On their baits to glance awry.
    For their good, she still esteems
    As it is; not, as it seems:
    And she takes no comfort in
    Sweetest Pleasure soured with Sin.
      By herself, she hath such care
    That her actions decent are.
    For were she in secret hid,
    None might see what she did;
    She would do as if for spies
    Every wall was stuck with eyes:
    And be chary of her honour
    'Cause the heavens do look upon her!
    And O, what had power to move,
    Flames of lust or wanton love
    So far, to disparage us;
    If we all, were minded thus?
    These are beauties that shall last
    When the crimson blood shall waste!
    And the shining hair wax gray
    Or, with age, be worn away!
    These yield pleasures such as might
    Be remembered with delight,
    When we gasp our latest breath
    On the loathèd bed of death.
    Though discreetly speak She can;
    She'll be silent, rather than
    Talk while others may be heard:
    As if She did hate, or feared
    The condition, who will force
    All to wait on their discourse.
    Reason hath on her bestowed,
    More of knowledge, than she owed
    To that sex; and Grace, with it,
    Doth aright, her practice fit.
    Yet hath Fate so framèd her
    As She may, at some time, err;
    But if e'er her judgement stray,
    'Tis that other women may,
    Those much pleasing beauties see,
    Which in yielding natures be.
    For since no perfection can
    Here on earth be found in man;
    There's more good in free submissions,
    Than there's ill in our transgressions.
    Should you hear her, once, contend
    In discoursing, to defend,
    As She can, a doubtful cause;
    She, such strong positions draws
    From known truths, and doth apply
    Reasons with such majesty,
    As if She did undertake,
    From some Oracle to speak;
    And you could not think what might
    Breed more love, or more delight.
      Yet, if you should mark again
    Her discreet behaviour, when
    She finds reason to repent
    Some wrong-pleaded argument;
    She so temperately lets all
    Her mis-held opinions fall,
    And can, with such mildness bow,
    As 'twill more enamour you,
    Than her knowledge. For there are
    Pleasing sweets without compare
    In such yieldings! which do prove
    Wit, Humility, and Love.
    Yea, by those mistakings, you
    Her condition so shall know,
    And the nature of her mind
    So undoubtedly shall find,
    As will make her more endeared
    Than if she had never erred.
      Farther (that she nought may miss
    Which worth praise in woman is),
    This, unto the rest I add.
    If I, wound or sickness had;
    None should for my curing run!
    No, not to APOLLO's son!
    She, so well the virtue knows
    Of each needful herb that grows;
    And so fitly, can apply
    Salves to every malady:
    That if She, no succour gave me,
    'Twere no means of Art could save me!
      Should my Soul oppressèd lie,
    Sunk with grief and sorrow nigh;
    She hath balm for minds distressed,
    And could ease my pained breast.
    She, so well knows, how to season
    Passionate discourse with Reason;
    And knows how to sweeten it,
    Both with so much Love and Wit,
    That it shall prepare the Sense
    To give way with less offence.
    For grievèd minds can ill abide
    Counsel churlishly applied;
    Which instead of comfortings,
    Desperation often brings.

      But, hark, Nymphs! Methinks, I hear
    Music sounding in mine ear!
    'Tis a Lute! and he's the best
    For a voice, in all the West,
    That doth touch it! And the Swain
    I would have you hear, so fain;
    That to my Song, forbear will I,
    To attend his melody.
      Hither comes he, day by day,
    In these groves to sing and play:
    And in yon close arbour, he
    Sitteth now, expecting me.
    He so bashful is, that mute
    Will his tongue be, and his lute;
    Should he happen to espy
    This unlooked for company.
    If you, therefore, list to hear him;
    Let's with silence walk more near him!
    'Twill be worth your pains, believe me!
    (If a voice, content may give ye!)
    And, await you shall not long!
    For he now begins a Song.


                              _SONNET I._

    _What is the cause, when elsewhere I resort,_
    _I have my gestures, and discourse more free:_
    _And if I please, can any Beauty court!_
    _Yet stand so dull, and so demure by Thee?_
      _Why are my speeches broken, whilst I talk?_
    _Why do I fear almost thy hand to touch?_
    _Why dare I not embrace thee, as we walk?_
    _Since, with the greatest Nymphs, I've dared as much!_
      _Ah, know that none of those I e'er affected!_
    _And therefore used a careless courtship there;_
    _Because I, neither their disdain respected;_
    _Nor reckoned them nor their embraces dear!_
      _But loving Thee! my love hath found content;_
      _And rich delights, in things indifferent._


                              _SONNET II._

    _Why covet I, thy blessed eyes to see!_
    _Whose sweet aspect may cheer the saddest mind?_
    _Why, when our bodies must divided be,_
    _Can I no hour of rest or pleasure find?_
      _Why do I sleeping, start; and waking, moan,_
    _To find that of my dreamèd hopes I miss?_
    _Why do I often contemplate alone,_
    _Of such a thing as thy Perfection is?_
      _And wherefore, when we meet, doth Passion stop_
    _My speechless tongue, and leave me in a panting?_
    _Why doth my heart, o'ercharged with fear and hope,_
    _In spite of reason, almost droop to fainting?_
      _Because, in me, thy excellences moving,_
      _Have drawn to me, an excellence in loving!_


                             _SONNET III._

    _Fair! Since thy virtues, my affections move;_
    _And I have vowed my purpose is to join_
    _In an eternal band of chastest love,_
    _Our Souls, to make a marriage most divine._
      _"Why," thou may'st think, "then, seemeth he to prize_
    _An outward beauty's fading hue so much?_
    _Why doth he Read such Lectures in mine eyes?_
    _And often strive my tender palm to touch?"_
      _O, pardon my presuming! For I swear_
    _My love is soiled with no lustful spot!_
    _Thy Soul's perfections, through those veils appear!_
    _And I half faint, that I embrace them not!_
      _No foul Desires doth make thy touches sweet;_
      _By my Soul striveth, with thy Soul to meet!_


                              _SONNET IV._

    _Shall I, wasting in despair,_
    _Die, because a woman's Fair?_
    _Or make pale my cheeks with care,_
    _'Cause another's rosy are?_
    _Be She fairer than the Day,_
    _Or the flowery meads in May!_
        _If She be not so to me,_
        _What care I, how Fair She be?_

    _Should my heart be grieved or pined,_
    _'Cause I see a woman Kind?_
    _Or a well disposèd nature_
    _Joinèd with a lovely feature?_
    _Be She meeker, kinder than_
    _Turtle dove, or pelican!_
        _If She be not so to me,_
        _What care I, how Kind She be?_

    _Shall a woman's virtues move_
    _Me to perish for her love?_
    _Or her well deserving known,_
    _Make me quite forget mine own?_
    _Be She with that Goodness blest_
    _Which may gain her, name of Best!_
        _If She be not such to me,_
        _What care I, how Good She be?_

    _'Cause her fortune seems too high,_
    _Shall I play the fool, and die?_
    _Those that bear a noble mind,_
    _Where they want of riches find,_
    _Think "What with them they would do!"_
    _That, without them, dare to woo!_
        _And unless that mind I see,_
        _What care I, though Great She be?_

    _Great, or Good, or Kind, or Fair,_
    _I will ne'er the more despair!_
    _If She love me (this believe!)_
    _I will die, ere She shall grieve!_
    _If She slight me, when I woo;_
    _I can scorn, and let her go!_
        _For if She be not for me!_
        _What care I, for whom She be?_


                              _SONNET V._

    _I wandered out, awhile agone,_
    _And went, I know not whither;_
    _But there, do Beauties, many a one,_
    _Resort, and meet together:_
    _And CUPID's power will there be shewn,_
    _If ever you come thither!_

    _For like two suns, two Beauties bright,_
    _I, shining saw together:_
    _And, tempted by their double light,_
    _My eyes I fixt on Either;_
    _Till Both, at once, so thralled my sight,_
    _I loved, and knew not, Whether?_

    _Such equal sweet, VENUS gave,_
    _That I preferred not Either;_
    _And when for love, I thought to crave,_
    _I knew not well of Whether?_
    _For one while, This I wished to have;_
    _And then, I, That had liefer!_

    _A lover of the curious'st eye,_
    _Might have been pleased in Either;_
    _And so, I must confess, might I,_
    _Had they not been together._
    _Now Both must love, or Both deny:_
    _In one, enjoy I Neither._

    _But yet, at last, I scaped the smart_
    _I feared, at coming hither._
    _For seeing my divided heart,_
    _I, choosing, knew not Whether;_
    _Love, angry grew, and did depart._
    _And, now, I care for Neither!_

[Illustration]


                   [_Fair VIRTUE's moral qualities._]

    See! these trees so ill did hide us,
    That the Shepherd hath espied us!
    And, as jealous of his cunning,
    All in haste, away is running!
    To entreat him back again,
    Would be labour spent in vain:
    You may, therefore, now betake ye,
    To the Music, I can make thee!
    Who do purpose my Invention
    Shall pursue my first Intention.
      For in Her, whose worth I tell,
    Many excellences dwell
    Yet unmentioned; whose perfections
    Worthy are of best affections.

      That, which is so rare to find
    Both in Man, and Womankind;
    That, whose absence, love defaceth,
    And both sexes more disgraceth,
    That the spite of furrowed Age,
    Sicknesses, or Sorrow's rage;
    That's the jewel so divine
    Which doth on her forehead shine;
    And therewith endowed is She
    In an excellent degree:
    Constancy, I mean! the purest
    Of all beauties, and the surest.
    For whoe'er doth that possess,
    Hath an endless loveliness!
      All afflictions, labours, crosses;
    All our dangers, wounds, and losses;
    Games of Pleasure, we can make,
    For that matchless woman's sake!
    In whose breast that virtue bideth:
    And we joy, whate'er betideth!
      Most dejected hearts it gladeth.
    Twenty thousand glories addeth
    Unto Beauty's brightest Ray,
    And preserves it from decay!
    'Tis the salt, that's made to season
    Beauty, for the use of Reason!
    'Tis the varnish, and the oiling,
    Keeps her colours fresh from spoiling!
    'Tis an excellence, whereby
    Age, though joined with poverty,
    Hath more dear affection won,
    That fresh Youth and Wealth have done!
    'Tis a loveliness endearing
    Beauties, scarce worth note appearing!
    Whilst a fairer, fickle Dame
    Nothing gains, but scorn and shame.
      Further, 'tis a beauty such
    As I cannot praise too much,
    Nor frame Measures to express!
    No, nor any man! unless
    He who (more than all men crost)
    Finds it, in that woman lost;
    On whose faith, he would have pawned
    Life, and all he could command!
    Such a man, may, by that miss,
    Make us know, how dear it is!
    When, o'ercharged with grief, he shall
    Sigh, and break his heart withal.

      This is that Perfection which
    In her favour, makes me rich!
    All whose beauties named before,
    Else, would but torment me more:
    And in having this, I find,
    Whate'er haps, a quiet mind!
    Yea, 'tis that, which I do prize
    Far above her lips, her eyes;
    Or that general beauty, whence
    Shines each several excellence.

      For, alas! what gained hath he,
    Who may clip the fairest She,
    That the name of Woman bears;
    If, unhappily, he fears
    Any other's worth may win
    What he thought his own had been?
    Him, base minded deem I should,
    Who (although he were in hold,
    Wrapt in chains) would not disdain
    Love with her, to entertain!
    That, both daughter to a Peer,
    And most rich and lovely were;
    When a brainless Gull should dare
    In her favours with him share;
    Or the action of a Player
    Rob him of a hope so fair.

      This, I dread not! For I know
    Strainèd gestures, painted show,
    Shameless boastings, borrowed jests,
    Female looks, gay-plumed crests,
    Vows, nor protestations vain
    (Wherewith fools are made so vain)
    Move Her can! save to contemn,
    Or, perhaps, to laugh at them.
      Neither can I doubt or fear,
    Time shall either change or wear
    This her virtue, or impair
    That which makes her soul so fair!
    In which trust great comforts are,
    Which the fear of loss would mar.
      Nor hath this my rare hope stood
    So much in her being good,
    With her love to Blessèd Things;
    As in her acknowledgings
    From a Higher Power, to have them!
    And her love to Him that gave them!
    For, although to have a mind
    Naturally to Good inclined,
    And to love it, would assure
    Reason that it might endure:
    Yet, since man was first unjust,
    There's no warrant for such trust!
    Virtues that, most wonder win,
    Would converted be to Sin;
    If their flourishings began
    From no better root than Man!
    Our best virtues (when they are
    Of themselves) we may compare
    To the beauty of a Flower,
    That is blasted in an hour;
    And which growing to be fuller,
    Turns into some loathèd colour:
    But those (being freely given,
    And confirmed in us from Heaven)
    Have a promise on them past
    And for evermore shall last!
    Diamond like, their lustre clearing,
    More and more, by use and wearing!

      But if this rare Worth I praise,
    Should, by Fate's permission, raise
    Passions in some gentle breast
    That distemper may his rest:
    And be author of such treason
    As might nigh endanger Reason;
    Or enforce his tongue to crave
    What another man must have.
    Mark, in such a strait as this,
    How discreet her dealing is!
    She is nothing of their humours
    Who, their honour build on rumours;
    And had rather private sporting,
    Than allow of open courting:
    Nor of theirs, that would seem holy
    By divulging other's folly.
    Farther is She from their guise
    That delight to tyrannise;
    Or make boastings, in espying
    Others, for their favours dying.
      She, a spirit doth possess
    So replete with Nobleness,
    That if She be there beloved;
    Where she ought not to be moved
    Equally to love again:
    She doth so well entertain
    That affection, as there's none
    Can suppose it ill bestown.
      From Deluding, She is free!
    From Disdain, as far is She!
    And so feelingly bears part
    Of what pains another's heart;
    That no curse of scornèd duty,
    Shall draw vengeance on her beauty:
    Rather, with so tender fear
    Of her honour, and their care,
    She is touched; that neither shall
    Wrong unto herself befall
    By the favour She doth show;
    Nor will She neglect them so
    As may just occasion give
    Any way to make them grieve.
      Hope, She will not let them see!
    Lest they should presuming be;
    And aspire to that, which none
    Ever must enjoy but One.
    From Despair, She keeps them too!
    Fearing they might hap to do,
    Either through Love's indiscretions,
    Or much over stirrèd passions,
    What might, with their hurt and shame,
    Into question, call her name;
    And a scandal on her bring
    Who is just in everything.
      She hath marked how others run,
    And by them hath learnt to shun
    Both their fault, who, over wise,
    Err by being too precise;
    And their folly, that o'er kind,
    Are to all complaints inclined.
    For her Wit hath found the way
    How, a while, to hold them play;
    And that inconvenience shun
    Whereinto both seem to run,
    By allowing them a scope
    Just betwixt Despair and Hope:
    Where confined, and reaching neither,
    They do take a part in either;
    Till, long living in suspense,
    Tired by her Indifference,
    Time, at last, their Passion wears.
    Passions wearing, Reason clears!
    Reason gives their Judgement light!
    Judgement bringeth all to right!
      So, their Hope appearing vain;
    They become themselves again!
    And with high applauses (fit
    For such Virtue with such Wit)
    They, that service only proffer,
    She may take, and they may offer!
      Yet, this course she never proves
    Save with those, whose virtuous loves
    Use the noblest means of gaining
    Favours, worthy the obtaining.
    And if such should chance to err
    Either 'gainst themselves, or Her,
    In some oversights, when they
    Are, through Passion, led astray;
    She, so well man's frailty knows!
    With the darts, that Beauty throws!
    As she will not, adding terror,
    Break the heart, for one poor error!
    Rather, if still good they be,
    Twenty remedies hath She
    Gently to apply, where Sense
    Hath invaded Reason's fence:
    And, without a wound, or scar,
    Turns to peace, a lawless war.
      But to those, whose baser fires
    Breathe out smoke of such desires
    As may dim, with impure steams,
    Any part of Beauty's beams:
    She will deign no milder way,
    Those foul burnings to allay;
    Save with such extreme neglect
    As shall work her wished effect.
      And to use so sharp a cure,
    She's not oft constrainèd, sure,
    'Cause, on her forehead, still,
    Goodness sits; so feared of Ill!
    That the scorn and high disdains
    Wherewithal she entertains
    Those loathed glances, giveth ending
    To such flamings the tynding
    That their coolèd hopes needs must
    Freeze Desires in heat of Lust.

      'Tis a power that never lies
    In the fair'st immodest eyes!
    Wantons! 'tis not your sweet eyings,
    Forcèd passions, feignèd dyings,
    Gestures' temptings, tears' beguilings,
    Dancings, singings, kissings, smilings!
    Nor those painted sweets, with which,
    You, unwary men bewitch!
    All united, nor asunder
    That can compass such a Wonder!
    Or, to win you love prevails,
    Where her moving virtues fails.
      Beauties! 'tis not all those features,
    Placèd in the fairest creatures;
    Though their best they should discover,
    That can tempt from Her, a lover!
    'Tis not those soft snowy breasts
    Where Love, rocked in Pleasure, rests;
    And by their continual motions
    Draweth hearts to vain devotions!
    Nor the nectar that we sip
    From the honey-dropping lip!
    Nor those eyes, whence Beauty's lances
    Wound the heart with wanton glances!
    Nor those sought delights that lie
    In LOVE's hidden treasury!
    That can liking gain, where She
    Will the best belovèd be!
      For should those who think they may
    Draw my love from her away,
    Bring forth all their female graces!
    Wrap me in their close embraces!
    Practise all the Art they may!
    Weep! or sing! or kiss! or pray!
    And, with sighs and looks, come woo me!
    When they soonest may undo me,
    One poor thought of Her would arm me
    So, as CIRCE could not harm me!
    Since besides those excellences
    Wherewith others please the Senses,
    She, whom I have prizèd so,
    Yields delights for Reason too!

    Who could dote on thing so common
    As mere outward-handsome woman?
    Those Half-Beauties only win
    Fools, to let affection in!
    Vulgar wits, from Reason shaken,
    Are with such impostures taken!
    And, with all their art in love,
    Wantons can but wantons move!
    But when, unto those are joined,
    Those things which adorn the Mind;
    None their excellences see,
    But they straight enthrallèd be!
    Fools and wise men, worst and best,
    Subjects are to LOVE's _Arrest_;
    For when VIRTUE wooes a lover
    She's an unresisted mover,
    That will have no kind of "Nay!"
    And in love, brooks no delay.
      She can make the sensual wights
    To restrain their appetites;
    And her beauty, when they see,
    Spite of Vice, in love to be:
    Yea, (although themselves be bad)
    Praise the good they never had!
    She hath to her service brought
    Those that Her have set at nought,
    And can fair enough appear
    To inflame the most severe.
      She hath, oft, allurèd out
    The religiously devout
    From their cloisters, and their vows,
    To embrace what She allows!
    And to such contentments come
    As blind Zeal had barred them from;
    While (her laws misunderstood)
    They did Ill, for love of Good.
      Where I find True Worth to be
    Sweetest are their lips to me!
    And embraces tempt me so,
    More than outward beauties do,
    That my firm belief is this;
    If I ever do amiss,
    Seeming-Good, the bait will lay,
    That to Ill, shall me betray.
    Since where Shews of Goodness are,
    I am oft emboldened there,
    Freedoms so permit and use,
    Which I elsewhere do refuse;
    For because I think they mean,
    To allow no deed unclean.
      Yet where two, love VIRTUE shall,
    Both, at once, they seldom fall!
    For when one hath thoughts of Ill,
    T'other helps exile them still.

      My Fair VIRTUE's power is this,
    And that power the beauty is
    Which doth make Her, here exprest,
    Equally both Fair and Blest:
      This! was that contenting grace
    Which affection made me place
    With so dear respect, that never
    Can it fail, but last for ever.
      This! a Servant made me sworn,
    Who, before time, held in scorn
    To yield vassalage or duty;
    Though unto the Queen of Beauty!
    Yet that I, her Servant am,
    It shall more be to my fame,
    Than to own these woods and downs,
    Or be Lord of fifty towns:
    And, my Mistress, to be deemed,
    Should more honour be esteemed
    Than those titles to acquire
    Which most women most desire.
    Yea, when you a woman shall,
    Countess, or a Duchess call:
    That respect it shall not move,
    Neither gain her half such love
    As to say, "Lo! this is She
    That supposèd is to be
    Mistress to PHIL'ARETE!
    And that lovely Nymph, which he
    In a Pastoral Poem famed,
    And _Fair VIRTUE_, there hath named!"
      Yea, some ladies (ten to one!)
    If not many, now unknown,
    Will be very well apaid
    When, by chance, she hears it said
    She that "Fair One" is, whom I
    Have, here, praised concealedly.
      And though, now, this Age's Pride
    May so brave a Hope deride;
    Yet, when all their glories pass,
    As the thing that never was,
    And on monuments appear
    That they e'er had breathing here,
    Who envy it; She shall thrive
    In her fame, and honoured live;
    While Great Britain's Shepherds sing
    English in their Sonneting!
    And whoe'er, in future days,
    Shall bestow the utmost praise
    On his love, that any man
    Attribute to creature can;
    'Twill be this! that he hath dared,
    His and Mine to have compared.
      O, what stars did shine on me,
    When her eyes I first did see!
    And how good was their aspect,
    When we first did both affect!
    For I never since to changing
    Was inclined, or thought of ranging!

