# 1530-70 BALLAD ANALYSIS

Title:
An Epitaph of Maister Fraunces Benison Citizene and Marchant of London and of the Haberdashers Company

Lyrics:
IF lacke of health be such a lot,
as doth diminish store:
And losse of goods doth care procure,
with sobs and sighings sore.
Much more is losse of frendly friend,
whom GOD hath cald by death,
But unto us the losse redoundes,
which live by vitall breath.
Man may to health restored be,
if Gods good wyll be so:
And wealth again mai grow in time
evyll hap to overthrow.
But friendly friend whom God by
death, hath cald to live in joy:
Cannot agayne to us returne,
but rest with out anoy.
Faith being fixed firme in hart, and hope of Heavens blisse:
Sure then in happy state they rest, this sequel cannot misse.
Oh Fraunces Benison (I say) Gods Benison no doubt:
Thou wast the blessing sure of GOD, to wyfe, and all the rout
Of thy good friendes and kinred to, GOD blessed them in thee:
And blessed twise wast thou of GOD, such happy dayes to see
Of Marchauntes all he was the floure, for wysdome and good skill:
And right experte in every trade, delightyng therein still.
This three and twenty yeares, or more, in traffike he did toyle:
Hys wyll and skyll was alwaies such, he thought it no tormoyle.
With forecast he and diligence did comprehend no doubt,
The understanding of all trades, nere Christendome throughout.
And havyng oportunitie, no tyme he would omit:
Hys full pretence to bryng to passe, and purpose for to hit.
When wynde and tyde dyd speede require, all one was night or noone:
His watchings he did nothing way, tyl his attemptes were done.
He oft would say that Diligence, good Fortunes Mother was:
Which brought his enterprises all, more luckely to pas.
Full quicke and ready with hys pen, and cunning to likewise:
Of right good skyll for to endight, to serve eche enterprise.
As well for frend, as for him selfe, when neede the same did crave:
Whether it were in Marchaunts trade, or other matters grave
Besides his native English tong, the French and Dutch he spake:
With pen and speeche in pleasant stile, he arguments could make.
And for his tyme his trade hath bene, as ample I am sure
As any Marchant of thys Land, whylest here he dyd endure.
The Queenes revenues of her crowne, he thereby did enlarge:
With great preferment of all youth committed to his charge.
Beneficiall eke he was, to eche sorte and degree:
He traded so by Sea and land, it could none other bee.
These past, he with good name and fame, to eche mans contentacion:
That with him dealt in any trade, to his great commendacion.
And though besides his propper stocke, he used credite large:
Yet eche contract in traffike done, right well he did discharge.
And hys corragious attemptes, by forecast so did frame:
That divers men did muse therat, and some malignde the same.
Which to him knowne, full wysely he, could temper Nature so:
That he unquiet would not be, but let all malice go.
And leave to GOD the whole revenge, styll seeking quietnes:
So his affaires they framed well, and better had succes.
To taste the sower wyth the sweete, hym selfe so did prepare:
When any losse he did sustaine, that pacience conquerd care.
Citizen lyke in every poynt, himselfe he did behave:
With comely gesture and attire, right decent, sad, and grave.
With cherefull salutacions, right curteous to all men:
And how to use audacitie, he knew place, tyme and when.
To noble and to worshipfull, sure knowne he was as well,
As unto the inferiour sorte, this just reporte can tell.
And also knowne in Princes Court, by his sollicitacion:
As well for causes of his own, as others of hys nation.
He left behinde hym worldly goodes, all men to satisfie:
And for to comfort wyfe and frendes also aboundantly.
And where he was a Governour, for thimpotentes defence:
He charitably unto them, gave his benevolence.
Hys Wyll long time lay by him made, which he from yeare to yeare:
Dyd oversee and order so, as Death were ever neare.
Sicknes so sharpely did him take, all hope it did expell:
No way there was Death to escape, which he perceived well.
Straight therupon he did commit, to persons of great skyll:
The orderyng of hys temporall goods, according to hys Wyll.
And gave himselfe cleane from the world, and onely dyd depend:
On Christes death to be his lyfe, and so he made an end.
Whose soule no doubt remaynes in joy, with Abraham and the rest:
Of good and faythfull Patriarkes, who sure of God are blest.
His good examples to ensue, graunt Lord we thee desire:
And that we may them immitate, we humbly thee require,
Thus I conclude, yelding to GOD, all honour, laud and prayse:
With thanks for this our brother deare, & wish to walke his waies.


Title:
A short Answere to the boke called:Beware the cat

Lyrics:
To the ientil reder: harti salutacions,
Desiring thee to knoe: Baldewins straunge faschions
And if in aunsering: I appere sum what quick,
Thinke it not with out cause. his taunts be rive & thick
Where as ther is a boke, called: beware the cat,
The veri truith is so, that Stremer made not that,
Nor no suche false fabels: fell ever from his pen,
Nor from his hart or mouth: as knoe mani honest men
But wil ye gladli knoe, who made that boke in dede,
One Wylliam Baldewine. God graunt him wel to spede
God graunt him mani new yeres, prosperite and helth
As he hath in this thing: farderd the Comon welth
With large lesure, browne studi: he musing all alone
Devised by what meanes: he might win the whetstone
Every thing almost: in that boke is as tru,
As that at Midsomer: in London it doth snu.
Every thing almost: in that boke is as tru,
As that his nose to my dock: is ioyned fast with glu,
Put vp your pipes Baldewine: if you can make no better,
Many talk more wittili: that knoe not one letter,
Put on your cap Baldewine: & kepe your brayn pan warme
Least ye go to Bedlem: if suche toyes in you swarme
Rede this litel short Rime: Baldewinken, til more cum:
And with Stremers excrements: be bold to noint your gum
In stede of Diaglum, in stede of Coloquintida,
In stede of ru barbarum, or casia fistula.
If the maker hereof: had bin at more lesure.
Ye had had from his hande: a more precious tresure
But in the meane season: content your selfe with this,
For your Bagagical boke, a warme a. r. s. you may kys.
O r els a payre of stockes: if officers do wel,
You hurt a harmeles man: which no such tales did tel,
As ye were disposed: loude lyes on him to make,
Which many witti things: writes for his countreys sake.
Alas I wolde to God: your boke were halfe so good,
I wysh you no more harme: nor to your swete hart bloud
The pith of this paper, (if any man in it loke)
Is to deni utterli, that Stremer made that boke
The boke (of ten leaves) was printed every worde
Er Stremer saw any pece, to wipe a way a t. o. r. d.
Tergendis natibus, som thought his boke was good
Or to cari spiceti, to cherische a sick mans bloud.
Therfore ientyl reder: beware what credence thou ghive
The truth here conteyned: thou mayst boldly belive
Baldwins toyes do belong: to thee or any other
As well as they do touche Stremer, his pore brother.
And now Iuge good hirers: whether he be a good man
Of whom I write these things: as truli as I can.
If that be not a grete faute, so to hurt a mans name,
Without sufficient cause: what crime shuld a man blame?
Omnia si perdas: famam servare memento: Qua semel amissa postea nullus eris,
If thou lese all (sayth he) yet reserve honest fame
If that be ones clene gon: go home and suck thy dame.
I am loth for to rayle, as Baldwin hath begun
For so betwine vs both: a fayre threde shuld be spun
This miche I haue writen: that the truith shuld be knowen
And that the falsite: shuld quite be ouerthro wen.

    Finis.


Lyrics:
As nature doth me bind, because thou art my blood,
According to my kind to give thee of my good,
That thou may'st have in mind how I have run my race,
Although thou bide behind but for a little space.
I give thee here a pearl, the price of all my good,
For which I leave my life, to buy it with my blood;
More worth than all the world, or aught that I can note,
Although it be yclad in such a simple coat.
For when I had obtained this pearl of such a price,
Then was I sure I gained the way for to be wise.
It taught me how to fight, my flesh for to despise,
To stick unto the light, and for to leave the lies:
In sending out my seed with bonds and bitter tears,
That I might reap with joy in everlasting years,
And have, for all my loss, my travail, and my pain,
A thousand times and more of better goods again.
And for because the good that hath been got and gained,
And that the Lord's elect hath evermore obtained,
Is closed in this book which I do give to thee,
Wherein I have my part, as thou thyself may'st see,
In which I hope thou hast a stock also in store,
And wilt not cease to fail till God hath made it more--
I will thee to beware; be sure thou keep it well:
For if thou do it lose, thy part shall be in hell.
And here I testify before the living God,
That I detest to do the things that are forebode.
And as, in judgment, is my body to be brent,
My heart is surely set therewith to be content.
And sith it is his will to put in me his power,
Upon his holy hill to fight against this whore,
Full well I am content, if he allow it so,
To stand with all my might the whore to overthrow.
Even with a willing mind, the death I will outface:
And as I am assured, the battle do embrace;
That they which hear the truth, how I have past the pike,
May set aside their youth, and learn to do the like.
And though it be my lot, to let her suck my blood,
Yet am I well assured, it shall do her no good:
For she is set to kill the things she thinks accurst,
And shall not have her fill of blood until she burst.
And when that thou shalt see, or hear of my decease,
Pray to the living God, that I may pass in peace.
And when I am at rest, and rid out of my pain,
Then will I do the like for thee to God again.
And to my woeful wife, and widow desolate,
Whom I do leave behind in such a simple state,
And compassed with tears, and mournings many one;
Be thou her staying staff, when I am dead and gone.
My mouth may not express the dolours of my mind,
Nor yet my heaviness to leave her here behind.
But as thou art my bone, my brother and my blood,
So let her have thy heart, if it may do her good.
I took her from the world, and made her like the cross;
But, if she hold her own, she shall not suffer loss:
For where she had before a man unto her make,
That by the force of fire was strangled at a stake,
Now shall she have a King to be her helping hand,
To whom pertain all things that are within the land.
And eke my daughter dear, whom I bequeath to thee,
To be brought up in fear, and learn the A B C:
That she may grow in grace, and ruled by the rod,
To learn and lead her life within the fear of God.
And always have in mind, thy brother being dead,
That thou art left behind a father in my stead.
And thou, my brother dear, and eke my mother's son,
Come forth out of all fear, and do as 1 have done;
And God shall be thy guide, and give thee such increase,
That in the flames of fire thou shalt have perfect peace,
Into eternal joy, and pass out of all pain:
Where we shall meet with mirth, and never part again.
"If thou wilt do my daughter good,
Be mindful of thy brother's blood."


Title:
O ye that love the Lord, see that ye hate the thing that is evil."

Tags:
Topical, Religious, Confessional, Political, Moral, other

Lyrics:
The God that giveth life and light, and leadeth into rest,
That breaketh bonds and bringeth out the poor that are opprest,
And keepeth mercy for the meek, his treasure and his store:
Increase thy life in perfect love, both now and evermore.
That as thou hast begun to ground in faith and fervent love,
Thou may'st be made a mighty mount, that never may remove.
That thine ensample may be showed among all thine increase;
That they may live and learn the like, and pass their time in peace.
Thy salutations that were sent, I heartily retain;
And send thee seventy times as much, to thee and thine again.
And now because I know the gold is fined in the fire,
I send thee here a paper full, that thou dost most desire,
In hope thou wilt accept it well, although it be but small,
Because I have none other good, to make amends withal.
For all thy free and friendly facts, which thy good will hath wrought,
I send thee surely, for a shift, the thing that cost me nought.
Abstain from all ungodliness, in dread direct your days,
Possess not sin in any wise, beware of wicked ways.
Hold fast your faith unfeignedly, build as you have begun,
And arm yourself in perfect faith, to do as ye have done,
Lest that the wicked make a mock, that ye have taken in hand,
In leaving of the perfect rock, to build upon the sand.
Beware these filthy Pharisees; their building is in blood:
Eat not with them in any wise; their leaven is not good.
Their salt is all unsavoury; and under good intents
They maintain all their knavery, and murder innocents.
They seek to sit in Christ his seat, and put him out of place;
And make all means that may be made, his doings to deface.
They keep him down with bills and bats, that made the blind to see:
They make a god for mice and rats, and say the same is he.
They show like sheep, and sweat like wolves, their baits be all for blood:
They kill and slay the simple souls, and rob them of their good.
The dark illusions of the devil have dimmed so their eyes,
That they cannot abide the truth to stir in any wise.
And if ye keep the perfect path, (as I have hope you do,)
Ye shall be sure to have such shame, as they may put you to.
For all that lead a godly life, shall surely suffer loss;
And eke the world will seek their shame, and make them kiss the cross.
Ye shall be killed all, saith Christ, your sorrows shall not cease:
And yet, in your afflictions, I am your perfect peace.
For in the world ye shall have woe, because ye are unknown;
And for because ye hate the world, the world will love his own.
Be fervent therefore to the death, against all their decrees;
And God shall surely fight for thee against thine enemies.
Commit your cause unto the Lord: revenge not any evil,
And thou shalt see the wicked want, when thou shalt have thy will.
For all afflictions that may fall, that they can say or do,
They are not sure of the wealth, we shall attain unto.
For I have seen the sinners spread their branches like a bay,
And yet, ere one could turn his head, were withered clean away.
Beware that money make ye not in riches to arise
Against the goodness of the Lord, among the worldly wise.
For many mischiefs it hath made, that may not be exprest;
And many evils it hath begun, which may not be redrest.
For money maketh many a one, in riches to rebel;
And he that maketh gold a god, he hath a soul to sell.
It maketh kings to kill and slay, and waste their wits in war,
In leaving of the wolf at home, to hunt the fox afar.
And where they should see justice done, and set their realm in rest
By money they be made a mean to see the poor opprest.
It maketh lords obey the laws, that they do ill and naught;
It maketh bishops suck the blood, that God hath dearly bought;
And where they should be faithful friends, and fathers to their flock,
By money they do turn about, even like a weathercock.
The priest doth make a money mean, to have again his whores,
To put away his wedded wife, and children out of doors.
It holdeth back the husbandman, which may not be forborne,
And will not suffer him to sow, and cast abroad his corn.
In like case it doth let again, when that the seed they sow;
It choketh up the corn again, so that it cannot grow.
The husband he would have a wife with nobles new and old:
The wife would have the husband hanged, that she might have his gold.
It maketh murderers many a one, and beareth much with blood:
The child would see the parents slain, to seize upon their good.
And though it be a blessed thing, created in the kind,
It is a necessary e'il, annexed to the mind.
For whoso playeth with the pitch, his fingers are defiled;
And he that maketh gold a god, shall sorely be beguiled.
Be friendly to the fatherless, and all that are opprest:
Assist them always out of hand, and see them set at rest.
In all your doings and your deeds let mercy still remain;
For with the measure that ye mete, shall ye be mette again.
Be always lowly in your life, let love enjoy her own:
The highest trees are seldom sure, and soonest overthrown.
The lions lack and suffer sore, in hunger and in thirst;
And they that do oppress the poor, continue still accurst.
The bee is but a little beast in body or in sight,
And yet she bringeth more increase, than either crow or kite.
Therefore beware in any wise, keep well your watch alway:
Be sure of oil within your lamp, let not your light decay.
For death despiseth them that lack, and hateth them that have,
And treadeth down the rich and poor together in the grave.
Exhort your children to be chaste, rebuke them for their ill,
And let them not at any wise be wedded to their will.
Laugh not with them, but keep them low; show them no merry cheer,
Lest thou do weep with them also; but bring them up in fear,
And let your light and living shine, that ye be not suspect,
To have the same within yourself, for which they are correct.
Be meek and modest in a mean: let all your deeds be done,
That they which are without the law, may see how right ye run.
Keep well the member in your mouth, your tongue see that ye tame;
For out of little sparks of fire proceedeth out a flame.
E'en so by baptism ye are born, to live with Christ again.
Thus farewell, free and faithful friend: the Lord that is above
Increase in thee a perfect faith, and lead thee in his love.
And as I pray with perfect love, and pour out bitter tears
For you and all that are at large abroad among the briers:
E'en so I pray thee to prefer my person and my bands,
Unto the everlasting God that hath me in his hands.
That I may pass out of this pond, wherein I am opprest;
Enclosed in a clod of clay, that here can have no rest.
That as he hath begun in me his mercies many one,
I may attain to overtake my brethren that be gone.
That when the death shall do his worst where he shall point a place,
I may be able like a man to look him in the face.
For though he catch away my cloak, my body into dust,
Yet sure am I to have a soul, when death hath done his worst.
And though I leave a little dust dissolved out of blood,
I shall receive it safe again, when God shall see it good.
For my Redeemer, I am sure, doth live for evermore,
And sitteth high upon the heavens, for whom I hunger sore:
Even as the deer with deadly wounds escaped from the spoil,
Doth haste by all the means he may, to seek unto the soil.
Of whom I hope to have a crown, that always shall remain;
And eke enjoy a perfect peace, for all my woe and pain.
The God that giveth all increase, and seeketh still to save,
Abound in thee that perfect peace, which I do hope to have!
And I beseech the living God to hold thee in his hands;
And wish thee, e'en with all my heart, the blessing of my bands;
Which I esteem of higher price than pearl or precious stone,
And shall endure for evermore, when earthly things are gone.
For though the fire do consume our treasure and our store,
Yet shall the goodness of the Lord endure for evermore.
And where thou art a friend to him that is to me full dear,
That God of might make thee amends, when all men shall appear,
That hath showed mercy to the meek, and rid them out of pain;
And thus the Lord possess thy spirit, till we do meet again.
"If thou wilt have a recompence,
Abide still in obedience."


Title:
An exhortacion of the constant martir of Christe Robert Smyth

Lyrics:
Geve eare my children to my woords
whome god hath dearly bought:
Lay up my counsaile in your hart, 
& print it in your thought.
For I your father have for sene, 
the fraile & fylthy way:
which fleshe & bloud would follow fayne 
even to their owne decay.
For all & every lyving best,
their cribbe doe knowe full well:
but Adames heires above the rest, 
are ready to rebell.
And all the creatures one the earth, 
full well can kepe their way:
but man above all other beasts
is apt to goe astray.
For earth & ashes is his strength
his glory & his rayne:
& vnto apshes at the length, 
shall he retourn againe.
For fleshe doth flourishe like a flour 
& growe up lyke a grasse:
& is consumed in an hower
as it is brought to passe.
 
In me the Image of your yeares, 
your treasure & your trust:
Whome ye doe see before your face, 
dissolved into dust.
For as you see your fathers fleshe
converted into claye:
even soe shall ye my children deare,
consume & weare away.
The sonne & mone & eke the starres 
that serve the day & nyght:
The earth & every earthly thing,
shalbe consumed quyte.
And all the worship of the world
that have been heard or sene:
shall cleane consume, & come to naught, 
as it had never bene.
Therefore that ye may followe me, 
your father & your freinde:
& enter into that same lyfe, 
which never shall have end.
I leave you here a litle booke, 
for you to loke vpon:
that you may se your fathers face
when I am dead & gone.
Who for the hope of heavenly things, 
while he did here remayne:
gave over all his golden yeares
in prison & in payne.
Where I amonge mine Iron bands 
enclosed in the darke:
a few of dayes before my death
did dedicate this work
 
To you myne heires of earthly thinges 
which I have left behynde:
that ye may reade & understand
& kepe it in your mynde
That as ye have bene heires of that 
which once shall weare away:
even so ye may possesse a parte, 
which never shall decay.
In following of your fathers foote 
in truth & eke in love:
that ye may also be his heires 
for evermore above.
And in example to your youth, 
to whome I wishe all good:
I preache you heare a perfect fayth, 
& seale it with my bloud.
Have god alwayes before your eyes, 
in all your whole intents:
commyt not synne in any wase, 
kepe his comanndements.
Abhorre that arrant whore of Rome
& all her blasphemyes:
& drinke not of her decretalles, 
nor yet of her decrees.
Geve honour to your mother deare, 
remember well her payne:
& recompense her in her age, 
in lyke with love againe.
Be alwaies ayding at her hand, 
& let her not decaye:
remember well your fathers fall, 
that should have bene her staie.

Geve of your portion to the poore, 
as ritches doe aryse:
& from the nedy naked soule
tourne not away your eyes.
For he that will not hear the cry 
of suche as are in nede,
shall crye himselfe & not be heard,
when he would hope to spede.
If god doe geve you greate increase
& blessed well your store:
remember ye are put in trust, 
to minister the more.
Beware of fowle and fylthy lust
let whoredom have noe place:
kepe cleane your vessells in the lord, 
that he may you embrace.
Ye are the temples of the lord, 
for ye are dearly bought:
& they that doe defile the same, 
shall surely come to naught.
Possess not pride in any case, 
build not your house too hye:
but have alwayes before your face, 
that ye be borne to dye.
Defraud not him that hyred is, 
your labo[u]rs to sustayne
but geve him alwayes out of hand, 
his peny for his payne.
And as you would that other men, 
against you should procede:
Doe ye the same againe to them, 
when they doe stand in nede.
 
And parte your porcion withthe poore, 
in money & in meate:
& feede the faynted feble soule, 
with that which ye should eate.
That when your members lacketh meate
& clothing to your backe,
ye may the better thinke on them, 
that nowe doe lyve & lacke.
Aske counsel at the wyse,
geve eare vnto the end:
refuse not you the swete rebuke, 
of him that is your freinde.
Be thankefull alwayes to the lorde, 
with prayer & with prayse:
desyer him in all your deades,
for to direct your wayes.
And synne not lyke that swynishe sort, 
whose bellyes being fed,
consume their yeares upon the earth,
from belly vnto bedde.
Seke first I say the living god,
set him alwayes before:
& then be sure that he will blesse, 
your basket & your store.
And thus if you direct your dayes 
according to this boke,
then shall they saye that se your waies,
howe lyke me you do loke.
And when you have so perfectly, 
vpon your fyngers endes:
possessed all within your booke, 
then geve it to your freinds.
 
And I beseche the living god, 
replenishe you with grace:
that I may have you in the heavens,
& se you face to face.
And though the sworde have cut me of, 
contrary to my kynde:
that I could not enjoye your love,
according to my mynde.
Yet doe I hope when that the heavens,
shall vanishe lyke a skrole:
I shall receive your perfect shape, 
in body & in soule.
and that I may enioye your love, 
& ye enioye the land:
I doe beseech the lyving god ,
to hold you in his hand.
Farewell my children from the world, 
where ye must yet remayne:
the lord of hosts be your defence, 
till we doe mete againe.
Farewell my love & loving wyfe, 
my children and my freinds:
I hope to god to have you all, 
when all things have their endes.
And if you doe abide in god, 
as ye have now begonne,
your course I warrant will be short; 
ye have not farre to ronne.
God graunt you so to end your yeares 
as he shall thinke it best:
that ye may enter into heaven, 
where I do hope to rest.


Lyrics:
Goe forth my painfull […] 
thou art noe longer myne
eache man may […] the looke
the shame or praise is thine
But loke thou for noe praise
no thanckes nor yet reward
nor eache man for to please
hand you no greate rewarde
The […] hath bene myne,
the travail & the payne:
reproaches shalbe thyne,
to beare noe […] be fayne.
Yet hath my […] bene
to profyt others woe
some men therby to […]
I trust it shallbe soe:
For as to pleasure many
I haue bene […] glad
even so to displease any
I would be loth & sad
But if thou please me best
& suche as be of ski[ll]
I praise not soe the rest
good men accept [and] will
[Thou] […]stest with me remay[ne]
& she es[..]ene all blame
But some thou wouldst so fayne
Be [.]rone[.] [.]oe in go[.] in ha[..]


Lyrics:
By Edward the sixt, of England kyng,
A Fort was made gods truth to shield
In whose lyfe time by good rulyng,
Both friend and soe to it dyd yelde.
But when for synne of hys owne flocke,
The Lord in wrath tooke him away:
Leauing the Fort to his next stocke 
The enmies then sought out theyr pray.
Then blew vp trumpets of Papists sounde
Souldiers to call and wages gaue:
Come who so would was armed rounde,
None they refusde, but drest them braue.
The field was pytcht of Papists part,
With corned caps, tippets, and gownes.
Theyr ordnaunce lay redy in cart,
To beat the fort of gods truth downe.
The generall Gardner braue and stone
And Captaine Boner, marcht foorth amain,
Bourne with standerd, cryed out,
Al arme al arme, our shauelinges traine.
The Auncient which that Bourne bare 
Were fierce wolues teeth, wt blood besprent
Fire and Fagot, whych did declare,
Their rauenous hartes to Christians ment.
Then doctour Martin, as clarke of army
With Doctour Story, the master Gonner:
These two in office, were as trusty,
As Gardner, Bourne or byshop Bonner.
A cry was made, throughout the host:
With fire and hempe, all to destroy:
Where euer they were, in al the cost,
That dyd the Popes power seke to noye.
The Fort thus sieged on euery syde,
With crye so fierce, to kyll them all:
[...]te for feare durst not abyde,
But from Gods Fort to them dyd fall.
Then might ye heare the Canons rore 
Which Bourne and Watson falsely shot:
Yelde, yeld these cryde, from heretickes lore
Or batter we shal both wall and fort.
No no (quoth they within the Fort)
We yelde vs not Gods truth to stayne:
Though you destroy vs in this sort 
God shal our Fort wyth force maintayne.
Wyth that they all the Fort wythin 
Wyth sighes and sobs to God out cryde:
Thou Lord of hostes, way not our synne,
But ayde thy flocke so wo betyde.
For though with sume, we causde this day
That our good king yu shouldst thus take:
Yet Lord with bitternes of soule we pray,
Strength vs against this firye lake.
This done they blowde a chereful blast,
Vnto the souldiers in the Fort:
Arme ye arme ye, in all the hast,
Our enmies now to Fort resort.
The Auncient which was spred on wall,
Had a white Lambe, with red spots thicke:
And in gold letters were these wordes all,
Why do ye Sauls, against me kicke?
Forth came Rogers, Hooper & Sanders
Vpon the walles the Fort to fende:
We yelde not (said they) to such destroyers,
But fight we will vnto the ende.
To these Steuen Gardner, gaue onset,
And layde on lode, as wolfe on pray:
He tooke them prisoners, with his false net 
And sent them to the fire straightway.
Then Story the maister of the shot 
On Papists rampire braue and proude:
For spilling bloud he cared not,
Assault assault he cryde aloude.
These were no sooner of the wall,
But vp lept Rydley and Latimer:
To rescue Gods fort, so nere to fall.
And did with force, the foes encounter.
And bishop Cranmer though with gyle,
The enmies stole him from the Fort:
Yet boldly fought with them a whyle,
And folowed his mates, in lyke sort.
Then doctour Weston, at these out shot,
The pellets of Rome, and them did mayme:
So that away they passed not,
But were destroyed with fire and flame.
But Bradford then on wall vp lept,
And Philpot eke by hym did stand:
Cardmaker and Taylour also vp crept,
And these by truth dyd neytheyr band.
Bishop Boner, on these laide hand,
And to Smithfield sent them in hast:
But to the death these did withstand,
And would not yeld to enmies blast.
Then blewe the Papists to assault,
And set a watch about the Fort:
Of knightes and yemen to finde some fault 
To make them yelde after this sort.
And sworen men in euery cost,
They did compell to watche and spye:
If any did resist their host 
They must present them for to dye.
The Fort with enmies laid round about,
And al the captaines so cruelly slaine:
The soldiours therof with courage stout,
Kept yet the walles with might and maine.
Now scale the walles (quoth Boner then)
Behold the captaines we haue slaine:
Ransacke the Fort destroy all men 
Both wemen & children let none remaine,
Then scaling lathers were vp rearde,
And Iohn Auales on them with targe:
His knees had crosses because he fearde,
The steps wold breake and hang him large
Vp came Beard, by Vales his man 
Armed al round as dronkardes vse:
His head was closde, with goodale can 
And in his hand a Tauerners cruse.
But they in Fort did with them play 
And cast them bribes, which made them yelde,
They striuing who should haue the pray,
Fought one with other in their owne fielde.
Yet battred was this Fort full sore 
With vehement shot on Papists part:
The walles they bet styl more and more 
But yet the fortmen would not start.
Then pusshed the Papists wt their pikes,
The Hargabusses shot out amayne:
And dyms the ayre and many strikes 
Of them that did the Fort sustayne.
The Holberts and the Bowmen eke,
Came preasing toward the Fort with spede:
These were the rakehels that did seke,
To haue mens goodes playde Cains dede.
There might ye see the Fort about.
Great streames of bloode & bodies slayne.
The handes of al the host throughout,
With blood of Saints they did them staine.
In this assault the infants out cryde,
And eke their mothers as wydowes left,
To see theyr friendes before them dyde 
And al their goodes from them bereft.
Though thus the Fort, was almost gone,
By cruel assault of enmyes bolde:
Yet some within the Fort alone,
To God did crye Lord keepe thy holde.
Then God did send his slaue Death down
Into the Papists host among:
Which slew the chiefest in all the towne 
And greatest captaines in the throng.
By thys great stroke of mightie Ioue,
The vehement force of Papists fell:
And sent this Fort (which is hys Loue)
A godly captaine to keepe it well.
Which when in Fort she did appere 
And flag of truce spred in her hand:
Aloud she cried, cease nowe your yre 
And yelde to me right heyre of England:
Then scattred were the Papists host 
Their flags of fire to ground did fall.
Their flaming brandes which oft they tost,
Were clene out quentch at our Quenes call.
Crye was then made to God on hye 
Of al the souldiours in the Fort:
Oh praise the Lorde for victorye,
In helping vs after this sort.
Now yelde (they cried) our brethren dere,
Which haue against Gods truth so stoode:
Behold our Quene doth profer here,
To graunt ye peace to chaunge your moode.
Which if her clemencie you refuse 
And pleade not for your liues graunt:
The law of armes she must nedes vse 
On such as are to her repugnaunt.
Yelde, yelde therefore ye chiefe captaines
Example geue to all your host:
Or els wyll God reuenge with paines 
The bloud of those whom ye haue rost.
And all ye Christians of this England 
Your trumpets sound to Gods hie praise,
On Gods head set a Bay garland 
For your triumphe of all these fraies.
Yeld now your liues after such sort,
As God may not this Fort so plage.
Strength now your selues in this gods fort
That ye yelde no more to enmies rage.
So God wil spare vs our Quene long,
So God will make our land encrease:
So God wyl builde our fort so strong,
That no enmies dare to it prease.
To this say al right Christen men,
God saue our Quene. Amen. Amen.


Title:
An ABC to the christen congregacion or a pathe way to the heauenly habitacion

Location of Printer:
Lombard Street next to the Stocks Market at the sign of the eagle

Lyrics:
ABstayne from pryde, abstaine from fornica tion
Abstayne from couetousnes, abstaine from idolatrye
Abstayne from sedicion, abstayne from detraction
Abstayne from percyalyty, abstaine from periury.