      Me, so oft my Fancy drew
    Here and there, that I ne'er knew
    Where to place Desire, before,
    So that range it might no more.
      But as he that passeth by
    Where, in all her jollity,
    FLORA's riches, in a row,
    Doth in seemly order grow;
    And a thousand flowers stand,
    Bending as to kiss his hand:
    Out of which delightful store,
    One, he may take, and no more!
    Long he pausing, doubteth whether
    Of those fair ones he should gather.
      First, the Primrose courts his eyes!
    Then, the Cowslip he espies!
    Next, the Pansy seems to woo him!
    Then, Carnations bow unto him!
    Which, whilst that enamoured Swain
    From the stalk, intends to strain;
    (As half fearing to be seen)
    Prettily, her leaves between,
    Peeps the Violet! pale to see
    That her virtues slightèd be:
    Which so much his liking wins
    That, to seize her, he begins;
    Yet before he stooped so low
    He, his wanton eye did throw
    On a stem that grew more high,
    And the Rose did there espy.
    Who, besides her precious scent,
    To procure his eyes' content,
    Did display her goodly breast;
    Where he found, at full exprest,
    All the Good that Nature showers
    On a thousand other flowers.
    Wherewith he, affected, takes it!
    His Beloved Flower, he makes it!
    And, without desire of more,
    Walks through all he saw before.
      So I, wandering but erewhile,
    Through the Garden of this Isle,
    Saw rich Beauties, I confess,
    And in number, numberless;
    And so differing lovely too,
    That I had a world to do,
    Ere I could set up my rest
    Where to choose, and choose the best.
      One I saw, whose Hair excellèd!
    On another's Brow there dwellèd
    Such a Majesty, it seemed
    She was best to be esteemed!
      This had, with her Speeches won me!
    That, with Silence had undone me!
    On her Lips, the Graces hung!
    T'other charmed me with her tongue!
    In her Eyes, a third did bear
    That which did anew ensnare!
    Then a fourth did fairer show,
    Yet wherein I did not know!
    Only this perceivèd I,
    Somewhat pleased my Fantasy.
      Now the Wealth, I most esteemed!
    Honour then, I better deemed!
    Next, the love of Beauty seized me!
    And then Virtue better pleased me!
      JUNO's love I nought esteemed!
    Whilst a VENUS fairer seemed!
    Nay, both could not me suffice,
    Whilst a PALLAS was more wise!
    Though I found enough in One
    To content, if still alone.
      AMARILLIS, I did woo!
    And I courted PHILLIS too!
    DAPHNE, for her love I chose!
    CLORIS, for that damask rose
    In her cheek, I held as dear!
    Yea, a thousand liked, well near!
    And in love with All together,
    Feared the enjoying Either!
    'Cause to be, of one possest,
    Barred the hope of all the rest.

      Thus I fondly fared, till Fate,
    (Which I must confess, in that,
    Did a greater favour to me,
    Than the world can malice do me)
    Shewed to me that matchless flower
    Subject for this Song of our.
    Whose perfection having eyed
    Reason instantly espied,
    That Desire, which ranged abroad,
    There, would find a period.
    And, no marvel! if it might:
    For it, there, hath all Delight;
    And in Her, hath Nature placed
    What each several Fair once graced.
      Nor am I, alone delighted,
    With those graces, all united,
    Which the Sense's eye doth find
    Scattered throughout Womankind.
    But my Reason finds perfections
    To inflame my Soul's affections:
    Yea, such virtues She possesseth,
    As, with firmest pleasures blesseth;
    And keeps sound that Beauty's state,
    Which would else grow ruinate.
      In this Flower are sweets, such store:
    I shall never wish for more!
    Nor be tempted out to stray
    For the fairest buds in May!

      Let, who list! for me, advance
    The admired flowers of France!
    Let, who will! praise and behold
    The reservèd Marigold!
    Let the sweet-breathed Violet, now,
    Unto whom she pleaseth, bow!
    And the fairest Lily spread,
    Where she will, her golden head!
    I have such a flower to wear;
    That for those, I do not care!
      Never shall my Fancy range!
    Nor once think again of change!
    Never will I, never more!
    Grieve or sigh, as heretofore!
    Nor within the lodgings lie
    Of Despair, or Jealousy!
      Let the young and happy Swains,
    Playing on the Britain plains,
    Court, unblamed, their shepherdesses!
    And with their gold-curlèd tresses
    Toy uncensured! until I
    Grudge at their prosperity!
      Let all Times, both Present, Past;
    And the Age that shall be last;
    Vaunt the beauties they bring forth!
    I have found in One, such worth!
    That, content, I neither care
    What the best before me were;
    Nor desire to live and see
    Who shall fair hereafter be.
    For I know the hand of Nature
    Will not make a fairer creature!
      Which, because succeeding days
    Shall confess, and add their praise
    In approving what my tongue
    (Ere they had their being) sung:
    Once again, come, lend an ear!
    And a Rapture you shall hear
    (Though I taste no Thespian spring)
    Will amaze you; whilst I sing!
      I do feel new Strains inspiring,
    And to such brave heights aspiring;
    That my Muse will touch a key,
    Higher than you've heard to-day!
      I have Beauties to unfold
    That deserve a Pen of Gold!
    Sweets that never dreamed of were!
    Things unknown; and such as Ear
    Never heard a Measure sound
    Since the sun first ran his round!

      When APELLES limbed to life,
    Loathèd VULCAN's lovely wife;
    With such beauties he did turn
    Each sweet feature, and each limb,
    And so curiously did place
    Every well becoming grace;
    That 'twas said, ere he could draw
    Such a Piece, he naked saw
    Many women in their prime
    And the fairest of that Time;
    From all which, he, parts did take,
    Which, aright disposed, make
    Perfect Beauty. So when you
    Know what I have yet to show,
    It will seem to pass so far
    Those things which expressèd are;
    That you will suppose I've been
    Privileged, where I have seen
    All the Good that's spread in parts
    Through a thousand women's hearts!
    With their fair'st conditions lie
    Bare, without hypocrisy!
    And that I have took from thence,
    Each dispersèd excellence
    To express Her, who hath gained
    More than ever One obtained.
      And yet, soft! I fear, in vain
    I have boasted such a Strain!
    Apprehensions ever are
    Greater than Expression, far!
    And my striving to disclose
    What I know, hath made me lose
    My Invention's better part:
    And my Hopes exceed my Art!
      Speak, I can; yet Think I more!
    Words, compared with Thoughts, are poor!
    And I find, had I begun
    Such a Strain, it would be done
    When we number all the sands
    Washed o'er perjured GODWIN's lands.
    For of things I should indite,
    Which, I know are infinite.

      I do yield! My Thoughts did climb
    Far above the power of Rhyme!
    And no wonder it is so,
    Since there is no Art can show
    Red in roses, white in snow;
    Nor express how they do grow.
    Yea, since bird, beast, stone, and tree,
    That inferior creatures be,
    Beauties have, which we confess
    Lines unable to express;
    They more hardly can enrol
    Those that do adorn a Soul.
      But suppose my Measures could
    Reach the height, I thought they would:
    Now, relate, I would not though,
    What did swell within me so.
    For if I should all descry,
    You would know as much as I!
    And those clowns the Muses hate,
    Would of things above them, prate!
    Or, with their profaning eyes,
    Come to view those mysteries
    Whereof, since they disesteemed them,
    Heaven hath unworthy deemed them!
      And besides, it seems to me,
    That your ears nigh tirèd be!
    I perceive the fire that charmeth
    And inspireth me, scarce warmeth
    Your chill hearts! Nay, sure, were I
    Melted into Poesy,
    I should not a Measure hit,
    (Though APOLLO prompted it)
    Which should able be to leave
    That in you, which I conceive!
      You are cold! and here I may
    Waste my vital heat away
    Ere you will be moved so much
    As to feel one perfect touch
    Of those Sweets; which, yet concealed,
    Swell my breast, to be revealed.

      Now, my Words, I therefore cease!
    That my mounting Thoughts, in peace,
    May, alone, those pleasures share,
    Whereof Lines unworthy are!
    And so you, an end do see,
    Of my Song; though long it be!

[Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

    No sooner had the Shepherd PHIL'ARET,
    To this Description, his last period set;
    But instantly, descending from a wood,
    Which on a rising ground, adjoining stood,
    A troop of Satyrs, to the view of all,
    Came dancing, of a new devisèd brall.
    The measures they did pace, by Him were taught them,
    Who, to so rare a gentleness had brought them,
    That he had learned their rudeness an observing
    Of such respect unto the well deserving;
    As they became to no man else, a terror,
    But such as did persist in wilful error:
    And they, the Ladies, made no white affeared
    Though since that time, they some Great Men have scared.
      Their dance, the _Whipping of Abuse_ they named;
    And though the Shepherd, since that, hath been blamed:
    Yet, now, 'tis daily seen in every town!
    And there's no Country Dance that's better known!
    Nor that hath gained a greater commendation
    'Mongst those that love an honest recreation!
      This Scene presented; from a grove was heard
    A Set of Viols; and there, was prepared
    A Country Banquet, which this Shepherd made
    To entertain the Ladies, in the shade.
    And 'tis supposed, his Song prolongèd was
    Of purpose, that it might be brought to pass.
    So well it was performed that each one deemed,
    The banquet might the City have beseemed;
    Yet, better was their Welcome, than their Fare,
    Which they perceived, and the merrier were.

      One Beauty though, there sat among the rest,
    That looked as sad as if her heart oppressed
    With love had been. Whom PHIL'ARET beholding
    Sit so demurely, and her arms enfolding:
      "Lady!" quoth he, "am I, or this poor cheer,
    The cause that you so melancholy are?
    For if the object of your thoughts be higher,
    It fits nor me to know them, nor inquire:
    But if from me it cometh, that offends;
    I seek the cause, that I may make amends!"

      "Kind Swain!" said she, "it is nor so! nor so!
    No fault in you! nor in your cheer I know!
    Nor do I think there is a thought in me,
    That can too worthy of your knowledge be!
    Nor have I, many a day, more pleasure had
    Than here I find, though I have seemèd sad.
      My heart is sometimes heavy when I smile;
    And when I grieve, I often sing the while.
    Nor is it sadness that doth me possess,
    But rather, musing, with much seriousness,
    Upon that multitude of sighs and tears,
    With those innumerable doubts and fears
    Through which you passed, ere you could acquire
    A settled Hope of gaining your Desire.
    For you dared love a Nymph, so great and fair,
    As might have brought a Prince unto despair;
    And, sure, the excellency of your Passions
    Did then produce as excellent impressions.
      If, therefore, me the suit may well become!
    And if to you, it be not wearisome!
    In name of all the Ladies, I entreat
    That one of those sad Strains you would repeat,
    Which you composed, when greatest Discontent
    Unsought-for help, to your Invention lent!"

      "Fair Nymphs!" said PHIL'ARET, "I will so do!
    For though your Shepherd doth no Courtship know,
    He hath Humanity! and what's in me,
    To do you service, may commanded be!"

    So, taking down a lute, that near him hung;
    He gave't his boy, who played: whilst this, he sung.


                             [_SONNET I._]

                        _"Ah, me!"_
                      _Am I the Swain_
                  _That late, from sorrow free,_
                _Did all the cares on earth disdain?_
            _And still untouched, as at some safer games,_
      _Played with the burning coals of Love, and Beauty's flames?_
    _Was't I, could dive, and sound each Passion's secret depth at will;_
    _And from those huge overwhelmings, rise, by help of Reason, still?_
          _And am I, now, O heavens! (for trying this in vain)_
              _So sunk, that I shall never rise again?_
                  _Then let Despair set Sorrow's string_
                    _For Strains, that doleful'st be!_
                          _And I will sing_
                            _"Ah, me."_

                            _But why,_
                          _O fatal Time!_
                    _Dost Thou constrain, that I_
              _Should perish in my Youth's sweet prime?_
          _I, but a while ago, You cruel Powers!_
      _In spite of Fortune, cropped Contentment's sweetest flowers._
    _And yet, unscorned, serve a gentle Nymph, the fairest She,_
    _That ever was beloved of Man, or eyes did ever see._
        _Yea, one, whose tender heart would rue for my distress;_
          _Yet I, poor I! must perish nay-the-less:_
              _And, which much more augments my care,_
                    _Unmoaned, I must die!_
                        _And no man e'er_
                          _Know why!_

                          _Thy leave,_
                        _My dying Song!_
                    _Yet take! ere Grief bereave_
                _The breath which I enjoy too long._
          _Tell thou that Fair One this! "My Soul prefers_
        _Her love above my life, and that I died hers!_
    _And let Him be, for evermore, to her remembrance dear,_
    _Who loved the very thought of Her, whilst he remained here!"_
          _And now, farewell, thou place of my unhappy birth!_
            _Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth:_
                  _Since me, my wonted joys forsake,_
                      _And all my trust deceive;_
                          _Of all, I take_
                            _My leave!_

                            _Farewell,_
                      _Sweet Groves, to you!_
                  _You Hills, that highest dwell;_
              _And all you humble Vales, adieu!_
            _You wanton Brooks! and solitary Rocks!_
        _My dear Companions all! and you, my tender Flocks!_
    _Farewell, my Pipe! and all those pleasing Songs, whose moving Strains_
    _Delighted once the fairest Nymphs that dance upon the plains!_
          _You Discontentments (whose deep and over-deadly smart_
              _Have, without pity, broke the truest heart)!_
                  _Sighs! Tears! and every sad Annoy_
                      _That erst did with me dwell!_
                          _And all others' Joy!_
                              _Farewell!_

                             _Adieu_
                        _Fair Shepherdesses!_
                    _Let garlands of sad yew_
                  _Adorn your dainty golden tresses!_
              _I that loved you, and often, with my quill_
          _Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill!_
    _I, whom you loved so; and with a sweet and chaste embrace;_
    _Yea, with a thousand rarer favours, would vouchsafe to grace!_
          _I, now, must leave you all alone! of Love to 'plain,_
              _And never Pipe, nor never Sing again_
                  _I must, for evermore, be gone!_
                    _And, therefore, bid I you,_
                        _And every one,_
                            _Adieu!_

                              _I die!_
                          _For O, I feel_
                  _Death's horrors drawing nigh!_
                _And all this frame of Nature reels!_
              _My hopeless heart, despairing of relief,_
        _Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief!_
    _Which hath so ruthless torn, so racked, so tortured every vein,_
    _All comfort comes too late, to have it ever cured again._
        _My swimming head begins to dance Death's giddy round!_
            _A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound!_
                _Benumbed is my cold-sweating brow!_
                    _A dimness shuts my eye!_
                        _And now, O now,_
                            _I die!_

       *       *       *       *       *

    So movingly these lines he did express,
    And to a tune so full of heaviness;
    As if, indeed, his purpose had been past
    To live no longer than the Song did last.
    Which in the Nymphs, such tender passion bred,
    That some of them, did tears of pity shed.

      This she perceiving, who first craved the Song,
    "Shepherd!" she said, "although it be no wrong
    Nor grief to you, those Passions to recall
    Which, heretofore, you have been pained withal!
    But comforts rather, since they, now, are over;
    And you, it seemeth, an enjoying lover:
    Yet some Nymphs among us, I do see;
    Who, so much movèd with your Passions be,
    That, if my aim I have taken aright,
    Their thoughts will hardly let them sleep to-night.
    I dare not, therefore, beg of you again
    To sing another of the selfsame Strain;
    For fear it breed within them, more unrest
    Than women's weaknesses can well digest.
      Yet, in your Measures, such content you have!
    That one Song more, I will presume to crave.
    And if your memory preserves of those
    Which you, of your affections did compose
    Before you saw this Mistress; let us hear
    What kind of Passions, then, within you were!"
      To which request, he instantly obeyed;
    And this ensuing Song, both sung and played.


                              _SONNET II._

    _You gentle Nymphs! that on these meadows play,_
    _And oft relate the loves of Shepherds young;_
    _Come, sit you down! For if you please to stay,_
    _Now may you hear an uncouth Passion sung!_
        _A Lad there is, and I am that poor Groom_;
        That's fall'n in love, and cannot tell with whom!

    _O do not smile at sorrow, as a jest!_
    _With others' cares, good natures movèd be;_
    _And I should weep, if you had my unrest!_
    _Then, at my grief, how can you merry be?_
        _Ah, where is tender pity now become?_
        I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

    _I, that have oft, the rarest features viewed,_
    _And Beauty in her best perfection seen;_
    _I, that have laughed at them that love pursued,_
    _And ever free from such affections been:_
        _Lo, now at last, so cruel is my doom!_
        I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

    _My heart is full nigh bursting with Desire;_
    _Yet cannot find from whence these longings flow:_
    _My breast doth burn, but She that lights the fire,_
    _I never saw, nor can I come to know._
        _So great a bliss, my fortune keeps me from_;
        That though I dearly love, I know not whom!

    _Ere I had twice four Springs renewed seen,_
    _The force of Beauty I began to prove;_
    _And ere I nine years old had fully been,_
    _It taught me how to frame a Song of Love,_
        _And little thought I, this day should have come_,
        Before that I, to love had found out whom!

    _For on my chin, the mossy down you see!_
    _And in my veins, well heated blood doth glow!_
    _Of Summers I have seen twice three times three;_
    _And fast, my youthful time away doth go!_
        _That much I fear, I agèd shall become,_
        _And still complain_, I love, I know not whom!

    _O, why had I a heart bestowed on me,_
    _To cherish dear affections, so inclined?_
    _Since I am so unhappy born to be_
    _No Object, for so true a Love to find._
        _When I am dead, it will be missed of some;_
        _Yet, now I live_, I love, I know not whom!

    _I to a thousand beauteous Nymphs am known!_
    _A hundred Ladies' favours do I wear!_
    _I, with as many, half in love am grown;_
    _Yet none of them, I find, can be my Dear!_
        _Methinks, I have a Mistress yet to come!_
        _Which makes me sing_, I love, I know not whom!

    _There lives no Swain doth stronger Passion prove_
    _For her, whom most he covets to possess;_
    _Than doth my heart, that being full of love_
    _Knows not to whom it may the same profess!_
        _For he that is despised, hath sorrow some;_
        _But he hath more_, that loves, and knows not whom!

    _Knew I my Love, as many others do,_
    _To some one object might my thoughts be bent!_
    _So they divided, should not wandering go_
    _Until the Soul's united force be spent._
        _As his, that seeks and never finds a home,_
        _Such is my rest_, that love, and know not whom!

    _Those, whom the frowns of jealous friends divide,_
    _May live to meet, and descant on their woe;_
    _And he hath gained a Lady for his bride,_
    _That durst not woo her Maid, a while ago._
        _But O, what end unto my hopes can come?_
        That am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

    _Poor COLLIN grieves that he was late disdained;_
    _And CLORIS doth, for WILLY's absence pine;_
    _Sad THIRSIS weeps, for his sick PHOEBE pained:_
    _But all their sorrows cannot equal mine!_
        _A greater care, alas, on me is come._
        I am in love, and cannot tell with whom!

    _NARCISSUS like, did I affect my shade;_
    _Some shadow yet I had to dote upon!_
    _Or did I love some Image of the dead,_
    _Whose Substance had not breathed long agone?_
        _I might despair! and so an end would come_;
        But O, I love! and cannot tell you whom!

    _Once, in a dream, methought, my Love I viewed,_
    _But never, waking, could her face behold;_
    _And, doubtless, that resemblance was but shewed_
    _That more my tirèd heart, torment it should._
        _For, since that time, more grieved I am become;_
        _And more in love_, I cannot tell with whom!

    _When on my bed, at night, to rest I lie,_
    _My watchful eyes, with tears bedew my cheek;_
    _And then, "O would it once were day!" I cry,_
    _Yet when it comes, I am as far to seek._
        _For who can tell, though all the earth he roam_;
        Or when, or where to find, he knows not whom?

    _O, if she may be among the beauteous trains_
    _Of all you Nymphs, that haunt the silver rills!_
    _Or if you know her, Ladies of the plains!_
    _Or you, that have your bowers on the hills!_
        _Tell, if you can, who will my Love become?_
        Or I shall die, and never know for whom!

       *       *       *       *       *

    The Ladies smiled oft, when this they heard,
    Because the Passion strange to them appeared,
    And stranger was it, since by his expression,
    As well as by his own unfeigned confession,
    It seemèd true! But having sung it out;
    And seeing, scarcely manners, they it thought,
    To urge him further: thus to them, he spake.
    "Fair Ladies! forasmuch as doubt you make
    To re-command me; of mine own accord,
    Another Strain I freely will afford.
    It shall not be of Love, nor any Song
    Which to the praise of Beauty doth belong;
    But that, hereafter, when you hence are gone,
    Your Shepherd may be sometime thought upon!
    To shew you also, what Content the Field
    And lonely Grove to honest minds may yield!
      That you, my humble fate may not despise,
    When you are returned unto your braveries;
    And not suppose that, in these homely bowers,
    I hug my fortune, 'cause I know not yours.
    Such Lines I'll sing, as were composed by me,
    When some proud Courtiers, where I happed to be,
    Did (like themselves) of their own glories prate,
    As in contempt of my more happy state.
    And these they be--"


                           _SONNET_ [_III._]

    _Lordly Gallants! tell me this!_
    _(Though my safe Content you weigh not!)_
    _In your greatness, what one bliss_
    _Have you gained, that I enjoy not?_
        _You have Honours, you have Wealth!_
        _I have Peace, and I have Health!_
        _All the day I merry make;_
        _And, at night, no care I take!_

    _Bound to none, my fortunes be;_
    _This, or that man's fall, I fear not!_
    _Him I love, that loveth me;_
    _For the rest, a pin I care not!_
        _You are sad, when others chafe;_
        _And grow merry as they laugh!_
        _I, that hate it, and am free,_
        _Laugh and weep, as pleaseth me!_

    _You may boast of favours shown,_
    _Where your service is applied!_
    _But my pleasures are mine own,_
    _And to no man's humours tied._
        _You oft flatter, sooth, and feign!_
        _I, such baseness do disdain!_
        _And to none, be slave I would,_
        _Though my fetters might be gold!_

    _By greatest titles, some believe,_
    _Highest honours are attained;_
    _And yet Kings have power to give_
    _To their Fools, what these have gained._
        _Where they favour, there they may_
        _All their Names of Honour lay!_
        _But I look not, raised to be,_
        _Till mine own wing carry me!_

    _Seek to raise your titles higher!_
    _They are toys not worth my sorrow._
    _Those that we, to-day, admire,_
    _Prove the Age's scorn to-morrow!_
        _Take your Honours! Let me find_
        _Virtue in a free born mind!_
        _This, the greatest Kings that be,_
        _Cannot give, nor take from me!_

    _Though I vainly do not vaunt_
    _Large demesnes to feed my pleasure:_
    _I have favours, where you want,_
    _That would buy Respect with treasure!_
        _You have lands lie here, and there;_
        _But my wealth is everywhere!_
        _And this addeth to my store_,
        Fortune cannot make me poor!

    _Say, you purchase, with your pelf,_
    _Some respect, where you importune!_
    _Those may love me, for myself;_
    _That regard you for your fortune!_
        _Rich, or born of high degree,_
        _Fools, as well as you, may be!_
        _But that Peace in which I live,_
        _No Descent, nor Wealth can give!_

    _If you boast that you may gain_
    _The respect of high-born Beauties;_
    _Know I never wooed in vain,_
    _Nor preferrèd scornèd duties!_
        _She I love, hath all delight,_
        _Rosy red with lily white;_
        _And, whoe'er your Mistress be,_
        _Flesh and blood as good as She!_

    _Note of me, was never took_
    _For my womanlike perfections;_
    _But so like a Man I look,_
    _It hath gained me best affections!_
        _For my love, as many showers_
        _Have been wept, as have for yours!_
        _And yet none doth me condemn_
        _For abuse, or scorning them!_

    _Though of dainties, you have store_
    _To delight a choicer palate!_
    _Yet your taste is pleased no more_
    _Than is mine, in one poor sallat!_
        _You to please your senses feed!_
        _But I eat, good blood to breed!_
        _And am most delighted then_
        _When I spend it like a man!_

    _Though you Lord it over me;_
    _You, in vain, thereof have bravèd!_
    _For those Lusts, my servants be;_
    _Whereunto your minds are slavèd!_
        _To yourselves you wise appear,_
        _But, alas, deceived you are!_
        _You do, foolish me esteem;_
        _And are that, which I do seem!_

    _When your faults I open lay;_
    _You are moved, and mad with vexing!_
    _But you ne'er could do, or say_
    _Ought to drive me to perplexing!_
        _Therefore, my despisèd power_
        _Greater is, by far, than your!_
        _And whate'er you think of me,_
        _In your minds, you poorer be!_

    _You are pleasèd, more or less,_
    _As men, well or ill report you!_
    _And shew discontentedness_
    _When the Times forbear to court you!_
        _That in which my pleasures be,_
        _No man can divide from me!_
        _And my care it adds not to,_
        _Whatso others say or do._

    _Be not proud, because you view_
    _You, by thousands are attended!_
    _For, alas, it is not You,_
    _But Your Fortune! that's befriended._
        _Where I shew of love have got,_
        _Such a danger, fear I not!_
        _Since they nought can seek of me;_
        _But for love, beloved to be._

    _When your hearts have everything;_
    _You are pleasantly disposed!_
    _But I can both laugh and sing,_
    _Though my foes have me enclosed._
        _Yea, when dangers me do hem,_
        _I delight in scorning them!_
        _More than you, in your renown;_
        _Or a King can, in his crown._

    _You do bravely domineer_
    _Whilst the sun upon you shineth!_
    _Yet if any storm appear,_
    _Basely, then, your mind declineth!_
        _But, or shine, or rain, or blow,_
        _I, my resolutions know!_
        _Living, dying, thrall, or free;_
        _At one height, my Mind shall be!_

    _When in thraldom, I have lain;_
    _Me, not worth your thought you prizèd!_
    _But your malice was in vain,_
    _For your favours I despisèd._
        _And howe'er you value me,_
        _I, with praise, shall thought on be!_
        _When the world esteems you not,_
        _And your Names shall be forgot._

    _In these thoughts my riches are,_
    _Now, though poor and mean you deem me!_
    _I am pleased, and do not care_
    _How the Times, or you esteem me!_
        _For those toys that make you gay._
        _Are but Play Games for a Day!_
        _And when Nature craves her due,_
        _I, as brave shall be, as you!_

       *       *       *       *       *

    Here PHIL'ARET did give his Song an ending.
    To which the Nymphs so seriously attending
    About him sate, as if they had supposed
    He still had somewhat more to be disclosed.
    And, well they know not, whether did belong
    Most praise unto the Shepherd, or his Song.
    For though, they must confess, they often hear
    Those Lays, which much more deeply learned are;
    Yet, when they well considered of the place,
    With how unlikely (in their thought) it was
    To give them hope of hearing of such a Strain;
    Or that so young, and so obscure a Swain
    Should such a matchless Beauty's favour get;
    And know her worth so well, to sing of it:
    They wondered at it. And some thus surmised
    That He a greater man was, so disguised;
    Or else that She, whom he so much had praised,
    Some goddess was, that those his Measures raised,
    Of purpose, to that rare attainèd height
    In Envy's, and presuming Art's despite.
      But whilst they, musing with themselves, bethought
    Which way, out of this Shepherd to have wrought
    What Nymph this Fair One was? and where she lived?
    Lo, at that very instant, there arrived
    Three men that, by their habits, Courtiers seemed:
    For, though obscure, by some, he is esteemed,
    Among the Greatest: who do not contemn,
    In his retirèd walks, to visit him;
    And there, they taste those pleasures of the mind,
    Which they can, nor in Court, nor City find.
      Some news or message, these new guests had brought him;
    And to make haste away, it seems, besought him:
    For instantly he rose! And that his nurture
    Might not be taxed by a rude departure,
    Himself excusing; he, those Nymphs did pray
    His noble friends might bring him on their way.
    "Who, as it seems," said he, "were therefore come,
    That they might wait upon him to their home."
      So, with their favour, he departed thence;
    And, as they thought, to meet her Excellence,
    Of whom he sung. Yet many deem that this
    But an _Idea_ of a Mistress is:
    Because to none, he yet had deigned the telling
    Her proper name; nor shown her place of dwelling!

[Illustration]

      When he was gone, a Lady, from among
    Those Nymphs, took up his lute, and sang this Song.


                          _THE NYMPH'S SONG._

    _Gentle Swain! Good speed befall thee!_
    _And in love still prosper thou!_
    _Future Times shall happy, call thee!_
    _Though thou lie neglected now._
        _Virtue's lovers shall command thee!_
        _And perpetual fame attend thee!_

    _Happy are these woody mountains,_
    _In whose shadows, thou dost hide!_
    _And as happy, are those fountains_
    _By whose murmurs, thou dost 'bide!_
        _For Contents are here excelling,_
        _More than in a Prince's dwelling._

    _These, thy flocks do clothing bring thee!_
    _And thy food, out of the fields:_
    _Pretty songs, the birds do sing thee!_
    _Sweet perfumes the meadow yields:_
        _And what more is worth the seeing?_
        _Heaven and Earth, thy prospect being!_

    _None comes hither, who denies thee_
    _Thy contentments, for despite;_
    _Neither any that envies thee,_
    _That wherein thou dost delight._
        _But all happy things are meant thee!_
        _And whatever may content thee!_

    _Thy Affection, Reason measures,_
    _And distempers none it feeds:_
    _Still so harmless are thy pleasures,_
    _That no other's grief it breeds._
        _And if night beget thee sorrow;_
        _Seldom stays it till the morrow._

    _Why do foolish men so vainly_
    _Seek contentment in their store?_
    _Since they may perceive so plainly_
    _Thou art rich, in being poor!_
        _And that they are vexed about it;_
        _Whilst thou merry are without it!_

    _Why are idle brains devising_
    _How high titles may be gained!_
    _Since, by those poor toys despising,_
    _Thou hast higher things obtained!_
        _For the man who scorns to crave them,_
        _Greater is than they that have them._

    _If all men could taste that sweetness_
    _Thou dost, in thy meanness, know!_
    _Kings would be to seek, where greatness_
    _And their honours to bestow._
        _For it such content would breed them,_
        _As they would not think they need them._

    _And if those, who so aspiring_
    _To the Court preferments be,_
    _Knew how worthy the desiring_
    _Those things are, enjoyed by thee!_
        _Wealth and titles would, hereafter,_
        _Subjects be for scorn and laughter._

    _He that Courtly styles affected,_
    _Should a May-Lord's honour have;_
    _He that heaps of Wealth collected,_
    _Should be counted as a slave:_
        _And the man, with few'st things cumbered,_
        _With the noblest should be numbered._

    _Thou, their folly hast discerned;_
    _That neglect thy mind and thee!_
    _And to slight them, thou hast learned,_
    _Of what title e'er they be!_
        _That, no more with thee obtaineth;_
        _Than with them, thy meanness gaineth._

    _All their riches, honours, pleasures,_
    _Poor unworthy trifles seem;_
    _If comparèd with thy treasures!_
    _And do merit no esteem:_
        _For they, true contents provide thee,_
        _And from them, can none divide thee._

    _Whether thrallèd, or exilèd;_
    _Whether poor, or rich thou be!_
    _Whether praisèd, or revilèd;_
    _Not a rush it is to thee!_
        _This, nor that, thy rest doth win thee;_
        _But the Mind, which is within thee!_

    _Then, O, why so madly dote we_
    _On those things that us o'erload?_
    _Why no more their vainness note we,_
    _But still make of them a god?_
        _For, alas, they still deceive us;_
        _And, in greatest need, they leave us!_

    _Therefore have the Fates provided_
    _Well, thou happy Swain! for thee!_
    _That may'st here, so far divided_
    _From the world's distractions be!_
        _Thee, distemper let them never;_
        _But in peace continue ever!_

    _In these lonely groves, enjoy thou_
    _That contentment here begun!_
    _And thy hours, so pleased, employ thou_
    _Till the latest glass be run!_
        _From a fortune so assured,_
        _By no temptings, be allured!_

    _Much good do 't them, with their glories,_
    _Who, in Courts of Princes dwell!_
    _We have read in antique stories_
    _How some rose, and how they fell._
        _And 'tis worthy well the heeding,_
        _"There's like end, where's like proceeding."_

    _Be thou still, in thy affection,_
    _To thy noble Mistress, true!_
    _Let her never-matched perfection_
    _Be the same unto thy view!_
        _And let never other Beauty_
        _Make thee fail in love or duty!_

    _For if thou shalt not estrangèd,_
    _From thy course professed, be;_
    _But remain, for aye, unchangèd,_
    _Nothing shall have power on thee!_
        _Those that slight thee now, shall love thee;_
        _And, in spite of spite, approve thee!_

    _So those virtues now neglected;_
    _To be more esteemed, will come:_
    _Yea, those toys so much affected,_
    _Many shall be wooèd from._
        _And the Golden Age, deplored,_
        _Shall, by some, be thought restored._

[Illustration]

    Thus sang the Nymph! so rarely-well inspired,
    That all the hearers, her brave Strains admired;
    And (as I heard by some that there attended)
    When this her Song was finished, all was ended.

[Illustration]


                            _A Postscript._

    If any carp, for that my younger Times
    Brought forth such idle fruit, as these slight rhymes,
    It is no matter, so they do not swear
    That they so ill employed, never were.
    Whilst their Desires, perhaps, they looselier spent;
    I gave my heats of youth this better vent:
    And, oft, by writing thus, the blood have tamed,
    Which some, with reading wanton Lays enflamed.
      Nor care I, though their censure some have past,
    Because my Songs exceed the Fidler's Last:
    For do they think that I will make my Measures
    The longer, or the shorter, for their pleasures?
    Or maim, or curtalise my free Invention,
    Because Fools weary are, of their attention!
    No! Let them know, who do their length condemn;
    I Make to please myself, and not for them!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Alresford Pool.

[11] Alresford, 7 miles N. of Winchester.

[12] Winchester.

[13] lawn.



                             A MISCELLANY

                                  OF

              EPIGRAMS, SONNETS, EPITAPHS, AND SUCH OTHER
                  VERSES, AS WERE FOUND WRITTEN WITH
                         THE POEM AFOREGOING.


                 _Of the Invention of the Nine Muses._

    The acts of Ages past doth CLIO write.
    The Tragedies', MELPOMENE's delight.
    THALIA is with Comedies contented.
    EUTERPE, first, the Shepherd's Pipe invented.
    TERPSICHORE doth Song and Lute apply.
    Dancing ERATO found Geometry.
    CALLIOPE on loving Verses dwells.
    The secrets of the stars, URANIA tells.
    POLYHYMNIA, with choice words, the speech doth trim
    And great APOLLO shares with all of them.
    Those thrice three Feminines, we Muses call;
    But that one Masculine is worth them all!


                     _Of the Labours of HERCULES._

    First, he the strong Nemæan lion slew;
    The many-headed Hydra, next, o'erthrew.
    The Erymanthian Boar he, thirdly, foils,
    Then of his golden horns, the Stag he spoils.
    The foul Stymphalian birds he, fifthly, frayed:
    Next, he, the Queen of Amazons o'erswayed.
    Then cleansed AUGIAS' stalls, with filth so full;
    And, eighthly, tamed the untamed Bull.
    He slew proud DIOMEDES with his horses.
    From triple GERION, his rich beard he forces.
    He slew the Dragon for the fruit of gold:
    And made black CERBERUS the day behold.


         _Being left by a Gentleman in his dining-room, where_
            _was nothing but a Map of England to entertain_
                 _him; he thus turned it into Verse._

    Fair England, in the bosom of the seas,
    Amid her two and fifty Provinces,
    Sits like a glorious Empress, whose rich throne
    Great Nymphs of Honour come to wait upon.
      First, in the height of bravery, appears
    Kent, East and South and Middle Saxon Shires;
    Next Surrey, Berkshire and Southampton get,
    With Dorset, Wilton, and rich Somerset.
    Then Devon, with the Cornish promontory,
    Glou'ster and Worc'ster, fair Sabrina's glory!
    Then Salop, Suffolk, Norfolk large and fair:
    Oxford and Cambridge, that thrice learned pair!
    Then Lincoln, Derby, Yorkshire, Nottingham,
    Northampton, Warwick, Stafford, Buckingham,
    Chester and Lancaster with herds well stored,
    Huntington, Hertford, Rutland, Hereford.
    Then Princely Durham, Bedford, Leic'ster and
    Northumber-, Cumber-, and cold Westmoreland.
      Brave English Shires! With whom, loved equally,
    Welsh Monmouth, Radnor, and Montgomery
    Add all the glory, to her train, they can:
    So doth Glamorgan, Brecknock, Cardigan,
    Carnarvon, Denbigh, Merionethshire,
    With Anglesea, which o'er the sea doth rear
    Her lofty head. And the first, though last,
    Flint, Pembroke, and Caermarthen might be placed.
    For all of these, unto their power, maintain
    Their mistress, England, with a royal train.
    Yea, for Supporters, at each hand hath she,
    The Wight and Man, that two brave islands be.

      From these, I, to the Scottish Nymphs had journeyed;
    But that my friend was back again returned:
    Who having kindly brought me to his home,
    Alone did leave me in his dining-room;
    Where I was fain (and glad I had the hap!)
    To beg an entertainment of his Map.


               _An Epitaph upon the right virtuous Lady,_
                           _the Lady SCOTT._

    Let none suppose this relic of the Just
    Was here wrapped up, to perish in the dust!
    No, like best fruits, her time she fully stood,
    Then, being grown in Faith, and ripe in Good
    (With stedfast hope that She, another day,
    Should rise with CHRIST), with Death, here down she lay.
    And, that each part which Her in life had graced,
    Preserved might be, and meet again at last;
    The Poor, the World, the Heavens, and the Grave,
    Her Alms, her Praise, her Soul, her Body have.


             _An Epitaph upon a Woman and her Child buried_
                     _together in the same Grave._

    Beneath this marble stone doth lie
    The subject of Death's tyranny;
    A Mother, who, in this close tomb,
    Sleeps with the issue of her womb.
    Though cruelly inclined was He.
    And, with the Fruit, shook down the Tree;
    Yet was his cruelty in vain!
    For Tree and Fruit shall spring again.


                          _A Christmas Carol._

    _So, now, is come our joyful'st feast;_
    _Let every man be jolly!_
    _Each room with ivy leaves is drest;_
    _And every post, with holly._
        _Though some churls at our mirth repine;_
        _Round your foreheads, garlands twine!_
        _Drown sorrow in a cup of wine;_
    _And let us all be merry!_

    _Now, all our neighbours' chimneys smoke,_
    _And Christmas blocks be burning;_
    _Their ovens, they with baked meats choke,_
    _And all their spits are turning._
        _Without the door, let sorrow lie!_
        _And if, for cold, it hap to die;_
        _We'll bury it in a Christmas pie,_
    _And evermore be merry!_

    _Now, every lad is wondrous trim,_
    _And no man minds his labour;_
    _Our lasses have provided them,_
    _A bagpipe and a tabor._
        _Young men and maids, and girls and boys,_
        _Give life to one another's joys;_
        _And you, anon, shall by the noise,_
    _Perceive that they are merry._

    _Ranking misers, now, do sparing shun;_
    _Their Hall, of music soundeth!_
    _And dogs thence, with whole shoulders run;_
    _So all things there aboundeth._
        _The country folk themselves advance;_
        _For_ Crowdy-Mutton_'s come out of France!_
        _And JACK shall pipe, and JILL shall dance,_
    _And all the town be merry._

    _NED SWASH hath fetched his Bands from pawn,_
    _And all his best apparel;_
    _Brisk NELL hath bought a Ruff of Lawn_
    _With droppings of the barrel:_
        _And those that hardly, all the year,_
        _Had bread to eat, or rags to wear,_
        _Will have both clothes and dainty fare;_
    _And all the day be merry._

    _Now poor men, to the Justices,_
    _With capons make their arrants:_
    _And if they hap to fail of these,_
    _They plague them with their warrants._
        _But, now, they feed them with good cheer,_
        _And what they want, they take in beer;_
        _For_ Christmas comes but once a year!
    _And then they shall be merry._

    _Good farmers in the country, nurse_
    _The poor that else were undone;_
    _Some landlords spend their money worse_
    _On lust and pride in London._
        _There, the roist'rers they play:_
        _Drab and Dice their lands away;_
        _Which may be ours, another day,_
    _And therefore let's be merry!_

    _The client now his suit forbears,_
    _The prisoner's heart is eased._
    _The debtor drinks away his cares,_
    _And, for the time, is pleased._
        _Though others' purses be more fat;_
        _Why should we pine, or grieve thereat?_
        Hang Sorrow! Care will kill a cat!
    _And therefore let's be merry!_

    _Hark, how the wags abroad do call_
    _Each other forth to rambling!_
    _Anon, you'll see them in the Hall,_
    _For nuts and apples sc[r]ambling._
        _Hark, how the roofs with laughter sound!_
        _Anon, they'll think the house goes round;_
        _For they, the cellar's depth have found,_
    _And, there, they will be merry._

    _The wenches, with their wassail bowls,_
    _About the streets are singing;_
    _The boys are come to catch the owls;_
    _The Wild Mare in is bringing:_
        _Our kitchen boy hath broke his box;_
        _And to the dealing of an ox,_
        _Our honest neighbours come by flocks;_
    _And, here, they will be merry._

    _Now_ Kings _and_ Queens, _poor sheepcots have,_
    _And mate with everybody;_
    _The honest, now, may play the_ Knave
    _And wise men play at_ Noddy.
        _Some youths will now a Mumming go,_
        _Some others play at_ Rowland-hoe,
        _And twenty other gameboys moe_
    _Because they will be merry_.

    _Then, wherefore, in these merry days_
    _Should we, I pray! be duller?_
    _No! let us sing some Roundelays_
    _To make our mirth the fuller!_
        _And whil'st, thus inspired, we sing;_
        _Let all the streets with echoes ring!_
        _Woods and Hills, and everything,_
    _Bear witness we are merry!_


               _An Epitaph upon the Porter of a Prison._

    Here lie the bones of him, that was, of late,
    A churlish Porter of a Prison gate!
    Death, many an evening, at his lodging knocked;
    But could not take him, for the door was locked!
    Yet, at a tavern, late one night, he found him;
    And getting him into the cellar, drowned him.
    On which the world (that still the worst is thinking)
    Reports abroad that "He was killed with drinking!"
    Yet let no Prisoner, whether thief or debtor,
    Rejoice, as if his fortune were the better!
    Their sorrow's likely to be ne'er the shorter!
    The Warden lives! though Death hath took the Porter.


                     _A Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss_.

      Now gentle sleep hath closèd up those eyes,
    Which waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;
    And free access unto that sweet lip lies,
    From whence I long, the rosy breath to draw.
      Methinks, no wrong it were, if I should steal
    From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss!
    None sees the theft, that would the theft reveal!
    Nor rob I her, of ought which she can miss!
      Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
    There would be little sign I had done so!
    Why then should I, this robbery delay?
    O, she may wake! and therewith angry grow!
        Well, if she do: I'll back restore that one;
        And twenty hundred thousand more for loan!


                 _An Epitaph upon ABRAHAM GOODFELLOW,_
                      _a common Alehouse hunter._

    Beware, thou look not who hereunder lies!
    Unless thou long to weep away thine eyes.
    This man, as sorrowful report doth tell us,
    Was, when he lived, the Prince of all Good Fellows.
    That day he died, it cannot be believed
    How, out of reason, all the Alewives grieved.
    And what abominable lamentation
    They made at _Black Boy_, and at _Salutation_.
    They howled and cried, and, ever more, among,
    This was the burden of their woful Song.
    _Well, go thy ways! thy like hath never been!_
    _Nor shall thy match again be ever seen!_
    _For, out of doubt, now thou art dead and gone,_
    _There's many a Taphouse will be quite undone!_
    _And Death, by taking thee, did them more scath_
    _Than yet, the Alehouse Project done them hath._
      Lo, such a one but yesterday, was he;
    But now, he much is altered, you do see!
    Since he came hither, he hath left his riot;
    Yea, changed both his company and his diet;
    And, now, so civil lies, that, to your thinking,
    He neither for an Alehouse cares, nor drinking.