B

[Note: [...]. Pet. iiii. Prou. v. Ephe. iiii. col ii Gala. i. [...] iiii. Math. vi. Lu. xii. ] Beware of ryot, that spendeth a mans thryfte
Beware of lyenge that causeth dishonestye
Beware of vntrue making of shyfte
Beware of the deadely poyson Ipocrisye

C

[Note: Eccle. vii. Prou[...]. xiii Deu. xxviii. i. cor. ii. Rom. xii Esa. v. [...] vi. Prou. xxviii [...]. ] Couet for learnynge, that maketh a man wyse
Couet the knowledge, of gods preceptes
Couet for wysedome, chiefe of pryce
Couet the company that honesty gettes

D

[Note: Math. vii. Mat. v. Luke. vi. i. Pet. [...]. Tob. iiii. i. Tessa. v. ] Do that god hathe commaunded the
Do thy duetye to euerye man
Do hurte to none, he sayth trulye
Do good to all so nigh as ye can

E

[Note: i. Cor. xiii iii. i. petr. i Psal. ii. Eph. iiii. Iam. iii. iiii ii. cor. v Math v. Mat. x. iii. Gal. vi. ] Enuy not, but loue thy brother
Euery christian sainct Paule doth teache
Enuyeng is forbydde, to one another
Euery man the rewarde, of his owne burden sha[...]l reache

F

[Note: Gala. iii. Hebr iiii. [...]ac. ii. Act. iii. i. Ioh. iii. Iac. ii. ] Fayth withoute workes auayleth not
Faythe that worketh, and is lyuelye
Fastened on god, and loue the rote
Fashyoneth a man to be heuenly

G

[Note: Luke. xii. Math. vi. Luke. vi. Math x[...]. Roma ii. co[...] i [...]act. xiii. Luk. xiiii. i. pet. v ] Gette the treasure, whiche the thefe can not steale
Geue to the poore, geue also to thyne enemye
Geue god the glory, in wo and in weale.
Geuyng place to thy superiour declareth humilitie

H

[Note: Math. xv. Exod. xi. Deu. v Ep[...] v. Ma[...]. vii. [...] iii [...]. xi. Math. vii [...] xiiii. i. cor. viii. Rom. xvi ] Honour thy father and mother, for so is it right
Helpe them in tyme of aduerse necessytye
Haue gods wyl in remembraunce both day and nyghte
Heuy burdens on thy brother to put is iniquite

I

[Note: Esa xiv. Rom. xiiii. Iohn. v. Mat. vii [...]. Luke. vi Rom ii. Math. xii. ] Iudgement is mine, so sayth the lorde
Iudge not thy brother, wherin thou hast offended
Idell communicacion is to be abhorde
Iudge neuer any, tyl thou hast thy selfe amended

K

[Note: Luk xi. Math. [...] iiii. Act. xx. Math. v. ] Kepe thyne eye single that thou mayst haue lyghte
Knowledge thy faut to thy brother offended
Kepe neuer from the poore that is his righte
Kyndle charitie where hate is ascended

L

[Note: Esa [...]i. Rom xii [...] xi xiiii. i. Pet. v i co. xiv. i. Iohn ii. [...] xxiii. Iohn [...]. Lu[...] ii. ] Let hym that hath an office attende therto
Let the teachers doctryne be playne and not curious
Let loue be without dyssymulation also
Let not the busynes of Chryst to you be tedyous

M

[Note: Prouer. iii i pet. iiii Luke xiii. xv math. xvii Heb xii. Rom. xii Deut viiii P[...] xxv i Pet. ii. [...] Rom xii. Pro+[...]. xxv ] Mercye is a temperaunce of mynde in tyme of trauns gression
Mingled with mekenes maketh great quietnes
Make no reuengyng agaynst wrongfull oppression
Make heapes of fire coles of thy enemies vnfaythfulnes

N

No man can serue two masters, [Note: Math. vi. Luke. xvi. i. Cor vi. math xv. Luke. x. Ioh. x. ii. Corin. vi. Mar. ix. Ephe. viii. v [...] col ii. Math. xxiii i. mar. xii. xiii. Ro. xvi. [...]. ] and at once then please
Neuer put thy truste in workes of mans inuensions
Neuer shalte thou geue occasion of thy brothers disease
Nether beleue the false prophetes, for any maner of afflic+cion

O

Open thy hande to the poore with due administracion [Note: Rom. xii. Heb. xiii. Baruc. vi. Esai. xivi. Eccles. xi. i. cor. iiii. col. iii. ii. tessa. ii. Math. xii. Marc. vii. Apoc. xiii. x. ii. petr. ii. Apoc. xxii. Act. xvii. Ephe. v. ]
Obserue christes doctryne in scripture playnlye declared
Omytte the pope with all hys ceremonyall obseruacion
Onles thou wylt deserue paynes, for the deuels prepared



Plenteouslye in al wisdome let the worde of god in you dwell [Note: Colo. iii. i. cor. i. i Cor. vi. Exod. ii. Pe. ii. i. Cor ii. Colo. ii. Math. iiii Deu. vi. Exo. xx. i. Timo. iii. ii Timo. iii. Eph. iiii. [...]o. i. ]
Paruert not ye prole wt reuerent beha[...]our idolatrye to vse
Put no myste before theyr eyes, peruerte neuer the gospel
Put awaye all ignoraunce, for that shall neuer excuse

Q

 Quenche the desyre of carnall concupysence inordinate
Quenche thy anger from cursed speaking & al maliciousnes [Note: i. Timo. vi. i. Tes. iiii. Math. v. Ephe. iiii. Colo. iiii. i. Pet. ii. Math. v. Luke. xii. ii. T[...]s. iiii. Marke. viii. Luke. xi. ]
Quyckly for thy offence to thy aduersary thy self prostrate
Quiet thy selfe from vaine spirites mans doctrine & Idel nes

R

Refrayne your tongue and brydell your harte [Note: Iames. iii. Gala. vi. Prouer. xv. Mat. xviii. Lu. xvii. Iam iii. i. cor. vi. Prouer. iiii. ]
Reporte the beste, and iudge truelye
Raise no slaunder to your neighbours smert
Reape neuer to youre owne soule any iniquity

S

Suffer Chrystes crosse, [Note: Luke. xiiii. ii. Tim. iii. i. Pet. iiii. math. v. ii. tes. v. Ro. xiiii. xv. Luk. xiiii To[...]. iiii. Ia. ii. Pro. iii. ] when it is layde on your backe
Suffer paciently, al maner trouble and aduersyty
Sustaine them that haue not, beare with them that lacke
Succour your poore neighbour reliefe him of hys mysery

T

There are diuersi[...]ies of giftes, [Note: i. Cor. xii. Tit. ii. i. Pe. iiii. mat. xix. i. cor. xii. ro. xv. i. Tim. vi ii. Tim ii. Ti. iii. Act. xv. rom. xiiii. i. Timo. i. Phil. ii. ii. Tess. ii. ] and but one spirit verely
The giftes of the spirite, are geuen to euery man
To profyte the congregacion the weke in faythe to edefye
Trouble not hys conscyence, with questions of Sathan

U

Utteraunce of wysedome commeth of the holye ghoste [Note: Heb. iiii. Ro. iii. Rom. ii. i. Iohn. vii. ii. Pe. ii. [...] Gala. iiii. ]
Upon all them that beleue, and trust in gods promys
Uengeaunce is reserued of god in euery coste
Unto the harde harted and supersticious doubtles

X

Christes bloude hathe washed vs from our synnes [Note: i. Pet. i. Phi. ii. i. cor. xv. Heb. ix. i. Iohn. iii. xv. Iohn. xiiii i. Pet. ii. Esa iiii. Tit. iii. Act. iiii. rom. [...].i. Rom. i[...]. ]
Let vs folow diligently his steppes
Christ alone hathe losed vs from payne
Let vs worship Chryst and his father and his giftes

Y

Yoke neuer thy selfe with infidelitie
Yoke not thy selfe with couetous aduonterers [Note: ii. Cor. vi. Gal. v. i. Cor. [...]i. Act. xix. ii. Pe. ii. mar. x[...].ii Mat. xxiiii. Ro. iiii ]
Yelde the to god, and thy bodye sanctifye
Yelde thy spirite amonge goddes inheriters

z

zodome and gomer, [Note: Gen. xix Rom. i. ii. pet. ii iii. i. Cor. x. Esa. i. mat. xxiiii. Luke. xvii. ] plaged for theyr iniquitie
zodometrye is a vice before god most detestable
zeale of myserable mischyef scripture doth verefy
zodomites a fore warnynge, for vs most profitable


Tags:
Religious, Confessional, Moral, Social Criticism, Political

Lyrics:
THE HUSBANDMAN

"LET us lift up our hartes all,
And prayse the Lordes magnificence,
Which hath given the wolues a fall,
And is become our strong defence:
For they thorowe a false pretens
From Christes bloude dyd all us leade,[ 2]
Gettynge from every man his pence,
As satisfactours for the deade.

"For what we with our FLAYLES coulde get
To kepe our house, and servauntes;
That did the Freers from us fet,
And with our soules played the merchauntes:
And thus they with theyr false warrantes
Of our sweate have easelye lyved,
That for fatnesse theyr belyes pantes,
So greatlye have they us deceaued.

"They spared not the fatherlesse,
The carefull, nor the pore wydowe;
They wolde have somewhat more or lesse,
If it above the ground did growe:
But now we Husbandmen do knowe
Al their subteltye, and their false caste;
For the Lorde hath them overthrowe
With his swete word now at the laste."

DOCTOR MARTIN LUTHER

"Thou antichrist, with thy thre crownes,
Hast usurped kynges powers,
As having power over realmes and townes,
Whom thou oughtest to serve all houres:
Thou thinkest by thy jugglyng colours
Thou maist lykewise Gods word oppresse;
As do the deceatful foulers,
When they theyr nettes craftelye dresse.

"Thou flatterest every prince, and lord,
Thretening poore men with swearde and fyre
All those, that do followe Gods worde,
To make them cleve to thy desire,
Theyr bokes thou burnest in flaming fire;
Cursing with boke, bell, and candell,
Such as to reade them have desyre
Or with them are wyllynge to meddell.

"Thy false power wyl I bring down,
Thou shalt not raygne many a yer,
I shall dryve the from citye to towne,
Even with this PEN that thou seyste here;
Thou fyghtest with swerd, shylde and speare,
But I wyll fyght with Gods worde;
Which is now so open and cleare,
That it shall brynge the under the borde."[ 3]

THE POPE

"Though I brought never so many to hel,
And to utter dampnacion,
Throughe myne ensample, and consel,
Or thorow any abhominacion,
Yet doth our lawe excuse my fashion.
And thou, Luther, arte accursed;
For blamynge me, and my condition,
The holy decres have the condempned.

"Thou stryvest against my purgatory,
Because thou findest it not in scripture:
As though I by myne auctorite
Alyght not make one for myne honoure.
Knowest thou not, that I have power
To make, and mar, in heaven and hell,
In erth, and every creature?
Whatsoever I do it must be well.

"As for scripture, I am above it;
Am not I Gods hye vicare?
Shulde I be bounde to folowe it,
As the carpenter his ruler?[ 4]
Nay, nay, hereticks ye are,
That will not obey my auctoritie.
With this SWORDE I wyll declare,
That ye shal al accursed be."

THE CARDINAL

"I am a Cardinall of Rome,
Sent from Christes hye vicary,
To graunt pardon to more, and sume,
That wil Luther resist strongly:
He is a greate hereticke treuly,
And regardeth to much the scripture;
For he thinketh onely thereby
To subdue the popes high honoure.

"Receive ye this PARDON devoutely,
And loke that ye agaynst him fight;
Plucke up youre herts, and be manyle,
For the pope sayth that ye do but ryght:
And this be sure, that at one flyghte,
Allthough ye be overcome by chaunce,
Ye shall to heaven go with greate myghte;
God can make you no resistaunce.

"Put these heretikes for their medlynge
Shall go down to hel every one;
For they have not the popes blessynge,
Nor regard his holy pardon:
They thinke from all destruction
By Christes bloud to be saved,
Fearynge not our excommunication,
Therefore shall they al be dampned."


Title:
The lamentacion that Ladie Iane made saiyng for my fathers proclamacion now must I lese my heade

Tags:
Historical, Religious, Confessional, Political, other

Lyrics:
[.] the lamentacion.
[.]t Ladie Iane made:
[.] for my fathers Pro [...]ation
[...] must I lose my head.

[...] God that sercheth euery harte
[.] knoweth I am giltles,
[.] that I now suffer smarte,
[.] am not worthie of this.

[.] when she was at the place appoincted,
[.] to mekely for to take:
[...] [...]hstly father and she reasoned,
[.] pr[.] [...]n she did make.

[.]the of our [...] we were let out·
[.] to the Towne for to go:
[.] where about
[.] vs do so.

[.]what d[...] our fathers meane,
[.] and [.]ete thus for to spill,
[.] [...]oclaimed me quene,
[.] I [.] theretill.

[.] my housbande,
[.]the[...] presente:
[...]yng our fathers toke in hande,
[...] neither his nor my consente,

[...]ut seyng I am iudged by a lawe to dye,
[...]d vnder whiche I was borne:
[...] take it pacientlie,
[...]yng none of them to scorne.

[...] should I blame [...] of this,
[...] [...]eyng bl[...]e it is not worthie·
[...]yng were so farre amis,
[...] [...]at we deserued this miserie.

[...] worthie to dye,
Pride in me did so remaine:
Yet all good people praie for me.
As charitie doeth constraine.

The heds man kneled on his knee.
To forgene hym her death:
Frende she saied, God forgeue thee,
With all my harte and faithe.

She kissed hym, and gaue hym a rewarde
And saied to hym incontinente:
I praie thee yet remember [...]
That thou hast headed an innocent·

She gaue the Lieutenant her booke,
Whiche was couered all with golde.
Praied hym therein to looke,
For his sake that Iudas solde·

She toke her kercher faire and swete.
To couer her face withall·
A Psalme of Dauid she did [...]
And on the Lorde did call.

Although this breakfast be [...]e to [...]e
Yet in the Lorde I trust
To suppe in the heauenlie [...]or[...]
With Abraham that [...]

The prease of people was full greate
When thei heard her saie so·
But when she did these wordes en[...]te
Awaie then thei did go.

[...]pon the Blocke she laied her he[...]e
Her death mekely to take·
In manus tuas, then she saie[...]
And this her ende she did make


Lyrics:
IN December, when the dayes draw to be short,
After November, when the nights wax noysome and long;
As I past by a place privily at a port,
I saw one sit by himself making a song:
His last talk of trifles, who told with his tongue
That few were fast i' th' faith. I freyned that freake,
Whether he wanted wit, or some had done him wrong.
He said, he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.

"John Nobody," quoth I, "what news? thou soon note and tell
What manner men thou meane, thou art so mad."
He said, "These gay gallants, that wil construe the gospel,
As Solomon the sage, with semblance full sad;
To discusse divinity they nought adread;
More meet it were for them to milk kye at a fleyke."
"Thou lyest," quoth I, "thou losel, like a leud lad."
He said he was little John Nobody, that durst not speake.

"Its meet for every man on this matter to talk,
And the glorious gospel ghostly to have in mind;
It is sothe said, that sect but much unseemly skalk;
As boyes babble in books, that in scripture are blind;
Yet to their fancy soon a cause will find;
As to live in lust, in lechery to leyke:
Such caitives count to become of Cains kind;[ 2]
But that I, little John Nobody durst not speake.

"For our reverend father hath set forth an order,
Our service to be said in our seignours tongue;
As Solomon the sage set forth the scripture;
Our suffrages, and services, with many a sweet song,
With homilies, and godly books us among,
That no stiff, stubborn stomacks we should freyke:
But wretches nere worse to do poor men wrong;
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.

"For bribery was never so great, since born was our Lord,
And whoredom was never les hated, sith Christ harrowed hel,
And poor men are so sore punished commonly through the world,
That it would grieve any one, that good is, to hear tel.
For al the homilies and good books, yet their hearts be so quel,
That if a man do amisse, with mischiefe they wil him wreake;
The fashion of these new fellows it is so vile and fell:
But that I little John Nobody dare not speake.

"Thus to live after their lust, that life would they have,
And in lechery to leyke al their long life;
For al the preaching of Paul, yet many a proud knave
Wil move mischiefe in their mind both to maid and wife
To bring them in advoutry, or else they wil strife,
And in brawling about baudery, Gods commandments breake:
But of these frantic it fellowes, few of them do thrife;
Though I little John Nobody dare not speake.

"If thou company with them, they will currishly carp, and not care
According to their foolish fantacy; but fast wil they naught:
Prayer with them is but prating; therefore they it forbear:
Both almes deeds, and holiness, they hate it in their thought:
Therefore pray we to that prince, that with his bloud us bought,
That he wil mend that is amiss: for many a manful freyke
Is sorry for these sects, though they say little or nought;
And that I little John Nobody dare not once speake.

"Thus in NO place, this NOBODY, in NO time I met,
Where NO man, ne NOUGHT was, nor NOTHING did appear;
Through the sound of a synagogue for sorrow I swet,
That Aeolus through the eccho did cause me to hear.
Then I drew me down into a dale, whereas the dumb deer
Did shiver for a shower; but I shunted from a freyke:
For I would no wight in this world wist who I were,
But little John Nobody, that dare not once speake.


Title:
The Funeralles of the most noble and godly Prince Kyng Edward the syxt.

Lyrics:
WHen bytter Wynter forced had the Sun
Fro the horned Goat to Pisces ward to run,
And lively sap, that greneth gardins soote,
To flye the stocke to save her nurse, the roote,
And sleety Cech that blowth by North fro East,
Decayd the health and welth of man and beast,
The almighty minde that rayneth thre in one,
Disposing all thinges from his stable throne,
Beheld the earth, and man among the rest:
Movde by the crye of such as wer opprest.
And when he had the maynland throughly vewed,
With Mahometrie and Idol blud embrewed,
Wherthrow his Law and Gospel wer defylde,
His love, his awe, his worship quite exilde,
He turnd his iyes from that so fowle a sight,
And toward the Iles he cast his looke a right:
In hope that where true knowledge did abound,
He should sum lovelyer sight have quickely found.
But when he sawe all vice most vile and naught
Most rifely swarme, where truth had most be taught,
In England chefe, which he of speciall grace
Had made his wurd and chosens resting place,
And had for that cause powrd on it such store
Of welthy giftes as none could wishe for more,
Ioynt with a King, of such a godly minde,
As seldome erst he elswhere had assinde,
All wo and wroth he flang away his face,
And to him selfe he thus bewayld the case,
To see this people should theyr sinnes forsake,
I haue lookt so long, vntill mine eyes do ake.
To hide their mischiefes waring more and more,
I haue winkt so long till loe my bryes be sore.
My throte is horce, my lippes haue lost theyr skinne
Through feruent crye to fray them from theyr sinne.
Might gentlenes haue movde them to relent,
What have they wisht, that hath not strait be sent?
Sith then they passe for neyther threats, nor love,
Nor easy plages wherby I do them prove,
What els remayns but to destroy them all,
The yong, the old, the myghty with the small.
Chryst hearing this, and moved with the teares
Of vertuous folke, (for whose sake God forbeares
The wicked sort although their sinnes be great)
For his elect on this sort gan intreat.
If Iustice due (dere father) should haue place,
I knowe it booteth not to sewe for grace:
But though their sins all measure far excede,
Yet stay thy wrath, haue mercy on our nede.
And sith through fayth a mayny of them be mine,
Graunt leave this once to water this thy vine:
That doen, if so their fruytes do not amend,
As barrayne brambles bryng them to an end.
When Chryst our sauiours merciful request
Was sonke into his fathers tender brest,
He neyther graunted it, nor yet denayd
But fatherlike thus to his sonne he sayd:
To sewe for mercy I maruayle what ye meane,
For such a sort as haue reiect vs cleane.
Behold the heades, what els do they deuise,
Saue in our name to cloke their couetise?
Thine herytage they have thee whole bereft,
Except thy shurt, let see, what haue they left?
Thy golde, thy plate, thy lodgyng, yea thy landes
That are the poores, are in the richest handes:
They waste, they spoyle, they spill vpon their pride
That which was geven the nedy corse to hide:
And thou lyest naked starving at their gates
While they consume thy substaunce with theyr mates.
As for theyr lawe wherby men should haue right
Is ruled hole by money and by might.
And where the riche the nedy should relive
They do their best to beggry all to drive.
What titles forge they falsely to their landes,
Untill they wrongly wring them from their handes?
How ioyne they house to house, how farme to farme?
How lease to lease, the selly sort to harme?
How rayse they rents, what incoms, yea what fines
Exact they still though all the world repines?
How suffer they theyr grayne to rot and hore
To make a dearth when I geue plenty store?
And where they brag they do thy word auaunce,
Have they not spoyld or fliste all mayntenaunce,
That therto servde? what kinde of Clergy lande
Or fee, is free now from the Lay mans hande?
What gentleman, what marchant, yea what swayne,
But hath or may have a personage or twayne?
I loth to name the vilenes of the rest,
So sore my hart theyr robbry doth detest.
Is this the way our Gospell to defend?
No no, we see to well what they entend.
But passe we this, and marke their godly lives,
How do they kepe theyr promys with theyr wides?
For what respect do they theyr mariage make
Save riches, honour, or promocion sake?
Alas how are our Orphans bought and solde,
Our widowes forst to mary where they nould,
What vowe, what oth, what bond most strongly knit,
Doth hold, where gayne may growe by breaking it?
And when our preachers tell them ought hereof,
What do they then save eyther threat or skof?
Which causeth such as would thy manhode spoyle,
And rob from thee the merite of thy royle,
To hate thy word, and count our prophetes evill,
Wyshing them both together at the devill.
Are these thy vine? thy flocke canst thou them call
That steale thy landes, thy goodes, thy glory and all?
Whan for these sins I sent them late the sweat,
How low they croucht, so hard they dyd intreat,
What earnest vowes they made they would amend,
But as you see nought lesse they dyd entend:
For I no sooner had withdrawen my curse,
But they as soone were fallen from yll to wurse.
For where they vowed to flye and set aside
Theyr covetise, theyr othes, theyr fare, theyr pride,
They raysd theyr rents, theyr fines, theyr marcha~dises,
And glut their paunche with daynty wine and spices,
The Idollyke with pounsed silke and gold,
Arayd theyr wives and children yong and old:
As for them selves who marketh their attyer,
Would thinke them Gods more like then brittle myer,
And shall we suffer so perverse a nacion
To skorne and mocke their God on such a fashion?
No no my sonne, that were agaynst all ryght,
Yet for thy sake, I wil not stroye them quight,
But for to trye them once at thy request
I will but touch their king, and warne the rest
To amend their lives, which if they do delay
I will take their king, their comfort life and stay:
And if they set his death to at their heele,
I will powre downe plages till every one do feele.
This sayd, he called to his seruaunt Crasy cold,
Whom the Isy king kept prisoner in his hold
Beneath the Poales, where vnder he doth dwell
In grysly darke like to the diepe of hell,
In rockes and caves of snow [...]nd [...]ttred yse
That never thaw, and sayd hi[...] in this wise.
About five Climates henceward to the South
Betwene the maynland and the Occean mouth,
Two ylandes lye, skarce distant forty mile:
Wherof the larger and more Eastward yle
Cald Britaine once, til time that peoples sin
Drave out them selves & brought straunge nacions in,
Is now devided into portions three,
And in the same thre sundry peoples be.
Of which the best and cyuil like in sight,
But wurst in deede, the english nacion hight
And they indwel the Southpart of the land.
Fro the midst wherof (marke wel, and vnderstand)
A River runneth Eastward to the mayne
Sea arme, that parteth it and Fraunce in twayne.
About this riuer many mighty Bowres
Are cumly buylt with Castels, Halles, and Towres,
In which the King and Rulers commonly
In Wynter time with al theyr housholdes lye.
To one of these I wil thou hye in poste,
To that I meane where as the prince is moste:
I thought to byd thee marke the great resort,
But do not so, for other beare a ports
As great as he, and greater otherwhile:
But take this note, which will the not begile,
The mournful chere of many a suters face
Will shew the sure which is his biding place.
And when thou hast his place and person found,
I will thou shalt his helthy body vnsound:
But see thou hurt him not vnto the death,
Thou shalt but stop his Loungpipes, that his breth
Constraynd, may cause the cough brede in his brest:
Els what shall cure or quel vp al the rest.
But in this feat I charge the see thou looke
Thou harme him not while he is at his booke,
Or other kinde of vertuous exercise:
Neyther yet at game so it ve voyd of vice.
But if this Winter time thou mayst him marke
To ride all day all armde about the parke,
Or els at dice, or tenis out of time
To overwatch or toyle him selfe, for such a crime
Strike hardily, but not to hard, I say:
This is thy charge, about it, go thy way.
Scarce was this errand throwly to him tolde,
But forth he came this shivering crasy cold,
With Ysikles bebristled like a Bore,
About his head behind and eke before.
His skin was hard, al made of glassy yse,
Ouerheard with hore frost, like gray Irishe Frise,
His armes and legges, to kepe him warme I trow,
Wer skaled through with flakes of frosen snowe,
And from his mouth there reekt a breth so hot,
As touched nothing that congeled not.
And when he had arowsd him selfe a while.
And stretcht his ioyntes as stiffe as any stile:
Because he would his charge no longer slacke.
He got him vp on blustring Boreas backe,
And forth he went: but his horse so heauy trode,
That al the world might knowe which way he rode.
For in his way there grew no maner grene,
That could in thre dayes after wel be sene.
His breth and braying was so sharpe and thryl,
That fluds for feare hard cluddered stoode full stil.
The seas did quake and tremble in such sort,
That never a ship durst venter out of port.
The holtes, the heathes, the hilles became al hore,
The trees did shrinke, al thinges were troubled sore.



When this fel horseman with his griesly stede
Had passed Iseland, and made forth such spede,
That many Skots bad: Fule yle ta the Churle,
That slue their lambes and cattall with his whurle;
He passed Yorke, and came to London strayt,
And there alight to geve his horse a bayt.
Where ere he had three dayes in stable stood,
Be eat so much, the poore could get no wood,
Except they would pay after double price,
For Billet treble vnder common cise.
But Crasy cold lurkt al this while at court,
To watche his time when he the king might hourt:
And when he saw him on a morning, sweat,
And call for drinke to coole his tennis heat,
He slyly crept, and hid him in the cup:
And when the King, alas, had drunke him vp,
Into his stomacke downward he him got,
And there parceyving all the inwards hot,
And that eche part ful gredily did plucke
To save it selfe, all succour it might sucke,
He marke the chile that went vnto the Lounges,
And throwly myxt his vertue ther amonges:
And cooling it, so stopt the pipes therwith,
As to dissolve pure nature wanted pith?
This doen, to London strait this fyend he came,
And there infected divers with the same:
Wherof most part not over charely tended,
Recovered well, and throwly are amended,
And sum whose nature phisicke overprest,
Are goen to God, and slepe in quyet rest.
Whan Crasy cold this cruel fear had wrought,
He tooke his steede that had him thither brought.
And furth he rode to him that sent him hither,
And so forth home, or els I wot not whither.
Right sore ackrasde, within a day or twayne
The King gan sicke, and of his brest complayne.
The iuyce congelde that in his Lounges lay rawe,
Did stop the pipes, wherthrough the breth should draw·
By meane wherof his stomacke waxed faynt,
Till nature holpe through medicinall constraynt,
Did make a way by purging part therof,
Wherof ensewed a sore and vehement cough,
Wyth reaching oft, as if the hart should breake,
Wherby the vitall blud becam to weake.
For helpe wherof phisici[...]ns did repayre,
And for his ayde did kepe him from the ayre:
But when the King awhile was mist abrode,
His louers mournde, the preachers layd on lode,
Who seing the prince plagde for the peoples sin,
Exhorted all amendment to begin.
Fore warning, if we would not turne in time,
His grace should dye, and we should beare the crime:
And after his death such cruell plages ensue.
As all should feele, and then to late, should rue.
The Magistrate was playnly tolde his fault.
The man of lawe was warned not to halte:
Request was made the church goodes to restore,
Or put to the vse that they wer taken for.
Leasmungring Landlords, such as raysed rent,
Wer moved to bate their Lands to auncient stent,
The waste, the fare, the vaynnes of attyre,
Extorcion, malice, covetous desyre,
All Papistry, with fruteles gospel boast,
Was cryed agaynst, and damnde as wicked most.
And to be briefe, fro the lowest to the hyest,
All wer desired to live the lawe of Christ.
With earnest threats, from God the living Lord,
In whose iust iye all sinne is sore abhord,
That if we did not these our faultes repent,
The King should dye, and we to late lament.
But out alas, how wer these preachers heard?
The heades withdrew their presens, all afearde
Least sum good mocion might amend their minde.
By whose example, the people (nought by kinde)
Tooke hart of grasse the preachers to despise:
And slaundred them with shameles forged lyes.
Gods bytter threats they made a very mocke,
His prophetes eke a common iesting stocke,
As for amendment, none at al was sene,
But into wurs all yls were turned clene.
Whan God had suffred all these thinges a space,
And saw at last how all refused his grace,
And that no threates might cause them to retyer,
To stay the stroke of his consuming ire,
He fully agreed to take this blessed childe:
For spede wherof, he vtterly exylde
All meanes by which he might recover force.
Than did his griefe so sore assault the corse
That euery vayne and muscle gan to swell,
Which bred a payne much like the panges of hell:
In which the piteous Prince a pining laye,
In hope all hopeles, many a wofull daye.
But God which sawe the terror of the payne
Wherin so long this innocent had layne,
Because he would for it provide an ayde,
He called Death, and thus to him he sayd:
Dispatch at ones, to Greenwich se thou hye,
Where my elect, King Edward, sicke, doth lye
In paynfull panges, wherin he hath be long,
Not for his owne, but for his peoples wrong:
Enforce thyne arme, and with thy cruell dart
Cleave me in twayne his vertuous godly hart.
What, wepest thou Death? Ceas foole, & hold thy toung·
What though he be both beawtifull and young,
So learnd a prince, so manly, and so meeke
As seldome had, nor eft shall have his like?
He is to good for that vngracious Realme:
Wherfore dispatch, go strike thy stroke extreme.
Take no compassion on his tender youth,
His wit, his vertue, or earnest zeale of truth.
But wotst thou what, let not thy fourme be such
An ougly shape, as to the worldly ruch
It oft appeares: But lovely, as it is
To such as long for euerlasting blisse.
With cumly shape, and smiling chere, I say,
Go lewse his soule, have done, and go thy way.
Whan doutful Death had heard this hard devise,
He trymd him selfe in his most cumly guyse,
Like Mercury in euery kinde of grace,
Save that he had a much more lovely face:
And forth he flewe, and got him to the bed,
Wherin the King lay neyther quicke nor dead,
But in a traunce: for why his deadly griefe,
And nature strave, to prove who should be chiefe.
But when weke nature had consumde her best,
She yelded her, and so the struggle ceast.
Wherby the King cam to him selfe agayne,
And seing death, he turnd away amayne:
For why his yongth, and yet vnfloured breth,
Could not consent to so vnripe a death.
Drye Death him selfe with pity moved thoe,
Had much to do to hide his inward woe:
And seing the lovely prince so sore afrayd,
With smiling there to cumfort him, he sayd.
Most noble King, abashe not, but assent,
Nor God the almightye hath me hither sent:
Who much lamenting this your wofull case,
Would have you cum to solas with his grace,
In life, in blisse, in everlasting glory,
From worldly thinges all vile and transitory,
From this your state vncertayne and vnsure,
Unto a Raygne that shall for ay indure.
No sooner had our Soverayne heard of this,
But loe, his goast (which long had longd for blisse)
Would nedes away: Howbeit his carefull minde
For this his realme, which he should leave behind,
Did move his grace to pray death stay awhile,
To thend he might him selfe both reconcile
To God his king, and also recommende
His realme to him for ever to defend.
And while that Death for this cause gladly stayed,
He set him vp, and thus to God he prayed.