                _An Epitaph upon a Gentlewoman who had_
                   _foretold the time of her death._

    Her, who, beneath this stone, consuming lies,
    For many virtues, we might memorise;
    But, most of all, the praise deserveth she
    In making of her words and deeds agree.
    For she so truly kept the word she spake;
    As that with Death, she promise would not break.
    "I shall," quoth she, "be dead, before the mid
    Of such a month!" And, as she said, she did.


           _An Epitaph on a Child, son to Sir W. H. KNIGHT._

    Here lies, within a cabinet of stone,
    The dear remainder of a Pretty One.
    Who did in wit, his years so far out-pass;
    His parents' wonder, and their joy he was:
    And by his face, you might have deemèd him
    To be on earth, some heavenly Cherubim.
    Six years with life he laboured; then deceast
    To keep the Sabbath of eternal rest:
    So that, which many thousand able men
    Are labouring for till threescore years and ten;
    This blessed child attainèd to, ere seven:
    And, now, enjoys it with the saints of heaven.


                               _A Song._

    _Now, Young Man! Thy days and thy glories appear_
    _Like sunshine and blossoms in Spring of the year;_
    _Thy vigour of body, thy spirits, thy wit,_
    _Are perfect, and sound, and untroubled yet._
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Mispend not a morning, so excellent clear!_
    _Never, for ever, was happiness here!_
    _Thy noontide of life hath but little delight;_
    _And sorrows on sorrows will follow at night!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _That Strength, and those beauties that grace thee to-day;_
    _To-morrow may perish, and vanish away!_
    _Thy Wealth, or thy Pleasures, or Friends that now be,_
    _May waste, or deceive, or be traitors to thee!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Thy joints are yet nimble, thy sinews unslack!_
    _And marrow, unwasted, doth strengthen thy back!_
    _Thy Youth from diseases, preserveth the brain;_
    _And blood, with free passage, plumps every vein!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _But, trust me! it will not for ever be so!_
    _Those Arms, that are mighty, shall feebler grow!_
    _And those Legs, so proudly supporting thee now,_
    _With age, or diseases will stagger and bow!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Then all those rare Features, now graceful in thee,_
    _Shall, ploughed with Time's furrows, quite ruinèd be!_
    _And they who admired and loved thee so much,_
    _Shall loathe, or forget thou hadst ever been such!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Those tresses of Hair, which thy youth do adorn,_
    _Will look like the meads in a winterly morn;_
    _And where red and white intermixed did grow,_
    _Dull paleness, a deadly Complexion will show!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _That Forehead imperious, whereon we now view_
    _A smoothness and whiteness, enamelled with blue,_
    _Will lose that perfection, which youth now maintains;_
    _And change it for hollowness, wrinkles, and stains!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Those Ears, thou with music didst oft entertain,_
    _And charm with so many a delicate strain;_
    _May miss of those pleasures wherewith they are fed,_
    _And never hear Song more, when youth is once fled!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Those Eyes, which so many, so much did admire,_
    _And with strange affections set thousands on fire;_
    _Shut up in that darkness which Age will constrain,_
    _Shall never see mortal, no, never again!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Those Lips, whereon Beauty so fully discloses_
    _The colour and sweetness of rubies and roses;_
    _Instead of that hue, will ghastliness wear:_
    _And none shall believe what perfection was there!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Thy Teeth, that stood firmly, like pearls in a row,_
    _Shall rotten, and scattered, disorderly grow!_
    _Thy Mouth, whose proportion, earth's wonder was thought;_
    _Shall robbed of that sweetness, be prizèd at nought._
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _That Gait and those Gestures, that win thee such grace,_
    _Will turn to a feeble and staggering pace;_
    _And thou, that o'er mountains ran'st nimbly to-day;_
    _Shall stumble at every rub in the way!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _By these imperfections, Old Age will prevail._
    _Thy marrow, thy sinews, and spirits will fail!_
    _And nothing is left thee, when those are once spent,_
    _To give, or thyself, or another content!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Those Fancies that lull thee with Dreams of Delight,_
    _Will trouble thy quiet, the comfortless night!_
    _And thou that now sleepest thy troubles away;_
    _Shalt hear how each cockerel gives warning of day!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _Then Thou, that art yet to thousands so dear,_
    _Of all, shalt despised or neglected appear!_
    _Which, when thou perceiv'st, though now pleasant it be,_
    _Thy life will be grievous and loathsome to thee!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _That Lust, which thy youth can so hardly forego,_
    _Will leave thee! and leave thee Repentance and Woe!_
    _And then, in thy folly no joy thou canst have;_
    _Nor hope other rest than a comfortless grave!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _For next, shall thy Breath be quite taken away;_
    _Thy Flesh turned to dust, and that dust turned to clay!_
    _And those, thou hast lovèd, and shared of thy store;_
    _Shall leave thee, forget thee, and mind thee no more!_
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

    _And yet, if in time thou remember not this,_
    _The slenderest part of thy sorrow it is!_
    _Thy Soul, to a torture more fearful, shall wend,_
    _Hath ever, and ever, and never an end._
        Now then, O now then, if safety thou love;
        Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!


                               _A Dream._

    _When bright PHOEBUS at his rest,_
    _Was reposèd in the West;_
    _And the cheerful daylight gone,_
    _Drew unwelcome darkness on:_
        _Night, her blackness wrapt about me;_
        _And within, 'twas as without me!_

    _Therefore on my tumbled bed,_
    _Down I laid my troubled head;_
    _Where, mine eyes inured to care,_
    _Seldom used to slumbering were:_
        _Yet o'ertired of late, with weeping;_
        _Then, by chance, they fell asleeping._

    _But such visions, me diseased,_
    _As in vain that sleep I seized;_
    _For I sleeping Fancies had,_
    _Which, yet waking, make me sad._
        _Some can sleep away their sorrow!_
        _But mine doubles every morrow._

    _Walking to a pleasant grove,_
    _Where I used to think of love,_
    _I, methought, a place did view_
    _Wherein FLORA's riches grew;_
        _Primrose, hyacinth, and lilies,_
        _Cowslips, vi'lets, daffodillies._

    _There, a fountain close beside,_
    _I, a matchless Beauty spied._
    _So she lay as if she slept,_
    _But much grief, her waking kept._
        _And she had no softer pillow_
        _Than the hard root of a willow._

    _Down her cheeks, the tears did flow,_
    _Which a grievèd heart did shew;_
    _Her fair eyes, the earth beholding,_
    _And her arms, themselves enfolding;_
        _She (her Passion to betoken),_
        _Sighed as if her heart were broken._

    _So much grief, methought, she shewed,_
    _That my sorrow, it renewed:_
    _But when, nearer her I went,_
    _It increased my discontent;_
        _For a gentle Nymph she proved,_
        _Who, me (long unknown) had loved._

    _Straight on me she fixed her look;_
    _Which, a deep impression took,_
    _And "Of all that live," quoth she,_
    _"Thou art welcomest to me!"_
        _Then (misdoubting to be blamèd),_
        _Thus she spake, as half ashamèd._

    _"Thee! unknown, I long affected_
    _And, as long, in vain expected,_
    _For I had a hopeful thought_
    _Thou would'st crave, what others sought!_
        _And I, for thy sake! have stayed_
        _Many wanton Springs, a Maid."_

    _"Still, when any wooèd me,_
    _They renewed the thought of thee!_
    _And, in hope thou would'st have tried!_
    _Their affections, I denied._
        _But a lover forced upon me_
        _By my friends, hath now undone me."_

    _"What I waking, dared not shew;_
    _In a dream, thou, now, dost know!_
    _But to better my estate,_
    _Now, alas, it is too late!_
        _And I, both awake and sleeping,_
        _Now consume my youth with weeping."_

    _Somewhat, then, I would have said;_
    _But replyings were denied._
    _For, methought, when speak I would,_
    _Not a word bring forth I could:_
        _And as I, a kiss was taking;_
        _That I lost too, by awaking._

                                                             PHIL'ARETE.

[Illustration]



                             +THE KING+'s
                              +MAJESTY+'s

                         _Declaration to his_

                               Subjects,

                              CONCERNING

                           lawful Sports to
                               be used.


                             [Illustration]

       *       *       *       *       *

                                LONDON:

                Printed by BONHAM NORTON and JOHN BILL,
                  Deputy Printers for the King's most
                          Excellent Majesty.
                              M.DC.XVIII.

[The text of this Monument of State Folly (the real drift of which was
simply to affront the Puritans) is taken from a copy of the original
edition in the Bodleian Library, Oxford.

We have also given at _pp._ 517-518, the title and additional matter of
its reprint by CHARLES I. in 1633.]

[Illustration]


                              By the King.

Whereas upon Our return, the last year out of Scotland, We did publish
Our Pleasure touching the recreations of Our people in those parts,
under Our hand: for some causes Us thereunto moving, We have thought
good to command these Our Directions, then given in Lancashire, with
a few words thereunto added and most appliable to these parts of Our
Realms, to be published to all Our subjects.

Whereas We did justly, in Our progress through Lancashire, rebuke
some Puritans and precise people, and took order that the like
unlawful carriage should not be used by any of them hereafter, in the
prohibiting and unlawful punishing of Our good people for using their
lawful recreations and honest exercises upon Sundays and other Holy
Days, after the afternoon Sermon or Service; We now find, that two
sorts of people wherewith that country [_county_] is much infested (We
mean Papists and Puritans) have maliciously traduced and caluminated
those Our just and honourable proceedings. And therefore lest Our
reputation might, upon the one side, though innocently, have some
aspersion laid upon it; and that, upon the other part, Our good people
in that country be misled by the mistaking and misinterpretation of Our
meaning: We have therefore thought good hereby to clear and make Our
Pleasure to be manifested to all Our good people in those parts.

It is true, that at Our first entry to this Crown and Kingdom, We were
informed, and that too truly, that Our County of Lancashire abounded
more in Popish Recusants than any county in England; and thus hath
still continued since, to our great regret, with little amendment, save
that now, of late, in our last riding through Our said County, We find,
both by the report of the Judges, and of the Bishops of that diocese,
that there is some amendment now daily beginning, which is no small
contentment to Us.

The report of this growing amendment amongst them, made Us the more
sorry, when, with Our own ears, We heard the general complaint of
Our people, that they were barred from all lawful recreation and
exercise upon the Sunday's afternoon, after the ending of all Divine
Service. Which cannot but produce two evils. The one, the hindering
of the conversion of many whom their priests will take occasion
hereby to vex; persuading them that "no honest mirth or recreation is
lawful or tolerable in Our Religion!" which cannot but breed a great
discontentment in Our people's hearts; especially of such as are,
peradventure, upon the point of turning. The other inconvenience is,
that this prohibition barreth the common and meaner sort of people from
using such exercises as may make their bodies more able for war, when
We, or Our Successors shall have occasion to use them: and in place
thereof sets up filthy tiplings and drunkenness, and breeds a number of
idle and discontented speeches in their alehouses. For when shall the
common people have leave to exercise, if not upon the Sundays and Holy
Days? seeing they must apply their labour, and win their living in all
working days!

Our express pleasure therefore is, _That the Laws of Our Kingdom, and
Canons of Our Church be as well observed in that County, as in all
other places of this Our Kingdom. And, on the other part, that no
lawful recreation shall be barred to our good people, which shall not
tend to the breach of Our aforesaid Laws, and Canons of Our Church._

Which to express more particularly,

Our Pleasure is, _That the Bishop and all other inferior Churchmen_
[Clergy], _and Churchwardens shall, for their parts, be careful and
diligent, both to instruct the ignorant, and convince and reform
them that are misled in religion, presenting_ [_i.e._, reporting for
punishment] _them that will not conform themselves, but obstinately
stand out to Our Judges and Justices: whom, We likewise command to
put the law in due execution against them_.

Our Pleasure likewise is, _That the Bishop of that diocese take the
like strait order with all the Puritans and Precisians within the
same: either constraining them to conform themselves, or to leave
the country, according to the Laws of Our Kingdom and Canons of Our
Church_. And so to strike equally on both hands against the Contemners
of Our Authority, and Adversaries of Our Church.

And as for Our good people's lawful recreation; Our Pleasure likewise
is, _That after the end of Divine Service, Our good people be not
disturbed, letted, or discouraged from any lawful recreation, such as
Dancing (either men or women), Archery for men, Leaping, Vaulting, or
any other such harmless recreations; nor from having of May Games,
Whitsun Ales, and Morris Dances; and the setting up of May Poles,
and other sports therewith used: so as the same be had in due and
convenient time, without impediment or neglect of Divine Service_.
And, _That women shall have leave to carry rushes to the church for
the decoring_ [decorating] _of it, according to their old custom_.

But withal, _We do here account still as prohibited, all unlawful
games, to be used upon Sundays only; as Bear and Bull baitings,
Interludes: and, at all times, in the meaner sort of people by Law
prohibited, Bowling_.

And, likewise, _We bar from this benefit and liberty, all such known
Recusants, either men or women, as will abstain from coming to Church
or Divine Service_: being, therefore, unworthy of any lawful recreation
after the said Service, that will not first come to the Church, and
serve GOD.

_Prohibiting, in like sort, the said recreation to any that, though
conforme_ [conformable] _in Religion, are not present in the Church,
at the Service of GOD, before their going to the said recreations_.

Our Pleasure likewise is, _That they to whom it belongeth in Office,
shall present, and sharply punish all such, as in abuse of this
Our liberty, will use these exercises before the ends of all Divine
Services for that day_.

And We, likewise, straitly command, _That every person shall resort
to his own Parish Church to hear Divine Service; and each Parish, by
itself, to use the said recreation after Divine Service_. Prohibiting
likewise, _Any offensive weapons to be carried or used in the said
times of recreation_.

And Our Pleasure is, _That this Our Declaration shall be published
by order from the Bishop of the diocese, through all the Parish
Churches; and that both Our Judges of Our Circuit, and Our Justices
of Our Peace be informed thereof_.

Given at Our Manor of Greenwich, the four and twentieth day of May
[1618] in the sixteenth year of Our reign of England, France, and
Ireland; and of Scotland, the one and fiftieth.

                           GOD save the King!

[Illustration]


                              THE KING's

                               MAJESTY's

                          DECLARATION to His

                               Subjects,

                              CONCERNING

                           lawful SPORTS to
                               be used.

[Illustration]

                        Imprinted at LONDON by

          ROBERT BARKER, Printer to the King's most excellent

               Majesty: and by the Assigns of JOHN BILL.
                             M.DC.XXXIII.


                 [CHARLES I.'s Preface and Conclusion.]

_Our dear Father, of blessed memory, in his return from Scotland,
coming through Lancashire found that his subjects were debarred from
lawful recreations upon Sundays, after Evening Prayers ended, and
upon Holy Days: and he prudently considered, that if these times
were taken from them, the meaner sort, who labour hard all the week,
should have no recreations at all to refresh their spirits._

_And, after his return, he further saw that his loyal subjects in
all other parts of his kingdom did suffer in the same kind, though
perhaps not in the same degree. And did therefore, in his Princely
wisdom, publish a_ Declaration to all his loving Subjects concerning
the lawful Sports to be used _at such times; which was printed and
published, by his royal commandment, in the year 1618, in the tenour
which hereafter followeth_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Now, out of a like pious care for the service of GOD, and for
suppressing of any humours that oppose Truth, and for the ease,
comfort, and recreation of our well deserving people: We do ratify
and publish this Our blessed father's_ Declaration. _The rather
because, of late, in some counties of Our kingdom, We find that,
under pretence of taking away abuses, there hath been a general
Forbidding, not only of ordinary meetings, but of the Feasts of the
Dedication of the Churches, commonly called Wakes_.

_Now, Our express Will and Pleasure is, that these Feasts, with
others, shall be observed; and that Our Justices of the Peace, in
their several divisions, shall look to it, both, that all disorders
there, may be prevented or punished; and that all neighbourhood and
freedom, with manlike and lawful exercises be used._

_And We further Command Our Justices of Assize, in their several
circuits, to see that no man do trouble or molest any of Our loyal or
dutiful people in or for their lawful recreations; having first done
their duty to GOD, and continuing in obedience to Us and Our Laws.
And of this, We command all Our Judges, Justices of the Peace, as
well within Liberties as without, Mayors, Bailiffs, Constables, and
other Officers to take notice of; and to see observed, as they tender
Our displeasure. And We further will, that publication of this Our
Command be made, by order from the Bishops, through all the Parish
Churches of their several diocese respectively._

_Given at Our Palace of Westminster, the 18th day of October [1633],
in the ninth year of Our reign._ GOD save the King!



                _Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals,_
                           _Canzonets, &c._

               JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music, &c., and
              Lutenist to CHRISTIAN IV., King of Denmark.

                   THE SECOND BOOK OF SONGS OR AIRS.
                                 1600.


                      TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE, THE
                    LADY LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.

_Excellent Lady! I send unto your Ladyship from the Court of
a foreign Prince, this Volume of my Second Labours, as to the
worthiest Patroness of Music; which is the noblest of all sciences.
For the whole frame of Nature is nothing but Harmony, as well in
souls, as [in] bodies. And because I am now removed from your
sight, I will speak boldly; that your Ladyship shall be unthankful to
Nature herself, if you do not love and defend that Art, by which she
hath given you so well tuned a mind!_

_Your Ladyship hath in yourself, an excellent agreement of many
virtues; of which, though I admire all, yet I am bound by my
profession, to give especial honour to your knowledge of Music:
which, in the judgement of ancient times, was so proper an excellency
in women, that the Muses took their name from it; and yet so rare,
that the world durst imagine but Nine of them._

_I most humbly beseech your Ladyship to receive this work into your
favour; and the rather, because it cometh far, to beg it of you._

_From Elsinore in Denmark, the first of June, 1600._

               _Your Ladyship's, in all humble devotion_,

                                                         _JOHN DOWLAND_.

[Illustration]


                 To the Right Noble and Virtuous Lady
                      LUCY, Countess of BEDFORD,

                          G[EORGE]. EASTLAND.
                        _To J. DOWLAND's Lute._

    _=L= ute! Arise, and charm the air,_
    _=U= ntil a thousand forms she bear!_
    _=C= onjure them all, that they repair_
    _=I= nto the circles of her car;_
    _=E= ver to dwell in concord there!_

    _=B= y this, thy tunes may have access_
    _=E= ven to her spirit, whose flowing treasure_
    _=D= oth sweetest harmony express;_
    _=F= illing all ears and hearts with pleasure:_
    _=O= n earth, observing heavenly measure._
    _=R= ight well can she judge and defend them!_
    _=D= oubt not of that, for she can mend them!_

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


                        To the Courteous Reader.

GENTLEMEN,

If the consideration of mine own estate, or the true worth of money had
prevailed with me above the desire of pleasuring you and shewing my
love to my friend, these Second Labours of Master DOWLAND--whose very
name is a large Preface of commendations to the book--had for ever lain
hid in darkness, or at the least frozen in a cold and foreign country.

I assure you that both my charge and pains in publishing it, hath
exceeded ordinary [ones]: yet thus much I have to assure me of
requital, that neither the work is ordinary; nor are your judgements
ordinary, to whom I present it! so that I have no reason but to hope
for good increase in my labours, especially of your good favours
towards me; which of all things I most esteem. Which if I find in this,
I mean shortly, GOD willing, to set at liberty for your service, a
prisoner taken at Cadiz: who, if he discovers not something, in [the]
matter of music, worthy [of] your knowledge; let the reputation of my
judgement in music answer [for] it!

In the meantime, I commend my absent friend to your remembrance! and
myself, to your favourable conceits!

                                                      _GEORGE EASTLAND._

            From my house near _The Green Dragon and Sword_,
                            in Fleet Street.

[Illustration]


         _Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, Canzonets, &c._

                             JOHN DOWLAND.
                   THE SECOND BOOK OF SONGS OR AIRS.


                 _To the most famous ANTHONY HOLBORNE._

        I saw my Lady weep!
    And Sorrow proud! to be advancèd so
    In those fair eyes, where all perfections keep.
        Her face was full of woe!
    But such a woe (believe me!) as wins more hearts
    Than Mirth can do, with her enticing parts.

        Sorrow was there made fair!
    And Passion, wise! Tears, a delightful thing!
    Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare!
        She made her sighs to sing,
    And all things with so sweet a sadness move;
    As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

        O Fairer than ought else
    The world can shew! leave off, in time, to grieve!
    Enough, enough! Your joyful look excels!
        Tears kill the heart, believe!
    O strive not to be excellent in woe,
    Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow!


                               _Lacrimæ._

            Flow, my tears! fall from your springs!
                Exiled for ever, let me mourn
            Where night's black bird, her sad infamy sings!
                There, let me live forlorn!
    Never may my woes be relieved, since pity is fled;
    And tears, and sighs, and groans, my weary days, of all joys, have
        deprivèd.

            Down vain lights! Shine you no more!
                No nights are dark enough for those,
            That in despair, their last fortunes deplore.
                Light doth but shame disclose!
    From the highest spire of contentment, my fortune is thrown;
    And fear, and grief, and pain, for my deserts, are my hopes; since
        hope is gone.

          Hark, you shadows! that in darkness dwell,
              Learn to contemn light!
              Happy! happy they, that, in hell,
              Feel not the world's despite!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Sorrow! Sorrow, stay! Lend true repentant tears
              To a woful wretched wight!
            Hence! hence, Despair! with thy tormenting fears.
              O do not, my poor heart affright!
    Pity! Pity, help now, or never! Mark me not to endless pain!
    Alas, I am condemnèd ever, no hope there doth remain,
            But down, down, down, down I fall;
            And arise, I never shall.