HAve mercy on me father dere, O Lord, and God of truth,
O let thy mercy hide the sins, and fraylty of my youth.



I have transgrest thy lawe to oft, full woe is me therfore,
But for thy sonne my saviours sake, my selly soule restore.



My flesh doth crave to kepe the life, ful loth to loose the lyght:
But Lorde, do thou as shal seme best, to thine almighty sight.



And whan thou hast receyved my soule, which troubles overwhelm
Be mercifull (most mercifull) to this my wretched Realme.



Preserve thy truth, mayntayne thy word, powre plenty of thy grace,
On all such hartes as thou shalt set, to governe in my place.



Thus Lorde, I render to thy handes, my selfe, my flocke, my seat,
Do with them all thy blessed will, for Christes sake I entreat.



Amen {quod} death, and with his percing dart,
He strake in twayne the kinges yet praying hart.
But Lord how glad the goast was of the stroke,
For when it sawe the prison gate was broke,
Fast furth it flewe, and vp to heaven went
To rest with God in ioyes that never stent:
The soulles body about the bed did sprall,
While they about it on the King did call,
Adawing him as if he wer in swound:
But all for nought, he had his deadly wound.
And when the blud, that went to helpe the hart,
Had sweltred it, and left eche other part,
Than waxt his face and handes all pale and wan,
And when the bludles partes to coole began,
To heavenward his handes and iyes he cast,
Downe fell his iawes, his hart stringes all to brast,
And still he lay, for lively heat was past.
Thus dyed this King, this giltles blessed childe,
In body and soule, a virgin vndefilde,
The sixtenth yere of his vnperfect age.
Wo wurth vs men, whose sins let run at rage
Have murdred him: wo wurth vs wretches all,
On whom the wreke of righteous bloud must fall.
Wo wurth our sins, for they, alas, have slayne,
The noblest prince that dyd, or eft shall rayne.

Epigraph:
Sapien .iiii.

→Thus the righteous which is dead, con|demneth the vngodly which are liuing, and the youth that is soone brought to an ende, the long life of the vnrighteous.


Title:
An Epitaphe vpon the deth of kyng Edward

Location of Printer:
Holborn near the conduit at the sign of the Saracen's Head

Lyrics:
Adewe pleasure
Gone is our treasure
Morning mai be our mirth.
For Edward our kyng
That rose did spring
Is vaded and lyeth in earth.

Therfore morne we may.
Both night and day
And in hart we may be ful sad:
Sence Brute came in
Or at any time sence
The like treasure we neuer had

But death with his darte
Has pearced the harte
Of that Prince moste excellent:
The childe new borne
May lament and morne
And for the death of him repent

Gone is our ioy.
Our sport and our play
Our comfort is turned to care.
To Englandes great cost
This iewell we have lost
That with al christendom might compare

Of so noble a birth
The godliest in earth.
Our true kinge and eyre by right:
Edwarde by name
Borne of Queene Jane
And sonne to kinge Henry the eyght

At the age of sixtene yeres
As by Cronicles aperes
In the seuenth yere of his raigne
God toke him away
Our comfort and ioy
To Englandes greate dolour and payne

In his tender age
So graue and so sage
So well learned and wittie:
And now that swete flower
Hath builded his bower
In the earth the more is the pitie.
The whole losse and lacke,
Is to Englande a wracke,
All faythfull hartes may morne:
To se that swete childe.
So meke and so milde
So soone subdued to wormes

Out of Grenewiche he is gone,
And lieth vnder a stone
That loueth both house and parke:
Thou shalt see him no more
That set by thee suche store
For death hath pearced his hart.

Gone is our king
That would runne at the ringe
And oftentimes ryde on black heath.
Ye noble men of cheualry,
And ye men of artilerie
May all lament his death.

That swete childe is deade,
And lapped in leade
And in Westminster lyeth full colde
All hartes may rewe
That euer they him knew
Or that swete childe did behold.

Farewell Diamonde deare,
Farewell Christall cleare
Farewell the flower of cheualry
The Lorde hath taken him
And for his peoples sinne
A iust plage for our iniquitie.

But now ye noble peeres
Marke well your yeares
For you do not know your day:
And this you may be bolde,
Both yonge and olde
You shall die and hence away:

And for our royall kinge
The noblest liuinge,
No longer with us may tarie:
But his soule we do commende,
Unto the Lordes hande
Who preserve our Quene Mary.

Long with vs to endure,
With myrth ioy and pleasure,
To rule her realme a right:
All her enemies to withstande
By sea and by lande,
Lorde preserue her both day and nighte.

God saue the Kinge and Queene


Title:
Remember man both night and daye.
Thou must nedes die, there is no nay.

Lyrics:
THy mortall body formed of clay,
Will sone reuolue and passe a waye:
But yet the time, houre, or day,
Vncertain is, wherfore I say.
Remember man.

In youth or pleasure,
if thou put thy trust,
In honour, treasure, or yet in lust:
Sone all thy ioy shall turne to dust,
For remedilesse hens thou must.
Remember man.

All high estate and dignitie,
Pompe, glory, wealth and soueraintie:
It can not prolong thy life pardie,
But all shall tourne to vanitie.
Remember man.

The mo thy yeres, the shorter is thy life,
Against death there is no strife:
And no kin, frend, childe, nor wife.
For thy pore wil be pensife.
Remember man.

Then helpe thy soule, while thou arte here,
For though thy frend be neuer so nere:
When thou art dead, and laid on bere,
They all with thy goodes make good chere.
Remember man.

Art thou so folish for to beleue,
That they thy soule wil releue:
Or yet thy goodes in almese geue.
Which to forgo, did thee sore gruee?
Remember man.

Nay, nay, they wil say openly,
It were much sinne, and great folly,
On him to rue or take pity,
That kept his goodes so nigardly.
Remember man.

While thou hast goodes, do almes deedes,
Let vertue destroy all vicious weedes:
And sowe in thy soule, the holsome sedes
Of sorowe and repentaunce that to heauen ledes.
Remember man.

Send forth before to make thy way,
Charitable dedes, which shall and may:
Conduct thee surely without delay,
Paradise to wynne, at the endlesse day.
Remember man.

Call also to thy memory,
This world fraile and transitory:
Ful of foule sinne and misery,
To heauenly blesse cleane contrary.
Remember man.

Of Christ Iesu the veruent loue,
Remember man all thing aboue,
Whom pity did stire, and also moue:
To suffer death for thy behoue.
Remember man.

The fearful day of strait iudgement,
Fyxe well in thy intendement:
Where man and woman shall soxe repente,
Their sinfull life and time mispent,
Remember man.

For getnot the infinite paines of hell.
Being so feruent and so fell:
That nothing can speake, nor yet tell,
Where dampned soules shall euermore dwell.
Remember man.

Remember thy ioy inestimable,
So pleasaunt and so delectable,
Of paradise so comfortable,
Prepared for persons laudable,
Remember man.

Man, if thou kepe this thing in minde.
And to thy maker be not vnkinde:
Eternall ioy thou shalt then finde,
Ordained by god for all mankinde.
Remember man.

The ioyes of heauen, the paines of hell,
The passion of Christ, his death so fell:
The worlde and death, consider thou well,
And Domes day, loue euery deale.


Tags:
History? Topical? Moral, Religious, other

Lyrics:
When raging death with extreme paine
Most cruelly assaulles my herte
And when my fleshe although in vaine
Doth feare the felinge of that smarte
For when the swerde will stop mi brethe
Then am I at the point of death
I call to minde the goodness greate
The father promised to vs all
Howe that his sonne for vs shuld sweat 
water and bloud and drinke the gal
And shuld lose the life he hathe
To pacifie his fathers wrathe

And how we shuld by hys sonnes death
Knowe the fathers ming and wil
And to preserue vs stil in faith
His commaundements to fulfil
So that before where we were slaine
By his bloud we might liiue againe

And where in thousand yeres ther were
Before the coming of this childe
Mant a man that came farre
For lacke of knowledge was beguiled
As Pharaoes people whiche did rebel
Against Moses deseruing hel

But when the child had shed his bloud
He made vs free where we were bande
He after was to vs so good
To put vs in the promised lande
And broughe vs from the lake so depe
Wher he himselfe of vs take kepe

Then laide I straight vnto my fleshe
the carkas why doest thou fret
that of this earthe art made so neshe
And naught thou art but wormes meat
In the haue I no delight
For al is vexed in spite

Thou haste me caused to offende
In following much thi fleshely wil
But God willing now I shall amend
In token where of I do the kil
Because thou wouldest not haue hi forgeue
thi shameful fauts while thou might liue

Thou didest thi selfe so muche esteem
thou madest thi spirite the to obeye
But thi rewarde is as I deme
Streight from the spirit now to decaie
and from the world thou shalt now turne
And be a subiecte to the worme

As for my spirite I trust he shal
Amonge the auncient fathers slepe
Readie when the Lord doth cal
His heauenlie deitie for to kepe
This the chiefe ground of my faithe
And ther vpon I take my death

What auaileth anie princely power
Yf God agreeth not them tyl
For if the Lorde apointe the houre
thei can not worke against his wil
So that for me he doth preuente
For to agre I do contente

Beare record now ye Christian al
that seethe the ende of this mi life
For helpe to none of you I cal
But vnto God for mercie rife
But this to you I calle and crye
Witnes a Christian do I die

Forgeue me al in this world wide
and praie for me whiles I do liue
For do [sic] mans sake tarieth the tide
Therefore I do you al forgeue
In the Lordes hands I do commend
My spirite and here I make an ende


Title:
A prayer or supplycation made vnto God by a yonge man

Lyrics:
Psalme, C.xix.
Wherein hath a yonge man O Lorde to reioyce,
But in thy worde: therefore put I forth my voice.

O Lorde of mercye vs beholde
The whiche are here in great mysery
And in doynge thy wyll lorde we are to colde
Therefore on vs shewe some pytye
For mercy vnto thee now do we crye
That thou in our synnes suffre vs not to dye.

Let vs not be forsaken of thee O lorde
Although we be wretched and synfull
But thy mercies nowe showe abrode
And to vs synners mooost wicked be mercyfull
For mercy vnto thee nowe do we crye
That thou in our synnes suffer vs not to dye.

Thou dyddest thy worde plentyfully sowe abrode
Euen vnto vs lorde of tyme very late
But we were to vnthankfull, all with one accorde
Therefore thou dyddest, o lorde, it away take
Wherefore nowe for mercye vnto thee we crye
That thou in oure synnes suffre vs not to dye.

Good lorde be merciful vnto vs we thee praye
Although destruction we haue deserued
Let vs haue thy worde agayne, O lorde, to be our stay
That by stronge faythe in thee we maye be saued
For onely vnto thee continually wyll we crye
That thou in our synnes suffer vs not to die.

Take away Idolatry, o lord, let that no more vpsprng
In this, O lorde, thy poor and simple land
Thou dydst plague vs lord, in taking away our kynge
Wherefore holde ouer vs nowe thy right hande
And forgeue vs lorde, nowe do we crye
That in our synnes thou suffre vs not to dye.

Full godly and righteously dyd he begynne
For the tyme thou gauest hym space
To set forth thy glorie, and punishe synne
This was the intente of his grace
Therefore for the like do we now crye
That thou in oure synnes suffer vs not to dye.

Images, o lorde, he plucked cleane downe
And ceremonies that were naughte
And priestes he made leaue Baales crowne
And thy worde he caused to be taught
For by thy word all thinge did he trie
that we in ignoraunce shoulde not dye.

He was the sower thy seede to sowe
As thy Euangelistes do playnely wryte
But some of thy seede away did goe 
Amonge the harde grounde dyd it lughte
therefore for forgeuenes now do we crye
that thou in oure synnes suffre vs not to die.

We are that harde and stonye grounde
Where some of thy sede dyd fall
Of whiche seede small rote is founde
Sathan almooste had dryed vp all
Therefore for mercye now do we crye
that thou in oure synnes suffre vs not to die.

O Lorde, make vs of that fruytfull grounde
the whiche doth kepe thy commaundementes
That great increase of godlynes in vs maye be founde
that we maye serue thee with good intents
And always for mercye vnto thee to crie
That we in our sinnes do neuer die.

Ful notable and excellent kings thou haste geuen vs
Kynge Henry the eight of moost famous memorie
Whiche abolyshed the bishop of Rome from vs
And by thi mighty power plucked down much idolatri
We considering this, for mercye do we now crye
That in our sinnes thou suffre vs not to die.

Also we were made to go and worship a false God
Whiche was a great abomination and ydolatrye
But thy commaundementes he set forth abrode
In oure owne natiue speache moost truly
Teachinge vs alwayes on the for to crye
that we in oure sinnes lorde, shoulde not dye.

Euen as Elechias was vnto Judae
So was Kynge Henry vnto Englande
Unto this kynge, o lorde, compare we
Edwarde the syxte whom thou hast in thy hande
Which thy word set abrode most manifestlye
That we in our sinnes Lorde, shoulde not dye.

Although that in age he was not so hye
Yet vnto his steppes he went very nere
Unto the glory of thy blessed Maiestie
And vnto the soule helth of vs his subiectes dere
Therefore vnto thee, o lorde, do we now crye
that thou in our sinnes suffer vs not to dye

His father broke the Pilgrimages going 
to this saint and that saint, to and fro
But he, o lorde, at his vp comminge
Brought doune all as thou doest knowe
For by thy worde he dyd all thinge trie
That we in our sinnes shoulde not die.

He was in age like that virtuous kinge
Jolias, whiche in Hierusalem dyd raigne
One and thirtie yeares had he there his beynge
And executed thy lawe this is very plaine
But for oure vnthankfulnes, o lorde, truly
Thou causedst our worthy kinge shortly for to die.

I hartely beseche thee, o eternall God
To kepe and preserue Elysabeth our Quene
That she may thy worde now set abrode
Nowe in her time as before hath bene
By her godly Father & brother, for which thing we cry
That we may repent and not in our sinnes die.


Location of Printer:
Spread Eagle between both the St Bartholomews

Lyrics:
Wher wyuing some mislike
and women muche dysprease
The women frowarde be:
and fewe men cane them please
And thoughe the married life:
The wyse muste nedes comende.
yet chifeste carke and care:
dothe therin full depende,
For though thye lusting eyes:
thou fedeste with plaesante sighte.
And from thy hart do nothing kepe
whiche maye gyue it delyght.
And thoughe thou treasure haue,
reputed with the beste
yet yf thou haue a frowarde wyf
then what preualeth the reste.
And syth vnto a shrowe,
none yll compared maye be.
Then make no haste lest after wast 
but faythfull loke she bee
One Erupis philosopher:
doth tell vs daungers sore.
Which be in seas & eke one earth:
but none then women more.
For yf the frowarde be:
as moste doe growe from kynde.
That thee delights shall her displease:
such is her frowarde mynde.
Thy woes dothe her reioes:
thy sorwes ioeth her harte.
Whe[n] fortune frowne that them will cause
her from thee to departe.
In thee delitghts she not:
thy presence maketh her lowere.
When thou geuest her thy homecom kis
her countenance then is sowre,
That whiche doth thee myslyke:
to her it doeth contente
And things to do agenste thy will
full frowarde is she bente
The frutefulnes of her:
is scowlding daye and nyghte
And when thou angerste her:
then with thy bratts she fights
yf sickenes sores or paynes:
doe happe thee to oppresse.
she courling spend the tedious nyght
praying deth it to redress
Then wyll she send thy slaue
to helpe to holde thy hedde.
When that full carles she
Will (after meate) to bedde.
But when she heres thee deade:
she shifteth thee to graue.
Thee bringes one byre to churche.
thy silye simple slaue.
And for the she cane not weepe,
with clothe she hydes her face.
And shakes her head as thoughe
she weepte forsuche a pace.
The wanting of due tears:
that ought her eyes fall fro.
And fained wringing of her ha[n]ds
shewe furth no inward wo.
No ioye cane her but gladde:
all myrth she doth pretende.
And wisheth straight that in thy stede
god wolde anothere sende.
Wher is ther suche a ffoe:
in other kynde of lyf.
No ffoe mai doutlesse be comparde
vnto the wicked wyf.
And though somes hape haue bin
full faythfull wyves to fynde.
yet let the bade styll here the blame
that so growe out of kind.
At this good wyues haue no disden
for them it doth comende.
The worsere sort most be content:
herfore you shrowsse amende.
you mayde[n]s al that wiues do mid
in tyme to come to be.
Endeuer yourselfe that eche of you
A faythfull wyfe maye be.


Lyrics:
LEt vs knowe by these vgly sights,
and eke consider well:
That our God is the Lord of mights,
who rules both heauen and hell.

By whose strong hand these monsters here,
were formed as ye see:
That it mighte to the world appers,
almightie him to bee.

VVho might also vs men haue formde,
after a straunge deuise:
As by the Childe of late deformde,
appeareth in plaine wise.

what might these monsters to vs teache?
which now are sent so rife:
But that we haue Goddes wurd well preacht,
and will not mend our life.

At which straunge sightes we meruel muche,
when that we doe them see:
Yet can there not be found one suche,
That so will warned bee.

And loke what great deformitie,
In bodies ye beholde:
Much more is in our mindes truly,
an hundreth thousand folde.

So that we haue great cause in deede,
Our sinnes for to confesse:
And eke to call to God with speede,
The same for to redresse.

VVhich if we wyl not fayle to doo,
and purely to repent:
He wyl no doubt, vs comfort so,
as shal our soules contente.

Now sith our God so louing is,
and ready to forgeue:
VVhy doe we not abhorre all vice,
and only to him cleaue.

Sith he also his hande can shake,
And sone destroy vs all,
Why doe we not then feare and quake,
And downe before him fall.

VVhy doe we not amend I saye,
Either for loue or feare:
why driue we of from day to daye,
And sinning not forbeare.

Good lawes of lats renewde wee see,
Much sinne for to suppresse:
God graunt that they fulfilde maye bee,
To ouerthrow excesse.


O Lord graunt vs also thy grace,
That by repentance pure:
In heauen to haue a dwelling place,
For euer to endure


Title:
An answere to maister Smyth 
seruaunt to the kynges most royall maiestye. And clerke of the 
Quenes graces counsell / though most vnworthy.

Location of Bookshop:
Pater Noster Row by John Turke at the sign of the Rose

Lyrics:
Whether ye trolle in or els trolle out 
ye trolle vntruly loke better about. 

WHere as of late two thinges ye parused 
Concerning the treason of Thomas Crumwell 
Vndoutedly both your wyt and your syght were confused 
Lackyng a medecyne blyndnesse to expell 
Put on your spectacles and marke it well 
Than shall you se and say maugre your hart 
That trolle in hath played a true subiectes part 

For where as trolle a way (as ye say) tolde trouth 
Declaring the offences wherin Crumwell offended 
It was not the thyng wherwith troll in was wroth 
For in that poynt Troll in Troll away commended 
But this was the mater wherfore they contended 
Trolle away vnder pretence of trollyng against treason 
Practised proude popery as appereth by reason. 

And ye supporting the same your pen runneth at large 
Boldly as blynde bayerd ye write in his defence 
And in your myscheuous maner ye lay falsly to my charge 
Sayeng who that craftely coloureth any others offence 
Of lykelyhode in his owne hert hath the same pretence 
But here ye speke of lykelyhode and so blyndly go by gesse 
your fondnesse is the folyssher and my faute is the lesse. 

 An horse beyng nothing galled of force ye may make to kycke 
With spurryng and with prickinge more than reason wolde requyre 
But if the horse were lustye coragious and also quycke 
ye might be the fyrst perchaunce that might lye in the myre 
As wyse as ye haue ben drowned in their owne desyre 
Many a man anothers mischefe of malyce wyll prepare 
And yet him selfe the fyrst that is caught in the snare. 

 Bycause of making stryfe (ye say) ye wyll take neither parte 
But here ye breke promyse for agaynst all reason and right 
Speking with your mouth that you thinke not with your harte 
Agaynst trolle in ye take trolle awayes parte with all your myght 
Thus all thinges lyghtly that ye make amonge them selues do fyght 
Wherfore whatsoeuer ye write or saye gretly it shall not skyll 
For if ye speke any thing wysely I thinke it be agaynst your wyll. 

But blyndly haue ye sclaundred me good maister Thomas Smyth 
Scraping togither scriptures your madnesse to mayntayne 
Truly your rude rowsty reason being so farre from the pyth 
Had nede of suche a cloke to kepe it from the rayne 
For all the worlde may perceyue how falsly ye forge and fayne 
Yet styll you affyrme your falshed as though ye knew thinges presysely 
Christes blessyng on your hert forsoth ye haue done full wysely. 

 ye rumble amonge the scryptures as one that were halfe mad 
Wrestyng and writhyng them accordyng to your owne purpose 
Facyonyng and framyng them to your sayenges good and bad 
Lyke as the holy Papystes were wont to paynt their popysshe glose 
Do ye take the holy scripture to be lyke a shypmans hose? 
Nay nay although a shypmans hose wyll serue all sortes of legges 
yet Christes holy scrypture wyll serue no rotten dregges. 

Counsell with some tayler whan that ye wryte nexte 
Take measure of diuinyte before ye cut the facyon 
So shall ye square your scryptures and the better trym your texte 
And than shall men of lernyng commende your operacyon 
But howe shulde he be connyng that knoweth not his occupacyon 
Howe shuld a cobler cut a core or a smyth tast good wyne 
Or how shulde you scarsely a clerke be nowe a good deuyne? 

What lyuyng man (excepte it were you) beynge in his right wyttes 
Wolde write as ye haue written and all not worth a myte 
I thinke it be some peuysshe pange that cometh ouer your hert by fyttes 
Vnder the coloure of charyte to worke your cruell spyte 
If men wolde marke your madnesse and beholde your deuelyssh delyte 
Shuld se how ye wrest ye scriptures to your saye[n]g not worth .ii. chippes 
And ioyne them all togither as iust as Germans lyppes. 

 Whan ye haue spytte your poyson and sayde euen the worst ye can 
Than come ye in with charite wyllyng all stryfe to cease 
But surely good maister Smyth ye speke lyke a mery man 
Moche lyke a comen pyke quarell that stryfe wolde encrease 
Continually cryeng in frayes holde kepe the kynges pease 
But those be prety peace makers in dede for euery daye 
That styll bestowe mo strokes than they that began the fraye. 

What wyse man wolde not laugh for to here you bragge and boste 
Of your name your seruyce of your offyce and all this gere 
As though ye were prymrose perelesse and a ruler of the roste 
By the declaryng wherof ye thinke to put pore men in fere 
But your braggyng and your bostyng shall neyther be here nor there 
As longe as I may indifferently be suffred to vse my pen 
ye shall neuer be able to face me out with a carde of ten. 

A wyse man wolde haue praysed god and than prayed for the kyng 
The which of their gret goodnesse to your offyce dyd you call 
And not to haue bragged therof and than put it out in printyng 
For ye stande not yet so sure but it is possyble ye may fall 
And though your offyce be great I trust your power be but small 

Or els parchau[n]ce ye wold quickly thurst a poore man amo[n]g the thornes 
But god almyghty prouydeth well to sende a shrewde cow short hornes. 

 Christ preserue the kynges most noble grace & sende him longe lyfe 
Euen Henry the eight (next vnder god) of this church the hed supreme 
Christ preserue & kepe quene Katheryn his most lawfull wyfe 
Christ preserue Prince Edwarde the very right heyre of this realme 
Christ styll ensence their noble counsell with the influence of heauen 
Christ for his tendre mercy amende all thing that is a mys 
Christ sende maister Smyth more charite whan his good pleasure is. 
 Amen.


Title:
The ret[ur]ne of. M. smythes enuoy 
seruaunt to the Kynges Royall Maiestye and Clerke of the Quenes 
graces counsell (though most vnworthy)

Location of Bookshop:
Lombard Street near to the Stocks by Richard Kele

Tags:
Religious, Confessional, Social Criticism, political,

Lyrics:
Trolle here, trolle there, trolle out, trolle in 
Ye trolle away & trolle aboute lyke a blynde sym. 

EUen with the same commendacion that to you dothe pertayne 
I sende you here myne answer, which is no great treatyse 
Desyrynge you to marke, and to vnderstande playne 
That I haue receyued your enuyous and proude enterpryse 
The mater wherof, I trust, all honest men dothe despyse 
But bragge and face what you can, I care not a whyt 
I take tyme as tyme is, though hereafter commeth not yet. 

 You ruffle and you rayle for malyce and despyte 
And as a loftye lurden, you shewe your selfe full playne 
For asmoche as you are greued with the good that I dyd wryte 
Which I wyll neuer denye, but earnestlye mayntayne 
Hauynge causes ynowe, on your malyce to complayne 
For your manasynges and threatnynges, wherin I am sure ye do but gesse 
For layenge popery to your charge, your herte grauntynge there no lesse. 

 Though with the poynt of my penne I dyd you so spurre and pryck 
That therby you were greued, and greatlye styrred to yre 
Yet I councell you to syt sure, and that you nother wynche nor kyck 
For and yf you do, I wyll surely laye you in the myer 
Take no more vpon you then is mete, lest your selfe ye do tyer 
Or some other myschefe chaunce you, take this prouerbe for a token 
That a sycke man is sone beaten, and a skalde hed sone broken. 

 I was nothynge greued that yourselfe so openly ye dyd declare 
Nether with the descrybynge of your name, nor of your seruyce the pyth 
Nor yet wyll any honest man so iudge, and therfore I nothynge care 
Though mad malyce moued you, to be despyted therwith 
Ragynge because I compared a coblet with the smyth 
Your folyshe dysplesure wherwith, is easye ynough to be founde 
Namyuge me as ye arre, an vpryght vagaboude. 

 Of the openynge of your name and seruyce I knew not your entent 
But yet for your doynges, I thought ye worthy blame 
Not countynge you gyltlesse, and therfore I dyd you shent 
Consydrynge I regarded your dede, more then I dyd your name 
And therfore vnto your offyre, I wysshed no maner of shame 
But entendynge my purpose I wryte as in my mynde it laye 
Howbeyt, you beynge naught your selfe, turne it another waye. 

 Sometyme a thefe shameth not to shewe bothe his name and face 
Where the true man hydeth hym selfe, and standeth in great doute 
Least that this theuyshe malyce shuld present it selfe in place 
To the destruccyon of him that his thefery wolde trye oute 
So in lykewyse you, do seke all corners rounde aboute 
But it will not helpe you, though awhyle there be delaye 
Tyme maye brynge you forthe, as well as it doth poure graye 

 For romblynge in the scryptures in dede I dyd you reproue 
Wysshynge with all my herte that your doynges ye wold amende 
Descrybynge your faute playnly, as honestye dyd me behoue 
You myght gentely haue spoken with me if ye coulde me reprehende 
But I am sure ye mynded it not, but dyd it least intende 
For all your bragges and krackes, on your ale benche when you syt 
Let tyme be as tyme is, though herafter commeth not yet. 

 To a taylour in dede I aduysed you that ye dyd resorte 
For the shapynge out of scrypture your text the better to frame 
A secte I am sure more catholyck then are your popysshe sorte 
Beynge the members of chryst and him selfe the hed of the same 
Neyther heretyckes nor papistes but men of honest fame 
That alwayes are obedyent and vse not for to rebelle 
Though you and soche other wolde helpe therto with your councell. 

 I nother bluster nor blowe any false mater to proue 
Though you do desyer of euery honest man the fall 
Nother layed I popery to your charge but thought ye dyd it loue 
For yf by you popery I coulde proue then a traytour I wolde you call 
And wolde it not concele but bryng you to your tryall 
Our doynges wyll apere though ye defer them for a space 
And I wyll be forth commynge before your betters to shewe my face. 

 The rest of your raylynges I wyll as now omytte 
Vpon soche braynles braggery my tyme I wyll not spende 
They do nothyng elles but manyfest the lewde vse of your wyt 
And the myschefe of your herte whiche to other ye do pretende 
You haue no nother buckler your selfe for to defende 
Who rebuketh your secte or wolde reforme your popery 
Amonge you strayte he is a mayntayner of heresy. 

 Thus though ye wolde be hydden yet men may easely knowe 
What trayterous hertes ye beare to god and oure good kynge 
His grace hath geuen in functyons whiche cleane to ouerthrowe 
What councelles do ye holde to euydent is the thynge 
We shulde beware of your treason for surely I feare ye wolde brynge 
Your romyshe tuffeler to be our heed by some maner of shyft 
To the whiche your papisticall flocke not longe agoo gaue a lyft. 

 There sawe we playnly a myscheuous and detestabell sorte 
Of false fayned hertes that agaynst our good kynge dyd aryse 
Sekynge his destruccyon and all theyrs that him dyd supporte 
Beynge armed with customes and soche fayned lyes 
But god (who of his grace) euer prouydeth for his 
Gaue soche knowlege therof that they had not theyr entent 
Some fledde som taken some were hanged on the galowes and brent. 

 Whiche thynge I do desyre all true subiectes to regarde 
And to god and our good kynge to beare a due obedyence 
And to all false fayned hertes I wyshe the same rewarde 
Euen lyke as the others had worthely for their offence 
And nowe Master. T. .S. marke well this sentence 
Consyder that as you be so haue you vsed your wyt 
And I take tyme as tyme is though herafter come not yet. 

 Parauenture Syr. T. S. you wyll yet bragge and bost 
As ye do here in that ye wyll dryue me out of the way 
But be not to busye I aduyse you lest you come to your cost 
Though in myne owne cause I wyll but lytell saye 
For and yf you worke moche ye shall perceyue I wyll not playe 
Nether holdynge downe my hed nor yet beare it to moche aloft 
For all your braggynge countenance it wyl become you to speke soft. 

 Nowe for an ende (Eternall God) I beseche the graunt longe lyfe 
With prosperous contynuans, to Henry our most noble kynge 
Andd to Katherynge our Quene also, his most Laufull Wyfe 
And graunt betwene theym bothe, lyke other braunches to sprynge 
(As is Edwarde our Prynce. that most odoriferous thynge 
Preserue theym longe together Lorde, and graunt theym all the blysse 
Where Angels incessantly, synge (Gloria in excelsis) Amen. 		 God saue the kynge.


Trolle here, Trolle there, Trolle out, Trolle in 
Ye trolle awaye and trolle about, lyke a blynde Sym.


Title:
The true description of a monsterous Chylde
borne in the Ile of Wight in this prefent yeare
of oure Lord God MD Ixiiij. The month of
October after this forme, with a cluster of longe
heare about the nauell

Lyrics:
FOR mercy, Lorde, with one accorde.
To the we call and crye.
That so doth show, in earth below.
Thy wonderous workes daylye.

Within the rase of fyue yeres space
Moche monsterous sights hath byn,
Of sundry kynde ; man, bare in mynde,
And sone turne from thy fyn.

Repent and pray, amende, I say,
Leue of thy wicked wayes ;
The tyme drawes on, thou must be gone,
Beholde this later dayes.

Of infans yonge, agone not longe.
With calues and pigges which were.
The tookens, loo, mishappen soo,
Whiche cryeth to vs great feare.

Now this late syght in Ile of Wight,
Straungely it is to tell,
Two children borne,—neuer beforne
Suche wonders there befell.

The one I fynde, of woman kynde,
Hauyng her shape all right;
The other is transposed this,
As pleaseth the Lorde of myght.

Where natures art doth not her part.
In workyng of her skylle.
To shape aright, eche lyuely wight;
Beholde, it is Gods wyll!

Loo, here you see, before your eye,
A man-childe to beholde;
A babe gyltles, deformyd this,
Moste wonderous to be tolde.

No caruer can, nor paynter then.
The shape more ugly make.
As itselfe dothe declare the truthe;
A syghte to make vs quake!

Let vs all feare, and in mynde beare.
This forme so monsterous :
That no hurt wraught, nor euill hath thaught.
What shall become of vs.

That doth still syn, and neuer lyn.
As men heapyng vp treasure,
Agyanst the day of wrath, for aye.
Of Gods heauy displeasure.

Nowe praye wee all, bothe great and fmall.
Unto the Lorde of might.
To gyue vs grace in heauen a place
There to attayne his fight!

All ye that dothe beholde and see this monstrous
sight so straunge,
Let it to you a preachyng be, from synfull lyfe
to chaunge:
For in this latter dayes trulye, the Lord straunge
syghts doth showe.
By tokens in the heauens hye, and on the yearth
belowe.
This dothe demonstrate to vs, the lyfe whiche we
lyue in;
A monster, oughly to beholde, conceyued was in syn:
In shape vnparfett here to vewe, that nature hathe
not drest,
A chylde now borne, by porte moste true, this
from the mothers brest :

For he that doth this shape beholde, and his owne
state will knowe.
Will make the proude pecocke so bolde, beare
downe his tayll full lowe :
Nowe, Lorde, fende downe thy Holy Spryte, the 
confortor of joye, 
For to direct owr wayes aright, to dwell with 
thee for aye;
And graunt we maye amende our lyfe, accordyng ;
to thy worde,
In euery age, bothe manne and wyfe,—nowe
graunt vs this, good Lorde


Lyrics:
M. Harry whobals mon to M. Camel
greetes, Him wyshung hally bread, to feare all ragyng spreetes.

Hee bin nod yo mast Cammell sur, by gys I trow ye byn:
For Steuen Steple twode yer marks, that yo han brought fro[m] Lyn.
Sur, an yo woden herken me, Ile tell yo all the troth,
My mastur Harry Whoball sur, is toto shamefull wrothe,
Woth yore hye maship, for a byll that yo han wryten late:
For int ye rayle apon ym sore, as he wore nod yer mate.
Yo wost nod whad yo wenten about, for heez a gentmon borne:
And yeery day doz hunt te deare, an yomen weare is whorne.
Hee kylles grey gooses mony tymes, an yother teyles shon weare:
For heele nod han yore voxteile fur, its meete for yo to beare.
An yore none selfe shon neede yor flap to fray the bussing flyes,
Urom blowing maggots: but a trowes, yo wonnod bleare yore eyes
Woth ryting any godly thing, ne weele yor bucke to plye:
For hit dooz seeme, yo set yor mynde, apont but naughtylye.
But left yo drinken out yer eyen, when zommer waxes whot.
Whyle wodder ryten in yor nomem yore nose is in the pot.
Bynnod yo dronken quite alout, yo han tane Jacke for gyll,
Ye slaundorne fery mony sur, that woden yo none yll.
Sur, mastur Churchyard haz no bels, but yo don neede a Lacky,
Some Morryon boye to hold ye vp, for drinke is toto nappye.
My mastur cowde nod weele beleue that yo sur worne a mon:
For case yo lien, an han no thonke, an putten men to paines.
Mast Choploche, chop yo hally watur: an why nod hally breade:
Wode ye hod chopt the sonny caks, that yo in Lyn han leade.
For sur, my mastur merbles moch, whad mad yor braynes to crowe,
That when yo hadden raylen ynow, wo Churchyard an wom mo:
To gyn a yene to rayle on him, that yo ne see ne knew,
As won that furst haz dronken alout, an gynnes a yene to brew.
My mastur plize his bussinesse, bout fortye moyle be yend,
An when a hard yor folysh byll, haz me to London send,
To ash yor maship whats te case, that yo so braggen an bosten:
As won that yeat an honest nome in all yor life neare losten.
To sclaundre[n] won that gnawes ye nod, nor scant offe yo haz harde:
Soffe lately when a mon en Lyn, yor qualistries declarde,
An lost of all to preine ye sur, a wisement butter take:
(Bew’are yo last alone: in deede, yor storme will soone aslake)
An ten my mastur woll forgie yore rashnesse, I yo shone,
An yo won stynt by this: and let all honest things alone.
	Fare weele mast Camell thus, for I a don my narnde:
	The which my master Whoball has me streytly warnd.
	I syre yo bin nod spleade, for I a sed non ill:
	But whad my master dyd me charge to sen yo tyll.
			By yore none
			At yore maunding.
At yo desiring for to lurne my nome, tough hit be rude:
I wood hit shone, an yo wood sweare, yo wodden me delude.
See ore my writing yeery whyt, an note an marke ye, that
A childe dooze furtle the letters lurne, an then taks words therat.
A mon of wisedame, as yo bin, may knowe that children all
Ar brought from spealing for to reade, an wooder things wothall:
Deny nod this to be the best an rudest swort, and than 
Bee like to them, beginning furst, as weele as yere ye con.
Ye then shon yo pike out my nome, an yore none selfe parceauen
A pratty thing the which is int, an now hearof weleauen.
Arrogant soke won nod do this, but yo I won nod blome:
Desiring yo to rede tees last twolue rowes, an lurne my nome.


Title:
An epytaphe vpon the death of M. Rycharde Goodricke Esquier

Lyrics:
If euer Realme had cause to rue
The death and losse of any one
Then hath this realme iust cause and true
This worthy dead man, to bemone
By whom suche treasure theyr is loste
As seant the lyke, in Englandes coste.

A heade where learned Pallas sate
And settled wysdome dwelte lykewyse
And grounded skyll, for co[m]mon state
That with forecaste, could well deuyse
Where learnynge syttes, with skyll [. ….]
Suche one to rule, who thynkes not syt.

A tonge that prudently could saye
That myght be sayde, and that with spede
A wyt that knewe, no stoppe nor staye
To giue aduyse, in tyme of nede
A fytter match, there could not be
Then tonge and wyll, thus to agree.
A hearte moste earnest to mayntayne
Goddes trueth and his vnspotred lawe
No hope of mede, no feare of payne
From care of that, could hym withdrawe
O blessed realme, whose rulers be
So zelous in that thinge as he

A man moste redy to defende 
A ryght, and here a poore mans cause
No threatnynge foe, no fawnynge frende
Could make hym do, agaynste the lawe
As Lawes defende, a trueth and ryght
So Lawyers shulde, withall theyr might

Thus then the poore, his helpe doth mys
And Pallas lackes, her learned knyght
The Lawe doth lacke, a lyght of his
The Realme hath loste, a worthy wyght
And that whiche is the greatest gryefe
Goddes worde hath lost, a membre chiefe.

And yet not lost, whom Christ hath founde
And placed in heauen, I doubte it not
Thus he that lackte his legges on grounde
Before vs all, to heauen is got.
To heauen we se, the nearest waye 
Is vertue then, there is no naye.


Tags:
Social criticism, Religious, Confessional, political

Lyrics:
MOued wyth mercy, by pytye prouoked 
Of duty I am dryue[n], somwhat for to wryte 
In defence of one, whome I se sore boked
And sore assauted, to be beaten fro[m] the ryght 
But yf I lyue, some of them shalbe smoked 
His part wyl I take w[ith] al my power & myght. 

My harte doth blede, to se my frende thus dreast 
So that my penne wyll wryte, though I saye naye 
I gaynst this brothyshe graye, this bytter bytyng beast 
That seketh nothynge elles, but for to pull awaye 
The good name and fame, of one that is honest 
And ful of lytterature, as all that loue hym saye 
Master Thomas smyth, his name nede not be hyd 
Whome to se so handled, I haue great remorse 
For the stockes sake, of which he is descended 
He commeth of the smyth, that shed saynt Georges horsse 
By ryght dessent, it maye not be denyed 
But yf any wolde, it shall not greatly force. 

Who made this bagnrde so bolde, this gresely graye 
Or what heart hath he, that he thus assayles 
Our smyths, yf S. Georges horsse were a lyue I saye 
He dorst euen as well haue eaten both his nayles 
But though he be gone, all beastes be not awaye 
I coulde saye more, but he doth naught that rayles. 

Betwyxt the smythes & grayes, no doute ther is great oddes 
Loke in vitas patrum, I saye thou wylfull wagge 
Howe smyths haue bene byshoppes, saynts & almost goddes 
Recorde of swete saynt Loye, that holpe a cloyed nagge 
Mulcant was god & smith, whose curse lyghte on thy coddes 
Why then with vs smythes, art thou so bolde to bragge 

Marke this malycious, and sore bytynge broch 
Because master smyth, called him these in sporte 
Speakynge it but merely, I dare saye in mock 
Howe lewdely of him, he hath made reporte 
But saye what thou canst, he dyd it not by cock 
For by saynt tankarde, he is none of that sorte. 

n], wherwith thou doest him charge 
He maye full well aduoyde, it is no great thynge 
God saue the kynge, a pardon doth dyscharge 
Mo thynges then that, which elles myght hap to brynge 
Both him and you, but skant to walke at large 
Within an yron grate, your Christmas songe to synge 

As for the woman, alas it was no wonder 
She was a whore, and he hath such a charme 
If she be arrant, to brynge her shortly vnder 
And yet I promyse you, he doth them lytle harme 
But bryngs them to his house, where they parte not asonder 
He couereth her, he colleth her & keps her good and Warme.

And forsoth full well, towarde his olde dayes 
Ye poynted him a place, to be in the stable 
But he neuer dressed horsse, as he him selfe sayca 
Wherfore for that rome, he is nothynge able 
His lyuynge he must seke, by some other wayes 
Well ynough I warrant you, without hode or bable 

If he had no master, ner none wolde him take 
Skant into the stable, yet ere it were longe 
He hath so many frendes, thou sayest wolde shyft make 
To promote him to the skourynge, of some good ma[n]s gonge 
Thou art to spytefull, and I for anger shake 
To se howe thou doest, this poore man so much wronge. 

Ye call him papist, because ye se him worche 
In all he doth or sayth, by doctours and decrees 
Of our olde auncyent mother holy churche 
And for bycause, he doth defende theyr dygnytyes 
Lyke a sorte of lorrelles, you wolde him geue a lurche 
His credyte and his fame, to cause hym for to lese. 
 
Our smyth can forge, and fetely fabrycate 
A myllyon of mentyres, in lesse then halfe a daye 
Loke in all his workes which are consolydate 
Lyke a wyttye man, dawe canst thou saye naye? 
In such an honest forge, lo he was educate 
And such his bryngynge vp, his craft cannot decaye 

And yet this bytynge brocke, sayes he is vnworthy 
To be a paryshe clercke, God geue the wo and care 
But yer he come therto, we trust to se the lye 
Askynge for gods sake, in pouertie full bare 
Wylt thou pare with our smyth, ah pylde pratynge pye 
Well do not so I aduyse you, I councell you beware. 

It wylbe a good whyle or you master Graye 
Haue such qualylytes as master Smyth hath [Note:] 
He speketh euen as good frenche, I dare well saye 
As any Popengay, betwene this and bathe 
Qnod natuta debit, nemo collere potest 


Cracke me that nut, naye fye I praye you awaye 
Medle not withall, least that it doth, you skathe. 

Syr he hath bene in Parys, farre beyonde the see 
where thou durst neuer, yet pepe out of thy dore 
And I my selfe, dyd here him once saye 
With so starne a loke, Dieu vous donc bon iour 
That euer sence, I thought hym ryght well worthy 
To haue the lytle roume, within the kynges toute 

Hercules was stronger, then any of the grayes 
Yet was he not hable to mache with two at once 
Beware I saye thou brocke and shortely walke thy wayes 
For we be many smythes, and yf we catche the once 
We wyll fynde the meanes, to shorten thy good dayes 
And in our flammyng forge, we wil burne the fleshe & bones. 

Becant therfore betyme, least w[.]e the momorde 
And beate the with oure handes, as yron the styth 
Causynge the for euer, to be a good recorde 
Howe any man herafter doth rayle vpon a smyth 
Thy fame we shall pollute, for sowenge soch discord 
Maugre all theyr heartes, that be displeased therwith. 

I warrant you thys graye, hath lytle good maner 
To call master smyth, bedlem and lunatycke 
What though he be gogle eyed, and tawny as atanner 
It is but hys compleceyon, swart and collerycke 
But sythen that he doth fyght, vnder holy churches baner 
His lybels are allowed, for good and catholycke. 

And though he be a smyth, by face and eke of name 
Yet to God and the kyng, the man maye be wellwylled 
For was not there a smyth that propre feates dyd frame 
The chronycles make mencyon, whoso them well behylde 
Reporte me to the blacke smyth, a man of worthy fame 
Howe many at his co[m]maundeme[m]t, had he at blackheth felde. 

Nowe for that smyth, & all smythes yt mean as he dyd mean 
Or that agaynst God and our kynge, ought conspyre or saye 
That such of there offenses, maye be confessed cleane 
And iust rewarde to take, this prayer wyll I praye 
And also that all other, that to theyr sectes do leane 
Maye trudge wt the[m] for co[m]pany, to angre Wyllyam Graye. 

Thus forced by frendshyp, and lykenes of name 
I haue compyled this brefe apologye 
Propungnyng therin smythes, and theyr honest fame 
And theyr vylependers, to shame and turpefye 
Implorynge, that Lorde, that forged the frame 
Of fyre and water, of earth and of skye. 


To preserue Kynge Henry that prynce potencyall 
And Katheryne oure quene of curtesye the floure 
Wyth Edwarde oure prince, that ympe emperyall 
In helth, in welth, in ryches, in honour, 
And to conserue the counsell heroical 
To pauyse the people by prudencyall power. 


God saue the Kynge.


Title:
An Enuoye from Thomas Smyth vpon thaunswer of one W.G. Lurkyng in Lorrells Denne/
for feare men shulde hym see.

Lyrics:
Whether I troll here,or troll ther, I wyll so troll aboute
That in my trollynge, I do trust,as you are,to trolle you oute.

Nowe with no lesse salutacyon, that to such doth pertayne
Unto you I do present, this lytell poore treatyse
Wyllynge you to vnderstande, and also to knowe playne
I haue receued, your lewde lybell, wherin you enterpryse
Both me and my doynges, full proudely to despyse
But bable what you lystit skylleth not a whyt
Remember well this worde, hereafter cometh not yet.

You ruffle, and you rayle, for malyce and despyte
And as a ragynge ruffyenyour selfe you do shewe playne
For as much as you be greued, with that, that I dyd wryte
Which I wyll neuer denye, but throughlye mayntayne
Yet (as you wryte) in one poynte, you haue cause to complayne
For that I spake but of lykelyhodand wente but by gesse
Of the treson in your herteyou knowynge there no lesse.

If with the poynte of my penne, I do youso spurre and prycke
That therby you be greued and greatly styred to yre
Yet doubte I not to lyt sure all though you wynche and kycke
Fast closed in my dewtyto saue me from the myre
But in your flynges take hede,beware I saye the fyre
Or some other galtropetake thys prouerbe for a token
The pot so often goeth forthat last it commeth home broken.

You are angry that I my selfeso openly declare
My name playnly dyscrybynge, and of my seruyce the pyth
All honest men thynk, I shulde no lesse, wherfore I ne care
Though mad malyce moue youto be despyted therwith
Hit haue plesed you, to compare, the cobbler with the smyth
Your proude skorne wherinis easye ynough to be founde
Yet better is a cobbler than an ydell vagabounde.

In openynge my name and seruycethis was myne entente
In case that for my doynges, I were thought worthy blame
Any other person gyltles therfore shuld not be shente
Confyded as is well knowen)many be of my name
Myne offyce therfore I addedand thought therin no shame
Nether braggynge,nor bostyngeas to my charge you laye
Who is naught hymselfeso iudgeth in others alwaye.

A true man shameth neuer,to shewe his name and face
A thefe hym selfe mystrusteth and is euermore in doubte
Lest that his lewd lyuyngeshulde present it selfe in place
As commenly it is seneat length trouth is tryed oute
So in lykewyse youdo seje all corners round a boute
But it woll not helpe you, though a whyle there be delaye
Tyme shall trye your colour, be it russet, blackeor graye. 

Of rumblynge in scrypturesyou do me moch reproue
Well yf your wyttes do seue youmy doynges to amende
Come forth and shew your faceas to honestye doth behoue
And lay vnto my chargewhat you can reprehende
NayNayI am sure, you do it lest intende
In rayling is your ruffe, in your spelunke whan ye syt
But remember well this wordehereafter commeth not yet.

Full wysely you councell meto some taylour to resorte
For shapynge out of scrypturemy texte the better to frame
You can not hyde your sectenor yet your brotherly sorte
(A Clergy for the deuyll) you shewe your selfe the same
As TayloursCobblersand Tylersdoctous of worthy fame
Vagabou[n]desRuffyensand othersamongs whome you rynge your bell
And euen lyke as you beso set you forth your councell.

Blusterynge in your boldnesyou wolde yourself a traytour proue
Upon the only pretens of my most desyred fall
The mayntenans of poperyyou say I do most love
Which if you knowe trewethan a traytour I may you call
For suche your concelement but I woll dryue you to the tryall
Both our doynges shall apperethoughe deferred for a space
I am no. W. G. I dare well shewe my face

The rest of your raylyngesI woll as nowe omyte
Upon suche purpose peuyshemy tyme I woll not spende
They do naughtbut declarethe lewde vse of your wyt
And what malyce of herte towardes other you pretende
You haie no other bucklerwherwith your selfe to defende
Who rebuketh your secteor wolde refourme your heresye
Amonge you strayte he is a mayntaynour of popery.

Thus though you wolde hyde yourselfsyet men may easely knowe
What fayned hertes you do beare to God and our good Kynge
His grace hath ordeyued lawes whiche cleane to ouerthrowe
What trauayll is dayly takenso euydent is the thynge
We shulde beware your secte for surely you wolde fayne brynge
Some other to rayne ouer vsyf you wylteby whata shyfte
Example we haueherofReade of kynge Henry the fyfte

There may we playnly fyndewhat a detestable sorte
Of false fayned hertesagaynst theyr kynge dyd ryse,
Myndynge to chose another kyngethat wolde theym supporte
In theyr naughtye errours and mayntenaunce of heresyes
But god (who of his grace) euer prouydeth for his
Gaue suche knowledge therofthat they had not theyr entente
Some fledsome takensome were hanged on the gallowes and brente.

Which thynge I do desyreall true subiectes to regarde
And to god and our good kyngeto bear a due obedience
And to all false fayned hertesI wishe the same rewarde
Euen as lyke thothers had worthelyfor theyr offence
And nowe Syr.W.G.marke well this sentence
Consyder that as you bem so haue you vsed your wytte
Rememberr well this wordehere after commeth not yet.

Peraduenture syr. W.G. you wyll yet bragge and boste
Sayng from the scripturs you haue dryuen me cleane a waye
Trye me therin whan you dare you shall come to your coste
Though for cause consyderablea whyle I do lytell saye
I thinke to ryde you with a byt shall dryue you from your playe
And cause you holde downe your hed that fayne you wolde bere aloft
And I woll so tramell your helesyoure pace shall be more softe.

Nowe for an ende (Eternall God) I beseche the grannt longe lyfe
With proseperous contynuans to Henry our most noble kynge
And to Katheryne our Quene alsohis most Lawfull Wyfe
And graunte betwene theym bothelyke other braunches to sprynge
(As is Edwarde our Prynce)that most odoriferous thynge
Preserue theym longe to gither Lordeand graunt theym all the blysse
Where angels incessantlysynge (Gloria in excelsis) 	Amen			God saue the Kynge

Whether I trolle here, or trolle there, I wyll so trolle aboute
That in my trollynge, I do truste, as you are, to trolle you oute
By the selfe same person, who not withstandynge your despyte
Shameth not, nor shrynketh not playnely him selfe to wryte
Thomas Smyth, seruant to the Kynges Royall Maiestye
And Clerke of the Quenes graces counsell ( though most vnworthy) 			Finis

 


Lyrics:
BEst ye mery vayre zyr I trowe ye be maste Camell,
I chan on message to you zent, vrom goodman Gef fray Chapel.
A hate ye zent a bottell a hay, and bad commaunde nia tie ye,
And worde dyng hee spake ye to, a preyd ye dat ye wood hy ye,
And zuch kynd daintrels as a had, zum draf he hate ye zent
A zyerd ye wor to gnab derom vor der is no be terin Kent-
This good and zoote an al zo new, to mende your zy[...] kish brayne.
Uor wele a zete ye ha great stud, & zet your self to paine,
Hym wraid yer wites wud zoro ye vayle, ye gin to raue zo zone,
A dynkte ye wyll be mad, all out beuore dat May be done:
And moch he merueilt dat ye wud, zo chorlshly to vm w ryghte,
And dat ye zent vm such an Anser, dat zounded noding right,
To Harry Hoball zyr ye wrot, as pearit in your letter,
zwap yer speckles vp se nase, and looke about ye better,
And Anser Geffray Chap pell zyr, dat toke ye de zup plication,
Uor his name is not Hary whobal, ich zwear by gods zauacion
How zay ye now yore spec kles be on, can ye vorstande hys byll,
Ych ween a trete ye (zereue rence a you) to do Churchard non il.
And her cha brought yor byl ayen, corrupt it irich go,
Uor vende godes vorbod man I zedge, to let it go v orth zo:
But well ich zee yor braine is dicke, your wits be curstly vert,
Prey God ye be not zyde yor zyelf, er be to morow next:
Deruore go couch and sleap a now, and dan com to yor parte,
An dyte a wyser dyng dan dat, or all is not wort a vart.
Now ych ha myne arnede a do,
Chud ha ye yor head to he ede a
And be good maister Chu chard to,
And zo God be yor sprede a.
O Man remember, from hence thou shalte passe
Lyke as thy fygure, ones sene in a glasse
Doeth vanysshe awaye, yea, so shall thy breath
Bring earth vnto earth, when strike the doth death
Thys world, wyse men cal, a thorow fayre to the
Folowe thou it not, from vyce do thou flee
Seke after knowledge, the trueth to auaunce
Desyre not to see, thy neyghbours myschaunce
Beware of thre thynges, print them well in mynde
The deuyl, the fleshe, the worlde that is blynde
Feare God and thy Prince, be looth to offende
Take nothing in hande, but thincke on the ende
Let wysdom the rule, and knowledge wyth al
Than thou shalt stand fast, wher other men fall
Yf thou wyll auoyde, greate aduersytie
Let other mens fautes, be myrrour to the
Or yf thou wylt leade, a lyfe wyth great ease
Do as most men do, thou shalt feawe displease
Desire not to haue, no more than thy owne
For corne is not had, but wher sede is sowen
Thorowe coueteousnes, is all out of turne
And many riche realmes, it hath brought to ruyne
Some men haue treasure, and hartes ease at wyll
Yet euer wyshinge, and neare hath theyr fyll
Soch fylthy lucre, enbraceth theyr har[...]es
So that thei may haue, thei force not who smartes
And though they haue all, yet for more they gape
They drinke both the wyne, & lokes for the grape
Whych maketh the poore, ryght sore to lament
For they haue nothing, but for dobble rent
They wold wyn theyr fode, wyth labour and sweat
Yet all wyl not helpe, theyr rent is so great
And wher they were wont, to vpholde a plowe
Now skarce can they fynd, the grasse for a cowe
Theyr chyldren do watche, as haukes for their praye
Yet can they not get, one good meale a daye
Soch woful morninge, as is in Englande
Was neuer before, I dare take in hande
In euery place, where as I do walcke
I heare men complayne, and thys is thayr talcke
O Lord God they saye, now heare our requeste
And comfort the poore, that are sore oppreste
The riche that fares well, and hath nothing skant
Doth neuer conceaue, what the poore doeth want
But yf that some men, on them take no rueth
They are all vndone, this is the playne trueth
I wold this were knowen, among the best forte
Than shuld the poore men, soone haue some conforte
The rich are fayre flowres, the poore ar but weedes
Yet God shal take count of euery mans dedes
And when that the Lord, shall syt in [.]Iudgement
Than they that dyd wronge, ryght sore shal repent
Therfore o thou man, that fayne wold do well
Lyue thou according, to Christes gospell
Folowe not theyr steps, whose dedes are [.]vniust
Remembre thys world, shal turne vnto dust
Yf conscyence be slayne, wyth pompe and ryches
Wysdome is turned, to greate folyshnes
Of no kynd of thyng, desyre not to myche
Yf thou be contente, than sure thou arte ryche
Better is lyttel, wyth ease to posses
Than with moche trouble, to haue greate ryches
As sycknes and health, can neuer agre
So golde wythout rest, is but mysere
Beholde wel thys world, take warnynge in tyme
And marke how they fall, that vseth to clyme
Euen nowe a dayes, soche wonders are sene
As many men thought, coulde neuer haue bene
Some men from honor, are brought to great care
And endeth theyr lyues ryght naked and bare
Some men from nothynge, do come to estate
And yet at the lengthe, are infortunate
Some men lyueth in welth, and pleasure long whyll
Yet sodaynely gone, and put in exyll
Syns wealth nor honor, on earth hath no rest
A poore godly lyfe, I thynke it is best
Amonge all degrees, a faute may be spyed
Whych maketh thys worlde, to lye a tonesyed
Lordes were ones liberal, but nowe waxe they harde
The poore and nedye, they lytle regarde
Iudges geue Iudgement, sometimes not with right
Lawyers for money, hyedes tru[...]th out of syght
[.]Byshops and preachers, seke lyuynges agayne
And whan they waxe ryche, they take lytle payne
Marchantes & craf[...]es men, selles al thynges to deare
And tell them who [...]yst, that wyl they not heare
Great bankets are kepte, where good is plente
To noryshe theyr lustes, nothynge is deynte
Baylyfs and sheryfs, one faute they punyshe
And seeth a hundreth, encrease and floryshe
Gentyl men were wont, examples to geue
Whych caused poore men, ryght well for to lyue
But now who lyues worse, than men of renowne
O howe is vertue, so sone layde downe
Women do wander, wyth euery doctryne
And some do dyspute, moche lyke a deuyne
Yong men are blynded, so wyth vayne glory
That wyse men do laghe, at theyr great folly
Men shoulde learne wysedome, at men graue & saege
Who doteth so moche, as men doeth in aege
Thus vpon hye thynges, I wyll geue no saute
It may be well sene, that fewe is wythout faute
But sens that the lorde, thys world dyd begynne
Was neuer yet sene, so moche vyce and synne
As is now vpon earth, amonge more and les
Whose dedes yf you mark, may beare good witnes
The father doth now, dysceaue hys owne chylde
Who trusteth hys brother, is oft tymes be gylde
Dysceyt and falshed, puts ryght out of place
Trueth kepeth sylence, thys is a sore case
Sweryng and whoredome, dysemblaunce and crafte
For all theyr preachynge, yet wyl not be lafte
Usery is held, wyth them that seme wyse
Nowe for a ryght trade, of good marchaundyse
All thynges are turned, so farre oute of frame
That men lyue now, lyke beastes wythout shame
Now those that do well, is worne out of thoughte
But pryuye pyckthankes, are made vp of nought
Flatterers wyth tales, doeth worke men moche [.]woo
Whose wordes are as swyft, as shaft out of boo
Defame and sklander, are busy ryght ofte
About all estates, wyth wordes fayre an softe
Yf vertue come not, and vanyshe all thys
Thys word can not last, not longe as it is
I truste ones to se, that men shal abore
Theyr vycyous lyues, and repente it sore
Than god shall sende grace, from heuen aboue
To set vs in rest, and brotherlye loue
Than we shal se peace, wher now is dyscorde
And syng psalmes wyth hert, in prayse of the lorde
The poore shall lyue well, the ryche shall reioyce
Than god shall haue laude, of euery mans voyce
The earth shal encrease, and bringe forth moch sede
Than shall we not wante, no good thing we nede
In euery kyngdom, shalbe rest and peace
All maner of plagues, at that tyme shall seace
So that al vyces, both braunches and rote
Shall wyther away, and lye vnder fote
Than we shal prospere, and lyue in good health
And all thynges shall turne, vnto our owne wealth
God shall so loue vs, yf we do bewayle
Ther shall no daunger, agaynst vs preuayle
Nor no mysfortune, shall make vs afrayed
For God shall so be, oure succour and ayde
Ryght happye is he, that lyueth tyll than
To see soch great loue, betwene God and man
 [.]Here haue I set forth, after a playne sorte
The state of thys worlde, in sentens ryght shorte
For the thou blynde man, that goeth astraye
I lyghten thys lampe, to learne thee the waye
Now here is two wayes, do those which thou wylte
Ether to be safe, or els to be spylte
I can do no more, but shewe thee the ryght
To chaunge the yll lyfe, lyes not in my myght
I wold that my wordes, were grauen in stone
That al the whole worlde, myght loke them vppon
Althoughe they haue heard, as moch as I know
Yet think they on wartes, when trompets doth blowe
The oftner they se, a thynge that is yll
The lesse cause they haue, to beare it good wyll
Yf I could thonder, in euery mans eares
I wold them exhort, wyth wepynge and teares
Yet many do teache, and fewe do amende
They take lytle hede, what tyme they do spende
Though plage vpon plage, doth shew them gods yre
Yet for to lyue wel, they haue no desyre
Nowe what shulde I more, on soche thynges deffyne
Man hath no more grace, than god doeth assyne
Therfore vnto god, I wolde haue them crepe
And for theyr great synnes, to morne wayle & wepe
He wyl them receaue, and geue them a place
Wher angels do lyue, by syght of hys face.


Lyrics:
Susteine, absteine, kepe well in your minde
Beare and forbeare, haue euer in remembraunce
For ye shall therby great quietnes finde
In all your life what soeuer doth chaunce
It is the onely thing htat may you auance
And make you to be esteemed verely
Among all otherfor the moost happy.

Beare trouble and payne, beare slauncer and blame
Beare words displeansaunt, be they neuerso soure
Forbeare ye in any wise to other to do the same
Forbeare to reuenge though it be in your power
Let neuer your anger remaine with you an howre
Forbeare your owne pleasure beare your neighbors miserye
And you of all other shalbe most happie.

If ye be gainesaide forbeare for a season
Forbeare to resist when you think to offende
Beare others ignoraunce, forbeare your owne reason
Till occasion be geuen you them to amende
Then vtter your wisedome as God shall it sende
Obserue your times, and forbeare discreatly
And ye of all other shalbe most happie.

Beare Christes Crosse when it is laide on your backe
That is to saye all maner of aduersitie
Which when you in your owne person do lacke
Helpe other to beare that ouerladen be
Beare with them that beare with all humilitie
So shall this word be verified accordingly
That ye of all other be the most happie.

Forbeare rashe iudgement till the troth be tried,
Forbeare all hastiness, speake words of charitie,
Forbeare extreme punishment, though the fault be spied,
To much in all thinges is counted iniquitie,
Temper your actes with susteine, absteine,
Beare, forbeare, and then shall ye trulye
Of all liuing creatures be the most happie.