       *       *       *       *       *

    "Die not before thy day! poor man condemned!
    But lift thy low looks from th' humble earth!
    Kiss not Despair, and see sweet Hope contemned!
    The hag hath no delight, but moan for mirth!
    O fie, poor fondling! fie, be willing
    To preserve thyself from killing!
    Hope, thy keeper, glad to free thee,
    Bids thee go! and will not see thee.
    Hie thee, quickly, from thy wrong!"
    So She ends her willing song.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Mourn! Day is with darkness fled!
    What heaven then governs earth?
    O none, but hell, in heaven's stead,
    Chokes with his mists, our mirth.

    Mourn! Look, now, for no more day!
    Nor night, but that from hell!
    Then all must, as they may,
    In darkness learn to dwell!

    But yet this change must change our delight,
    That thus the Sun should harbour with the Night.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Time's eldest son, Old Age (the Heir of Ease,
    Strength's Foe, Love's Woe, and Foster to Devotion)
    Bids gallant Youth in martial prowess please!
    As for himself, he hath no earthly motion;
    But thinks Sighs, Tears, Vows, Prayers, and Sacrifices,
    As good as Shows, Masks, Jousts, or Tilt devices.

    Then sit thee down! and say thy _Nunc dimitis_!
    With _De profundis_, _Credo_, and _Te DEUM_!
    Chant _Miserere_, for what now so fit is
    As that, or this, _Paratum est cor meum_!
    O that thy Saint would take in worth thy heart!
    Thou canst not please her with a better part.
    When others sing _Venite exultemus_!
    Stand by, and turn to _Noli emulari_!
    For _Quare fremuerunt_, use _Oremus_!
    _Vivat ELIZA!_ for an _Ave MARI_!
    And teach those Swains that live about thy cell;
    To sing _Amen_, when thou dost pray so well!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Praise blindness, Eyes! for seeing is deceit.
    Be dumb, vain Tongue! words are but flattering winds.
    Break Heart, and bleed! for there is no receipt
    To purge inconstancy from most men's minds.
        And so I waked amazed, and could not move;
        I know my dream was true, and yet I love!

    And if thine Ears, false heralds to thy heart,
    Convey into thy head, hopes to obtain;
    Then tell thy hearing, thou art deaf by Art!
    Now, Love is Art; that wonted to be plain.
        And so I waked amazed, and could not move;
        I know my dream was true, and yet I love!

    Now none is bald, except they see his brains!
    Affection is not known, till one be dead!
    Reward for love, are labours for his pains!
    Love's quiver made of gold, his shafts of lead.
        And so I waked amazed, and could not move;
        I know my dream was true, and yet I love!

                       _To Master HUGH HOLLAND._

    From Fame's desire, from Love's delight retired;
    In these sad groves, an hermit's life I lead:
    And those false pleasures, which I once admired,
    With sad remembrance of my fall, I dread.
    To birds, to trees, to earth, impart I this;
    For she less secret, and as senseless is!
        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
        O how much do I love your solitariness!

    Experience which repentance only brings,
    Doth bid me, now, my heart from Love estrange!
    Love is disdained, when it doth look at kings;
    And Love low placed, base and apt to change.
    There, Power doth take from him his liberty!
    Her Want of Worth makes him in cradle die!
        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
        O how much do I love your solitariness!

    You men that give false worship unto Love,
    And seek that which you never shall obtain;
    The endless work of SISYPHUS you procure!
    Whose end is this, to know you strive in vain.
    Hope and Desire, which now your idols be!
    You needs must lose, and feel Despair with me!
        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
        O how much do I love your solitariness!

    You woods! in you, the fairest Nymphs have walked!
    Nymphs, at whose sights all hearts did yield to love.
    You woods! in whom dear lovers oft have talked,
    How do you now a place of mourning prove?
    WANSTED, my Mistress, saith, "This is the doom!
    Thou art Love's childbed! nursery! and tomb!"
        O sweet woods! the delight of solitariness!
        O how much do I love your solitariness!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Fine knacks for ladies! cheap! choice! brave! and new!
    Good pennyworths! but money cannot move!
    I keep a fair, but for the Fair to view!
    A beggar may be liberal of love.
    Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true,
                            The heart is true,
                            The heart is true.

    Great gifts are guiles, and look for gifts again,
    My trifles come, as treasures from my mind!
    It is a precious jewel to be plain!
    Sometimes in shell, th' orientest pearls we find.
    Of others, take a sheaf! of me, a grain!
                            Of me, a grain!
                            Of me, a grain!

    Within this pack, pins! paints! laces! and gloves!
    And divers toys fitting a country fair!
    But my heart, where duty serves and loves,
    Turtles and twins! Court's brood! a heavenly pair!
    Happy the heart that thinks of no removes!
                            Of no removes!
                            Of no removes!

       *       *       *       *       *

                  Now cease my wand'ring eyes,
                    Strange beauties to admire!
                  In change least comfort lies.
                    Long joys yield long desire.
                      One faith, one love,
    Make our frail pleasures eternal, and in sweetness prove!
                      New hopes, new joys
    Are still, with sorrow, declining unto deep annoys.

                  One man hath but one soul
                    Which Art cannot divide;
                  If all one soul must love,
                    Two loves must be denied!
                One soul, one love,
    By faith and merit united, cannot remove!
                Distracted spirits
    Are ever changing, and hapless in their delights.

          Nature, two eyes hath given,
            All beauty to impart,
          As well in earth as heaven:
            But She hath given one heart!
              That though we see,
    Ten thousand beauties, yet in us One should be!
              One stedfast love!
    Because our hearts stand fixed, although our eyes do move.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Come, ye heavy States of Night!
    Do my father's spirit right;
    Soundings baleful, let me borrow,
    Burthening my song with sorrow.
        Come Sorrow, come! Her eyes that sings,
        By thee, are turnèd into springs.

    Come, You Virgins of the Night,
    That, in dirges' sad delight!
    Quire my anthems! I do borrow
    Gold nor pearl, but sounds of sorrow!
        Come Sorrow, come! Her eyes that sings,
        By thee, are turnèd into springs.

       *       *       *       *       *

    White as lilies was her face!
                    When She smiled,
                    She beguiled!
    Quitting faith, with foul disgrace.
    Virtue, Service, thus neglected,
    Heart with sorrows hath infected.

    When I swore my heart her own,
                    She disdained!
                    I complained,
    Yet She left me overthrown!
    Careless of my bitter groaning,
    Ruthless, bent to no relieving.

    Vows, and oaths, and faith assured,
                    Constant ever,
                    Changing never;
    Yet She could not be procurèd,
    To believe my pains exceeding!
    From her scant neglect proceeding.

    O that Love should have the art,
                    By surmises,
                    And disguises,
    To destroy a faithful heart!
    Or that wanton looking women,
    Should reward their friends, as foemen!

    All in vain, is Ladies' love;
                    Quickly choosèd,
                    Shortly losèd.
    For their pride is to remove!
    Out, alas! Their looks first won us,
    And their pride hath straight undone us!

    To thyself, the sweetest Fair!
                    Thou hast wounded,
                    And confounded
    Changeless Faith, with foul Despair!
    And my service hath envièd;
    And my succours hath denièd!

    By thine error, thou hast lost
                    Heart unfeignèd,
                    Truth unstainèd;
    And the Swain, that lovèd most:
    More assured in love than many,
    More despised in love than any.

    For my heart, though set at nought;
                    Since you will it,
                    Spoil and kill it!
    I will never change my thoughts!
    But grieve that Beauty e'er was born.
    [? But grieve that Beauty e'er was born.]

       *       *       *       *       *

    Woful Heart, with grief oppressèd!
    Since my fortunes most distressèd,
        From my joys hath me removed.
    Follow those sweet eyes adorèd!
    Those sweet eyes, wherein are storèd,
        All my pleasures best beloved.

    Fly, my Breast! Leave me forsaken!
    Wherein Grief his seat hath taken;
        All his arrows through me darting.
    Thou mayest live by her sunshining!
    I shall suffer no more pining
        By thy loss, than by her parting.

       *       *       *       *       *

    A shepherd in a shade, his plaining made
        Of love, and lover's wrong,
    Unto the fairest Lass, that trode on grass,
        And thus began his song:
    "Since Love and Fortune will, I honour still
        Your fair and lovely eye!
    What conquest will it be, sweet Nymph! for thee!
        If I, for sorrow die?
            Restore! restore, my heart again!
            Which love, by thy sweet looks hath slain!
            Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
            I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing!'

    "My heart where have you laid, O cruel Maid!
        To kill, when you might save!
    Why have ye cast it forth, as nothing worth,
        Without a tomb, or grave?
    O let it be entombed, and lie
        In your sweet mind and memory!
    Lest I resound on every warbling string,
        'Fie! fie on love! that is a foolish thing!'
            Restore! restore, my heart again!
            Which love, by thy sweet looks hath slain!
            Lest that, enforced by your disdain,
            I sing 'Fie on love! it is a foolish thing!'"

       *       *       *       *       *

    Shall I sue? shall I seek for grace?
        Shall I pray? shall I prove?
    Shall I strive to a heavenly joy,
        With an earthly love?
    Shall I think that a bleeding heart,
        Or a wounded eye,
    Or a sigh, can ascend the clouds,
        To attain so high?

    Silly wretch! Forsake these dreams
        Of a vain Desire!
    O bethink what high regard,
        Holy hopes do require!
    Favour is as fair as things are!
        Treasure is not bought!
    Favour is not won with words,
        Nor the wish of a thought.

    Pity is but a poor defence
        For a dying heart:
    Ladies' eyes respect no moan
        In a mean desert.
    She is too worthy far,
        For a worth so base!
    Cruel, and but just is She,
        In my just disgrace.

    Justice gives each man his own.
        Though my love be just,
    Yet will not She pity my grief!
        Therefore die I must!
    Silly heart! then yield to die!
        Perish in despair!
    Witness yet, how fain I die,
        When I die for the Fair!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Toss not my soul, O LOVE! 'twixt hope and fear!
    Show me some ground where I may firmly stand,
    Or surely fall! I care not which appear!
    So one will close me in a certain band.
        When once of ill, the uttermost is known;
        The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!

    Take me, ASSURANCE! to thy blissful hold!
    Or thou, DESPAIR! unto thy darkest cell!
    Each hath full rest! The one, in joys enroll'd:
    Th' other, in that he fears no more, is well.
        When once the uttermost of ill is known,
        The strength of sorrow quite is overthrown!


                   *       *       *       *       *

    Clear or cloudy, sweet as April show'ring,
    Smooth or frowning, so is her Face to me.
    Pleased or smiling, like mild May all flow'ring:
    When skies, blue silk, and meadows, carpets be.
    Her Speeches, notes of that night bird that singeth,
    Who, thought all sweet, yet jarring notes outringeth.

    Her Grace, like June, when earth and trees be trimmed
    In best attire, of complete beauty's height.
    Her Love again, like Summer's days be dimmed,
    With little clouds of doubtful constant faith.
    Her Trust, her Doubt, like rain and heat in skies;
    Gently thund'ring, She light'ning to mine eyes.

    Sweet Summer! Spring! that breatheth life and growing
    In weeds, as into herbs and flowers;
    And sees of service, divers sorts in sowing,
    Some haply seeming, and some being yours:
    Rain on your herbs and flowers that truly seem!
    And let your weeds lack dew, and duly starve!


                             _A Dialogue._

    Humour, say! What mak'st thou here
    In presence of a Queen?
    Thou art a heavy leaden mood!

      _Chorus._ But never Humour yet was true,
                But that which only pleaseth you!

    Princes hold conceit most dear,
    All conceit in Humour seen;
    Humour is Invention's food.

      _Chorus._ But never Humour yet was true,
              But that which only pleaseth you!

    O, I am as heavy as earth,
    Say, then, who is Humour now?
    Why, then, 'tis I am drowned in woe?

      _Chorus._ But never Humour yet was true,
              But that which only pleaseth you!

    I am now inclined to mirth,
    Humour I, as well as thou!
    No, no Wit is cherished so.

      _Chorus._ But never Humour yet was true,
              But that which only pleaseth you!

    Mirth, then, is drowned in Sorrow's brim.
    No, no, fool! The light things swim;
    Heavy things sink to the deep!

      _Chorus._ But never Humour yet was true,
              But that which only pleaseth you!

    O, in sorrow, all things sleep!
    In her presence, all things smile;
    Humour, frolic then awhile!

      _Chorus._ But never Humour yet was true,
              But that which only pleaseth you!

         [Then follows a piece of instrumental music, entitled
             _LOWLAND's Adieu for Master OLIVER CROMWELL._]



                _The Sequestration of Archbishop ABBOT_
                     _from all his Ecclesiastical_
                          _Offices, in 1627._

                      +JOHN RUSHWORTH+, Esq., of
                            Lincoln's Inn.

    [It will be necessary, ere long, to establish a _Society for the
    Preservation of the Memory of the STUART Kings of England, from
    Universal Execration_; so much is it now seen, that, stripped of
    the mantle of their Kingship, they were unworthy of the name of
    English Gentlemen. Scotland could have sent us many a better bred
    family!

    What a picture has the good Archbishop given us of the English King
    and Court in the first days of the reign of the so called Royal
    Martyr. CHARLES, first claiming for himself an unbounded power
    over his subjects, and then lavishly bestowing it on his favourite
    BUCKINGHAM, is the modern counterpart of NEBUCHADNEZZAR setting up
    his golden image "in the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon."

    Note that this Narrative was written without the faintest
    conception or realisation of such a possibility as a national
    rising under the guidance of the Long Parliament. The two
    characters, of LAUD at _p._ 548, and of BUCKINGHAM at _p._ 574,
    are Eye-Witness portraits, and should be included, unabridged, in
    every future History of England. Imagine an Archbishop scornfully
    speaking (_p._ 548) of Bishop LAUD as "what a sweet man he was
    likely to be!"

    It should be also remembered that LAUD records in his _Diary_,
    that on the 2nd October, 1626 (_i.e._, nine months before the
    Archbishop's present Narrative was written), CHARLES I. promised
    him the reversion of the Archbishopric, when Doctor ABBOT should
    die.]

                           [_Historical Collections_, i. 435. Ed. 1659.]


Archbishop ABBOT, having been long slighted at Court, now fell under
the King's high displeasure; for refusing to license Doctor SIBTHORP's
sermon, entitled _Apostolical Obedience_, as he was commanded; and,
not long after, he was sequestered from his Office, and a Commission
was granted to the Bishops of LONDON, DURHAM, ROCHESTER, OXFORD, and
Doctor, LAUD, Bishop of BATH AND WELLS, to exercise archiepiscopal
jurisdiction.

The Commission is followeth--

    _CHARLES, by the grace of GOD, King of England, Scotland, France,
    and Ireland; Defender of the Faith, &c. To the Right Reverend
    Father in GOD, GEORGE [MONTAIGNE], Bishop of LONDON; and to
    the Right Reverend Father in GOD, our trusty and well beloved
    Councillor, RICHARD [NEYLE], Lord Bishop of DURHAM; and to the_
    _Right Reverend Father in GOD, JOHN [BUCKERIDGE], Lord Bishop
    of ROCHESTER; and to the Right Reverend Father in GOD, JOHN
    [HOWSON], Lord Bishop of OXFORD; and to the Right Reverend Father
    in GOD, our Right Trusty and Well Beloved Councillor, WILLIAM_
    _[LAUD], Lord Bishop of BATH AND WELLS._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Whereas GEORGE, now Archbishop of CANTERBURY, in the right of the
Archbishopric, hath several and distinct Archiepiscopal, Episcopal,
and other Spiritual and Ecclesiastical Powers and Jurisdictions, to
be exercised in the Government and Discipline of the Church within
the Province of Canterbury, and in the Administration of Justice in
Causes Ecclesiastical within that Province, which are partly executed
by himself in his own person, and partly and more generally by
several persons nominated and authorised by him, being learned in the
Ecclesiastical Laws of this Realm, in those several places whereunto
they are deputed and appointed by the said Archbishop: which several
places, as We are informed, they severally hold by several Grants for
their several lives, as namely_,

    _Sir HENRY MARTIN Knight hath and holdeth by the grants of the
    said Archbishop, the Offices and Places of the Dean of the
    Arches, and Judge or Master of the Prerogative Court, for the
    natural life of the said Sir HENRY MARTIN._

    _Sir CHARLES CÆSAR Knight hath and holdeth by grants of the said
    Archbishop, the Places or Offices of the Judge of the Audience,
    and Master of the Faculties, for the term of the natural life of
    the said Sir CHARLES CÆSAR._

    _Sir THOMAS RIDLEY Knight hath and holdeth by the grant of the
    said Archbishop, the Place or Office of Vicar General to the said
    Archbishop._

    _And NATHANIEL BRENT, Doctor of the Laws, hath and holdeth by
    grant of the said Archbishop, the Office or Place of Commissary
    to the said Archbishop, as of his proper and peculiar diocese of
    Canterbury._

    _And likewise the several Registrars of the Arches, Prerogative,_
    _Audience, Faculties, and of the Vicar General and Commissary of
    Canterbury, hold their places by grants by the said Archbishop
    respectively._

_Whereas the said Archbishop, in some or all of these several
Places and Jurisdictions, doth and may sometimes assume unto his
personal and proper Judicature, Order, or Direction, some particular
Causes, Actions, or Cases, at his pleasure. And forasmuch as the
said Archbishop cannot, at this present, in his own person, attend
these services which are otherwise proper for his Cognisance and
Jurisdiction; and which as Archbishop of CANTERBURY, he might and
ought in his own person to have performed and executed in Causes and
Matters Ecclesiastical, in the proper function of Archbishop of the
Province._

_WE, therefore, of Our regal power, and of Our princely care and
providence, that nothing shall be defective in the Order Discipline,
Government, or Right of the Church, have thought fit by the service
of some other learned and reverend Bishops, to be named by Us, to
supply those which the said Archbishop ought or might, in the cases
aforesaid, to have done; but, for this present, cannot perform the
same._

_Know ye, therefore, That We, reposing special trust and confidence
in your approved wisdoms, learning, and integrity, have nominated,
authorised, and appointed, and do, by these presents, nominate,
authorise, and appoint You, the said GEORGE, Lord Bishop of LONDON;
RICHARD, Lord Bishop of DURHAM; JOHN, Lord Bishop of ROCHESTER;
JOHN, Lord Bishop of OXFORD; and WILLIAM, Lord Bishop of BATH AND
WELLS, or any four, three, or two of you, to do, execute, and perform
all and every those acts, matters, and things any way touching or
concerning the Power, Jurisdiction, or Authority of the Archbishop
of CANTERBURY in Causes or Matters Ecclesiastical, as amply, fully,
and effectually, to all intents and purposes, as the said Archbishop
himself might have done._

_And We do hereby Command you, and every of you, to attend, perform,
and execute this Our Royal Pleasure in and touching the premises,
until We shall declare Our Will and Pleasure to the contrary._

_And We do further hereby Will and Command the said Archbishop of
CANTERBURY, quietly and without interruption, to permit and suffer
you the said GEORGE, Bishop of LONDON; RICHARD, Bishop of DURHAM;
JOHN, Bishop of ROCHESTER; JOHN, Bishop of OXFORD; and WILLIAM,
Bishop of BATH AND WELLS; any four, three, or two of you, to execute
and perform this Our Commission, according to Our Royal Pleasure
thereby signified._

_And We do further Will and Command all and every other person and
persons, whom it may any way concern in their several Places or
Offices, to be attendant, observant, and obedient to you and every
of you, in the execution and performance of this Our Royal Will and
Command; as they and every of them will answer the contrary at their
utmost perils._

_Nevertheless, We do hereby declare Our Royal Pleasure to be That
they the said Sir HENRY MARTIN, Sir CHARLES CÆSAR, Sir THOMAS RIDLEY,
and NATHANIEL BRENT, in their several Offices and Places; and all
other Registrars, Officers, and Ministers in the several Courts,
Offices, and Jurisdictions appertaining to the said Archbishop,
shall, quietly and without interruption, hold, use, occupy, and
enjoy their several Offices and Places, which they now hold by the
grant of the said Archbishop, or of any other former Archbishop
of CANTERBURY, in such manner and form, and with those benefits,
privileges, powers, and authorities which they now have, hold, and
enjoy therein or there-out, severally and respectively: they, and
every of them, in their several Places, being attendant and obedient
unto you, the said GEORGE, Bishop of LONDON; RICHARD, Bishop of
DURHAM; JOHN, Bishop of ROCHESTER; JOHN, Bishop of OXFORD; and
WILLIAM, Bishop of BATH AND WELLS; or to any four, three, or two of
you, in all things according to the tenour of this Our Commission; as
they should or ought to have been to the said Archbishop himself, if
this Commission had not been had or made._

_In witness whereof, We have caused these our Letters to be made
Patents. Witness Our Self, at Westminster, the ninth day of October
[1627] in the third year of our reign._

Per ipsum Regem.

                                                              _EDMONDS._


                   Archbishop Abbot's own Narrative.

                            [RUSHWORTH. _Historical Collections, idem._]


                             _Pars Prima._

It is an example, so without example, that in the sunshine of the
Gospel; in the midst of profession of the true religion; under a
gracious King, whom all the world must acknowledge to be blemished with
no vice; a man of my place and years, who has done some service in the
Church and Commonwealth, so deeply laden with some furious infirmities
of body, should be removed from his ordinary habitation, and, by a kind
of deportation, should be thrust into one end of the Island (although I
must confess into his own diocese), that I hold it fit that the reason
of it should be truly understood, lest it may someways turn to the
scandal of my person and calling. Which Declaration, notwithstanding,
I intend not to communicate to any, but to let it lie by me privately;
that it being set down impartially, whilst all things are fresh in
memory, I may have recourse to it hereafter, if questions shall be made
of anything contained in this Relation.