Title:
An epitaphe vpon the worthy and honorable lady, the Lady Knowles

Tags:
Epitaph, Other, Moral, religious, confessional

Lyrics:
DEath with his Darte hath vs berefte,
a Gemme of worthy fame,
A Pearle of price, an Ouche of praise,
the Lady Knovvles by name.

A Myrroure pure of womanhoode,
a Bootresse and and a stay,
To all that honest were, she was
I say both locke and kaye.

Among the Troupes of Ladies all,
and Dames of noble race,
She counted was, (and was in deede)
in Ladie Fortunes grace.

In fauoure with our noble Queene,
aboue the common sorte,
With whom she was in credit greate,
and bare a comely porte.

There seemde between our Queene & Death,
Contencion for to be,
Which of them both more entier loue,
to her could testifie.

The one in state did her aduaunce,
and place in dignitie,
That men thereby might knowe, to doe,
what princes able be.

Death made her free from worldly carke,
from sicknes, paine and strife.
And hath ben as a gate, to bringe
her to eternall life.

By Death therfore she hath receiu'de,
a greater boone I knowe:
For she hath made a chaunge, whose blisse,
no mortall wight can showe.

She here hath loste the companie,
of Lords and Ladies braue,
Of husband, Children, frendes and kinne,
and Courtly states full graue.

In Lieu wherof, she gained hath
the blessed companie
Of Sainctes, Archangels, Patriarches,
and Angelles in degree.

With all the Troupes Seraphicall,
which in the heauenly Bower,
Melodiously with one accord,
Ebuccinate Gods power.

Thus are we sure: for in this world
she led a life so right,
That ill report could not distaine,
nor blemish her with spight.

She traced had so cunningly,
the hath of vertues lore,
Prefixing God omnipotent,
her godly eyes before:

And all her dedes preciselie were,
so rulde by reasons Squire,
That all and some might her beholde,
from vice still to retire.

The vertues all, the Muses nine,
and Graces three agreed,
To lodge within her noble breast,
while she in Earth did feede.

A head so fraight and beautified,
with wit and counsaile sounde,
A minde so cleane deuoide of guyle,
is vneth to be founde.

But gone she is, and left the Stage
of this most wretched life,
Wherin she plaid a stately part,
till cruell Fates with knife:

Did cut the line of life in twaine,
who shall not after goe?
When time doth come, we must all hence,
Experience teacheth so.

Examples daily manifolde,
before our eyes we see,
Which put vs in remembraunce,
of our fragilitie.

And bid vs watch at euery tide,
for Death our lurking foe,
Sith dye we must, most certainely,
but when, we do not knowe.

Som which to day are lusty Brutes,
of age and courage ripe,
To morow may be layd full lowe,
by Death his greuous gripe.

Respect and parcialitie
of persons is there none,
For King, or Kaiser, rich or poore,
wise, foolish, all is one.

God graunt that we here left behinde,
this Ladies steppes may treade,
To liue so well, to die no worse,
Amen, as I haue saide.

Then maugre Death, we shall be sure,
when corps in earth is closde,
Amonge the ioyes celestiall,
our Soule shalbe reposde.

  FINIS.


Title:
An epitaphe declaryng the lyfe and end of D. Edmund Boner &c.

Lyrics:
LO now the lingering hope is past, that late the Papistes had:


Lyrics:
ffyll the cuppe phylyppe & let us drynke a drame
ons or twyse abowte the howse  & leave where we began.
I dryncke to yow swete harte soo mutche as here is in
dasyeringe yow to followe me & doo as I begyn
And yf yow  will not pledge
yow shall bere the blame
I dryncke to you with all my harte
yf yow will pledge me the same.


Title:
When all this ssowghte that may be fownd

Lyrics:
When all this ssowghte that may be fownde
wodly pleasure hathe in thes chefe grownde
Ryches by successyon, nott gotten with care.
Land well yeldynge & of fyre noo spare
Neuer sute, smalle medlynge & a quyete mynde.
Helthe of body, with strengthe not owte of kynde
Wisdome with symplicitie & thy fellowe frende
ffoode plenty, not daintie to thy lyves ende
Never dronke, but merry in the tyme of nyghte
A make not lowrynge & yett a shamefaste wighte
Suche sclepe as makithe the bedd tyme shorte
To lyke beste thy state, & thyne owne sorte
And that greuythe all moste at the laste to dye
Neither wysch it for mysery, or for feae it flye.


Lyrics:
Lerne this lesson in welthe & woo
To doo, as thou woldeste be doone untoo.

Welthe & whoo thowgh their estate
lyke fooes, salbe, aye in debate
yet as foule whether succedithe the fayre
soo commonly woo is welthes heyre

A cowtres they keepe, but not ever soo
as welthe begynnethe, then cumythe woo
for woo in sume men beginnethe the race
and welthe cumethe after to wooes place

Agayne, in other sume whyle is fownd
welthe & woo hoppynge in a rownde
Now sodenly woo, now sodenly welthe
Mutche lyke in change to bodely helthe

yt semythe thay play att tenys together
tossynge man lyke a bawle hyther & thyther
In which play alsoo happenythe the case
That a stoppe is made & ther a chase

In summen woo the chase dothe make
In other welthe dothe ende the lake
The game thus endyd as ende it shall
woo wynnethe, welthe wantythe & losethe all

Wyles lyfe endurythe welthe bearythe the rowte
And woo is a myserable & wrettched lowte
I speake & meane after wordly facyon
And as wordly men frame ther communycation.

Ffor clerks that clerly the trewthe perceyue
of welthe & woo doo otherwise conceive
And in table tell planly woo to be better
and welthe motche worse this is the letter

but lernyd and lay muste all confesse
when dethe dothe lyfe brynge to distresse
happy is he that is wrapped in woo
Nott combred with welthe that is dethes foo

welthe wranglethe and wrestithe all againste reason
Deathe to withstande & delay for a season
woo wysly welcommythe, that no man can exchewe
gladd of alteration, & ende to ensue.

Welthe willethe it nylethe it gothe hence away
And woo is well endyd, bothe by one play
ffor dethe makythe all even, & facionithe things soo
As welthe is browght to nothynge, & woo no longer woo

In this accompte yet wethe hathe loste
& woo hathe the cawse to make here boste
ffor welthe with grefe a way is sente
And woo well ended with pairtie contente.

Now if we speake as men new borne
In Chryste, & be nott chaffe but corne
Then welthe of the worlde is verely woo
And woo become welthe, we truste it soo

The man desyerythe & wischethe the beste
Lett ytche take hede, & herein reste
with faithe in god, bothe in welthe & woo
To doo as he woolde be doone unto.


Lyrics:
So longe may a droppe fall
that it may perse a stone
So longe trewthe may thrall
that it shall scarce be known

So longe may powers wynke
to lawgh at this or that
that untruthe shall not shrynke
to say she cares not whatte

So longe Errore may Raign
And untruthe soo increase
that it shalbe mutche payne
the same agayne to cease

So longe lies may be cryed
unto the peoples eares
that whan truthe shalbe tried
ytt may be with sume teares

So longe we may goo seke
for that which is not farre
till endid be the week
& we neuer the narre

So longe we may be blynde
yf we fele not the greefe
that harde wilbe to fynde
for our disease reefe

So longe we may forgette
owre dutie unto god
that sore we shalbe bette
And yet see not the rodde

So longe we may in vaine
fforsake the way & pathe
that grete shalbe our paine
whan god shall shew his wrathe

So longe may god permytte
Us wretches to offende
That it it shall passe mans wytt
The fawle for to amende

So longe if we have grace
Godds mercy we may crave
That in  dew tyme & space
I truste we shall it have


Lyrics:
Newes newes newes newes
ye never herd so many newes

A            vpon astrawe
Cudlying of my cowe
Ther came to me Iake dawe
newes newes

our dame mylked the mares talle
The cate was lykynge the potte
our mayd came out wyt aflayle
and layde her under fotte
newes newes

In ther came our next neyghbur
frome whens I can not tell
but there begane a hard stouer
   aw youe any musterd to sell
news newes

a cowe had stolyn a clafe away
and put her in  a sake
forsoth I sel no puddynges to day
maysters what do youe lake
newes newes

Robyne ys gone to hutyngton
To bye our gose aflayle
lyke spip my yongest son
was huntynge of a snalle
newes newes

our mayd Iohn was her to morowe
I wrote not where she ferwend
our cate lyet syke and takyte gret sorrow


Lyrics:
To hurt the widowe in distresse
or yet the child ys fatherlesse
that knoweth not what ys what
most cruelly that blod to spyll
that never thought ne yet dyd yll
What tyrannye ys that

As Abels blod did call & crye
for vengeance of caynes crueltye
so without variance 
thes swet babes blod dyd crye & call
with all the Cwrte celestiall
of herodes A vengeance

In herod was great cruelty
in thynnocents in nocency
also all symplenes
in herod craf & subteltie
in  thynnocentes symplicitie
tollerance & meknes

Herods there be even now a dayes
that goeth abowt A thousand wayes
there breddrens blod to sucke
some with their tong some with their knyff
& some the thing shuld kepe their lyff
away from them to plucke 

God graunt us grace for to A void
the malice of cruell herod
& lyf in godly love
that when shall come our fynne & end
  				to apprehend


Lyrics:
Who trusts Christs in Carnatyone
are chyldren of Salvacyone

Seaventh chapyter of Isai
A signe A toke  ye shall se
where that that he haith sayd
Lo a mad shall conceyve a chyld
of mans knowing be vnde filde
and still shall be a maide

A mother maid a childe to bringe
nowe who haithe hard of suche a thinge /
or who can tell at ffull
howe that a maid a mother was
or howe this same is browght to pass
mans wit it is to dull

Signes now apon this maiden be
that she maye in virginitie
onely by will of god
and still to be a maiden pure
A childe bringe furthe agains nature
Like flores of Arons Rodde /

A nother singe behold and se
upon this maid virginite
trwlie of hir was ment
this fierie bushe that was so bright
to moises did give suche a light
and not one leafe was brent

Anothe sing behould now lo
of sidrak misake abbednago
In a fornace conclude
And not one hare of then adust
as ys gods wyll gods wylbe mus
yt can not be refussed

Who can deny but this is trew
what ys gods wyll yt must ensew
& nature must applye
why dost thou lew now musse now than
that god may be both god & man
a mayde a mother be

Now faith in this yt must take place
therefore who so faith wyll embracce
& trust in christ his birth
as saith the scripture they shalbe
with god above in his glory
where ever shalbe mirth


Lyrics:
As said the prophet a bacuce
betwixt two bests shulde lye our buke
that mankind shuld redeme
the oxe be tokenithe mekenes here
the asse our gilte that he shuld bere
and woshe a way our cryme

In midst of Doctors he was fownd
the prophets planly did expownde
throughe mydst fome deathe he fledd
no where wolde Die but on the crosse
betwixt two thieves redemed our losse
his blood for hus to shedde

In midst of his distiples all
said peace toyow universall
all synnes ye shall remite
for now is maid an vnitie
with man and godes deuinitie
of love the knot is knite

Saint Iohn abowe the lerarchie
se vij golden luminaries
and Crist was In the myde
& of thes vij the trew entente
is vij holie sacraments ment
christ in the midst is hid

In the sacrament of eucharist
is trow man gode & very chiste
secret in forme of bread
in mydst of vs shall perdurate
whillies that he come in great estate
to Iudge bothe qucke and dead

This is the lord of vnitie
the lord of love & charatie
that all things Dothe remite
and who in him is congregate
the poor the riche or greate estate
in mydste of them Dothe site


Lyrics:
There was no deathe nor worldlie Ioie
the faithe of stephen that cvlde disroye
there was no payne nor tormentrie
endinge the bleysse that he did se

This holy stephen replet with grace
did se gods sonne before his face
In Ioye whee he shuld come
standing by his powre & might
stephen  for to succoure in his sight
of blodye marterdome

Steven as a knight before his king
& all his coute one hym loking
dyd valiantly fight
before the court of heaven
was this conflicte of holy stephen
downe lyke A puyzant knight

Les stephen shuld dowte beinge a man
the sone of gode apperyde than
as he was crucified
him for to comforthe helpe & guyde
of eath shulde be nothinge afraid
when stoons of him did glied

saincte Iohn baptist se heven open
saincte paule se things not to be spoken
some se trnsfigarate
But steuen se christ in his glorye
praid for his enemes enterelye
and thos that dyd hym haite

Before stephen eies was set the glave
for his conflicte he shoulde receiue
A crown it did appere
this crowne was wrought in every linke
no tonnge can tell nor hart can thincke
bout those that Dothe it were

This crouen to were & to attain
the creuell stones that perche his brine
was no aduersitie
trowble payne his lyve to end
he thowght his blode was right well spend
for this crowne for to die 

Whoe at this bodie kaste a stone
he did forgeve them euery one
& he that kept there cloosse
christe grante this Ioie that we maie se
with stephen to die in charitie	
and for geve all our fosse


Lyrics:
By reason of two & poore of one
this tyme god & man was set at one

God against nature thre wonders haith wrought
first of the vile earthe mad man without man
then woman without woman of man maid of nought
& so man without man in woman than
thus lo god & man to gether begane
as two for to Joine to gether begane
as at this good tyme to be sett at one
                         thus god begane
this world for to forme & to encrease man

Angell in heaven  for offence was damned
And man also for being variable
whether shuld be saved was examyned
man or yet angell then god was greable
to auswer for man for man was not able
& said man had mocyon & angell had none
wherefore god & man shuld be sett at one

                                  thanke we him than
That thus did leaue angell & saved man

The devill clamed man by bargan as this
for an thappell he said man was bought & solde
god aunswered & said the bargan was his
with myne to be myne how durst thoue be so bolde
man myne syne thyne / wherfore thoue art now tol
thoue bought nought then taike nought thi bargan is
wherefore god and man shalbe set att one
                            Nowe blessed be he
for we that are bownde loe nowr are maid free

Between god & man there was great distaunce
for man said that god shuld haue kept him vpryght
& god said man maid all the variaunce
for thapple to sett his commaundement so light
wherfore of his mercye sparinge the ryght
he thought god and man shuld be set at one
seinge that god & man was set at one
                             what kindness   was this
to agree with man & the fault not his

Withe man and woman there was great traverse
man said to the woman woe myght thou be
nay quod the woman why dost thoue reverse
for womans entisinge woe be to the
for god man the heade and ruler of me
thus god sawe man & woman were not at one
he thought in A woman to sett theime at one
                 to our solace
His mercye he graunted for our trespace

Of woman hede lo thre degres there be /
widowehede wedlocke and virginnitie
widowehede clamed heauen her title is this
by oppressions that mekelie suffrethe she /
and virgins clame by chastite alone /
then god thought a woman shoulde set them at one
a wedlocke by generacon heauen hires shuld be
            And cease their stif
for marie was maden widowe and wif

The ritch and the pore their title did reherse /
the pore clamed heauen throughe his pacient havor
he saide beati pauperes and further the verse
the riche man by ritches thought hym in favor
for who was so ritche as was our saviour
and againe who so pure as he was one /
in hey when he ley to set vs at one /
                           who graunt vs peace /
And at the last ende the great ioyes endles /


Lyrics:
Longe have I bene a singinge man 
and sondrie partes ofte I have songe 
yet one parte since I first began 
Longe have I bene a singinge man 
and sondrie partes ofte I have songe 
yet one parte since I first began 
I colde nor can singe olde nor yonge 
the meane I mene which parte showthe well 
aboue all partes moste to excell. 

The base and Treble are extremes
the Tenor standethe sturdelie 
the counter reignethe then me semes 
the meane muste make our melodie 
Thus is the meane who meanthe it well 
the parte of parts that dothe excell .

Of all our partes if anye Iarre 
blame not the meane beinge songe trewe
the meane must make it maye not marre 
lackinge the meane our mirthe adewe 
Thus showthe the meane not meanelie well
yet dothe the meane in this excell. 

marke well the mannour of the meane 
and therbie tyme and tune your songe 
Vnto the meane where all partes leane 
all partes are kepte from singinge wronge 
thoughe singingemen take take this not well
yet dothe the meane in this excell.

The meane in compasse is so large
that euerye parte must ioyne therto 
it hath an over in euerie barge 
to saye to singe to thinke to do 
of all thes partes no partes dothe well 
withoute the meane which dothe excell.

To highe to lowe to loude to softe 
to fewe to manie at a parte alone 
the meane is more melodious
then other partes lackinge that one 
wherbie the meane comparethe well
amonge all partes most to excell 

The meane in losse the meane in gaine 
in welthe or in aduersitie
the meane in healthe the meane in paine 
the meane meanethe alwaies equiitie
the meane thus ment may meane full wel
of all othe partes most to excell 

To me and myne with all the reste 
good Lorde graunte grace with hartie voice 
to singe the meane that meanethe best
all partes in the best for to reioyse 
which meane in meaninge meanethe well 
the meane of meanes that dothe excell


Lyrics:
There is no tre that growe 
on earthe that I do knowe 
more worthie praise I trowe 
then is the vyne 
whos grapes as ye maye reade
their licoure for the dothe shede 
wherof is maide indede
all our good wyne 

Ans wyne ye maye trust me 
causethe men for to be 
merie for so ye se
 his natur is
Then put aside all wrathe 
for david shewed vs hathe
vinum letificat
  cor hominis 

wyne taken with excesse 
as scripture dothe expres
causethe great hevines
  vnto the mynde 
but theie that take pleasure 
to drinke it with measure
no doubt a great treasure 
  they shall it finde .

Then voide you all sadnes
drinke youre wine with gladnes
to take thought is madnes 
  and marke well this
And put aside all swrathe 
for david showde vs hathe 
vinum letificat cor hominis

howe bringe ye that to pas 
cordis Iocunditas
is nowe and euer was
  the life of man 
Sithe that mirthe hathe no peare 
then let vs make good cheare
and be you merie heare
  while that you can 

And drinke well of this wyne 
while it is good and fyne 
and shewe some outwarde syne 
  of ioye and blisse .
Expell from you all wrathe 
for david shewed vs hathe
vinum letificat
  cor hominis 

This thinge full well ye ken 
hevenes dullethe men 
but take this medicien then
  where euer ye come
Refreshe your self therwith
for it was saide longe sithe
that vinum acuit Ingenium

Then geue not a cherie 
for sider nor perrye 
wyne makethe man merie 
  ye knowe well this
Then put aside all wrathe
for david shewed vs hathe 
vinum letificat
  cor hominis 

In hope to haue releace 
of all our heavines
and mirthe for to encrease
  Sumdele the more 
pulsemus organa 
simull cum cythera 
vinum et musica 
  vegitavit cor

but sorowe care & strif
shortnethe the daies of lif
bothe of man & of wife.
  It will not mis
Then put aside all wrathe
for david shewd vs hathe 
vinum letific &
  cor hominis .

A merie harte in cage .
Makethe a lustie age .
As tellethe vs the sage 
euen for the noynes
Becase we should delight
in mirthe bothe daie at nigh
he saythe an hevie freight
  driethe vp the bones

wherefore let vs alwaie
reioyce in god I saye 
our mirthe cannot decay
  if we do this 
And put aside all wrathe
for david shewed vs hathe
vinum letificat
  cor hominis 

nowe ye that be presente
laude god omnipotente 
that hathe vs geven & sent
our dalie foode 
when thorowe sinne were slane
he sent his son againe
vs to redeme from pane
  by his swete bloude

And he is the trewe vyne
from whom distilde the wine 
that bought your soules and myne 
  you knowe well this 
Then put asid all wrathe 
for david shewed vs hathe 
vinum letificat cor hominis


Lyrics:
Awak ye wofull wights
 which longe haue wepte in woo
 Resigne to me your teares & playnts
 my haples hape to shoo
 My woo no tong can tell
 nor pen can well discryb
 ogh what A deth ys this to here
 Dammon my frende ys Iudged to dye

The losse of worldlye wethe
 mens wysdome may restore
 and phisicke haithe proved helth
 A salve for every soore
 but my trew frend once lost
 no harte can well supplye
 than what A deathe ys this to here
 Dammon my ys Iudged to dye

My mouthe Refuse thy foode
that deothe thy lymmes susteyne
lett sorrowe sincke within this brest
& ransake every vaine
your furyes all at once
on me your torments trie
why shoulde I leve sence that I here
Damom my frend iudged to dye

Grype me ye gredye greffes
& present pangs of Dethe
ye systes thre with c rewell hands
with sped oghe stoppe my breth
Shryne me in clay A lyve
some good hande closse myne eye
O Deth com nowe Sythens that I here
Dammon my frend ys Iudged to dye


Lyrics:
Off lingeringe love mysliking growes
wherein our fansies ebbes & flowes
we lyke to day we lothe to morne
& dayly where we lyst we scorne
take hede therefor
yf she myslyke then love nomore
quicke spede makes waste
love ys not gotten in suche haste

Thate sute ys cold that sone ys done
the feble sorte are eaysley wonne
the hawke that sonne commes by her praye
may take A toye and soore Away
marke what meanes thys
sum thinke to hyt & yet they mysse
ffirst crepe than foo
In dede ower love ys handled so

ffor want of bellowes the fyer goeth owt
sum say the next way ys A bowte
the tre at first wyll yeld no frute
fewe things are hade withoutte sum sutte
 Serve longe hope well-known lo here ys all that I can tell
tyme tryeth owt trowth
and trowghe ys lykede whee yt gothe

Sume thinkes all there that they do seke
suche wantons woe but for A weke
Sume woes to prove there suttell wytts
suche palferyes playes vppon the bytts
 fyne hedds god knowes
 tha plukkes A nettle for A Rosse
There mett thee mache
and fare the worsse becausse they snache
The sylle woman cannot Rest
for shuche as vsse to love in Iest
suche men laye baytes in every noke
where euery fyshe dothe spye the hoke
yll ware good chepe
that makes vs looke before we lepe
craft can cloke muche
god save all symple sowles from suche

Thoughe lyngeringe love do last some wyle
Yet lyngering lovers laughe & smyle
who wyll not lynger for A Daye
dothe banyshe hoppe and happe away
So ends this daunc
god send all lyngerers luckye chaunce
Love must be plyed
who loks to sayle must wache A tydd


Lyrics:
Where gripinge greues the hart wold wound


Lyrics:
The man ys blest that lyves in rest
And so can keepe hym stylle
and he is A cornste that was the first
that gave hys wyff her wyll

What paine & greff without relieff
shall we pore men sustayne
Yff every gyle shall have her wyle
& over vs shall reigne

Then all our wyves during their lyves
wyll loke to do the same
and beare in hand yt ys As lande
that goeth not from the name

There ys no man whose wysdome canne
Reforme A wylfull wyff
but onely god who maide the rod
for our vnthrifty lyffe

let vs therefor crye owt & rore
and make to god request
that he redresse this wilfulnes
and set our harts at rest

Wherefor good wyves amend youre lyves
and We wyll do the same
& kepe not style that noughtye wyle
that haith so evell A name


Lyrics:
Wyll ye complayne witout a cavsse
even as the foxe shall blame the graye
what nede yow streine at moets and strawes
when beames blake lythe in your waye

Most that wyll fynd the gretest falte
and laye fourthe style the womans blame
of eyes halff blynde are seene to halte
ten tymes more yll to their owne shame

ffor youre Reproff loke you be fre
yff yow lyke este do well to please
say well of loue let women be
yt shalbe best for youre owne easse

Leave checking tantes and relynge rymes
where into flate yowe breke the stere
& in the hauntes of your pastymes
dysprayse but what yow cane forebere

And therefore fye the weake & stronge
folyshe nor wysse in corte nor cost
that well can be from women longe
that dothe farmysse against them most

why should we chate or eke declare
women to stayne as fancye lekkes
no man but that A woman bere
in woo and payne full fortye wekkes

where there ys want of women ryght
mens names from earth doth ware awaye
and children wanteth in there syght
all Ioy and mirth falleth in decaye

the nedfulnes of wemen sure
ys fore mennes helthe in earth to dwell
yt ferre dowtlesse doth passe the cure
for penn to write or tonge to tell

None could them mysse but shuld yt rew
thoughe some stange carpe against them bringe
therefor yt ys a taylle most trew
that suche doth harpe one the wornge stringe

And this to racke once learned I
well touching thosse that wemen blame
men fynde most fault where they would be
marke to purposse how yt dothe frame

Woman was founde a helpe most swete
with man to dwel for his comforte
as scripture sounde who so wyll wytte
doth playnly tell & make Reporte

Blame them with wronge that lyst herefore
to take for note to chek alwayes
my wyll lyffe long for evermore
they shalbe sure to have my praysse


Lyrics:
God helpe vs all god helpe vs all
with weping eyes to the we call
In deadly synne let vs not fall
but helpe vs all but helpe vs all

Where we professe in our baptysme
the for to serve & flye from synne
yet Day by Day we fall therein
god helpe vs all god help vs all

Gods name in vayne ofte tymes take we
sweringe thereby most miserably
rentyng all the parts of hys bodye
god helpe vs all god helpe vs all

Somtyme the people were very loth
at any tyme to swere an oth
yff we swere not yt ys no trothe
god helpe vs all god helpe vs all

A chyld that ys yonge & tender of age
as sonne As he vttereth any language
Anone with othes yt beginnethe to rage
god help vs all god help vs all

Wherefor thesse words our god may say
that are wrytten in the prophet Isaye
my name is blassphemed every day
god helpe vs all god help vs all

Thus vice vpon vice beginnithe to growe
Daylye amonge the people nowe
And in the works of faith ys very slow
god helpe vs all god help vs all

with weping eyes to the we call
In deadly synne let vs not fall
but helpe vs all but helpe vs all

Where we professe in our baptysme
the for to serve & flye from synne
yet Day by Day we fall therein
god helpe vs all god help vs all

Gods name in vayne ofte tymes take we
sweringe thereby most miserably
rentyng all the parts of hys bodye
god helpe vs all god helpe vs all

Somtyme the people were very loth
at any tyme to swere an oth
yff we swere not yt ys no trothe
god helpe vs all god helpe vs all

A chyld that ys yonge & tender of age
as sonne As he vttereth any language
Anone with othes yt beginnethe to rage
god help vs all god help vs all

Wherefor thesse words our god may say
that are wrytten in the prophet Isaye
my name is blassphemed every day
god helpe vs all god help vs all

Thus vice vpon vice beginnithe to growe
Daylye amonge the people nowe
And in the works of faith ys very slow
god helpe vs all god help vs all


Lyrics:
A horsse chuyng on the brydle in the stable ys but Idle
So a lover not well proving, is but Idle in hys loving
oft complaining smale redressing, much disdaning smale realesing
much ensuyng smale obtayning much vneasse & lytle ganning
changing of harts with sullenes ys love this Idle busynes

Cullered words for outward feaning, croked sygnes for outwards craving
inwarde mede & outwarde sorowe, glad to night & made to morowe
now in casse for to be eassed, now content & now displeased
owtward Ioy & outward boasting, litle worthe & mykle costing
thus fynding of newfanglenes, ys love this Idle busynes

Muche begune and lytle endid, much amissse and litle mended
muche devised much invented, muche dispised nought contented
much complaning of harts distresse, muche thinge wrong & no redresse
muche devising all for winning, as nie the end as the beginninge
doting of braine with dessines ys love this Idle bussines

Lytle sleeping mykle watching, mykle loking lytle catching
often wyshing smale things having, often spending smale things saving
laughe love lowre love all one matter, lyke the nature of the water
alwayes running never seasing, yet the rever styll incresinge
so dothe the fole never seasse, in love this Idle busines

I which do this love descover, am as Idle as the lover
for my laboure nothing getting, nor to the lover no profitting
to my harte no ioy nor easing, nor to other nothing pleasing
vnto my paine in the writing, paine to other in resiting
thus my labore may be thankeles, for my Idle besynes


Lyrics:
By west off late as I dyd walke
in the pryme tyme of the day
yt was my chaunce to here the talke
of two yonge folks in say
they had not bene marred at the kyrke
thre dayes then fully past
the goodman bad hys wyffe to worke
nay soft quod she no hast ffor now 
I wyll quod she not worke for the
I make to god a vowe 

And yf thow wylt not Worke quod he
thou drab I shall the dryve
I would to god thow knave quod she
thou durst that matter preve
the godman for to beate his wyffe
in hande A pase he went
he caught two blowes vpon his head
for every one he lent: in dede
he never blamde beating her than 
tyll both hys eares dyd blede 

He was so stowte & sterne that stoure
and fearsse with her in fyght
that even vpon the stony flowre
she knokt his head full ryght
the goodwyffe was wonderous wake in hande
fearfull and nothing bold
but he had never A fott to stande
when she off hym caught hold by the crage
and with her fyst his mouth she kyst
as fast as yt myght wagge 

Now then she cryed lowd a lacke
I do you well to wytt
but he lay downe vpon hys bake
& she stode on her ffett
bending her selffe to hym a pace
she cryed hym mersy then
and pylled the barke even of hys face
with her commaundements ten and oft
she dyd hym dosse abowt the nosse
tyll at hys facce was softe

now when the neybowres hard the noyse
so longe between them twayne
they wyst yt was no wanton toyes
and fast thether they ranne
but when they came In vayne yt was
the dores was sparred rounde
the good wyffe cryed owt alas
but he lay on the grounde well beate
lying alonge he sayd A mong 
that better he would her heate

Hys neybowres they were sore afrayde
that he would kyll hys wyffe
then hym full Instantly they prayde
to stynt and leave hys stryffe
And not hys wrath vpon her wyrke
they dyd hym all exorte
nay nay quod he I shall her teache
how she shall be so shorte with me
yet on his face she layd apace
& cryed hym styll merse

Whiche thing to here the neyboures all
dyd pytty her so sore
that to the goodman they dyd call
and sayd for shame no more
he bad them then go pyke them home
and there go medle them now 
I am quod he not suche a one
to leave fighting for yowe I trow
yet for all this they sayd I wys
smale neyboure hede he dyd showe

Some prayed hym in avoyding cryme
that he hys hande would hold
let her quod he another tyme
not be with me so bolde
for suredly & owght I were
to bede her taunte or cheke
but he could scante the same declare
she held so fast hys neke in abande
alas quod she wyll ye kyll me
swete husbaund hold youre hande

his neyboures then were sore afrayed
that he would her devoure
the dorres then being fast sparred
they threw them in the slowre
the good wyffe lepte away apace
when shame had put to flyght
and he well blowen abowt the face
began to stande vpright nere made
no wyght of skyll I think Iudge wyll
but he there off was glade

All thoughe his bake were somewhat dust
after A folyshe guysse
yet was the man hym selffe so lust
that scarcly he could rysse
the good wyffe dyd her chamber take
shewing her selff in drede
to neyboures the good man myrth dyd make
to them that sawe that dede all and some
to whom he sware that he had thare
slane her had they not come

with all yong marryed wyves I wyll
no suche masters to preve
but even obey youre husbands styll
lesse they to worke yowe dryve
& seing that yt ys not the best
to leve in debate & stryffe
god send all them that quiet rest
may be with man & wyffe to the end
grant vs all pray both night & day
that god such grace may sende


Lyrics:
What tyme that god his holy hande the lively shape of Adame drewe
the heaven the sea & eke drye land, maid he & there of toke avewe
of all & every lyvinge thinge, Adame he was Avaunsinge kinge
Then did the lord agardinge plante. estewarde to edome betowe
all manner of tres to sight pleasaunte wherein he did adame bestowe
of all the fruts to take his fyll, saving the tre of good & evyll
with skyfulnes god did devisse, A helpe for adam then to make
he caused a slumber one hym to rysse, out of his side a rybe to take
Wherewith he famed with breth of lyffe, our mother eve adames wyffe
Then did the serpent most subtillie, caused the woman to breke gods will
he caused her most wofully, to eat the frute of good & evell
whereby when adam had done the same, their nakednes turnd then to sha
Then did the lord the serpent cursse, above all other beasts in felde
& to the woman he saide thus, in woe & paine thou shall bere chyld
& thou o man in sorowe & dred, with swete of thi browes shalt eat thi bread


Lyrics:
Now lesten a whyle & let hus singe
to this desposed companye
howe maryage ys a mervelous thinge
A Iolly disposed Iuberdie
but sure there ys no dowte to knowe
of man & wyffe the maryed stayte
yf he say yea & she Say no
I hold a grote the wyffe wyll hayte

She thinks her selffe as good as he
at bede & borde & every daye
and saythe she must his fellow be
as trewe as gospell every waye
& thoughe the scrypture say she ys
the weaker vessell in estate
let hym say that yf she saye this
I hold a grote the wyffe wylle hate

The husbande owght in every sorte
to kepe there howsold companye
for offte goode wyffes do so reporte
that lovis there husbands honestly
but have he chere or have he gests
come he early come he laite
yf he say no & she saye yesse
I hold a grote the wiffe wyll haitte

What neds the husbande carpe or caire
for any good wyffes huswyffrye
but that the wyffe be redye there
to se all ordered hansomelye
And thoughe the wanglynge husbande wyll
have this or that in severall rate
yf he say no & she stand stylle
I hould a grote the wyffe wyll hate

Thus to conclude I mak an ende
of this desyred mery songe
god graunt that man & wyffe may mende
& chaunge thes orders that be wronge
then god wyll blesse then & there seede
that being calld to this estaite
& in gods fere there lyffe to lede
then man shall graunt his wyffe to haite


Lyrics:
As I lay musing all alone
I harde a voyce that lowd did crye
come gyve accompte now every one
even in the twinkling of an eye

with that I hard a trumpett blowe
& one saying with a voice so hie
destroye all things bothe hie & lowe
even in the twinklinge of an eye

Go forth he said & do not stynt
throughout this world by & by
& bringe them all to my Iudgment
even in the twinkling of an eye

Destroy all palas parks & game
castells & towres that be so hye
to all things lyving do the same
even in  the twinklinge of an eye

The gyaunts prowde & tyraunts fell
wo & alas then shall they crye
for I wyll throwe them downe to hell
even in the twinkling of an eye

The earth & sea shall not endure
nor yet the heavens that be so hye
consume them with a burning fyer
even in the twinkling of an eye

With that I sawe acloud was bent
and one sytting on yt so hye
prepared for to gyve Iudgment
even in the twinkling of an eye

Then all that in the earthe did rest
stode vpp before hym by & by
the boke was opned & all things prest
even in the twinkling of an eye

Devision was maide without delaye
the good from bade continuallye
sentence was geven even that same daye
even in the twinkling of an eye

The good on his right hand shall stande
& praysing hym most Ioyfully
with palmes of victorye in there hande
even in the twinklinge of an eye

The evyll one his left hande shall go
and crying out most lamentablye
sayinge alas comde ys oure woe
even in the twinklinge of an eye

Vnto the good the lord wyll saye
speaking to them most Ioyfullie
possesse my Ioyes that lasteth aye
even in the twinkling of an eye

Vnto the evyll the lord wyll torne
and sentence gyve most terebly
go to the fyer that ever shall burne
even in the twinkling of an eye

now let us pray for christ his sake


Lyrics:
I am a poore sheperd yet borne of hye blode


Title:
A ballett of A father warning his children
to feare god & kepe his commaundements

Lyrics:
Geve eare my children to my wordes 
whom god haith dearly bought 
lay vp my Lawes within youre hartts 
and printe them in youre thought 
ffor I youre father have foreseen 
the frayle & fylthye waye 
which fleshe and bloode would followe fayne 
even to there own decaye 

ffor all and every Living beaste 
theire Cribbe do knowe full well 
but adames hayers above the rest 
ar Redie to Rebell 
And all the creatures of the earthe
full well do kepe there waye
but adams heyres even from there birthe
are apte to go astraye

ffor earthe and asshes ys there strengthe
his glory and his gaine
and into asshes at the lengthe
he shall Retorne againe
ffor fleshe doth florishe lyke a flowre
and grow vpp lyke a grasse
and ys consumed in short howre
as yt ys comed to passe

ffor I the Imaige of youre yeres
youre treasure and youre trust
am dyinge now before youre faice
and shall consume to duste
for as you se youre fathers fleshe
consume nowe into claye
even so shall ye my children deare
consume and weare awaye 

The sonne the monne & eke the starres
that serve both daye and night
the earthe and every Lyving thinge
shalbe consumed quight
and all the worshipp that ys wrought
that haithe bene harde or seen
shall clene consume & torne to nowght
as yt had never bene

Therefore se that you follow me
youre father and youre frende
and enter into that same lande
whiche never shall have ende
I leave you here a lytle booke
for you to loke vpon
that you may se youre fathers faice
when he ys deade and gonne

Who for the hoppe of heavenly things
while he did here Remaine
gave over all his golden yeres
in pryson and in payne
where I amonge myne Iron bands
inclosed in the darke
afewe dayes before my deathe
did diddicate this warke

And in example of youre youthe
to whom I wyshe all good
I preache to you a perfitt truthe
and seale yt with my blode
to you my heyres of earthly things
which I do leave be hynde
that you may reade and vnderstande
and kepp yt in youre mynd

That as you have bene heyres of that
whiche once shall weare awaye
even so ye may possesse that parte
which never shall decaye
in following of youre fathers stepps
in trewth and eke in Love
ye may be also heyres with hym
for evermore above

Have god alwaies before youre eyes
with all youre whole intent
commyte not synne in any wysse
kepe his commaundement
abhore all strumpets baytts most vile
& also blasphamye
And drinke not of their poyson stronge
feare least yt causse the dye

Gyve honoure to youre mother deare
Remember well her paine
and Recompence her in her aige
the lyke with love againe
be alwaies ading at her hande
and let her not decaye
Remember well youre fathers end
who shulde have bene her staye

Gyve of youre porcyone to the poore
as Riches do arysse
and from the nedy naked sowle
turne not awaye thine eyes
for he that will not here the crye
of those that stande in neede
shall crye hym selffe & not be harde
when he would hopp to spede

Yff god have geven to you encreasse
and blessed well youre store
remember you are put in trust
to minister the moore
bewaire of fowle & filthie lust
let suche things have no plaice
kepe clene youre vessels in the lorde
that he may you inbraicce

Ye are the temples of the Lorde
for ye are dearly bought
and they that do defyle the same
shall surely come to nought
possesse not pride in any wysse
buyld not your howsse to hye
but have alwaies before youre eyes
that you are borne to die

Defraude hym not that hyred ys
with laboure to sustaine
but gyve hym alwaies out of hande
his peny for his paine
and as you would an other man
against you shuld procede
do ye the same to them againe
when they do stande in nede

And parte youre porcions to the poore
in monye & in meate
and feed the feble fainted sowle
with that which ye shuld eate
that when youre members do lake meat
and clothing to youre bake
ye may the better thinke on them
that do bothe lyve and lake

Aske counsaile alwaies at the wisse
gyve eare vnto the end
Refusse not then the swette rebukes
of hym that ys thie frende
be thankfull alwaies to the lorde
with prayer & with praiss
desyring hym in all youre works
for to direct youre waies

And synne not lyke the swinishe sorte
whosse bodies being feede
consume there yeres vppon the earthe
from belly vnto bedde
seke first I saye the lyving god
have hym alwaies before
and then be sure that he wyll blesse
youre basket and youre store

And thus yf you directe youre wayes
according to this booke
then shall they saye that se youre faice
how like me you do loke
and when you have this perfitlye
vpon youre finger ends
possessed all within this booke
then gyve yt to youre frends

And I beseche the almightie god
replenishe you with graicce
that I may have you in the heavens
& se you faicce to faice
And thoughe the sworde haithe cutt me off
contrarye to my kinde
that I could not enioye your love
according to my mynde

Yet do I hopp that when the heavens
shall vanishe lyke a Scrowle
I shall receyve you in perfyt shapp
in bodye & in sowle
And that I may enioye youre love 
& you enioye the lande
I do beseche the lyving lorde
to hold you in his hand

ffarwell my children from the worlde
where ye must yet Remaine
the lorde of ostes be youre defence
tyll we do mette againe
farewell my trewe & loveing wiffe
my children & my frends
I hope to god to have you all
when all things have there ends

And yf you do abyde in god
as you have nowe begonne
youre coursse I warraunt shalbe shorte
you have not long to Ronne
god graunt you so to end youre daies
as he shall thinke yt best
that I may have you in the heavens
where I do hoppe to rest


Title:
A ballet declaring howe everye christian ought
     to prepaire them selffe to warre & for to fight
     valiantly vnder the banner of his capton
     christ: // to be Songe after Rowe well you maryners

Lyrics:
Marche out gods soldiours, youre enimies be sure at hand
no doubte ye must have warres se therefor Iustly that ye stand
A daungerous battall must be fought for youre salvacion which christ bought
to losse your Right do not consent but fight in faith with good intent
hope well stand stoute, & you shall wynne the feld no dowbte
fight Sirs tak paine lyke souldyers trewe to youre captaine

Youre captaine ys even christ, who died once to save hus all
and he ys Redy drest to help his souldyers when they call
that cleave to hym in armoure dight against his enimye for to fight
Sattan ys youre enemy who doth invaide you subtillye
all waies no dowbtte both night & daye he goeth abowtte
therefor watch well that you his doings maye expell

He ys a subtill child & he doth flatter craftelye
tyll he have you beguild vnlesse youre armoure redy be
towarde his blowes in youre affaires for he will you Invaide vnwares
learne for to knowe his subtill waies stande stoutte in faith at all assaies
where by marke this you purchasse everlasting blesse
or els his gaine consisteth everlasting paine

You must be diligent to serve your captaine daye & night
then he ys Redy bent to ayde & help you in your feighe
from sattan rage that ys so fell whosse force ys suche no tong can tell
yet christe youe maister passeth all yf you in faith on hym do call
he ys Redy to help hys faithfull floke trulye
wherefore feare nought but christ wyll save that he haithe bought

He ys a strong defence a faithfull frend to suche as call
such ys his providence he paieth his souldyers dubble all
that stand to him to feight the field & vnto sattan doth not yeld
theye shall have duble hier no doubt that manfully doth fight yt out
fight syrs with synne the heavenly cyttie you shall wynne
for so christ saide his souldyers truly shuld be paid

Stand stoute be not affraide & take no truce with sattan than
youe need not be dismaide for christ wyll aide you every man
that fight his banner to vphold go to good christians be you bould
youre fight in faith shall sonne prevaile & make your emimies for to qual
fight hard not ceasse you must with hym proclaime no peace
for yf you do he wyll gyve you the overthrowe

ffor this youre enemie full subtillie wyll you assaile
he worketh craftely & feaneth peace for to prevaile
but have youre armoure in youre hand his fiery darts for to withstande
day & night loke youe be sure this spirituall warre must styll endure
whilst that breath ys within youre corps assure you this
therefor not Staye but fight with synne both night & day

The he that ys so stout to put his enimye to the flight
he shalbe sure no dowte to purchaice heaven that citi bright
he that in faith doth light his lampe to breake the seidge & cursed campe
of sattan & his wicked crewe that christ soldioures doth pursewe
therefor begin & fieght in faithe to conquere synne
take paine watch hard the heavenly loyes ys youre Rewarde

Thus have I shewed here good christen souldgers how to feight
you must in faith be cleare & styll endure both day & night
an elmytt stronge of faith do make & pacyently youre trobles take
& have sure hoppe what christ haith saide for whie his promis doth not faide
throughe faithe herein you wynne the feld of deadly synne
then god wyll saye come Reigne with me in heaven for aye

ffinis


Title:
Another ballett of this present tyme or worlde

Lyrics:
Hardnes ys headstrong and will not be hampered
Largnes strate laced & pride so much pampered
And spend all with sparing ys so well acquanted
that lyberall free harts in shrine may be sainted

Hould faste will gyve nowght, welth semeth so nedye
that wellheade ys stopped full mouthes are so gredy
and leane flees are feding that longe haith bene pyned
none may be loked to tyll hungre have dined

Stande backe saith stowtnesse, let frends be first placed
flatterers are favored, & truthe styll defaced
and meane well the harmelesse, ys ever kept fasting
do wronge dowts nothinge, the deathe everlasting

ffeare nowght speds better, then dowbte of offendinge
marreall that micher, thinks never off amendinge
and conscyence canne catche all, yet talke much of Iesu
but nedye helpe who lysteth, you fynde fewe that easse you

Highe officce forgetteth lowe frends that never fayled
Tyme past nothinge though on when some wept & waled
And seke praisse canne promisse quickly Repentis hym
When you call on hym ful closse he absents hym

New slights the vnsavory ys now the ringe Leder
old truthe nothing sett by which was the new treaser
And vertue thus abused the world over ffloweth
what this wyll come to at the length the lord knoweth

Mycheffe thus maister men bent to suche madnes
may chaunge or we looke oure mirth to great sadnes
Thus coming to conclusion, call playnesse to mynde
haite overthawrte wrangling Lest truth be maide blinde


Lyrics:
The golden tyme ys nowe at hande
the daye of Ioye from heaven doth springe
salvacyone over flowes the lande
Wherefore all faithfull thus may singe
glorye be to god most hie
and peacce on the earth continuallye
and vnto men Reioysinge
The birthe of christ who lyst to here
to this oure songe lett them gyve eare
which showes the same most playnlye
the angell gabriell from above
Was sent by god to breake his love
vnto the virgin marye
who said haile marye full of graicce
blessed art thow of womans rayce
the lord ys with the sertainly
as he haith sent the worde by me
When shae harde this she was affrayed
and cast in her mynde what he hadde saide
the angell saide feare not marye
the sonne of god dothe dwell with the

Lo in thie womb thou shalt conceyve
and beare a sonne whose name shall have
the gloryous name of Iesus
he shalbe greate in maiestie
and calde the sonne of god most hie
who still shall dwell emongst hus
the lorde for hym shall well provide
the seate of his father davyde
and he shall reigne for evermore
a safegarde styll vnto the poore
whosse kingdome sure shall have no ende
but styll in Ioves the tyme to spende
the virgin saide to thangell than
how shall this be, I knowe no man

The angell aunswered and ssaide
the holye gost be not afraid
from heaven shall come vpon the
and by the graicce of god most hie
powre shall over shadowe the
I tell the truthe beleve me
and also thie cosen elizabethe
so in lykewisse conceyved haithe
thus god canne make the barren tre
to budde with frute most pleasauntlye
then mary saide with one accorde
behould the hande mayde of the Lorde
the will of god be done in me
as yt shall pleasse his maiestie

When fortye weks were commed & gone
in bethleem this our Lorde was borne
as esaye he did prophesye
the shepherds keping sheepe by night
the lord did compass them with light
his angell walking harde bye
the shepherds then were soore dismaide
the angell saide be not affraied
I bringe you tidings of suche Iove
as sattans force canne not destroye
for whye to you ys borne this daye
the savioure of the world I saye
this ys the signe where you shall see
a swodled child in maunger lye

The shepherds stright to bethleem wente
as they by thangell than were sent
where Iosephe was with marye
and as the angell to them saide
they found the child in maunger Layde
whom they dyd worshipp trulye
and sprede abrode what they did see
as thangell tould them certainlye
Reioysinge greatly at the Same
and praisinge gods most holye name
for Sending downe his only sonne
for our salvacyone to be borne
Whichwas as now this christenmas
Reioyce therefor both more & lesse

ffinis


Lyrics:
Would god that deth with cruell darte
& fatall sesters thre
before had perste my virgins harte
or I did fancye the

Cupido then his force had bent
& golden boure in vaine
my womans harte hade not be rent
with this most rewfull paine

His denting darte no soner flew
from sownding silver stringe
but pinchinge paines eke dolores newe
within my brest did springe

O lukelesse happ vnhaply luke
some lyones me feede
some Salvage tiger gave me suke
vn thankfulnes me brede

Els I not once had fended the
whosse shynning comely graicce
constraines me nowe to rune I se
A captives Rufull rayce

O spile me not but spedely
thie mercy here extende
and I wyll serve the faithfully
vnto my latter ende


Lyrics:
Reioyce, Reioyce, with hart and voice,
	In Christe’s byrth this day reioyce.

FROM Virgin’s womb this day did spring	
The precious Seede that onely saued man:	
This day let man reioyce and sweetly sing,	
Since on this day saluation first began.	
 This day did Christe man’s soule from death remooue,	    
 With glorious saintes to dwell in heaven aboue.	
 
This day to man came pledge of perfect peace;	
This day to man came loue and unitie;	
This day man’s greefe began for to surcease;	
This day did man receaue a remedie	    
 For each offence, and euery deadly sinne,	
 With giltie hart that erst he wandred in.	
 
In Christe’s flock let loue be surely plaste;	
From Christe’s flock let concord hate expell;	
Of Christe’s flock let loue be so embraste,	    
As we in Christe, and Christe in vs may dwell.	
 Christe is the author of all unitie,	
 From whence proceedeth all felicitie.	
 
O sing vnto this glittering glorious King;	
O praise his name let euery liuing thing:	    
Let heart and voice, like belles of siluer, ring	
The comfort that this day did bring.	
 Let lute, let shalme, with sound of sweet delight,	
 The ioy of Christe’s birth this day resight.


Title:
[Some f]yne gloues deuised for Newyeres gyftes to teche yonge peop[le to] / knowe good from euyll wherby they maye learne the. x. commaundementes at theyr fyngers endes. x.

Lyrics:
WHo loveth and wolde vertues increase
and vices eke to over throwe,
Loe heare be gloves that wyl the teache
all evyll in tyme to laye full lowe,
Drawe nere therfore and bye apace
For newyeres gyftes you maye them geve
To olde and younge in every place
Ther is no man will the repreve.
Nowe this matter to make thee understande,
As mans hart is harde gods truth to receve:
So to frosen grounde it is compared
Which in no wyse the plowe can reve.
As the seare tree leaves that falleth to ground,
The worde of god calleth us to grace,
If we forgetfull be not founde
Our wealth shall growe in every place.
But wher mallice and falsehode stil doth raigne
With us in this clere gospelles lyghte,
Ther loke for storme, tempest, and raine,
As plagues from heaven both day and night.
Feare god therfore and love him eke,
With labour trew the Penny wynne,
And to everlastinge joye and blysse,
As before is saide, it will the brynge.
The .x. Commaundementes of the lorde,
At thy fyngers endes here mayest thou lere,
Devided from one hande to the other,
As title telles in mynde to beare.
The fingers tenne yet more doth teache,
Tenne vertues for to beare in harte,
The which if you kepe well in minde,
From all evill wayes thou shalt revarte.
More by these gloves thou mayst well see,
The seame is broke by impacient breath,
That vice to restrayne I advise thee,
Eche time and houre remembre death.
Within the Palmes thou mayst well learne
Vertues to knowe in thy right hande
And vyces in the lefte to over turne,
If with shielde of faith, thou stoutly stande.
Detestation of synne, and desyre to do good
As braselettes fine I advise thee holde,
With devoute prayer for mercy and grace,
Then hope well thou mayst be bolde.
Throughe Christ our saviour safe to be,
And his juste judgement to imbrace,
This is the truste I have trewly
Within the sterres to have a place.
And ryde alofte above the skyes
In Quintessence I hope to dwell,
Where joye and solace shall never cease
All worldely pleasures they do excell.

God save the Quene.


Title:
The true reporte of the forme and shape of a monstrous childe, borne at Muche Horkesleye a village three myles from Colchester, in the countye of Essex, the .xxi. Daye of Apryll in this yeare. 1562.

Location of Printer:
Fleet Street near to St Dunstan's Church

Lyrics:
O, prayse ye God and blesse his name
  His mightye hande hath wrought the same. 

THis monstrous world that monsters bredes as rife
As men tofore it bred by natiue kinde
By birthes that shewe corrupted natures strife
Declares what sinnes beset the secrete minde

I meane not this as though deformed shape
Were alwayes linkd with fraughted minde with vice
But that in nature god such draughtes doth shape
Resemblyng sinnes that so bin had in price,

So grossest faultes brast out in bodyes forme
And monster caused of want or to much store
Of matter, shewes the sea of sinne: whose storme
Oreflowes and whelmes vertues barren shore.

Faultye alike in ebbe and eke in flowd,
Like distaunt both from meane, both like extremnes.
Yet greatst excesse the want of meane doth shrowde
And want of meane excesse from vertues meanes.

So contraryest extreames consent in sinne
Which to be wray to blindest eyes by syght
Beholde a calfe hath clapt about his chinne
His chauderne reft whence nature placed it right.
And […]u[…]d driues doutfull seers to proue by speache
Them selues not calues, and makes the fashion stale.
In him behold by excesse from meane our breache
And midds excesse yet want of natures shape.

To shewe our misse beholde a guiltlesse babe
Reft of his limmes (for such is vertues want)
Him selfe and parentes both infamous made
With sinful byrth: and yet a worldlyng scant.
Feares midwyfes route: be wrayeng his parentes fault
In want of honestye and excesse of sinne.
Made lawfull by all lawes of man, yet halt
Of limmes by God, scapd not the shamefull marke

Of bastard sonne in bastard shape descryed.
Better farre better vngyuen were his lyfe
Than geuen so. For nature iust enuyed
Her gyft to hym: and cropd wyth mayming knyf

His limmes, to wreake her spyte on parentes sinne·
Which, if she spare vnwares so many scapes
As wycked world to breede wil neuer sinne
Theyr liues declare theyr maims saued from their shapes

Scorchd in theyr mindes (o cruel priuye mayme
That festreth styll, o vnrecured sore)
Where thothers quiting wyth theyr bodyes shame
Theyr parentes guilt, oft linger not theyr lyues
In lothed shapes but naked flye to skyes.
As this may do whose forme tofore thine eyes
Through want thou seest, a monstrous vglye shape
Whom frendly world to sinne doth terme a scape.

ON Tuysday being the .xxi. Day of Apryll, in this yeare of our Lorde God a thousand fyue hundred thre score and two, there was borne a man childe of this maymed forme at Muche Horkesley in Essex, a village about thre myles from Colchester, betwene a naturall father and a naturall mother hauing neyther hande, foote, legge, nor arme, but on the left syde it hath a Stumpe growynge out of the shoulder, and the ende thereof is rounde, and not so long as it should go to the elbowe, and on the ryghte syde no mencion of any thing where any arme should be, but a litel stumpe of one ynche in length, al so on the left buttocke there is a stumpe coming out of the length of the thygh almost to the knee, and round at the ende, and groweth something ouerthwart towardes the place where the ryght legge should be, and where the ryghte legge should be, there is no mencion of anye legge or stumpe. Also it hath a Codde and stones but no yearde, but a lytell hole for the water to issue out. Finallye it hath by estimation no tounge, by reason whereof it sucketh not, but is succoured wyth liquide substaunce put into the mouth by droppes, and nowe begynneth to feede wyth pappe beyng very well fauoured, and of good and cheareful face.

 The aforesayde Anthony Smyth of Much Horkesley husbandman and his wyfe, were both maryed to others before, and haue had dyuers chyldren, but this deformed childe is the fyrst that the sayd Anthony and his wyfe had betwene them two, it is a man chylde. This chylde was begot out of matrimony, but borne in matrimonye. And at the makynge hereof was liuing, and like to continue.


Title:
Against Filthy Writing/And Such Like Delighting

Location of Bookshop:
Lombards Street at the sign of the Eagle

Lyrics:
What meane the rimes that run thus large in euery shop to sell?
With wanton sound, and filthie sense, me thinke it grees not well
We are not Ethnickes we forsoth, at least professe not so
Why range we then to Ethnickes trade? come bak, where wil ye go?
Tel me is Christ, or Cupide Lord? doth God or Uenus reigne?
And whose are wee? whom ought wee serue? I aske it, answere plaine
If wanton Uenus, then go forth, if Cupide, keep your trade
If God, or Christ, come bak the best, or sure you will be made
Doth God? is he the Lord in deed? and should we him obey?
Then his commaundement ought to guide, all that wee doo or say
But shew me his commaundement then, thou filthy writer thou
Let seet, I cease, if not, geue place, or shameles shew thee now.

We are no foes to musicke wee, a mis your man doth take vs
so frendes to thinges corrupt and vile, you all shall neuer make vs
If you denie them such to bee, I stand to proue it I,
If you confesse (defend them not) why then doo you reply?
But such they bee I will mainteine, which yet you bothe defend
And iudge them fooles, that them mislike, would God you might amend
But, substance onely I regarde, let Accidencis go
Both you and wee, bee that wee bee, I therfore leaue it so
And yet I wishe your tearmes in deed, vpon some reason stayd
If mine be not, reproue them right, Ile blot that I haue sayd
And that I wrote, or now doo wrighte, against you as may seeme
What cause I had, and haue, I yelde, to modest men to deeme
I wishe you well I doo protest, (as God will, I will so)
I cannot helpe, as frend ye wot, nor will not hurt as fo
But for the vile corrupting rimes, which you confesse to wrighte
My soule and hart abhorres their sence, as far from my delight
And those that vse them for their glee, as you doo vaunte ye will
I tell you plainly what I think, I iudge them to bee ill
This boasting late in part hath causd, mee now to say my minde
Though chalenges of yours also, in euery place I finde.


Location of Bookshop:
Paul's Churchyard at the south west door

Lyrics:
SOyled in sinnes, (O Lord,) a wretched sinfull ghoste,


Title:
A Complaynt agaynst the wicked enemies
of Christ in that they have so tyrannusly handled the poore Chrystians.

Lyrics:
ALas what grefe is this
unto all chrysten men:
That tirants stil do raine
to worke mischeif agen.

They prosper in the land,
whose practyse late hath bene,
Both to destroy our realme
and Elisabeth our Quene.

How dyd they Tower her
and kept her there in thrall,
When they could not charge her
with any cryme at all.

But they beyng thyrsty
woulde fayne have suckt her bloud,
For when thei put her there
they ment her grace no good

Whiche was the prelates fetche
for why thei stode in awe,
That if her grace did raygne
she would reject ther Lawe.

Wherfore this cursed sorte
dyd geve many a saye,
To take her in a tryppe
to make her cleane away.

Such ympes of Sathans kynde
do stand and florysh styll,
Whiche do suppresse all truth
and do maynteine al yll.

For they have spoild this realme
and made it very Poore
They brought in Foren power
to Turne us out of doore.

Suche fruteles trees do growe
they spred abrode and stande,
Whose cursed Branches lyve
and do Corrupt the lande,

For when the Olyve trees
and eke the plesaunt Vynes
Did bringe us forth good frutes
and delectable wines.

They sharpened theyr Toles
to cut them by the grounde,
That they might springe no more
nor never more be founde.

For sume they brinte with fyer
and some agayne they pinde,
And sum they tare and rackt
and sum remayne behinde.

Againe this cursed sorte
dyd scrape out of the moulde
The carkes of the dead
and many mo they woulde.

Yf tyme had servde theyr turne
according to ther trust,
Kynge Harry and his sunne
had both ben Burnt to duste,

Doth it not nowe appeare
what love and eke what seale
They had unto our Kinges
that Rulde our common weale.

Howe did they raile on them
in pulpettes every where,
With vyle opprobrious termes
and that without all feare.

Alas that suche should lyve
that seke all to destroy,
Suche members woulde be ryd
that do nothinge but noye,

For where they hunt to spoile
ther natures can not sease,
Tyll they have murdred those
that be the sunnes of peace.

Alas I rue it muche
that suche Pypicked pates
Shoulde be about a Quene
or come within her gates.

Ther counsels be corrupt
for they smel al of bloude,
Ther practys be all yll
how can they then be good,

Who can or will commende
this charitie of preistes,
That be suche murtherers
and have suche blodye fystes.

Howe coldly doo they praye
for Elisabeth our quene,
Ther doinges have ben heard
ther practys have bene sene.

O cursed sede of Cayne
and members of the Devill
All destitute of grace,
replenished with evyll.

Who love the name of you,
but suche as ye do brybe,
O ye blinde balamites
o vyle and cursed Trybe,

The infantes in the wombe
have cause to Curse your sede,
And eke the fatherles
for your accursed dede.

Howe many live this day
whose Parentes ye have kilde,
And turned ther Children out
into the stretes and filde.

Ther to lye and pyne
and sayd that it was Synne
Eyther to geve them foode
or els to take them in.

What pitie were it nowe
to tosse and to turne them,
To hewe them in peces
to Broyle and to burne them.

To fle them from the Croune
to the soules of theyr fete.
To trye if suche tormentes
be Pleasaunt and swete.

And specially Bonner
the fier woulde fayne tast him,
But burne him it coulde not
his grece wolde so Bast him.

Wolde god it might trye him
for if that day were cume,
Many handes would be redy
to geve Fyer to his Bum.

That smithfelde might smel him
and here the tyrauntes voice,
That fatherles Children
and infantes might Rejoyce.

Whose fathers and mothers
this tyraunt hath furthered,
To be cruelly burnt
and most shamefully murthred,

O trayterus tyrant
o false perjured Best,
Thy broylinge and burning
is knowen and manifest.

And all thy tyrannes
which thou hast frequented
And also hast practyst,
and lewdly invented.

How hast thou tried them
with torche and with taper
Burning their handes and feete
to make them to waver.

Yea how didst thou stock them
o murtherus thefe,
Ther necke there handes and feete
onlye for their beleif.

Both within thy Cole house
and in the lollers tower,
The poore and simple men
had many a sharpe shower.

Through thy good counselers
Clunnye and John avales,
These are the two rake helles
that brought the all the tales.

How were the poore lodgyd,
how were their bellys fedde.
With hunger and Coulde
and stones to rest ther hed.

Alas what beastes are they
that lurke under that wede,
Are they not Raveninge wolves
judge them by ther deed.

What injurie were it nowe
to rid those blody bestes,
That seketh frendship now
with monye and with festes,

Now thei have spoild our realme
they fere and stand in dout,
If briberie helpe them not
then will ther knavery out

But god for his mercy
sease the blody streme,
And graunt that his glory
may florishe in our Realme.


Title:
A Supplication to Eldertonne, for Leaches vnlewdnes:

Location of Printer:
Long shop adjoining St mildred's Church in the Pultrie

Lyrics:
GOod gentle maister Eldertonne,
may I not you intrete?
To pardō Leache yt he hath dōne,
and not with him to frete?

For I confesse and know the same,
It was for lack of lewdnes:
That he so blasde abrode your name,
therfore forgiue his rudenes.

For you maye see he is in deed,
an vnrude simple man:
Therfore of him take you no heed,
sithe nurture none he can.

A seely simple man hee is,
as proof may well be made:
For nomore wit he hath ywis,
but to call a spade, a spade.

Therefore though that your filthy rymes,
he filthy name to bee:
Accuse him not I say of crimes,
you heare his qualitie.

It was no doubt vnhomely donne,
to chalenge in such case:
So fyne a felow as Eldertonne,
that hath so fayre a face.