And this I hold necessary to be done, by reason of the strangeness of
that, which, by way of Censure, was inflicted upon me; being then of
the age of sixty-five years, encumbered with the gout, and afflicted
with the stone: having lived so many years in a Place of great service,
and, for ought I know, untainted in any of my actions; although my
Master, King JAMES (who resteth with GOD) had both a searching wit of
his own to discover his servants, whom he put in trust, whether they
took any sinister courses or not; and wanted not some suggesters about
him, to make the worst of all men's actions whom they could misreport.

Yet this innocency and good fame to be overthrown in a month! and a
Christian Bishop suddenly to be made _fabula vulgi_, to be tossed
upon the tongues of friends and foes, of Protestants and Papists, of
Court and Country, of English and Foreigners, must needs, in common
opinion, presuppose some crime, open or secret; which, being discovered
by the King, albeit not fully appearing to the world, must draw on
indignation in so high a measure.

I cannot deny that the indisposition of my body kept me from Court,
and thereby gave occasion to maligners to traduce me, as, "withdrawing
myself from public services, and therefore misliking some courses that
were taken": which abstaining, perhaps, neither pleased the King, nor
the Great Man that set them on foot.

It is true, that in the turbulency of some things, I had not great
invitements to draw me abroad; but to possess my soul in patience till
GOD sent fairer weather. But the true ground for my abstaining from
solemn and public places, was the weakness of my feet, proceeding from
the gout: which disease being hereditary unto me, and having possessed
me now nine years, had debilitated me more and more; so that I could
not stand at all, neither could I go up or down a pair of stairs but,
besides my staff, I must have the service of one at least, of my men,
who were not fit to be admitted in every place where I was to come.

And although I was oft remembered by the wisest of my friends, that
"I might be carried, as the old Lord Treasurer BURLEIGH was!" yet I
did not think my service so necessary for the commonwealth, as his
Lordship's, by long experience, was found to be. I did not value myself
at so high a rate; but remembered that it was not the least cause of
overthrow to ROBERT [DEVEREUX], Earl of ESSEX, that he prized himself
so, as if Queen ELIZABETH and the Kingdom could not well have stood, if
he had not supported both the one and the other.

Now for me, thus enfeebled, not with gout only, but with the stone and
gravel, to wait on the King or the Council Table, was, by me, held a
matter most inconvenient. In the Courts of Princes, there is little
feeling of [_for_] the infirmities belonging to old age. They like
them that be young and gallant in their actions, and in their clothes.
They love not that men should stick too long in any room of greatness.
Change and alteration bringeth somewhat with it; what have they to do
with kerchiefs and staves, with lame or sickly men? It is certainly
true, there is little compassion upon the bodily defects of any. The
Scripture speaketh of "men standing before Kings." It were an uncouth
sight to see the subject sit the day before the Coronation: when, on
the morrow, I had work enough for the strongest man in England, being
weak in my feet, and coming to Whitehall to see things in readiness
against the next day. Yet, notwithstanding the stone and gout, I was
not altogether an inutile servant in the King's affairs; but did
all things in my house that were to be done: as in keeping the High
Commission Court, doing all inferior actions conducing thereto; and
despatching references from His Majesty that came thick upon me.

These Relations which are made concerning me, be of certain truth; but
reach not to the reason I was discarded.

To understand therefore the verity, so it is, that the Duke of
BUCKINGHAM (being still great in the favour of the King; could endure
no man that would not depend upon him) among other men, had me in his
eye, for not stooping unto him, so as to become his vassal.

I (that had learned a lesson, which I constantly hold, _To be no
man's servant, but the King's_: for mine old royal Master which is
with GOD, and mine own reason did teach me so) went on mine own ways;
although I could not but observe, that as many as walked in that path
did suffer for it upon all occasions, and so did I: nothing wherein
I moved my Master taking place; which, finding so clearly (as if the
Duke had set some ill character upon me), I had no way but to rest
in patience; leaving all to GOD, and looking to myself as warily as
I might. But this did not serve the turn; his undertakings were so
extraordinary, that every one that was not with him, was presently
[_instantly_] against him: and if a hard opinion were once entertained,
there was no place left for satisfaction or reconciliation. What befell
the Earl of ARUNDEL, Sir RANDAL CAREW, and divers others, I need not to
report; and no man can make doubt but he blew the coals.

For myself, there is a gentleman called Sir H. S., who gave the first
light what should befall me.

This Knight, being of more livelihood than wisdom, had married the Lady
D., sister of the now Earl of E.; and had so treated her, both for
safeguard of her honour, blemished by him scandalously; and for her
alimony or maintenance, being glad to get from him; she was forced to
endure a suit in the High Commission Court.

So to strengthen his party, he was made known to the Duke; and, by
means of a dependent on his Grace, he got a letter from the King,
that "The Commissioners should proceed no further in hearing of that
cause; by reason that it being a difference between a Gentleman and
his Wife, the King's Majesty would hear it himself." The solicitor
for the lady, finding that the course of Justice was stopped, did
so earnestly, by petition, move the King, that, by another letter,
there was a relaxation of the former restraint, and the Commissioners
Ecclesiastical went on.

But now, in the new proceeding, finding himself by justice like[ly]
enough to be pinched; he did publicly in the Court, refuse to speak by
any Counsel, but would plead his cause himself: wherein he did bear
the whole business so disorderly and tumultuously, and unrespectively
[_disrespectfully_], that, after divers reproofs, I was enforced, for
the honour of the Court and the reputation of the High Commission, to
tell him openly that "If he did not carry himself in a better fashion,
I would commit him to prison!"

This so troubled the young gallant, that, within few days after, being
at dinner or supper (where some wished me well), he bolted it out that
"As for the Archbishop, the Duke had a purpose to turn him out of his
Place, and that he did but wait the occasion to effect it." Which
being brought unto me, constantly, by more ways than one; I was now in
expectation, what must be the issue of this Great Man's indignation;
which fell out to be, as followeth.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was one SIBTHORP, who, not being so much as a Bachelor of Arts
(as it hath been credibly reported unto me), by means of Doctor PEIRCE,
Dean of Peterborough (being Vice Chancellor of Oxford), did get to be
confirmed upon him, the title of a Doctor.

This man is Vicar of Brackley, in Northamptonshire; and hath another
benefice not far from it, in Buckinghamshire: but the lustre of his
honour did arise from being the son-in-law of Sir JOHN LAMB, Chancellor
of Peterborough, whose daughter he married; and was put into the
Commission of Peace.

When the Lent Assizes were, in February last [1627], at Northampton,
the man that preached [_on the 22nd of the month_] before the Judges
there, was this worthy Doctor: where, magnifying the authority of Kings
(which is so strong in the Scripture, that it needs no flattery any
ways to extol it), he let fall divers speeches which were distasteful
to the auditors, and namely, "That Kings had power to put poll money
upon their subjects' heads": when, against those challenges, men did
frequently mourn.

He, being a man of low fortune, conceived that the putting his sermon
[_entitled "Apostolical Obedience"_] in print, might gain favour at
Court and raise his fortune higher, on he goeth with the transcribing
of his sermon; and got a bishop or two to prefer this great service to
the Duke. It being brought unto the Duke, it cometh in his head, or was
suggested to him by some malicious body, that, thereby, the Archbishop
might be put to some remarkable strait. For if the King should send
the sermon unto him, and command him to allow it to the press, one of
these two things would follow: that, either he should authorise it, and
so, all men that were indifferent should discover him for a base and
unworthy beast; or he should refuse it, and so should fall into the
King's indignation, who might pursue it at his pleasure as against a
man that was contrary to his service.

Out of this fountain flowed all the water that afterwards so wet. In
rehearsing whereof, I must set down divers particulars; which some man
may wonder how they should be discovered unto me: but let it suffice,
once for all, that in the word of an honest man and a Bishop, I recount
nothing but whereof I have good warrant; GOD Himself working means.

The matters were revealed unto me, although it be not convenient that,
in this Paper, I name the manner how they came unto me; lest such as
did, by well doing, farther me, should receive blame for their labour.

       *       *       *       *       *

Well, resolved it is, that "I be put to it! and that, with speed!"
and therefore Master WILLIAM MURRAY (nephew as, I think, unto Master
THOMAS MURRAY, sometimes Tutor to Prince CHARLES), now of the King's
Bedchamber, is sent to me with the written Sermon: of whom, I must
say, that albeit he did the King his Master's service; yet he did use
himself temperately and civilly unto me.

For avoiding of _inquit_ and _inquam_, as TULLY saith, _I said this_
and _he said that_, I will make it by way of dialogue: not setting down
every day's conference exactly by itself, but mentioning all things
in the whole; yet distinguishing of times where, for the truth of the
Relation, it cannot be avoided.

    MURRAY. My Lord! I am sent unto you by the King, to let you know
    that his pleasure is, That whereas there is brought unto him, a
    Sermon to be printed: you should allow this Sermon to the press.

    _Archbishop._ I was never he that authorised books to be printed:
    for it is the work of my Chaplains to read over other men's
    writings, and what is fit, to let it go; what is unfit, to expunge
    it.

    MURRAY. But the King will have you yourself to do this, because
    he is minded that no books shall be allowed, but by you and the
    Bishop of LONDON [_then GEORGE MONTAIGNE_]: and my Lord of LONDON
    authorised one the other day, COSENS's book; and he will have you
    do this.

    _Archbishop._ This is an occupation that my old Master, King
    JAMES, did never put me to; and yet I was then young, and had more
    abilities of body than I now have: so that I see I must now learn a
    new lesson. But leave it with me! and when I have read it, I shall
    know what to say unto it. A day or two hence, you shall understand
    my mind.

When I had once or twice perused it; I found some words which seemed to
me to cross that which the King intended, and, in a sort, to destroy
it; and therefore upon his return a day or two after, I expressed
myself thus:

    Master MURRAY! I conceive that the King intended that this Sermon
      shall promote the service now in hand about the Loan of Money:
      but in my opinion he much crosseth it. For he layeth it down for
      a rule (and because it should not be forgotten, he repeateth
      it again) that _Christians are bound in duty one to another,
      especially all subjects to their Princes, according to the
      Laws and Customs of the Kingdom wherein they live_. Out of
      this, will men except this Loan; because there is neither Law nor
      Custom for it, in the Kingdom of England.

    Secondly. In my judgement, there followeth a dangerous speech,
    _Habemus necessitatem vindicanda libertatis_. (For this was all
    that was then quoted out of CALVIN, no mention being made of any of
    the other words which are, now, in the printed copy.) For when, by
    the former rule he hath set men at liberty whether they will pay or
    not; he imposeth upon them a necessity to vindicate this liberty;
    and _vindicare_ may be extended to challenge with violence, _cum
    vi_. But, for my part, I would be most unwilling to give occasion
    to Sedition and Mutiny in the kingdom!

    Again, here is mention made of Poll Money; which, as I have heard,
    hath already caused much distaste where the Sermon was preached.

    Moreover, what a speech is this? _That he observes the_
    _forwardness of the Papists to offer double according to an Act_
    _of Parliament so providing; yea, to profess that they would part
    with the half of their goods_: where he quoteth in the margent,
    _Anno I. CAROLI, the Act for the Subsidy of the Laity, whereby
    Popish Recusants were to pay double_; when indeed there is _no such
    Act_!

    And in the fifth place, it is said in this Sermon, that _the
    Princes of Bohemia have power to depose their Kings, as not being
    hereditary_. Which is a great question: such a one as hath cost
    much blood; and must not in a word be absolutely defined here, as
    if it were without controversy.

    I pray you, make His Majesty acquainted with these things! and take
    the book with you!

Where it is to be noted, that, all this time, we had but one single
copy [_manuscript_]; which was sometimes at the Court, and sometimes
left with me.

MURRAY. I will faithfully deliver these things to the King, and then
you shall hear further from me!

       *       *       *       *       *

Some two or three days after, he returneth again unto me, and telleth
me, That he had particularly acquainted the King with my objections;
and His Majesty made this answer.

    First. For the Laws and Customs of the Kingdom, he did not stand
    upon that. He had a precedent for that which he did, and thereon he
    would insist.

_Archbishop._ I think that to be a mistaking; for I fear there will be
found no such precedent. King HENRY VIII., as the Chronicle sheweth,
desired but a Sixth Part of men's estates, Ten Groats in the Pound:
our King desireth the whole six parts, full out; so much as men are set
at in the _Subsidy Book_. And in the time of King HENRY, although he
were a powerful King; yet, for that taxation, there began against him
little less than a rebellion; so that he held it wisdom to desist; and,
laying the blame upon Cardinal WOLSEY, professed that "he knew nothing
of the matter."

    MURRAY. Secondly. The King saith for the words, _Habemus
    necessitatem vindicanda libertatis_; he taketh them to be for him,
    and he will stand upon his liberty.

    Thirdly. For Poll Money, he thinketh it lawful.

    Fourthly. It is true, there was no such Act passed; and therefore
    it must be amended. (And yet in the printed book, it is suffered
    still to stand! Such slight, and, I may say, slovenly care was had,
    by them that published this Sermon.)

    And fifthly. For that of Bohemia: he hath crossed it out of the
    book.

Some other matters there were, against which I took exception; but
Master MURRAY being a young gentleman, although witty and full of good
behaviour: I doubted that, being not deeply seen in Divinity, he could
not so well conceive me or make report of my words to His Majesty: and
therefore I, being lame and so disabled to wait on the King, did move
him, that "He would, in my name, humbly beseech His Majesty to send
[_WILLIAM LAUD, then_] the Bishop of BATH AND WELLS unto me; and I
would, by his means, make known my scruples." And so I dismissed Master
MURRAY; observing with myself, that the Answers to my five Objections
especially to two or three [of them], were somewhat strange; as if the
King were resolved (were it to his good, or to his harm) to have the
book go forth.

       *       *       *       *       *

After one or two days more, the young Gentleman cometh to me again, and
telleth me, that "The King did not think it fit to send the Bishop of
BATH unto me; but that expecteth I should pass the book."

In the meantime, had gone over one High Commission day; and this Bishop
(who used otherwise on very few days, to fail) was not there: which
being joined to His Majesty's message, made me, in some measure to
smell that this whole business might have that Bishop's hand in it;
especially I knowing in general, the disposition of the man.

       *       *       *       *       *

The minds of those that were Actors for the publishing of the book,
were not quiet at the Court, that the thing was not despatched.
Therefore, one day, the Duke said to the King, "Do you see how this
business is deferred! If more expedition be not used, it will not be
printed before the end of the Term: at which time, it is fit that it
be sent down into the countreys [_counties_]." So eager was he, that
either by my credit, his undertakings might be strengthened; or at
least, I might be contemned and derided, as an unworthy fellow.

This so quickened the King, that the next message which was sent by
Master MURRAY, was in some degree minatory, "That if I did not despatch
it, the King would take some other course with me!"

When I found how far the Duke had prevailed; I thought it my best way,
to set down in writing, many objections, wherefore the book was not fit
to be published: which I did modestly, and sent them to the King.

    1. (Page 2.) These words deserve to be well weighed, _And whereas
    the Prince pleads not the Power of Prerogative_.

    2. (Page 8.) _The King's duty is first to direct and make Laws._
    There is no law made till the King assent unto it; but if it be put
    simply to _make Laws_, it will make much startling at it.

    3. (Page 10.) If _nothing may excuse from Active Obedience, but
    what is against the Law of GOD, or of Nature, or impossible_;
    how doth this agree with the first fundamental position: (Page 5.)
    _That all subjects are bound to all their Princes, according to
    the Laws and Customs of the Kingdom wherein they live._

    4. (Page 11.) This is a fourth Case of Exception. The Poll Money,
    mentioned by him in _Saint MATTHEW_, was imposed by the Emperor
    as a Conqueror over the Jews: and the execution of it in England,
    although it was by a Law, produced a terrible effect in King
    RICHARD II.'s time; when only it was used, for ought that appeareth.

    5. (Page 12.) It is, in the bottom, _View of the reign of HENRY
    III._; and whether it be fit to give such allowance to the book;
    being surreptitiously put out?

    6. (In the same page.) Let the largeness of those words be well
    considered! _Yea, all Antiquity to be absolutely for Absolute
    Obedience to Princes, in all Civil and Temporal things._ For such
    cases as NABOTH's Vineyard, may fall within this.

    7. (Page 14.) SIXTUS V. was dead before 1580.

    8. (In the same page.) Weigh it well, How this Loan may be called
    a Tribute! and when it is said, _We are promised, it shall not
    be immoderately imposed_, how agreeth that, with His Majesty's
    Commission and _Proclamation_, which are quoted in the margent?

It should seem that this paper did prick to the quick; and no
satisfaction being thereby accepted, Bishop LAUD is called, and he must
go to answer to it in writing.

       *       *       *       *       *

This man is the _only_ inward [_intimate_] counsellor with BUCKINGHAM:
sitting with him, sometimes, privately whole hours; and feeding his
humour with malice and spite.

His life in Oxford was to pick quarrels in the Lectures of the Public
Readers, and to advertise [_denounce_] them to the then Bishop of
DURHAM [? _T. MATTHEW, or his successor, W. JAMES_], that he might
fill the ears of King JAMES with discontents against the honest men
that took pains in their Places, and settled the truth (that he called
Puritanism) in their auditors.

He made it his work, to see what books were in the press; and to look
over _Epistles Dedicatory_, and _Prefaces to the Reader_, to see what
faults might be found.

It was an observation what a sweet man this was like[ly] to be, that
the first observable act that he did, was the marrying of the Earl of
D[EVONSHIRE] to the Lady R[ICH] [_See Vol. I. p. 483_]: when it was
notorious to the world, that she had another husband, and the same a
nobleman, who had divers children then living by her.

King JAMES did, for many years, take this so ill, that he would never
hear of any great preferment of him: insomuch that Doctor WILLIAMS,
the Bishop of LINCOLN (who taketh upon him, to be the first promoter
of him) hath many times said "That when he made mention of LAUD to
the King, His Majesty was so averse from it, that he was constrained
oftentimes to say that 'He would never desire to serve that Master,
which could not remit one fault unto his servant.'"

Well, in the end, he did conquer it, to get him [_on the 10th
October, 1621_] the Bishopric of ST. DAVIDS: which he had not long
enjoyed; but he began to undermine his benefactor, as, at this day, it
appeareth.

The Countess of BUCKINGHAM told LINCOLN, that "St. DAVIDS was the man
that undermined him with her son." And, verily, such is his aspiring
nature, that he will under-work any man in the world! so that he may
gain by it.

       *       *       *       *       *

This man, who believeth so well of himself, framed an Answer to my
Exceptions.

But to give some countenance to it; he must call in three other
Bishops, that is to say, DURHAM, ROCHESTER, and OXFORD, tried men for
such a purpose! and the style of the Speech runneth, "We, and We." This
seemed so strong a Confutation, that, for reward of their service,
as well as for hope that they would do more, Doctor NEYLE, Bishop of
DURHAM, and the Bishop of BATH, were sworn of the Privy Council.

       *       *       *       *       *

The very day, being Sunday, Master MURRAY was sent unto me, with a
writing: but finding me all in a sweat, by a fit of the stone which was
then upon me, he forbore, for that time, to trouble me, and said, "That
on the morrow, he would repair to me again."

I got me to bed, and lying all that night in pain; I held it convenient
not to rise the next day.

And on the Monday, Master MURRAY came unto me; which was the eighth
time that he had been with me, so incessantly was I plied with this
noble work.

I had shewed it [the _Apostolical Obedience_] to a friend or two:
whereof the one was a learned Doctor of Divinity; and the other had
served many times in Parliament with great commendation. We all
agreed that it was an idle work of a man that understood not Logic,
that evidently crossed [_contradicted_] himself, that sometimes spake
plausibly; and, in the end of his Sermon, [it] fell so poor and flat,
that it was not worth the reading.

       *       *       *       *       *

Master MURRAY coming to my bedside, said, "That he was sent again by
the King, and had a paper to be shewed unto me."

_Archbishop._ You see in what case I am, having slept little all this
last night; but nevertheless since you come from the King, I will take
my spectacles, and read it.

MURRAY. No, my Lord! You may not read it, nor handle it; for I have
charge not to suffer it to go out of my hands.

_Archbishop._ How then, shall I know what it is?

MURRAY. Yes, I have order to read it unto you! but I may not part with
it.

_Archbishop._ I must conceive, that if I do not assent to it, His
Majesty will give me leave to reply upon it; which I cannot do, but in
my study, for there are my books.

MURRAY. I must go with you into your study; and sit by you, till you
have done.

_Archbishop._ It is not so hasty a work. It will require time; and I
have not been used to study, one sitting by me. But first read it, I
pray you!

The young gentleman read it from the one end to the other; being two or
three sheets of paper.

_Archbishop._ This Answer is very bitter; but giveth me no
satisfaction. I pray you leave the writing with me; and I shall batter
it to pieces.

MURRAY. No, my Lord! I am forbidden to leave it with you, or to suffer
you to touch it.

_Archbishop._ How cometh this about? Are the authors of it afraid of
it, or ashamed of it? I pray you tell His Majesty that I am dealt with
neither manly, nor scholar like. Not manly, because I must fight with
adversaries that I know not: not scholar like, because I must not see
what it is that must confute me. It is now eight and forty years ago
[_i.e., in 1579_], that I came to the University; and, since that time,
I have ever loved a learned man. I have disputed and written divers
books, and know very well what appertaineth to the Schools.

This is a new kind of learning unto me. I have formerly found fault,
that the author of this Sermon quoteth not the places, whereupon he
grounds his doctrine: and when I have oft called for them, it is
replied to me that "I must take them upon the credit of the Writer,"
which I dare not do. For I have searched but one place, which he
quoted in general, but sets down neither the words, nor the treatise,
nor the chapter; and I find nothing to the purpose for which it is
quoted: and therefore I have reason to suspect all the rest.