But though your face be neuer so riche,
so precious or so gay:
Yet wil he scratche it if it itche,
the paines for to delay.

Wherfore you ought him thankes to geue,
that worketh you suche good:
And not to shake him by the sleeue,
to wreke your angry moode.

I may wel muse and meruel much,
what might be your intent:
Sith that you proue your selfe one such,
as truthe cannot content.

You showe that Leache you doo contemne,
euen by the self same reed:
Wherin you doo your self condemne,
I wishe you wolde take heed.

You binde it vp with othes inow,
in faith, in faith, saye yee:
But by such frutes a man may know,
the goodnes of the tree.

A shame it is that you should bring,
the rample of Christ I say:
And eke forthwith the self same thing,
so sore to disobey.

For with the breache of charitie,
you doo him sharply charge:
And by and by outragiously,
you raile on him at large.

Thus Sathan also for his turne,
the scriptures can out pike:
And as you wel his lesson learne,
so are your deedes a like.

Your harte is vaine and bent to euill,
your toung also is naught:
How can it be then but the deuil,
must rule both toung and thought.

But hereby men may easely spie,
how you doo Leache abuse:
Sith that your quarell for to trie,
by scripture you refuse.

Therfore you go about I see,
the scripture set aparte:
Vnto your toies and vanitie,
his penne for to conuart.

And if in deed you could him cause,
from scripture for to flie:
No doubt for soth but clause by clause,
much brauery should we see.

Then wolde you leke then wold you laffe,
as you doo make reporte:
Then wold you answere euery staffe,
and that in sugred sorte.

In sugred sorte? nay poisened then,
I might it better call:
Although it sugred semes to men,
which are in sinfull thrall.

A worthy worke it is doubtles,
and ful of lerned skill:
Wherby appeareth your shameles,
and wilful wicked will.

And where you write that secretly,
your fault he should haue tolde;
That might not be sith openly,
your selfe did it vpholde.

And where as he ful skilfully,
takes scriptures for his staie:
You say in deed that wickedly,
he vseth them alwaie.

It is not streight way proued so,
when that you haue it said:
Except you bring a profe therto,
which cannot be denaid.

As if, that I should say in deed,
you were an honest man:
All wise men might me then deride,
sith proue it not I can.

I wolde now wishe you should forget,
his science to deface:
For honestly a man may get,
his liuing in that race.

Muche better then the witte to spend,
a Parasite to play:
The bad to please, the good to offend,
and play the foole all day.

And him me thinkes you should not blame,
that can wel shape a hose:
For he may likewise cut and frame,
a case for your riche nose.

To make a hose is no suche shame,
to Leache in his degree:
As is your nose a glorious fame,
vppon your face to see.

It doth become you very ill,
to talke so of your taile:
But you shal there your toung hold still,
as fitte for tounges that raile.

And if you still thus doo deny,
your knauerie to forbeare:
You shal therin haue victory,
the garland you shall weare.

But heere I must ful sore lament,
the counsel you still geue:
To your vile Jone, not to repent,
but beastly still to liue.

O wicked man darste thou be bolde,
suche sinful seed to sowe?
And eke the same for to vpholde,
in sinful hartes to growe?

Oh Lord shal whoredom thus preuaile?
shal men thus sinne mainteine?
Is this a christen common weale,
and can such filth susteine?

O magistrates play Phinehes parte,
towardes suche be not to milde:
Which may procure most greuous smart,
to many a mothers childe.

The whoredom of one heretofore,
Great plagues to many hath brought:
Although the lord eftsones therfore,
in him repentance wrought.

What shal our lot be then Oh Lord?
which foster suche foule swine:
As liue a life to bee abhorde,
yet glory and ioye therein?

Repent (O wretche) and cal for grace,
leaue of these wicked toyes:
Lest Sathan reache thee sower sauce,
to these thy pleasant ioyes.

Now sir, if Leache, as you doe tell,
semes fondly thinges to knit:
It is because you cannot well,
them home with reason hit.

A homely cloke wold serue full wel,
is there none to be had?
If Eldertonne of none heare tell,
I doubt he will goe mad.

But if as you doo threaten, so
you fall for to bee wood:
You shall streight waies to Bedlem go,
to tame your madding mood.

Now Eldertonne I must desire,
you to hold Leache excusde:
For that no reason doth appeere,
why he shuld so be vsde.

And sith that I thus curteously,
for Leache doo you intreat:
Your phrensie so to satisfy,
you need no more to freat.

Wherfore gentle Maiste Elderton,
as I may doo you pleasure:
Graunt this my supplication,
which is not out of measure.

And thus subscribed,
The first day of June:
At which time you said,
Beginneth your fume.


Title:
The reedifying of Salomons temple, and the laborers therof.

Lyrics:
WHen that the Cocke began to crow
in February last
It was nere dai I knewe right wel
the byrdes they songe so fast

For they recorded plesauntly
when they did vnderstande
That winters blastes began to swage
and Vere was euen at hande

And when the Parker hard this Cock
eftsone he gan to stere
And vp he start and gate him forth
to viewe and se the dere,

And when he came he se the dere
where they were on the launde
At whome the dere were not amasde
but styll they stode and faunde.

For well they wyst this Parker came
to do his wonted feate,
And or he went from them agayne
in dede he gaue them meate.

Which they had sought & could not find
wherefore they loked thyn,
As though they had ben chast with dogs
that lately had rusht in.

As sone as he was gon from them
a Scory scourde the coste,
To fray the bandogges from the Dere
for feare they should be loste.

Whiche longe had made such spoile of them
as like hath not ben sene,
At euery course a leyshe or two
as we full ofte haue sene.

This Scory scoured all the parke
he sercht it rounde about.
To fortifie the walles therof
to kepe the bandogs out

When he had take the viewe therof,
and sawe the parke so scalde.
He made his sute vnto the Quene
to haue it all newe palde.

And after him there dyd succede
a man of auncient yeares.
Which did renewe the former sute
vnto the noble Peeres.

Whose iudgement is profounde & depe
as all the learned say.
And he affyrmde and proued it both
our fayth was in decaye.
Whiche is the moost assured wall
that may or can be bylte,
Whiche wall hath ben battred at
that it was almoste spylte,
And if this wall be not repayrde
but fall styll in decaye
The bandogs wyll breake in againe
and driue the deare awaye.
Thus hath this auncient whithed proued
with argumentes moost stronge,
That if this wall be not repayrde
the parke cannot stande longe.

Wherfore the buylders of this wall
that haue take it in hande
Haue sharpned all theyr tooles right wel
to haue this buildinge stande.

A Byll also sharped his edge
to cut the brambles downe
And to destroy the wicked wedes
that were in hye renoume.
Thus all these builders work righe well
for they haue begon the frame,
And all that se theyr workmanship
do much commend the same.

They worke it artificiallye
as men experte and wyse.
For why they builde vpon the rocke
and not vpon the yse.

Who hath not sene, who hath not hard
the doynges of these men,
What paynes they take incessantlye
to buylde this wall agen,

To kepe the yonge fawnes from the fox
and from the wolues and dogges.
Leste that the parke be soylde agayne
with swyne and fylthy hogges.
Marke well ye grist that grind all ground
and ye shal vnderstande,
That he is able well to buyld
the thinge he taketh in hande.

For he hath newly bete his quernes,
wherfore it may be thought,
That he intendes to grinde the grist
that we full longe haue sought,

But when the mighty Sampson cam
that longe had ben away.
He musled vp the bandogges mouthes
that the had naught to saye.

So that theyr fury is well cooled
through Sampsons force and might
For though they grin and loke awrye
they haue no power to byte,

For nowe the dere go quietlye
within the pale and parke,
And are nothinge afrayde to here
the bandogs how they barke,

There kepers nowe ar come agen
that longe haue ben awaye,
Wherfore the poore and simple Dere,
are ioyfull of this daye,

For when the Horne was heard of the[.]
which sounded like a bell,
The Dere that knewe the same before
dyd like it wery well.

He blew his measures in such sort
so truly and so trymme
That all that hard the sound therof
had much delight in him,

Besides all these yet are there mo,
whose diligence and payne,
Do craue of vs etarnall prayse
that lyue and do remayne,
Leuer and Sandes, for so they hyght
whose godly hartes and wyll
Are wholy bent vnto the truth
and to confute the yll,

So are these two that yet remayne,
as it hath well bene sene,
How learnedly they speake their mindes
before our noble Quene.

Pedder and Wyntrel, these are they
whose memory and fame
Shalbe reuiued, when they are dead
their actes deserue the same,

For these and for the rest of them
let vs geue thankes to God,
whose mercy towardes vs is suche,
that he hath broke the rod,

O Lorde be holde thy labourers
and now put to thy hande,
To buylde thy holy Temple vp
that it may euer stande.

Dryue out the ydle men therof
ye dryue them cleane awaye
Whiche long haue sought the spoile of it
to bringe it to decaye.

To whome let vs left vp our hartes
at morow and at euen,
That it wyll please him to preserue
Elisabeth our quene,

Long to endure amongest vs here
and to possesse her place,
And afterwardes to Ioye with him
when she hath runne her race.


Title:
A commendation of musicke and a confutation of them which disprayse it.

Lyrics:
WHen first within the corps of man, dame Nature built her bower:
She saw what troubles eke & thral, was bent them to deuower.
To whome she gaue as in reward, a pleasaunt note or sound:
Their carkes and cares to dryue away, wherby much ease was found.
Whereof in children proofe is had, whome nurses haue in charge:
How soone they stop and stay their cry, when she doeth sound at large.
The Plowman eke, and Carter both, with ease doeth passe away:
In singyng of some mery note, their tranayle all the day.
Wherefore to Lady Nature I, doe render prayse and wyll:
By whome not onely man alone, but byrdes in song hath skyll.
The Poetes fayne that Amphion, who buylded Thebes towne:
Did fyrst inuent the pleasaunt note, whereby he got renowne.
To Dionisius some the name, and some contrary wyse:
To Zephus, who Eusebius sayth, the same dyd first deuyse.
Solinus sayth that men of Crete, by ryng and sound of brasse:
By Thacbadianes doeth Polibius say, inuented first it was.
In déede I thinke soone after that, dame Nature made the sound:
That Reason did the measure make, the concord and the ground.
And then in Mercury first it wrought, as auctour of the same:
The which euen hée (as worthy prayse) did publish and proclame.
Then Reason, as one not full suffysde, did seeke for to deuyse:
Some instrument to geue a sound, by whome there did aryse
A foreward wit in Mercury, for to inuent the same:
Who made a Harpe of fyshes bone, a Tortes cald by name.
Which hée by Nilus ryuer found, the fysh was dryde away:
And nothyng but thrée sinowes left, whereon he sought to play.
But when they gaue a sound agayne, thus doe the Poetes fayne:
He made a Harpe much lyke that bone, by thinuent of his brayne.
Thrée strynges to it did he apply, a Treble Base and Meane:
The which he made for to accord, in Musickes pleasaunt vayne.
Then he it to Apollo gaue, as gyft of wonderous weyght:
And he the same to Orpheus handes, made redeliuery streyght.
Some thinke Amphion first it found, and some to that say no:
And some in Tuball thinke the lyke, but that can not be so.
Then Pan the Pype, Apollo eke, the Shalme he did inuent:
Then Dauid Regalles sought to make, by Reasones whole consent.
And Orphen first, with Linus nexte, and Arion als by name:
Timarias, and Trezenius both, thereby did purchase same.
Nor Cibell yet, with Pises too, their labour ought did cease:
But in the same did sore apply, their cunnyng too encrease.
Thus haue we proued by Poetes lore, how auncient Musicke is:
And now I meane by Scripture playne, to proue the lykeiwis.
We read how Dauid daunct and soung, before the Arke of God:
And how his wyfe which flowted him, was by the Lorde forbode
For hauyng chyldren any more, but barren should she be:
Whereby I proue that God is pleasde, with such lyke armony.
When MirIam with the Israelites, the red sea déepe had past:
And Pharaos hoste were drowned all, who did pursue them fast,
Then tooke they Timbrelles in their handes, and to ye Lord sang prayse
For that he was their ayde and shyeld, to passe the daungerouse seas.
The Shepherdes eke, and Angelles both, we read how they reioyst:
When they once heard and vnderstoode, the byrth of Iesus Christ.
We sée by this what Musicke is, we néede no better proofe:
The Scripture is a buckeler good, in Musickes right behoofe.
In Fucsius, and in Galen both, who lyst to looke shall fynd:
How much that Musicke doeth appease, the dolours of the mynd.
You know what tauntes Themistocles, in banket did sustayne:
When he good musicke did disprayse, accoumptyng it but vayne.
They iudged his learnyng much the worse, because he did defye
That, which all men did much estéeme, regard and eke set bye.
I pray you was not Socrates, whome crooked age had caught:
With Musickes skyll and armony, as one with Cupid fraught?
And sayd that concord was the ground, and eke the sure stay:
Without the which nothing is good, this could that wyse man say.
And measure is a mery meane, and meane who doeth embrace:
Of euery vertue hath the ground, which bryngeth man to grace.
This haue I doen in Musickes cause, my pen now wyll I rest:
Syth that I haue that worthy science, as famouse once profest.
And who that séekes the losse of it, néedes must I speake my mynd:
A great disprayse is to his wit, his wordes are coumpted wynd.


Lyrics:
SO many poynted caps
Lased wt double flaps
And so gay felted hats
Sawe I neuer.
So many good lessons
So many good sermons
And so few deuocions
Sawe I neuer.
So many gardes worne
Iagged aud al to torne
And so many falsly forsworne
Sawe I neuer.
So fewe good polycies
In townes and cytyes
For kepinge of blynde hostryes
Sawe I neuer.
So many good warkes
So few wel lerned clarkes
And so few that goodnes markes
Sawe I neuer.
Suche pranked cotes & sleues
So few yonge men that preues
And such encrease of theues
Sawe I neuer.
So many garded hose
such cornede shoes
And so many enuyous foes
Sawe I neuer.
So many questes sytte
With men of smale wit
And so many falsely quitte
sawe I neuer.
So many gay swordes
So many altered wordes
And so fewe couered bordes
Sawe I neuer.
So many empti purses
so fewe good horses
And so many curses
Sawe I neuer.
Suche bosters and braggers
so newe fashyoned daggers
And so many beggers
Sawe I neuer.
So many proper knyues
So well apparrelled wyues
And so yll of theyr lyues
Saw I neuer.
So many cockolde makers
So many crakers
And so many peace breakers
Saw I neuer.
So much vayne clothing
With cuttyng and iagging
And so much bragginge
Saw I neuer.
So many newes and knackes
So many naughty packes
And so many that mony lackes
Saw I neuer.
So many maidens with child
And wylfully begylde
And so many places vntilde
Sawe I neuer.
So many women blamed
And rightuously defaimed
And so lytle ashamed
sawe I neuer.
Widowes so sone wed
After their husbandes be deade
Hauing such hast to bed
sawe I neuer
so much striuinge.
For goodes and for wiuinge
And so lytle thryuynge
saw I neuer.
so many capacities
Offices and pluralites
And chaunging of dignities
sawe I neuer.
so many lawes to vse
The truth to refuse
Suche falshead to excuse
sawe I neuer.
Executers hauinge the ware
Taking so little care
Howe the soule doth fare
sawe I neuer.
Amonge them that are riche
No frendshyp is to kepe tuche
And such fayre glosinge speche
Saw I neuer.
So many pore
In euery bordoure
And so small soccoure
Saw I neuer.
So proude and so gaye
so riche in araye
And so sknat of money
Saw I neuer.
So many bowyers
so many fletchers
And so few good arches
sawe I neuer.
So many chepers
so fewe biers
And so many borowers
sawe I neuer.
So many alle sellers.
In baudy holes and sellers
Of yonge folkes yll counsellers
sawe I neuer.
So many pinkers
so many thinkers
And so many good alle drinkers
sawe I neuer
so many wronges
so few mery songes
And so many yll tonges.
Sawe I neuer.
So many a vacabounde
Through al this londe
And so many in pryson bond
I saw neuer.
so many citacions.
So fewe oblacions
And so many new facions
sawe I neuer.
So many fleyng tales
Pickers of purses and males
And so many sales
saw I neuer.
So much preachinge
speaking fayre and teaching
And so ill beleuinge
saw I neuer.
So much wrath and enuy
Couetous and glottony
and so litle charitie
sawe I neuer.
So many carders
Reuelers and dicers
and so many yl ticers
sawe I neuer.
So many lollers
so few true tollers
so many baudes and pollers
sawe I neuer.
Such treachery
simony and vsury
Pouerty and lechery
saw I neuer.
So many auayles
so many geales
And so many fals baylies
sawe I neuer.
By fals and subtyll wayes
All Englande decayes
For more enuy and lyers
sawe I neuer.
So new facioned iackes
With brode flappes in the neckes
And so gay and newe partlettes
sawe I neuer.
So many slutteshe cookes
so few facioned tucking hookes
And so few biers of bookes
saw I neuer.
Somtime we song of myrth & play
But now our ioy is gone away
For so many fal in decay
sawe I neuer.
Whither is ye welth of england gon
the spiritual saith they haue none
And so many wrongfully vndone
saw I neuer.
It is great pitie that euery day
so many brybors go by the way
And so mani extortioners in eche cuntrey
saw I neuer.
To the lord I make my mone
For yu maist healpe vs euerich one
Alas the people is so wo begone
worse was it neuer
Amendment
Were conuenient
But it may not be
We haue exiled veritie
God is neither dead nor sicke
He may amend al yet
And trowe ye so in dede
As ye beleue ye shal haue mede
After better I hope euer
For worse was it neuer.


Title:
A Song of Ladie Sion the churche
A Balet of Sir peter hartforth making vpon           spalme vicare of hovedean departed

Lyrics:
Ego ros campi in the feld
the farest that can be
et lilium convalium
among my lovers fre

My cytie shall full well endure
her grounde worke still doth stay
vpon the holy hills full sure
yt canne no tyme decaye

God loves the gaittes of Sion best
his graice dothe there abide
he loved them more then all the rest
of Iacobes tents besyde

ffull gloryous things reported he
in Sion and abrode
great things I saye are said of the
thow Cyttie of our god

On Rahabe I will cast an eye
& bear in Mynde the same
& babilon shall eke apply
& learne to knowe my name

Lo palestine and tire also
with ethiophe likwysse
A people old full long ago
where borne and there did rysse

Off Syon they shall saye abrode
that divers men of fame
have there spronge vp & the hie god
have founded ffast the same

In there records to them yt shall
throughe gods device appere
of Syon that the cheffe of all
had his beinninge there

The trumpeters with suche as sing
therein great plentie be
my fountaine & my pleasaunt spring
are compast all in the


Lyrics:
It was a maide of my countre
as she came by the hathornetre
as full of flowers as might be seen
se marveld to se the tre so grene

At last she asked of this tre
howe came this freshnes vnto the
and every branche so faire & cleane
I marvaile that you growe so grene

The tre maid answere by and by
I have good causse to growe triumphantly
the swetest dew that ever be sene
doth fall on me to kepe me grene

Yea quoth the maid but where you growe
you stande at hande for every blowe
of every man for to be seen
I marvaile that you grow so grene

Though many one take flowrs from me
& manye a branche out of my tre
I have such store they wyll not be sene
for more & more my twedgs growe grene

But howe and they chaunce to cut the downe
and carry thie braunches into the towne
then will they never nomore be sene
to growe againe so freshe & grenee

Thoughe that you do, yt ys no boote
althoughe they cut me to the roote
next yere againe I will be sene
to bud my branches freshe and grene

And you faire maide canne not do so
for yf you let youre maidhode goe
then will yt never no more be sene
as I with my braunches can growe grene

The maide with that begane to blushe
and turned her from the hathorne bushe
she thoughe her selffe so faire & clene
her bewtie styll would ever grow grene

whan that she harde this marvelous dowbte
she wandered styll then all aboute
suspecting still what she would wene
her maid heade loste would never be seen
 
With many a sighe she went her waye
to se howe she maide her selff so gay
to walke to se and to be sene
and so out faced the hathorne grene

Besides all that, yt put her in feare
to talke with companye anye where
for feare to loss the thinge that shuldbe sene
to growe as were the hathorne grene

But after this never I could here
of this faire mayden Anywhere
that ever she was in forest sene
to talke againe of the hathorne grene


Lyrics:
The happiest man that nowe dost lyve
haith sure some stage of wretched staite
Dame fortoune so her gyfts doth gyve
that all ar subiect vnto faite
the poore & riche in eche degre
Are vext with greffe by proff we se
Yetr hap what hap fall what may fall
alyff content excedethe all

Theriche man being misse content
ys porer then the porest wight
our Riches to hus are but lent
for to bestowe the same Aright
and hus the scriptures cals by name
but only stewerds of the same
Yet hap &c

The golden chest decayes by rest
the sturdie steile ys perst in spaice
All worldly welth must passe to dust
& mortall things must rune their raice
And tyme wyll bringe all things to end
which god or fortoune here doth lend
Yet hap &c

What meane the gredie snaching then
what meanes this pilling of the poore
what makes so many Idle men
to go abrode from dore to dore
but only wante & Idle lyffe
which throughe the world ys growne so ryffe
Yet hap &c

The molyng axe deserves meat
the laboring soule doth eare his hier
the sweating persone must neds eate
good Reason doth the same Requir
The blinde the sick the halt & lame
for pytte sake must have the same
Yet hap &c

Good Lord preserve thou this plaice
with all the people in the same
& graunt hus all to have the graice
to honoure so this holy name
That with hus all thou pleased may be
when the in glory we shall se
Let come good Lord what please the shall
thie will be done we do praie all


Lyrics:
Who so in wedlocke doth intend
o trade his lyffe vnto the end
gods ordinaunce he must embrace
& in gods feare must rune his raice
in paradice god by & by
Ioyned man & woman Ioyfully
that eche to other shuld resorte
for ayde & help & for comforte

ffor help to stay that filthie rage
which doth in comber every aige
and for to comforte man also
in helth in sicknes welth & wo
And there fore god haith made them one
bothe one in fleshe & eke in bone
to thend they shuld be one in hart
& eche from other never starte


Title:
A notable Instrucyon for all men to bewaire
the abuses of dycce wynne & women

dives eram dudum, sed tria me fecerunt nudum
alia vina venus tribus his sum factus egenus

Lyrics:
Yf musinge thos that do behould, my woe, & rufull staite
shall ponder well the sequales here, that musings will abaite
for thoughe that painfull penury / doth pine & penche me now
yet was I furnisht once with welthe, as well as such as yowe
tyll that the glybbe & gilfull dycce, the swete & pleasaunt wynne
allured me to venus courte, where they were gaye & fynne

whosse gilefull waies & graiceless stepps, when I beganne to goe
then heapes of mischeffes did ensew / & wrought me all this woe
for these thriftles companyons, from graice alured to vice
so that my delectacyon, when I was once at dyce
was wounds & bloode body & syddes, with other dredfull othes
when I had cogged away therat / my money & my clothes

againe when lucke did vaunce my staite, then was I brave & tryme
as he whosse staite ys worshipfull / I would resemble hym
In outwarde pompe & glyttering shewe, adorned with vestures fynne
vnsemly much for myn estaite / whereat some did repyne
and thus consumed I my yeres / with sporte & pleasaunt playe
in feasting & in blanketinge, at dyce & wynne all day

And when the eveninge did aproche, I trode the trayce & waye
to venus palacce there to daunce / among the ladyes gaye
whose courtelyke countenaunce, and there the more I did aprove
the lesse I could withdrawe my selffe / from there accursed love
thus drowned I was in folies pitt / by there allures and gile
most falslye feaning love on me / that lasted but a while

for as they then Imbraced me, when poundes in pursse were bent
so was I haitfull in there sight / when all the same was spent
As forton favored myn estaite, so dyd I ebbe & flowe
sometyme by welth set vp on hie / sometyme throwne downe so lowe
that to odious was my name, in venus courte and plaicce
when that my Robbes were worne to Raggs, & welth was waxen baice


Let this example of my smarte, teach others to bewaire
of women, dice and wynne also, which haithe maide me thus baire
ffor when my parents gave to me / greate heapes of gold so fynne
that I consumed at dauncing scole / one women dyce and wynne
ffor these vnthriftes applyaunt were to snare me and all suche
As youthfull were and of some welth / tyll they had robed my puche

then was my mynd all dismaid, when welth was worne awaye
with all my estimacyone, & porte that was so gaye
that hardly I restrayned my steppes / from there accursed Raice
that tong and harte to tyborne tre / with heavie hart & faice
ffor tyborne tydemen gave attempts / to bringe me to that lore
to whom yf I hade geven consent / I had paied dee therefore

Such be the daungers of all thos / that from gods feare declyne
yelding them selves to Idlenes, to women dice and wyne
In tyme therefor hold fast his love / lyve ever in his feare
which ys a treasure passing all / that can not fall nor weare
ffor as they cannot want or quale / that on hym doth depend
SO they that do neclect his graice / can have no happie end

Thoughe they be mightie stronge & stowte / having millions of gold
there misere may be as myne / which now doth quake for cold
Eche man doth se that glittering gold / and ornaments most gay
be gods gyftes and creatures, which geveth and taketh away
why should we then trust in that mould / in bewtie or in powre
In honour or in dignitie / which perishe in an howre

Such as the force and powre of hym / whos hande none can Resist
he lyfteth vp and throweth downe / he ruleth as he lyste
Obay hym therefore all youre lyffe / praisse hym & praye hym styll
To stay you ever by his graicce / that you may do his wyll
Then shall youre stepps be stayed well / you can not treade amysse
But walke directly vnto hym / where he for ever ys

which pathe god graunt hus all to send / the well to walke therein
And to be myndfull of that price / which once he paide for synne

ffinis


Title:
A Ballet of the deathe of Ratlyffe which rosse with the
earle of northumberland lord pearse which he
maide a lytle spaice before he was handged
1570

Tags:
Social Criticism, Topical, Political, other

Lyrics:
Behould as rewfull ratlyffe died
or halffe his coursse he roune
because his maisters mynd he plyed
& would not from hym turne

Such fortune willes that I shall dye
& from this world departe
this lyffe I leave now willingly
both with my mynde & harte

ffor well I wott that once I must
retorne from whence I came
this fleshe of earth to earthe & dust
shall now restore the same

O fearfulle fleshe why ferest thou death
sence nothing that ys under skye
but yt ys sure to losse his breath
for all things lyves to dye

To dye we are all sure of this
but where or when in dede
for deth wyll com vncertaine ys
where fore of deathe we drede

Yet tho we dread & feare this deathe
we cannott from yt flye
for there is nought that lyves with brethe
but yt must yeld to dye

O rightfull Iudge that none dost spaire
for gold nor yet for fee
of kings nor princes thou dost not caire
for all must go with the

When thou dost come with resting maice
to clame of hus thi right
shewing to hus thi fearfull faice
then gone ys all our might

Our princely porte our pacoks taile
so proudly set on hie
our ordered happs may not availe
for corps & all must die

The welthe adewe & corpes alone
shall go to grisly grave
save our misdeds & evyll eche one
we nought with hus shall have

O filthie fleshe but erth & dust
whie sekest thou here to reigne
dost thou not knowe to erthe thou must
to erthe returne againe



And yeld accompts for thi ofence
which thou in lyffe haist maide
but god defende for recompence
with Iustice thou shuld faide

ffor well I wrotte o lorde there is
no fleshe within thie sight
can saved be or clame that blesse
without thie mercy bright

O mercy now therefor olorde
for from my harte this came
according to thye holy worde
nowe graunt to me the same

ffor longer here that we do lyve
the more we do offende
or greater accompte we have to gyve
when that this world shall ende

Wherefor welcome Ientell dethe
& vnto me full lewffe
sence thou death come to stope my breth
not stealing lyk a theffe

But as a frende that ys full lothe
my soule yt shalbe shent
haith geven me tyme & leasure both
my synnes for to lament

Wherefor with harte to heaven on hye
& hands vpp throwne a lofte
dothe yeld the thanks most hartely
Ientill dethe desired ofte

my soule to Iesus christ I gyve
which bought yt with his blode
my caryen corpes which can not lyve
but for wormes to be foode

My wedded wiffe full dere to me
to god I do commende
& to my frendes mosthertilye
most herty thanks I sende

my enimies all with harte entire
I do forgyve doubtles
& whom I have offended here
of them I crave no lesse



Some good man shut my gasing eyes
& grave my corps in grounde
& by that grave in humble wisse
lett thes my verse be found
                       ffinis


Title:
Saint Augustin} The lamentacion of the crosse

Lyrics:
I selly crosse that here do stande all te brast
with clubbes & staves do brast
I praye the people hold their hande
and beate me not so fast

Such as this before haith bene
for suche as wickedly
hade dewe deserving for their paine
a shamfull deathe to dye

My frends alas what have I done
what sayde or thought amysse
for beringe of christs only sonne
have I deserved this

Have I deserved thus to die
because yt pleased hym
to sprede his armes & body on me
& all to ransome synne

I have not hurte the well I wotte
but rather done the good
& whye hast thou mankind forgott
the lorde & makers blode

Which for thie sake was shede & spi;t
on suche a thing as I
and all to washe away thie gilt
thou canst not this denye

What hurte haithe ever bene by me
let learned men declare
& yf that I deserve to dye
a shamfull deathe prepaire

Yea suche a death as christ haith hade
to bringe me to with spede
that all the world bothe good & bade
may laughe at me indede

There ys parhapps will say that I
the breker of christs lawes
& of all fowle Idolatre
shuld be the onely cawsse

There ys that preacheth every where
in pulpytt where they come
that god commaundes me downe to be
as they have nowe begonne

But now that I am famed thus
that shame yt ys to tell
who shall gyve not ys or discusse
where christen men do dwell

Smayle choysse ys now betwext the Iewes
& them that christians be
for all in lyke they do pershewes
& haite the blody tre

Yt haith bene sene long tyme before
and trewe as gospell founde
by skylfull clarkes that writers be
love me & love my hounde

Yf this be trewe thou sinfull man
how canst thou the excusse
dost thou affirme thou loves god well
which dost his crosse Refusse

The princes badgge yf thou Refrayne
to beare yt or deny
or therefor speak words out of frame
what shalbe tyde of the

Well man I say yf thou be wysse
& wyll do after skyll
buylde me againe & let me rysse
I wyll do the no evyll

This signe of me yt shall appere
& bringe gods foes to thrall
when christ from heaven in clowds so cler
shall come to Iudge hus all

Then wytnes wofull must I be
vnto their shame I feare
agains thos evyll & synfull men
which spoyle me standing here


Lyrics:
bonne god wote sticks in my throte without I have a draught
of cornne aile, nappy & staile my lyffe lyes in great wauste

Some ayle or beare gentill butlere some lycour thou hus showe
such as you mashe our throtts to wishe the best were that you brew

Saint marter And bright that Saint mault hight were prest between two stones
that swet hummer of his lycoure would make hus sing at once

master wortly I dar well say I tell you as I thinke
would not I say byd hus this day but that we shuld have drink

his men so tall walks vp this hall with many a commly dishe
of this good meat I cannot eate without a drink I wysse

now gyve hus drink & let cat wynke I tell you all at once
yt sticks so sore I may sing nomore tyll I have dronken onc


Lyrics:
Whye dothe the vaine fantasie dust in thy faice


Lyrics:
Who seks to tame the bustering winde
or causse the floods bend to his wyll
or els against dame natures kinde
to causse things frame by cunning skyll
that man I thinks bestoweth paine
thoughe that his laboure be in vaine

Who strives to breake the sturdye steale
or goeth about to stay the sonne
who thinks to causse an oke to Reyle
which never can by force be done
that man likwisse bestoweth paine
thoughe that his laboure be in vaine

Who thinks to stryve against the streame
& for to sayle without A mast
vnlesse he thinks perhapps to feaine
his travell ys farr lorne & wast
& so in cure of all his paine
his travell ys his cheffest gaine

So he lykwisse that goes about
to pleasse eche eye & every eare
had ned to have withoutten doubt
a golden gyft with hym to beare
for evyll report shalbe his gaine
thoughe he bestow both toyle & paine

God graunt eche man one to Amend
god send hus all a happy plaice
& let hus pray vnto the end
that we may have our princes graice
Amen Amen so shall we gaine
a dewe Rewarde for all our paine


Lyrics:
praisse we the lord thathaith no peare
And thanke we hym for this new yere

The second persone in trenitie
man to Restore to lybertie
the shape of hym to tak certaine
dyd not Refusse but was full fayne

On earthe he teached many ayere
willing mankinde for to forebeare
when he were vp to fall againe
& then of hym he would befaine

when he had taught & preched longe
he choysse out twelff our selves amonge
to whom he would gyve knowledg plaine
to teache the truthe which maid them faine

when he had wrought thus for our sake
his deth full mekely he did take
his hart with speare was rent in twaine
man to Redeme he was so faine
But all this same we do forgett
by hym Right nought
from synne we wyll no whytt Refraine
to h ve the world we be so faine

Let hus take vp our selves in tyme
from darknes let hus seke to clyme
or that our body by dethe be slaine
our lord to  ve let
hus be faine


Lyrics:
Ihesus lorde as me made And with thi precious blode me boght
for gyf me that I haue greuyd the In worde werke wyll or thoght
Ihesus for thi wondys smert In thi feytt & handys tow
make me meke & low of hert And the to luf as I shulde do
Ihesus grant me as kyng myne perfyte pacyens in my dysease
And lett me neuer do that thyng That shulde the any wyse dysplease
Ihesus christe to the I call As thou art fader full of myght
Kepe me clene that I not fall To fleschly lust by day ne neght
Ihesus as thou art heuyn kyng Stydfast god & man also
Grant me grace of gud endying And all that I am holdyn too
Ihesus for thi dulfull tayrys that thou wepyd for mannys gylte
here & spyde well my prars And spare me that I be not spylte
Ihesus for them hertyly I pray That me hath greuyd on any wyse
ffro them thou holde thi wrath all way And make the lyfe in thi seruice
Ijesus on to thy mercy thou take vs synners that for grace doth pray
qwen we shall for owher dedys quake A for the lorde on domysday


Location of Printer:
Pauls Churchyard at the sign of the Black Boy

Lyrics:
To him that doth dreame,
Dauid Dicars when,
And euen so from hym,
to such other men.