I pray you, therefore, in the humblest manner, to commend my service
to the King my Master, and let him know that, unless I may have all
the quotations set down, that I may examine them: and may have that
Writing, wherein I am so ill used: I cannot allow the book!

       *       *       *       *       *

Before I go further, it shall not be amiss to touch some particulars of
that which I sent in writing to the King.

    The First was Page 2. These words deserve to be well weighed. _And
    whereas the Prince pleads not the power of Prerogative._

To this, Master MURRAY said, "The King doth not plead it."

But my reply was, "But what then, doth he coerce those refractories?
for I have not heard of any Law, whereby they are imprisoned; and
therefore I must take it to be by the King's Prerogative."

    To the Second (Page 8). _The King's duty is first to direct and
    make Laws._ There is no Law made till the King assent unto it; but
    if it be put simply to _make Laws_, it will cause much startling
    at it.

To this I remember not any material thing was answered; neither to the
Third.

    (Page 10.) _If nothing may excuse from Active Obedience, but what
    is against the Law of GOD, or of Nature, or impossible_; how doth
    this agree with the first fundamental position: (Page 5.) _That all
    subjects are bound to all their Princes, according to the Laws
    and Customs of the kingdom wherein they live._

    This is a fourth case of Exception.

And here, before I go to the rest, the Doctor did truly hit upon a good
point, in looking _to the Laws and Customs_, if he could have kept him
to it.

For in my memory, and in the remembrance of many Lords and others that
now live, Doctor HARSENET, the then Bishop of CHICHESTER, and now of
NORWICH, in Parliament time, preached at Whitehall, a sermon (which
was afterwards burned) upon the text, _Give unto CÆSAR, the things
that be CÆSAR's!_ wherein he insisted that "Goods and Money were
CÆSAR's; and therefore they were not to be denied unto him."

At this time, when the whole Parliament took main offence thereat,
King JAMES was constrained to call the Lords and Commons into the
Banquetting House at Whitehall: and there His Majesty called all, by
saying "The Bishop only failed in this, when he said _The goods were
CÆSAR's_, he did not add _They were his, according to the Laws and
Customs of the Country wherein they did live_."

So moderate was our CÆSAR then, as I myself saw and heard, being then
an Eye and Ear Witness: for I was then Bishop of LONDON.

    To the Fourth. The Poll Money, in _Saint MATTHEW_, was imposed by
    the Emperor, as a Conqueror over the Jews: and the execution of it
    in England, although it was by a Law, produced a terrible effect in
    RICHARD II.'s time; when only it was used, for ought that appeareth.

Here the Bishop, in the Paper, excepted divers things "That sometimes
among us, by Act of Parliament, strangers are appointed to pay by the
poll:" which agreeth not with the Case: and that "It was not well to
bring examples out of weak times; whereas we live in better: but it was
a marvellous fault, the blame was not laid upon the rebels of that Age."

Those are such poor things, that they are not worth the answering.

But my Objection, in truth, prevailed so far, that in the printed book,
it was qualified thus: _Poll money, other persons, and upon some
occasions_.

Where, _obiter_, I may observe that my refusing to sign the Sermon, is
not to be judged by the printed book: for many things are altered in
one, which were in the other.

    To the Fifth (Page 12). It is in the bottom, _View of the reign
    of HENRY III._, whether it be fit to give such allowance to the
    book; being surreptitiously put out?

To this, it was said, "That being a good passage out of a blameworthy
book, there was no harm in it."

But before the question of SIBTHORP's treatise; the Bishop of BATH
himself, being with me, found much fault with that Treatise, as being
put out for a scandalous Parallel of those times.

    To the Sixth, in the same page. Let the largeness of those words
    be well considered! _Yea, all Antiquity to be absolutely for
    Absolute Obedience to Princes, in all Civil and Temporal Things._
    For such cases as NABOTH's Vineyard may fall within this.

Here the Bishop was as a man in a rage, and said, "That it was an
odious comparison! for it must suppose, that there must be an AHAB, and
there must be a JEZEBEL, and I cannot tell what!"

But I am sure my Exception standeth true; and reviling and railing doth
not satisfy my argument. _All Antiquity_ taketh the Scripture into it:
and if I had allowed that proportion for good, I had been justly beaten
with my own rod.

If the King, the next day, had commanded me to send him all the money
and goods I had; I must, by mine own rule, have obeyed him! and if
he had commanded the like to all the clergymen in England, by Doctor
SIBTHORP's proportion and my Lord of CANTERBURY's allowing of the same;
they must have sent in all! and left their wives and children in a
miserable case.

Yea, the words extend so far, and are so absolutely delivered, that by
this Divinity, if the King should send to the city of London, and the
inhabitants thereof, commanding them "to give unto him all the wealth
which they have," they are bound to do it!

I know our King is so gracious, that he will attempt no such matter:
but if he do it not, the defect is not in these flattering Divines!
who, if they were called to question for such doctrine, they would
scarce be able to abide it.

There is a _Meum_ and a _Tuum_ in Christian commonwealths, and
_according to Laws and Customs_, Princes may dispose of it. That
saying being true, _Ad reges, potestas omnium pertinet, ad singulos,
proprietas_.

    To the Seventh (p. 14.), PIUS V. was dead before the year 1580;
    they make no reply, but mend it in the printed book; changing it
    into GREGORY XIII.

    To the last (on the same page). Weigh it well! How this Loan may
    be called a Tribute; and when it is said, _We are promised it shall
    not be immoderately imposed_. How that agreeth with His Majesty's
    Commission and Proclamation, which are quoted in the margent?

They make no answer but in the published Sermon, distinguish a Tribute
from a Loan or Aid: whereby they acknowledge it was not well before,
and indeed it was improper and absurd: worthy of none but Doctor
SIBTHORP.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have now delivered the grounds, whereupon I refused to authorise
this book: being sorry at my heart, that the King, my gracious Master,
should rest so great a building upon so weak a foundation; the Treatise
being so slender, and without substance, but that it proceeded from a
hungry man.

       *       *       *       *       *

If I had been in Council, when the Project for this Loan was first
handled, I would have used my best reasons to have had it well
grounded; but I was absent, and knew not whereupon they proceeded: only
I saw, it was followed with much vehemency. And since it was put in
execution, I did not interpose myself to know the grounds of one, nor
of the other.

It seemed therefore strange unto me, that, in the upshot of the
business, I was called in, to make that good by Divinity, which
others had done; and must have no other inducement to it, but Doctor
SIBTHORP's contemptible treatise!

I imagined this, for the manner of the carriage of it, to be somewhat
like unto the Earl of SOMERSET's case; who having abused the wife of
the Earl of ESSEX, must have her divorced from her husband, and must
himself marry her. And this must not be done; but that the Archbishop
of CANTERBURY must ratify all, judicially!

I know the cases are different; but I only compare the manner of the
carriage.

[Illustration]

When the approbation of the Sermon was by me refused, it was carried
to the Bishop of LONDON, who gave a great and stately allowance of it
[_It was entered at Stationers' Hall, under his authority, on the 3rd
May, 1627_]: the good man being not willing that anything should stick
which was sent unto him from the Court; as appeareth by the book which
is commonly called _The Seven Sacraments_, which was allowed by his
Lordship, with all the errors! which since that time have been expunged
and taken out of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

But before this passed the Bishop's file, there is one accident which
fitly cometh in to be recounted in this place.

My Lord of LONDON hath a Chaplain, Doctor WORRAL by name; who is
scholar good enough, but a kind of free fellow like man, and of no very
tender conscience.

Doctor SIBTHORP's Sermon was brought unto him; and "hand over head" as
the proverb is, he approved it, and subscribed his name unto it: but
afterwards, being better advised, he sendeth it to a learned gentleman
of the Inner Temple; and writing some few lines unto him, craveth his
opinion of that which he had done.

The Gentleman read it; but although he had promised to return his
judgement by letter, yet he refused so to do: but desired Doctor WORRAL
would come himself. Which being done, he spake to this purpose, "What
have you done? You have allowed a strange book yonder! which, if it be
true, there is no _Meum_ or _Tuum_! no man in England hath anything of
his own! If ever the tide turns, and matters be called to a reckoning;
you will be hanged for publishing such a book!"

To which, the Doctor answered, "Yea, but my hand is to it! What shall I
do?"

For that, the other replied, "You must scrape out your name! and do not
suffer so much as the sign of any letter to remain in the paper!"

Which, accordingly he did; and withdrew his finger from the pie.

       *       *       *       *       *

But what the Chaplain, well advised, would not do; his Lord, without
sticking, accomplished: and so, being unsensibly hatched, it came
flying into the world!

But in my opinion, the book hath persuaded very few understanding men;
and hath not gained the King, sixpence.


                            _Pars Secunda._

Hitherto, I have declared, at length, all passages concerning the
Sermon; and, to my remembrance, I have not quitted anything that was
worthy the knowing. I am now, in the second place, to shew what was the
issue of this not allowing the worthy and learned Treatise.

In the height of this question, I privately understood from a friend
in the Court, that "for a punishment upon me, it was resolved that
I should be sent to Canterbury, and confined there." I kept this
silently, and expected GOD's pleasure, yet laying it up still in my
mind: esteeming the Duke to be of the number of them, touching whom,
TACITUS observeth, _that such as are false in their love, are true in
their hate_! But whatsoever the event must be, I made use of the
report, that _jacula proevisa minus feriunt_.

The Duke, at the first, was earnest with the King, that I must be
presently sent away before his going to sea [_He left Portsmouth,
on the Rochelle Expedition, on the 27th June_]. "For," saith he, "if
I were gone, he would be every day at Whitehall, and at the Council
table! and there, will cross all things that I have intended."

To meet with this objection, I got me away to Croydon, a month sooner
than, in ordinary years, I have used to do; but the Term was ended
early, and my main [_strong_] fit of the stone did call upon me to get
me to the country, that there on horseback, I might ride on the downs:
which I afterwards performed, and, I thank GOD! found great use of it
in recovering of my stomach, which was almost utterly gone.

The Duke hastened his preparations for the fleet: but still that cometh
in for one memorandum, "That if he were once absent, there should no
day pass over but that the Archbishop would be with the King, and
infuse things that would be contrary to his proceedings."

What a miserable and restless thing ambition is! When one talented, but
as a common person; yet by the favour of his Prince, hath gotten that
Interest, that, in a sort, all the Keys of England hang at his girdle
(which the wise Queen ELIZABETH would never endure in any subject); yet
standeth in his own heart, in such tickle terms, as that he feareth
every shadow, and thinketh that the lending of the King's ear unto
any grave and well seasoned report, may blow him out of all! which in
his estimation, he thinketh is settled on no good foundation, but the
affection of the Prince; which may be mutable, as it is in all men,
more or less. If a man would wish harm unto his enemy; could he wish
him a greater torment, than to be wrested and wringed with ambitious
thoughts!

Well, at first, it went current, that "with all haste, I must be
doffed!" but, upon later consideration, "it must be stayed till the
Duke be at sea, and then put in execution by the King himself; that, as
it seemeth, BUCKINGHAM might be free from blame, if any should be laid
upon any person."

Hence it was, that, after his going, there was a new prosecution of the
Yorkshire men; and the refusing Londoners were pursued more fervently
than before: and it is very likely that the arrow came out of the same
quiver, that the Bishop coming to the election at Westminster, was
driven back so suddenly to Bugden.

Take heed of these things, noble Duke! You put your King to the worst
parts! whereof you may hear, one day! So when your Sovereign, in the
Parliament time, had spoken sharply to both Houses, commanding them
"To go together again, and to give more money!" and commanding them to
"meddle no more with the Duke of BUCKINGHAM!" you came, the next day,
and thought to smooth all, taking the glory of qualifying disturbances
to yourself! Whereas, if you read books of true State Government
(wherewithal you are not acquainted!), sweet things are personally to
be acted by Kings and Princes, as giving of honours, and bestowing of
noted benefits; and those things that are sour and distasting, are to
be performed by their Ministers. You go the contrary way!

But as before the whole house falleth on fire, some sparks do fly
out; so, before the message of the King was brought by the Secretary
[of State], there were some inklings that such a thing would follow.
And upon the naming of me, by occasion [_incidentally_], it was
said by a creature of the Duke, that "It would not be long, before
the Archbishop should be sequestered!" that was the word. So well
acquainted are the Duke's followers, with great actions that are likely
to fall out in State.

       *       *       *       *       *

Accordingly on Tuesday, the 5th of July, 1627, the Lord CONWAY
[Secretary of State] came to me to Croydon, before dinner-time; "having
travelled," as he said, "a long journey that morning, even from
Oatlands thither."

He would say nothing till he had dined. Then, because he was to return
to Oatlands that night, I took him into the gallery: and when we were
both sat down, we fell to it, in this manner.

My Lord! I know you, coming from Court, have somewhat to say to me.

_Secretary._ It is true, My Lord! and I am the most unwilling man in
the world, to bring unpleasing news to any Person of Quality, to whom I
wish well; and especially to such a one, as of whose meat I have eaten,
and been merry at his house: but I come from the King, and must deliver
his pleasure (I know who you are! and much more) with very civil
language.

_Archbishop._ I doubt not, my Lord! but you have somewhat to say; and
therefore, I pray you, in plain terms, let me have it!

_Secretary._ It is then His Majesty's pleasure, that you should
withdraw yourself unto Canterbury! for which, he will afford you some
convenient time.

_Archbishop._ Is that it! Then I must use the words of the Psalmist,
"He shall not be afraid of any evil tidings; for his heart standeth
fast, and believeth in the LORD!" But, I pray you, what is my fault
that bringeth this upon me?

_Secretary._ The King saith, you know!

_Archbishop._ Truly, I know none, unless it be that I am lame; which I
cannot help. It is against my will, and I am not proud of it.

_Secretary._ The King bade me tell you, "That if any expostulation were
used"----

_Archbishop._ No, I will not use any expostulation! If it be his
pleasure, I will obey. I know myself to be an honest man, and therefore
fear nothing; but, my Lord! do you think it is for the King's service,
in this sort, to send me away?

_Secretary._ No, by GOD! I do not think it: and so, yesterday, I told
the King with an oath; but he will have it so.

_Archbishop._ I must say, as before, "He shall not be afraid of any
evil tidings; for his heart standeth fast, and he believeth in the
LORD!" But, I pray you, my Lord! is the King precisely set upon my
going to Canterbury. There are questions in law between me and that
town, about the liberties of my Archbishopric; which I, by my oath,
am bound to maintain: and if I should be among them, I have many
adversaries of the citizens. I have there some tenants, and the Dean
and Chapter are interested in the question. I would be unwilling that
my servants and their people should fall together by the ears, while I
am in the town.

His Majesty knoweth this difference to be between us, by the token that
a suit, which I lately brought against them, by a _Quo Warranto_ in the
King's Bench, was stopped: justice being denied me, which is not usual
to be denied to any subject; and the King well knoweth, by whose means
it was stayed.

I have therefore another house called Foord, five miles beyond
Canterbury, and more out of the way. His Majesty may be pleased to let
me go thither.

_Secretary._ I can say nothing to that, but I will acquaint the King
with it; and I conceive nothing to the contrary, but that His Majesty
will yield so much unto you.

I have a second Charge to deliver unto you, and that is that "His
Majesty will not have you, from henceforth, to meddle with the High
Commission. He will take care that it shall be done otherwise."

_Archbishop._ I do not doubt but it shall be better managed than it
hath been by me: and yet, my Lord! I will tell you, that, for these
many years that I have had the direction of that Court, the time is to
come, that ever honest man did find fault that he had not there justice
done.

_Secretary._ It is now Vacation time, and so consequently little to do;
and by Michaelmas, His Majesty may set all in order.

_Archbishop._ I am sorry the King proceedeth thus with me, and letteth
me not know the cause.

_Secretary._ Although I have no commission to tell you so. It is for a
book which you would not allow, which concerned the King's service.

_Archbishop._ If that be it; when I am questioned for it, I doubt not
but to give an honest answer.

_Secretary._ You will never be questioned for it!

_Archbishop._ Then am I the more hardly dealt withal; to be Censured,
and not called to my answer.

_Secretary._ Well, my Lord! I will remember that of Foord: and will
your Grace command me any more service?

_Archbishop._ No, my Lord! but GOD be with you! Only I end where I
began, with the words of the Prophet, "He shall not be afraid for any
evil tidings; for his heart standeth fast, and believeth in the LORD!"

       *       *       *       *       *

It comforted me not a little, that the word was now out: "My confining
must be, for not allowing of a book!" I had much ado to forbear smiling
when I heard it: because now it was clear, it was not for felony or
treason that was laid to my charge, nor for intelligence with the
Spaniards or French, nor for correspondency [_correspondence_] with
Jesuits and Seminary Priests; I thank GOD for that!

       *       *       *       *       *

I had almost forgotten that, among many other memorable speeches that
passed between us, I used this one, that "Peradventure, the King might
be offended at me, because I was no more present at the matter of the
Loan; but," said I, "my lameness hindered me therein; and I hoped
thereby to do my Master better service. Because if ever course were
taken to reconcile the King and his people (which if it be not, this
Kingdom will rue it in the end!), I would hope, among many others, to
be a good instrument therein, since my hand hath not been in those
bitternesses, which have, of late, fallen out."

"You say well!" said the Secretary; "would you that I should tell the
King so much?"

"Yea," said I, "if you please, I hold it not unfit that His Majesty
should know it."

What he reported therein, I know not: but matters proceeded in the
former course, as if there were no regard had of any such thing.

The Lord CONWAY being gone from me for two or three days; I expected
to hear the resolution [as] to what place in Kent, I should betake
myself. And receiving no news, I tossed many things in my mind, as
perhaps that the King desired to hear somewhat from the Duke, how he
sped on his journey [_expedition_]; or that peradventure he might alter
his purpose, upon report of my ready obeying; or that it might so fall
out, that some of the Lords at the Court, understanding, upon the
Secretary's return from Croydon, that which was formerly concealed from
them, might infuse some other counsels into the King.

These thoughts I revolved. At last, not forgetting the courses of the
Court, and imprinting that into my heart, that _there was no good
intended towards me, but that any advantage would be taken against
me_, I sent a man to Whitehall, whither the King was now come for a
night or two, and by him, I wrote to the Lord CONWAY, in these words

  _MY VERY GOOD LORD_,

    _I do not forget the message, which you brought unto me on
    Thursday last; and because I have heard nothing from you since
    that time, I send this messenger on purpose to know what is
    resolved touching the house or houses where I must remain.
    There belong to the Archbishopric, three houses in Kent: one at
    Canterbury; another five miles beyond, called Foord; and a third,
    on the side of Canterbury, but two miles off, the name whereof is
    Beeksburn._

    _I pray your Lordship to let me know His Majesty's pleasure,_
    _whether he will leave the choice of any of those houses to reside
    in, to me?_

    _I have reason to know the resolution thereof: because I must_
    _make my provision of wood and coals and hay for some definite_
    _place; and when I shall have brewed, it is fit I should know_
    _where to put it, or else it will not serve the turn. It is an_
    _unseasonable time to brew now, and as untimely to cut wood (it_
    _being green in the highest degree), and to make coals; without
    all which, my House cannot be kept. But when I shall know what_
    _must be my habitation, I will send down my servants presently_ [at
    once] _to make the best provision they can_.

    _And so, expecting your Lordship's answer, I leave you to the_
    _Almighty, and remain_,

                                   _Your Lordship's very loving friend_,
                                                              _G. CANT_.

  _Croydon, July 10, 1627._

He made my servant stay: and when he had gone up to know the King's
pleasure, he returned me the answer following.

  _MAY IT PLEASE YOUR GRACE_,

    _I am ashamed, and do confess my fault, that I wrote not to your
    Grace before I received your reproof, though a gracious one;
    but, in truth, I did not neglect, nor forget; but the continual
    oppression of business would not permit me to advertise to your
    Grace, the King's Answer._

    _His Majesty heard seriously your professions and answers, and_
    _commanded me to signify unto you that "He knew not the present_
    _differences between you and the town_ [i.e., of Canterbury]; _and_
    _if he had, he would not have cast you into that inconvenience."_
    _He was well pleased you should go to your house at Foord; and_
    _said, "He did not expect when the question was ended between_
    _your Grace and the town, that you should go to Canterbury."_

    _And he further said, "He would not tie you to so short a time,_
    _as might be any way inconvenient; but doth expect that your_
    _Grace will govern it so, as His Majesty shall not need to warn
    you a second time."_

    _I will not fail to move His Majesty to give you liberty to choose_
    _either of the houses you name, and give you knowledge of his_
    _pleasure, and in all things be ready to obey your commandments,_
    _or take occasion to serve you in the condition of_

                                                         _Your Grace's_
                                                 _Most humble servant_,
                                                              _CONWAY_.

    _Whitehall, July 10, 1627._

I could not but observe therein that passage, that the King _doth
expect your Grace will so govern it, as His Majesty shall not need to
warn you a second time_.

I needed no interpreter to expound those words, and therefore did take
order that one of my officers was presently despatched unto Foord, to
see the house ready.

       *       *       *       *       *

While necessaries were caring for, and I lay for some days at Croydon,
and afterwards at Lambeth; the city of London was filled with the
report of "my confining" (for so they did term it), and divers men
spake diversely of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

I will not trouble myself to mention some idle things; but some other
of them require a little consideration. A main matter, that the Duke
was said "to take in ill part," was the resort which was made to my
house, at the times of dinner and supper, and that, oftentimes, of such
as did not love him.

My answer unto that is, That, by nature, I have been given to keep a
house according to my proportion, since I have had any means, and GOD
hath blessed me in it. That it is a property, by Saint PAUL required in
a Bishop, that "He should be given to hospitality"; that it is another
of his rules, "Let your conversation be without covetousness!" and
those things, I had in mine eyes. Besides I have no wife, nor child:
and as for my kindred, I do that for them which I hold fit; but I will
not rob the Church, nor the poor, for them!

Again, it is so rare a fault in these things, that men not feeding on
the King's meat, but of their own charge, should frankly entertain
their friends when they come unto them; that I deserve to be pardoned
for it!

But this is not all. When King JAMES gave me the Bishopric, he did once
between him and me, and another time before the Earl of SALISBURY,
charge me that "I should carry my house nobly!" that was His Majesty's
word, "and live like an Archbishop!" which I promised him to do. And
when men came to my house, who were of all Civil sorts, I gave them
friendly entertainment: not sifting what exceptions the Duke made
against them; for I knew he might as undeservedly think ill of others,
as he did of me. But I meddled with no man's quarrels: and if I should
have received none, but such as cordially, and in truth had loved him;
I might have gone to dinner many times without company!

There, frequented me Lords Spiritual and Temporal, divers Privy
Councillors, as occasion served, and men of the highest rank: where, if
the Duke thought that we had busied ourselves about him, he was much
deceived. Yet, perhaps the old saying is true, "A man who is guilty of
one evil to himself; thinketh that all men that talk together, do say
somewhat of him!" I do not envy him that happiness; but let it ever
attend him!

       *       *       *       *       *

As for other men, of good sort, but of lesser quality; I have heard
some by name, to whom exception has been taken: and these are three.
I know from the Court by a friend, that my house, for a good space of
time, hath been watched; and I marvel that they have not rather named
sixty, than three.

The First of these, is Sir DUDLEY DIGGES, a very great mote in the
Duke's eye, as I am informed: for it is said that this Knight hath paid
him in Parliament, with many sharp speeches. If this be so, yet what is
that to me? He is of age to answer for himself!

But in the time of the late Parliament, when the Earl of CARLISLE came
unto me, and dealt with me thereabouts; I gave him my word, and I did
it truly, that I was not acquainted with these things: only, being
sick as I was, I had in general given him advice that he should do
nothing that might give just offence to the King. And I have credibly
heard that when Sir DUDLEY was last in the Fleet, committed from the
Council table; he was much dealt with, to know whether he was not
instigated by me to accuse the Duke in Parliament: the Knight, with
all the protestations and assurances that could come from a Gentleman,
acquitted me of the part and whole: wherein he did me but right.

And I do remember, when that man, now so hated! was a great servant of
the Duke. So that if he have now left him, it cannot but be presumed
that it is for some unworthy carriage, which the Gentleman conceiveth
hath, by that Lord, been offered unto him.

Moreover, how can I but imagine the words and actions of Sir DUDLEY
DIGGES have been ill interpreted and reported; when I myself saw the
Duke stand up nine times in a morning, in a Parliament House, to fasten
upon him words little less, if at all less than treason; when by the
particular votes of all the Lords and Commons in both Houses, he was
quit [_acquitted_] of those things, which the other would have enforced
upon him. And a little while before, he was hastily clapped into the
Tower; and within a day or two released again, because nothing was
proved against him!

And I assure you, I am so little interested in his actions, that, to
this day, I could never learn the reason why he was imprisoned in the
Fleet; although he was kept there for seven or eight weeks.

I distinguish the King, from the Duke of BUCKINGHAM. The one is our
Sovereign, by the laws of GOD and men! the other, a subject! as we are:
and if any subject do impeach another, though of different degrees; let
the party grieved, remedy himself by Law, and not by Power!

But, to speak further for this Knight, I may not forget that when
he was publicly employed (one time to the Hague, a second time to
Muscovia, and thirdly into Ireland about Affairs of the State), such
opinions as were then held of his good endeavours.

As for my own part, ever since the days of Queen ELIZABETH, I have
been nearly acquainted with him. He was my pupil at Oxford, and a very
towardly one; and this knowledge, each of the other, hath continued
unto this time. He calleth me, Father; and I term his wife, my
daughter. His eldest son is my godson; and their children are in love
accounted my grandchildren.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Second that I have heard named, was Sir FRANCIS HARRINGTON: a
Gentleman, whom for divers years, I have not seen; and who, for ought I
know, was never in my house but once in his life.

The Third was Sir THOMAS WENTWORTH [_who after FELTON murdered
BUCKINGHAM on the 23rd August, 1628, went over to the Court, and
ultimately became Earl of STRAFFORD_]; who had good occasion to send
unto me, and sometimes to see me; because we were joint executors to
Sir GEORGE SAVILE, who married his sister, and was my pupil at Oxford.
To whose son also, Sir THOMAS WENTWORTH and I were Guardians, as may
appear in the Court of Wards; and many things passed between us in that
behalf: yet, to my remembrance, I saw not this gentleman but once,
in these three-quarters of a year last past [_i.e., since October,
1626_]: at which time, he came to seek his brother-in-law, the Lord
CLIFFORD, who was then with me at dinner at Lambeth.

       *       *       *       *       *

For one of the punishments laid upon me, it was told me by the Lord
CONWAY, that "I must meddle no more with the High Commission."
Accordingly, within a few days after, a Warrant is sent to the
Attorney-General, that the Commission must be renewed, and the
Archbishop must be left out. This, under hand, being buzzed about the
town, with no small mixture of spite; I conceived it to be agreeable
to [_correspond with_] the proceedings with [_against_] the Lords and
Gentlemen, who refused to contribute to the Loan: they all being laid
aside in the Commissions for Lieutenancy, and of the Peace, in their
several counties.

For my part, I had no cause to grieve at this, since it was His
Majesty's pleasure! but it was, by the actors therein understood
otherwise; they supposing that this power gave me the more authority
and splendour in the Church and Commonwealth.

       *       *       *       *       *

To deliver therefore, truly, the state of this question. It cannot be
denied but that it was a great point of policy for the establishing
of order in the Ecclesiastical, and consequently Civil Estate also,
to erect such a Court: whereby Churchmen [_clergy_] that exorbitated
[_exceeded bounds_] in any grievous manner, might be castigated and
rectified; and such sort of crimes in the laity might be censured
[_judged_] as were of Ecclesiastical Cognisance. And, verily, this is
of great use in the kingdom, as well for cherishing the study of the
Civil Law, as otherwise; so that it be kept incorruptible, and with
that integrity as so grave a Meeting and Assembly requireth. This was
principally my care; who took much pains and spent much money that, in
fair and commendable sort, justice was indifferently [_impartially_]
administered to all the King's people that had to do with us.

But every one might see that this was to my singular trouble! For
besides that to keep things in a straight course, sometimes in fits
of the gout I was forced to be carried into the Court by my servants;
where I could not speak much, but with difficulty: I was, at no time,
free from petitions; from examinations; from signing of warrants
to call some, to release others; from giving way to speeding, and
forwarding Acts of Court. Suitors, as their fashion is, being so
importunate as that, in summer and winter, in the day and in the night,
in sickness and health, they would not be denied!

These things were daily despatched by me out of Duty; and more, out of
Charity; no allowance of pay being from the King, or of fee from the
subject to us that were the Judges. Nay, I may say more. The holding of
that Court, in such sort as I did, was very expenseful to me, out of
my private purse, in giving weekly entertainment to the Commissioners.
The reason whereof was this. King JAMES being desirous, when he made
me Archbishop, that all matters should gravely and honourably be
carried, directed me that I should always call some of the Bishops that
were about London, and some Divines and Civilians [_Doctors of the
Civil Law_], that, by a good presence, causes might be handled for the
reputation of the action: and willed me withal, to imitate therein the
Lord Archbishop WHITGIFT, who invited weekly some of the Judges to
dinner, the rather to allure them thither. This advice proceeded from
[JOHN BRIDGMAN] the Bishop of Durham that now is; which was not ill, if
it came from a good intention.

I obeyed it, singly; and did that which was enjoined. But whereas in
those times, the Commissioners were but few: since that time there hath
been such an inundation of all sorts of men into that Company [_i.e.,
the High Commission_], that, without proportion, both Lords Spiritual
and Temporal, Commissioners and not Commissioners, resorted thither;
and divers of them brought so many of their men, that it was truly a
burthen to me. I think it may, by my Officers, be justified upon oath,
that since I was Archbishop, the thing alone hath cost me, out of my
private estate [_i.e., official income as Archbishop_], one and a
half thousand pounds; and if I did say two thousand pounds, it were
not much amiss: besides all the trouble of my servants, who, neither
directly nor indirectly, gained sixpence thereby in a whole year, but
only travail and pains for their Master's honour; and of that, they had
enough! my houses being like a great host[el]ry every Thursday in the
Term; and for my expenses, no man giving me so much as thanks!

Now this being the true case, if the Church and Commonwealth be well
provided for, in the administration of justice, and regard be had of
the public [welfare]; can any discreet man think that the removing of
me from this molestation, is any true punishment upon me? I being one
that have framed myself to Reality, and not to Opinion: and growing
more and more in years, and consequently into weakness; having before
surfeited so long of worldly shews, whereof nothing is truly gained
temporally but vexation of spirit, I have had enough of these things,
and do not dote upon them. The world, I hope, hath found me more stayed
and reserved in my courses.

Nevertheless, what was expedient for this, was despatched by me while I
lived at Lambeth and Croydon; albeit I went not out of door.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Yea, but you were otherwise inutile, not coming to the Star Chamber,
nor to the Council table?"

My pain or weakness by the gout, must excuse me herein. When I was
younger, and had my health, I so diligently attended at the Star
Chamber, that, for full seven years, I was not one day wanting.

And for the Council table, the same reason of my indisposition may
satisfy. But there are many other things that do speak for me.

The greatest matters there handled, were for money, or more attempts of
war.

For the one of these, we of the Clergy had done our parts already: the
Clergy having put _themselves_ into payments of Subsidy, by an Act of
Parliament; not only for these last two years (when the Temporalty lay
in a sort dry), but yet there are three years behind, in which our
payments run on, with weight enough unto us. And no man can justly
doubt but my hand was in those grants, in a principal fashion.

And concerning the Provisions for War, I must confess my ignorance in
the facts thereof. I knew not the grounds whereon the controversies
were entered, in general. I thought that before wars were begun, there
should be store of treasure; that it was not good to fall out with many
great Princes at once; that the turning of our forces another way, must
needs be some diminution from the King of Denmark; who was engaged by
us into the quarrel for the Palatinate and Germany, and hazarded both
his person and dominions in the prosecution of the question. These
matters I thought upon, as one that had sometimes been acquainted with
Councils; but I kept my thoughts unto myself.

Again, I was never sent for to the Council table but I went; saving one
time, when I was so ill that I might not stir abroad.

Moreover, I was sure that there wanted no Councillors at the Board; the
number being so much increased as it was.

Besides, I had no great encouragement to thrust my crazy body abroad;
since I saw what little esteem was made of me, in those things which
belonged to mine own occupation. With Bishoprics and Deaneries, or
other Church places I was no more acquainted; than if I had dwelt at
Venice, and understood of them but by some _Gazette_.

The Duke of BUCKINGHAM had the managing of these things, as it was
generally conceived. For what was he not fit to determine in Church or
Commonwealth, in Court or Council, in peace or war, at land or at sea,
at home or in foreign parts?

MONTAGUE had put out [_published_] his Arminian book. I, three times,
complained of it: but he was held up against me; and by the Duke
magnified, as a well deserving man.

COSENS put out his treatise, which they commonly call _The Seven
Sacraments_: which, in the first edition had many strange things in it,
as it seemeth. I knew nothing of it, but as it pleased [JOHN BRIDGMAN]
my Lord of DURHAM, and [WILLIAM LAUD] the Bishop of BATH, so the world
did read.

We were wont, in the High Commission, to repress obstinate and busy
Papists.

In the end of King JAMES his time, a Letter was brought me, under the
hand and signet of the King, that "We must not meddle with any such
matter: nor exact the twelve pence for the Sunday, of those which came
not to the Church (with which forfeit, we never meddled)." And this was
told us to be, in contemplation of a marriage intended with the Lady
MARY, the Daughter of France.

After the death of King JAMES, such another Letter was brought from
King CHARLES; and all execution against Papists was suspended.

But when the Term was at Reading, by open divulgation in all Courts
under the Great Seal of England, we and all magistrates were set at
liberty to do as it was prescribed by law. And our pursuivants must
have their warrants again, and take all the priests they can; whereof
Master CROSS took fourteen or fifteen in a very short space.

Not long after, all these are set free! and Letters come from the King,
under his royal signet, that "All warrants must be taken from our
messengers, because they spoiled the Catholics, and carried themselves
unorderly unto them, especially the Bishops' pursuivants:" whereas we
had in all, but two; CROSS, my messenger, for whom I did ever offer to
be answerable; and THOMLINSON, for whom my Lord of LONDON, I think,
would do as much. But the caterpillars, indeed, were the pursuivants
used by the sectaries [_Puritans_]: men of no value, and shifters in
the world; who had been punished and turned away by us, for great
misdemeanours.

But truth of religion and GOD's service was wont to overrule human
policies, and not to be overruled; and I am certain that things best
prosper, where those courses are held. But be it what it may be, I
could not tell what to make of this Variation of the Compass, since it
was only commanded unto me, to put such and such things in execution:
but I never understood anything of the counsel, whereby I might give
my judgement how fit or unfit they were, or might speak to alter the
tenour; whereunto, in former times, I had been otherwise used. Variety
[_diversity_] of reasons breedeth variety of actions.

       *       *       *       *       *

For the matter of the Loan, I knew not, a long time, what to make of
it. I was not present when the advice was taken, I understood not what
was the foundation whereupon the building was raised; neither did ever
any of the Council acquaint me therewith.

I saw, on the one side, the King's necessity for money; and especially
it being resolved that the war should be pursued. And, on the other
side, I could not forget that in the Parliament, great sums were
offered, if the Petitions of the Commons might be hearkened unto.

It still ran in my mind, that the old and usual way was best; that in
kingdoms, the harmony was sweetest where the Prince and the people
tuned well together; that, whatsoever pretence of greatness [he
might have], he was but an unhappy man! that set the King and the
Body of the Realm at division; that the people, though not fit to be
too much cockered, yet are they that must pray! that must pay! that
must fight for their Princes! that it could not be, but [that] a man
so universally hated in the kingdom as the Duke was, must (for the
preservation of himself) desperately adventure on anything! if he might
be hearkened unto.

These meditations I had with myself, and, GOD knoweth! I frequently, in
my prayers, did beg that he whom these things did most concern, would
seriously think upon them.

It ran in my mind, that this new device for money could not long hold
out! that then, we must return into the Highway, whither it were best,
to retire ourselves betimes; the shortest errors being the best.

But these thoughts, I suppressed within my soul: neither did I ever
discourage any man from lending, nor encourage any man to hold back;
which I confidently avouch.

At the opening of the Commission for the Loan, I was sent for, from
Croydon. It seemed to me a strange thing: but I was told there that
"howsoever it shewed, the King would have it so; there was no speaking
against it."

I had not heard [_i.e., at any time before_] that men, throughout the
kingdom, should lend money against their will! I knew not what to make
of it! But when I saw in the instructions that refusers should be sent
away for soldiers to the King of Denmark; I began to remember URIAH,
that was sent in the forefront of the battle: and, to speak truth, I
durst not be tender in it.

And when, afterwards, I saw that men were to be put to their oath,
"With whom they had had conference, and whether any did dissuade them?"
and yet further beheld that divers were to be imprisoned; I thought
this was somewhat a New World! yet, all this while, I swallowed my own
spittle, and spake nothing of it to any man.

Nay, when after some trial in Middlesex; the first sitting was for
Surrey, in my House [_the Palace_] at Lambeth; and the Lords were
there assembled, with the Justices of the whole county: I gave them
entertainment in no mean fashion.

And I sat with them, albeit I said nothing; for the confusion was
such, that I knew not what to make of it. Things went on every day,
and speech was of much money to be raised out of some counties, yet
afterwards it was not so readily paid as preferred [? _deferred_]: and,
at length, some refused, even in London itself, and Southwark; besides
many gentlemen of special rank, and some Lords, as it was said. And
though it was reported that "they were but a contemptible company!" yet
the prisons in London demonstrated that they were not a very few, but
persons both of note and number.

The Judges, besides, concurring another way, that "They could not
allow the legality of the demand, and the enforcement that is used
thereupon," did somewhat puzzle me, for being too busy in promoting
of that for which I might, one day, suffer. Yet, hitherto, I remained
silent; hoping that time would break that off which was almost come to
an absolute period [_full stop_].

       *       *       *       *       *

But instead of this, by the permission of GOD, I was called up to
the King, to look clearly into the question. When the allowance of
SIBTHORP's pamphlet was put upon me, I had then some reason, out of
the grounds of that sermon to fear (and I pray GOD that my fear was
in vain!) that the Duke had a purpose to turn upside down the Laws,
and the whole Fundamental Courses, and Liberties of the Subject: and
to leave us, not under the Statutes and Customs which our progenitors
enjoyed; but to the Pleasure of Princes, of whom, as some are gentle
and benign, so some others, to ingreat themselves [_make themselves
greater_], might strain more than the string will bear.

Besides, now it came in my heart, that I was present at the King's
Coronation: where many things, on the Prince's part, were solemnly
promised; which, being observed, would keep all in order, and the King
should have a loving and faithful people, and the Commons should have a
kind and gracious King.

The contemplations of these things made me stay my judgement, not any
unwillingness to do my Prince any dutiful service: whom I must, and do
honour above all the creatures in the world, and will adventure as far
for his true good, as any one whatsoever.

But I am loath to plunge myself, so over head and ears, in these
difficulties, that I can neither live with quietness of conscience, nor
depart out of the world with good fame and estimation. And, perhaps, my
Sovereign (if, hereafter, he looked well into this paradox) would, of
all the world hate me! because one of my profession, age, and calling,
would deceive him; and, with base flattery, swerve from the truth. _The
hearts of Kings are in the hands of GOD, and He can turn them as
rivers of water._

       *       *       *       *       *

I draw to a conclusion. Only repute it not amiss, because so much
falleth in here, to observe a few words of the Duke of BUCKINGHAM--not
as now he is, but as he was in his rising.

I say nothing of his being in France, because I was not present; and
divers others there be, that remember it well: but I take him at his
first repair to Court [_in 1614_].

King JAMES, for many insolences, grew weary of SOMERSET: and the
Kingdom groaning under the Triumvirate of NORTHAMPTON, SUFFOLK, and
SOMERSET (though NORTHAMPTON soon after died [_in June, 1614_]) was
glad to be rid of him.

We could have no way so good to effectuate that which was the common
desire, as to bring in another in his room. "One nail," as the proverb
is, "being to be driven out by another."

It was now observed that the King began to cast his eye upon GEORGE
VILLIERS, who was then Cup-bearer, and seemed a modest and courteous
youth. But King JAMES had a fashion, that he would never admit any to
nearness about himself, but such a one as the Queen should commend unto
him, and make some suit on his behalf: that if the Queen, afterwards,
being ill intreated, should complain of this "Dear One!"; he might
make his answer, "It is 'long of yourself! for you were the party that
commended him unto me!" Our old Master took delight strangely, in
things of this nature.

That noble Queen, who now resteth in heaven, knew her husband well;
and having been bitten with Favourites, both in England and Scotland,
was very shy to adventure upon this request.

King JAMES, in the meantime, more and more loathed SOMERSET; and did
not much conceal it, that his affection increased towards the other.

But the Queen would not come to it; albeit divers Lords (whereof some
are dead; and some, yet living) did earnestly solicit Her Majesty
thereunto.

When it would not do; I was very much moved [_i.e., desired by
others_] to put to, my helping hand: they knowing that Queen ANNE was
graciously pleased to give me more credit than ordinary; which, all her
attendants knew, she continued to the time of her death.

I laboured much, but could not prevail. The Queen oft said to me, "My
Lord! you and the rest of your friends know not what you do! I know
your Master better than you all! For if this young man be once brought
in, the first persons that he will plague, must be you that labour for
him! Yea, I shall have my part also! The King will teach him to despise
and hardly intreat us all; that he [_BUCKINGHAM_] may seem to beholden
to none but himself."

Noble Queen! how like a Prophetess or Oracle did you speak!

Notwithstanding this, we were still instant, telling Her Majesty that
"the change would be for the better! for GEORGE was of a good nature,
which the other was not; and if he should degenerate, yet it would be a
long time before he were able to attain to that height of evil, which
the other had."

In the end, upon importunity, Queen ANNE condescended [_agreed to it_];
and so pressed it with the King, that he assented thereunto: which was
so stricken, while the iron was hot, that, in the Queen's Bedchamber,
the King knighted him with a rapier which the Prince [CHARLES] did
wear. And when the King gave order to swear him of the Bedchamber,
SOMERSET (who was near) importuned the King with a message that he
might be only sworn a Groom. But myself and others, that were at the
door, sent to Her Majesty that "She would perfect her work, and cause
him to be sworn a Gentleman of her Chamber!"

There is a Lord, or two, living that had a hand in this achievement. I
diminish nothing of their praise for so happy a work: but I know my own
part best; and, in the word of an honest man, I have reported nothing
but truth.

GEORGE went in with the King; but no sooner he got loose, but he
came forth unto me, in the Privy Gallery, and there embraced me. He
professed that "He was so infinitely bound unto me that, all his life
long, he must honour me as his father." And now, he did beseech me,
that I would give him some Lessons how he should carry himself.

When he had earnestly followed this chase, I told him, I would give him
three short lessons, if he would learn them.

    The First was, That, daily, upon his knees, he should pray to GOD
    to bless the King his Master, and to give him (_GEORGE_) grace
    studiously to serve and please him.

    The Second was, That he should do all good offices between the King
    and the Queen; and between the King and the Prince.

    The Third was, That he should fill his Master's ears with nothing
    but truth.

I made him repeat these three things unto me: and then I would have
him, to acquaint the King with them! and so tell me, when I met him
again, what the King said unto him.

He promised he would. And the morrow after, Master THOMAS MURRAY (the
Prince's Tutor) and I standing to