FRom when vnto when, to come to this when.
When fooles of your folly, wyl worke lyke wyse men
And know theyr owne fautes, & leaue faulting other
And fyrst mende them selues, & then warne theyr brother,
Enuiyng none, for that theyr sorte is not
Such as they would be, lyke others I wot.
Goddes of degree, to rule and beare swaye,
Whose maners mete not, to stand in such stay,
And yet wold haue mouthes, to rore lyke the Lyon
Beyng but Asses, brute of condicion. [Note: Esopus de asino ru[...]ente ]
Forgettynge that order doth thus aske and craue,
That eche should hym selfe in order behaue.
As beastes of lowe sorte, to be meke of theyr mynde,
To those that be hygher, and greater of kynde.
The Bore not to bragge, to stryue wyth the Lyon.
The Hart not to stand, wyth the Bull in contencion,
The Oxe that doth draw, to thyncke hym selfe able,
To runne for a wager, wyth the Horse of the stable.
It grees not, it cordes not, nor orderly fyttes
That men should fynd fault, wyth Gods and theyr wyttes.
Iupiters seate standes somewhat to hye
For vs to iudge it, that come it not nye.
And iudgementes of gesse, in any such sorte,
May serue to the Gods, for a laughter and sporte.
To se how Iudas, would fayne become Iuda,
To iuste at the life, of Iuli apostata.
Let Beastes that be meete, for carte and caryage,
Leane to theyr laboure, as manne to hys maryage.
And synce we be members of one common wealthe.
Let vs ioyne aptly, as fyttes for our health.
The eye as the eye, let hym stare and looke,
And let the leg learne, to bowe and to crooke.
Let the hand answere, to helpe and to dooe.
As the wyl of the hert, shall wyll hym vnto.
And let not the foote, make murmur and cry.
To aske why our head is placed so hye.
Our instrument iarres, it makes no ryght melody.
If we thus tune not to order our armony.
Then mayster when, when bothe you and I,
And euery man els wyl learne to applye,
To our ryght metyarde, and kepe oure iust compasse,
And looke not so deepe in an other mannes glasse.
And leaue dreaming dreames of dead Dauid Dicar,
And send such whens home, to our person or vycar.
And therwyth remember, thys verse of Cato,
Whose wysdom doth warne vs, with these wordes I trowe
Que soles culpare, ea tu ipse:
ne feceris. when wee marke this nipse,
And leaue drawyng dialles, on other mens dooyng
And learne for to looke to our owne woorkes and brewynge,
Then I say then, when you agayn when:
wyll say well your selfe, and suche other men,
And all folke wyll doo well. Lo thus I ende then,
All thynges shall be well, whiche god graunt. Amen.


Lyrics:
HArry who ball harke, mast Camell hath yzeene
Thy vengeance zory bill, and thompes the as I wene,
And is by Christ full zad, that thou comest out zo late,
Thou mightest haue had a place vor Pekehorn at his gate
But vortune frended not, chote it very well,
The more harde happe thou hadst, ich doo the plainly tell.
Vor zure charde hym sweare, by gogs digne daintie bones,
Thou shoods be newe ishod, to trample these olde stones,
And westwardes shodst haue zit, for blearyng of thyn eies.
Vor zommer nowe a teowes, will hurt the zore with flies,
But he no nyggon is, a wyll vorde the a flappe,
Thou shalt haue a voxtayle man, to put vpon thy cappe,
And goddes benison to, tho Churcharde tye hym shorte,
Churchard weares a bel ats tail to make his frendes sport,
And Camell choppes holy water, for Churcharde & for the,
Vor he wyll to you bothe, a holy chaplayn be.
And if a vittin not, er twaie daies bee agoe,
He wyll you sprinkle bothe, as varre as I doo knowe.
Tis a vengeance beast, and bygge to beare you all,
And if you zit not vast, bum faie, map to vall.


Lyrics:
To Churchyard or Mannaring, or for lack of a name:
  To Dicar the dreamer, if you knowe the same. 

MAye a man be so bolde (an order to kepe:)
To bid you good morow, now after your slepe?
If I may be so saucy, and make no mistaking:
God speede master Dreamer, yf you be wakynge.
But Dreamer or Dicar, or as you saye Dauy:
Whych shal I now cal you· as our Lorde saue ye?
Three names are to many· for one man alone: [Note: He hathe .v.
  Dreamer.
  Dicar.
  Dauid.
  Mannaring.
  Churchyard.]

And two mo makes fyue, for faylyng of one.
If you had twoo other· that men myght you seeke:
Then had you a name, for eche daye in the weeke.
But no man dothe doubte· that so sundrye names:
Shuld haue other loomyng, them out of good frames.
And therfore I thyncke, they come euery chone:
Out of some olde house· tho the postes begone.
Or els kept in memory, for that they were founde:
In some old stocke, in some noble mans grounde.
And so do remayne· for mynde of your auncestry:
As Syb to Sybbel, sibbes very properly.
So Jermaines lyps ioynde, & so M. Churchyard:
And Mannaryng met, both in an Orcharde. [Note: Aske him where he na med hym self Lorde Man+narynge, and howe he vsed it. ]
And Dauid the Dicar, came in wyth hys spade:
And dolue vp the Dreamer, tyl the line was made.
And thus perconsequence· sins your writing doth gre it:
Youre name for my parte: Dauid Dreamer be it.
And good M. dreamer, your reason long sought for
Hath combred your capax, I se very sore.
Snap of the case, and yong and whot bloude:
Haue al to be fumed you, and moued your moode
That daunger it were, in you of a feeuer:
If heate and coller· shoulde cuple together.
But thankes be to God, a vomet hath rydde:
A culpin of collops, farre inwardly hydde.
And now yt your reason, hath fair brought it fourth
It is a fayre reason· and a reason well wourth. [Note: Parturiunt montes. Nascetur ridi+culus mus. ]
And fyrst you reply· to myne obieccion:
Wyth wordes of pleasure, as a man of correccion.
Wherby you would seeme, a learned man of arte:
And yet Master Mome, you are out of your parte. [Note: Churchards aunsware doth but rail. ]
For as your aunswere, doth but talke and tomble:
So you answer not me, but rayle out and romble.
And yet had you markt· my then to your when:
I no more falted you, then I dyd other men.
I meane mad raungers, that so raunge at large:
To medle with matters, not ioynd to their charge.
And such men I bad, as then I bad you:
To send such whens home, theyr vycar vnto.
And leaue dreaming dreames, to busi mens braines:
Wyth nedeles matters, and as thankeles paynes.
And thys lytle neded, to haue netled your noddye:
If you were (as you wold be) som prety wise body.
But you wyl choplogicke, and be Bee to busse: [Note: Churcharde will bee the bussinge be. ]
But good Master Busserd, be good yet to vs.
And tel me in truth, and lye no whyt then:
Haue not I touched, no parte of your when?
If you styl dreame not, as you do yet:
I trowe I haue touched, your when euery whyt.
I nede not to byd you, turne my text againe:
But take your owne text, to aunswer your brayne.
I touch not one poynte, that you wrote you saye: [Note: His replica+[...]on. ]
And yet you cal me, a Daniell strayghtway.
Lo how these two now, agree in them selues:
They both shame their master, these .ii. eluish elues.
If you gyue me a name wythout an effect:
your mastershyps brayne, is madly infect.
And foule ouershot, to bryng two for wytnesse:
Whych are in themselues, cleane contraries I gesse
But if my fyrst aunswer· doo seeme such a mistery:
That you see not your when, ther answered alredye.
Then to awake you, and rayse you from slepe.
Good Master Dreamer, marke thys & take kepe.
your when hath in it, a meanyng of who say, [Note: Hys when. ]
Whych ryghtly to meane, is thus ment I say:
That when those things be, which these dais be not
Then knit you your them vp, in such sort as you wot
But whome you accuse· in whenning so large.
I meane not to open, nor put to your charge.
But way with your self, and sober your braines:
And defend not a when, mighte put you to paines·
I coulde perchaunce, make your when larger.
And serue it before you· as brode as a charger,
And point you your when, by lyne and by Leuel.
Againste Jupiters seate, and Jupiters Counsell.
But I list not so narow, to loke to your whanning
Nor make to your whanning, so open a skanning
You bid me not slaunder you, I slaunder you not.
If your selfe hurte you· your owne is the spot.
You ascribe to me, the manners of Gnato.
Full clarkelye applyed good master Thraso.
A tytle as meete, they saye that doo knowe me.
As your title of dreame, to the matter of Dauye.
But vices in stage plaies, when theyr matter is gon
They laughe oute the reste, to the lookers on.
And so wantynge matter, you brynge in my coate.
In faythe master dreamer, I borowed it not.
Tho I haue hearde, that good fellowes and so.
Not you (goddes forbod) in borrowed geare go, [Note: Graculus ornatus est Plu+mis Pauonis ]
But when euery foule, hathe puld home his fether
The soule and the body· may then dwel to gether
And make a right sommer man, to let in the heate
For clothes in whot wether, do but make men sweat
Whiche you sir perchaunce, er sommer come out:
Wyl vle for a medicine, in trauailinge aboute,
And colloure the matter, wyth a title of season:
As doutles your mastership, hath very good reason
By which al yt know you, wil thinke you wel hable
To thrust a poore Camel, to lurke in some stable.
And doubtles if dreaming, may eny thinge spede,
I knowe Dauid dreamer, wyl do it in dede.
But tho I haue hearde, a Lion oft rore,
I neuer hearde asse, so rore oute before,
With bitings & bridellings, and raining of necks
O fine master asse, howe sharpe be your checkes. [Note: Churchard is a fyne asse. ]
You threaten to bitte me, to trim me and trick me:
Wehe master asse, what, wyl you nedes kick me.
Camelles and asses, be bothe mete for burden.
Then gip fellowe asse, then iost fellowe lurden.
No nerer my buttocke, iost iade are you winsyng?
It is mery to see, master asse fal to minsing·
Did you neuer here tell of the asse trapt in golde? [Note: De Asino au+reo. The french almes, per chaunce hath altred him. ]
Lo master asenoll, lo do as you shulde.
you saye I knowe you not, and yet as I trowe:
you caste your olde coat, a greate whyle a go.
But if I mistake you, for that a newe springe,
Hath wrought as a workman, to geue you a new skin
And that I may not, now know you by eare mark
Then for a more knowledge· to know you in dark [ The asse wolde haue a Bell to be knowen vp ]
Tye a Bel at your tayle, to make some tinginge.
And ther goes the asse (I shal say) by the ringing.
But whether I knowe you, or els do not knowe:
Thus muche I knowe· and am certaine I trowe:
An asse bindes no camels, tho he bray nere so loud
Robin hoode so shewed me, out of a cloude. [Note: Churchards Poetes. Robin hoode Sir Launce lot & Beuis. Qualia vis metere: talia graua sere· ]
And when asses forget, to know what they are,
Sir Launcelot then biddes, to nip them more nar,
And Beuis of Hampton, whose cleargy I knowe:
Biddes me serue you· with the same sede you sow.
And not to contende· for the asses shadowe.
Whose shadowe I leaue you, and bodye also.
And thus· M dreamer· your folli hath brought me
To followe you further, then first I bethought me
Beinge muche sorye· my pen so to spende.
To answere your follyes· and thus lo I ende.


Domine saluum fac Regem & da pacem in diebus nostris.


Author:
Gefferay Chappell [AKA Thomas Churchyard?]

Lyrics:
PLease it your maship, good mast Camell,
Te heare a poore man his tale for to tell,
And thou[...] you bee, a man of great debilitie,
Denyt not to heare, a man of low abilitie,
And I syre you, to take it, for no presmountacion,
For y[...]he ha bee brought vp, after vnrude facion[...]
Sy[...], now chyll show eye, the mater and the case,
whych am com to speake you, and like your faire face,
There is one Churcharde, that hath you spleasar done,
And ych am com to syre ye, to be good maister tone,
But twas vnleudly dooe, and after an homly sord,
So faire a beast as you ben, to tiyen vp so short,
I pray you holden scused twas but, for lacke of nourt
For cham sure, hannot ben, past .vii or .viii. yer a cout[...]r
Twas but blockshly y do, of one so vnbase as he,
To spout with such a geman, of so hie a peti degree:
Yer of a strudy stock, for your fader nere raisde his farmes.
Nor nere solde his landes: for ych herd an hasard of armes
Blase all the aunciall prodi tours, of your olde axeltrie·
whiche com from olde· housen of moch inpossibilitie,
And many vpstauncial men wer brouded in that nest,
But your moder in her armes (he said) bare a byg best:
Besech ye good mast Ca mell, geue ore and leue your fume
And chil be bound that Chur chard shan no more so par sume
But if he be so sedgious, to writen an other, whan,
Bum fay chil treate no more do withen what ye can.
Your daily· Belman, at your manndement, Good man Geffer ay Chappell, of whipstable.


Lyrics:
WHen faith in frendes beares fruite, & folyshe fansies fade.
And crasti catchers comme to nought and hate great loue hath made
When fraude flieth farre from towne: and loy terers leaue the frlde
And rude shall runne a ryght+full race, and all men be well wylde
whem grope[...]s after gaine, shal carpe for common wealth
And wyly workers shal dis dayne to fygge and lyue by stealth
whem wisdome walkes a lofte and folly fyttes full lowe
And vertue vainquisheth pam+perd vice and grace beginnes to growe:
when Iustice iones to trueth and lawe lokes not to miede
And bribes helpe not to buyld fare bowers, nor giftes great glotons fiede
when hongre hides his head and pleinty pleaseth the pore
And nyggardes to thee nedy men sha[...]l neuer shutte thee dore
when double darke deceipt, is out of credite worne
And fawnyng speche is fal shed founde & creaft is l[...]nght to skorne
when pryde that pikes the purse, gapes not for garmen tes gay
Nor Ia[...]elles weare no vel uette wiedes nor wandring wittes beare sway
Nor coueytous crieps not in to court nor learned lyuinges lacke
when slper sleightes are sene and fare fatches be founde
And pryuate profite and selfe loue shall both be put in pounde
when depteno sergaunt dreds and courtiers creite kepe
And might melles not with merchaundise, nor lords shall sell no shiepe
when lucere lastes not longe, and hurde greate heapes doth hate
And euery wight is well con tent, to walke in his estate
when truth dothe treade thee stretes, and lieres lurke in dem
And Rex doth reygne and rule the rost, and wiedes out wiked men
then balefull barnes [...]e blyth, that her in Englande wonne
Your stryfe shall stynt I vn dertake, and dredful dayes be donne
This Diker was no fole I gesse, quod watte and Her man tho.
It semeth wel he him bethought vpon the worldes change
And of his drudge and myckel paine, when he to be[...] did go
And then to dreame of such like thin[...]es, perdi it is not straunge
Suche as mitalke & thoghts haue bene· ye [...] dai befor certain
Such things again at night in slepe, my drem hath shewed me plaine.
And eke I harden ones, a right good doctour tell
that such as farced go to bed, with meate and drinke goode stoore
Theyr dreames alwaye to them in more dysorder fell
Then yf they empty went to bedde, as ye haue hard before
That Dauie dyd whose sup per was, so slender & so short
That nothinge els but weari+nesse, and nature caused him snort
A dreame, a strawe [...]uod Wylkin then, by God it was noswenyn
Men dreame of deuyls, of apes, and owles, of naked gyrles and boyes
But I ne thinke this dreame is such, it hitteth thinges so euen
It talketh with good reason round, of fansies ne of toyes
But of suche thinges as I can not, amenden with my wytte
Nor neuer shall I thynke be founde, reformed euery whytte.
No quod the printer no, that ment not, thee dreame I vn dertake
But where as many thinges ben found, that mans wit can not fatche
To mende as many as we can, and thee rest a paterne make.
To bringe our stat as reyghe to them, as mans deuyce can mache
As out of Platoes commen welth, a tale I coulde you tell
of many thynges that hee wolde haue, and not but very well:
That neuer yet in earthe ware founde, as hee wolde haue them done
Quod watte no more of Pla toes lore, I [...]en hym not by gysse
Ne care not muche excepte he coulde somme rules for cha unge of mone
But well I wot algates and am full sure of this
That I haue harde the prea chers speake, of asmuche as is here
And of mo thinges than a ny man, is able to comme nere
But ay me thinkes it is fine, for such a rude vplande
It ware ynoughe for a right good clerke, at instyuynsty taught
He had is helpe his parysshe prest I venture durst my hande
what thoughe hee coulde it dreame thus right, yet I be lyue it naught
That he coud with such queint prouerbes, his dreame at large endite
And eke I thinke thee sely swaene, dyd neuer learne to write.
No watte quod thee printer tho, thou harpest on the truth
This Diker had a frende in court that well coulde handle pen
with whom he was acquein ted earst, as play felowes in youth
whofor they then compa nions warre dyd him vouch safe to [...]en.
And loued Dauy euermore, in him suche truth there was
And Dauy when hee came to town, vnsene wold not him pas.
Befell vpon a market daye, when he this dreme haue had
That he to London lis[...] resort, for thinges that s[...]od him nied
He founde his frinde, and all this dreme, at length vnto him radde
And he for yt it semed a thinge the penninge worth in diede
Gan drawe it into frame, and shapen as ye harde
And one that lust it fantasien, to printinge it prefarde.
Lo nowe I haue ye halfe per fourmed, that I you earst behight
what maner man this Diker was, and howe this dreame came out
And nowe I will to Camell passe, if ye therin dilight
By whom this ioly sturre, is chiefly brought aboute
And tell fro pointe to pointe, as carst I dyd of this
His worthinesse as I it know and as the sayeng is.
The Camell semes to me to be, a great out landishe beast
Quod Herman to the printer then, that longe his peace had holde
with bunches twaine vpon his backe, as highe as any horse at least
Of whiche I do remembre is in the newe Testament tolde
That euery ryche gnof, may vp to heauen as easyly stye
As maye this wilde vnruly beast, passe through a nidles eye.
And eke we none in England haue excepte they bene vs brought
Of late that I ne knowe, out of some farre countrye
And by my trouth if I shall say you plainli to my thought
Thoughe none we had, it skylles not muche, if they so vnruly by
But prynter trust thou me, I nylle it not belieue
A beaste to speake and wri ten this, my reason doth not giene.
The prynter loude he loughe, and so dyd al the choppe
And sayd that Herman spo kene asmuch as myght be said
But ware thee Camell here quod he, he would be in thy toppe
No force quod he, of beastes I am nothinge a frayde
Though I do selde on horse bake come, there can no Ca mell kynde.
Ty[...]l I knowe more, lette me to saye, thee fansies of my minde.
Maty knowe thou then quod he, that Came[...]l is a man.
Nay printer softe quod wyl kin tho and suffre me to speake
what cause had hee that mo ued him, to auswere to this whan
Or why shoulde he of other al, so fumysshlye [...]ut breake
To barke at Dauye Dykers dreame that ment him none vnrest
Excepte he ware one of those sortes, that wolde haue redrest
Pardien a Dreame is but a Dreame, a fansye of thee heade
And hee ne ment I hope that men, sholde it for gospell take
But as asweuen or fantasie, that eche one shulde it reade
For thy me thynkes accor dyngly, the name dyd Dauye ma[...]e
And nowe a man (ye saye he his) against a Dreame to spurne
Me thynke it eyther smelles of craft, or els of somme harte burne.
What soft, mate quod the prynter tho, and hee began to lowre
You ginne ware hote I wene, against thee sommer sonne
Ye may be cooled ere ye come home, with sommefreshe A prill showre
This to muche before that I my tall haue all ydonne
Here fyrst an ende of all, and then pronoucen dome
Or els departe ye calmely hence euen suche way as ye comme.
Herman was full wo, when he, thee prynter sawe thus wroth
And had but lyttle lust to try out the tale
And to his felowes gan vp braide, ye se thee daye hence goeth
And eke ye knowe aswel as I, the water gynnes to vale
And by the vanes I spye the winde, to be by south at west
That we vs haste to Mal don meade, I thinke it be the best.
And therfore nowe giue vs quod he, and take thou here thy grote
And though that wilkin and this wat, haue shewed theyr hasty wyt
(We Maryneres be salteey frete, we can no but god wote)
I pray the prynter be content and take no grefe at it
We haue at homme a ma riner that can somme skyll of booke
He shall them see and reade them vs, and so theyr leaue they toke.
And I that present was at al, for that I lyked the sporte
Gan print it in mi fyckle heade in order as I coulde
And for to pen it out the bed did to my celfe resorte
And drewe it there into a somme, as I had harde it tolde.
Not withe suche wordes as they it spake, but in suche wordes as I
Had partly learned of my dame, and lyst to fantasy.
Suche happe may happe, to gyue a seconde fytte.
If cause shall happe, and lay sure serue for it.


Title:
A discription of a monstrous Chylde, borne at Chychester in Sussex, the .xxiiii. daye of May. This being the very length, and bygnes of the same. M. CCCCC. LXII.

Lyrics:
WHen God for synne, to plage hath ment
Although, he longe defarde
He tokens truly, straunge hath sent
To make hys foes a fearde.

That they thereby, might take remorce
Of their yll lyfe mispent
And more of loue, then feare or force
Their formall faultes repent.

Before the earth was ouerflowen
With waters huge throughout
He sent them Noe, that holy one
Who dayly went about.

To call them then, to Godly lyfe
At whome they laughte and fumde
He was contemde of man and wyfe
Tyll they were all consumde.

Loth did preache most earnestly
But it did not preuayle:
Then fyre and brymstone verely
Vpon them doune did hayle.

Pharaoes heart had no remorce
Though wounders straunge he sawe
But rather was therfore the worce
Without all feare or awe.

Vntyll bothe he and his therfore
By iustice sent of God
In raginge seas, were all forlore
And then he felt the rod.

Ten tymes truely were the Iewes
In captiue brought and led
Before eche tyme, it God did vse
Hys tokens strange we red.

The yeare before Vaspatian came
The Iewes a heyfer drest
Whiche beynge slayne, did calue a lame
This sygne they sone did wrest,

As others doe, and styll haue done
In making it as vayne
Or els good lucke, they saye shal come
As please their foolish brayne.

The Heathen could forese and saye
That when suche wounders were
It did foreshew to them alwaye
That some yll hap drew nere.

The scripture sayth, before the ende
Of all thinges shall appeare
God will wounders straunge thinges sends
As some is sene this yeare.

The selye infantes, voyde of shape
The Calues and Pygges so straunge
With other mo of suche mishape
Declareth this worldes chaunge.

But here, lo, see aboue the rest
A Monster to beholde
Procedinge from a Christian brest
To monstrous to be tolde.

No Caruer can, nor Paynter maye
The same so ougly make
As doeth it self shewe at this daye
A sight to make the quake.

But here thou haste by Printing arte
A signe therof to se
Let eche man saye within his harte
It preacheth now, to me.

That I shoulde seke to lyue hencefoorth
In Godly lyfe alwaye
For these be tokens now sent foorth
To preache the later daye.

Also it doeth demonstrate playne
The great abuse and vyce
That here in Englande now doeth raygne
That Monstrous is the guyse.

By readinge stories, we shall fynde
In scripture, and elles where
That when suche thinges came out of kynde
Gods wrath it did declare.

But if we lightely weye the same
And make but nyne dayes wonder
The Lord our stoutnes, sone will tame
And sharpely bringe vs vnder.

Then ponder wel betymes, long past
The sequel of suche signes
And call to God by prayer in hast
From sinne to chaunge oure myndes.

Repent, amende bothe hygh and lowe
The woorde of God embrace
To lyue therto, as we should doe
God gyue vs all the grace.


quod. Ihon. D.

 The father hereof is one Vyncent, a bout cher, bothe he and hys wyfe being of honest & quiet conuersation. They hauing had chyldre before, in natural proportion; and went with this her full tyme.


Lyrics:
WHer Dicar hath dreamed of things out of frame,
And Churchyard by writing affirmeth the same,
And Camell contendeth, the same to deface,
And therfore hath put hys doynges in place.
Sythe both of those twayne hath set foorth in myter
The wordes of the Authour, the skyl of the wryghter
And runne in thys race, styl chaffyng the bytte
I thynke in thys case much more then is fytte.
I myndyng as much as lyeth in me
To make them both· as in one to agree
Haue taken in hande the dreame to defende
And so to recite theyr race to the ende.
Not so to approue my learning or skyll
But onely because it becommeth them yll
From rymyng to raylyng so ofte to dygresse,
Wheras reason and wyt doth wil nothing lesse.
As Dicar hath dreamed so tyme out of mynde, [Note: Dicars Dreame. ]
Some thynges were amys, that some men dyd fynde,
If al thynges were wel, as I woulde God they were,
We shoulde not be plaged from yeare vnto yeare,
If all men do ryght, what nedeth the lawe,
What nede any iustice to hange and to drawe,
If no man be wronged nor wydowe oppressed,
Then needeth no care to haue it redressed,
If no man wyll venter to robbe or to steale,
O England thou hast a good common weale.
If no man do hurde nor hydeth in store,
Then England shal haue no dearth any more
If no man offend by way of excesse.
Then grace doth abound, the fault is the lesse,
If the lustes of the fleshe be putte oute of vre
The world is amended the people be pure.
If the poore and the nedye be daylye relyued,
What man is so mad, therat to be greued?
If no man do slaunder nor styrre vp debate,
Then Dicar I thynke hath dreamed to late.
If no man do flatter, nor fawne for a gayne,
Then may it appeare this dreame is but vain.
If all thyng be well, and in the ryght waye,
Why do they not vse good lawes to obey.
If no man defraude in bying nor sellyng
Then happy is Englande, for ther is best dwellyng.
If fayth he vnfayned, and wordes do once bynde,
The dreame is all false, and so ye may fynde.
If truth do take place and in al thynges encreasse,
Dreame no more Dicar, but lette thy dreame ceasse.
If thys be not so then Camel to you,
I feare me thys dreame wyll proue to be true.
For it is not so geeson wyth vs for to heare,
But the effect of the dreame doth dayly appeare.
And euery man is now in such takynge,
It passeth, a dreame, they fynde it out wakyng.
If you be suche a one as neuer had peere,
Then are you fauty in none of thys geere.
But seyng your writyng doth seme somewhat quycke,
You seme that ye smarted because ye dyd kycke.
Yet when the dreame was to pryntyng dyrected,
I thyncke of the dreamer ye were not suspected.
And where as you contende it doth not belonge,
For Dicar to dreame of ryght or of wronge.
In dede you do well yf you haue done amys,
To shewe hym hys faulte and saye thus it is.
And if you so wel know what doth Dycar behoue,
Then ought you to shewe the same to approue.
But me thyncketh you want a frendly good wyll,
To deface a good matter though the author wer yll.
And certes of you both indifferently to tel
I cannot in your raylynges commend your doyngs wel.
And both of you twayne are yet to me vnknowen,
yet can I ayde your doynges, as if they were myne own.
ye passe from your purpose in such vnworthy sorte,
ye make of your doynges a very laughyng sporte.
ye close and ye glose, in sekyng to be fyne,
ye taunt and retaunt almost in euery lyne.
ye affyrme ye haue red both Terence and Cato,
ye count ye do but flatter, ye well resemble Gnato.
And looke howe much dyffers a Foxe from a foole,
So much do you dyffer from Cato and hys schoole,
For Cato doth affyrme ther is no greater shame,
Then to reproue a vyce, and your selues to do the same.
And because I wyl not seeme your fancy to embrace,
As touchyng your debate· I answer in thys case:
Me thynketh in wrytyng ye both haue such skyll·
ye marre a good matter and make it very yll.
Wherby to say the truth it appeareth wel vnto me,
your names and your wyttes vnnumerable be.
Therfore do not thynke that ye can be forborne,
But such as be readers shall laugh you to scorne.
And when that your doynges be throughly perused,
Then by the same deedes ye shalbe accused.
Ceasse nowe in season cast all contempt away,
Be subiect vnto reason, and make no more delay.
And eyther of you twayne do not refuse to knowe,
As Cato doth enstructe you but strayght embrace it so
whych though my skil be smal, here thought I to reherse
The text and sence wyth all of euery kynde of verce


Contra uerbosos noli contendere uerbis,
Sermo datur cunctis animii sapiencia paucis,
Cum recte uiuas ne curas uerba malorum
Arbitrii nostri non est quid quisque loquatur.


To striue wyth men of many words, refrain I the aduise
It is not geuen to euery man that he shalbe godlye wyse
If thou lyue wel do not regarde what wicked men do say
For why? it lyeth not in vs such wycked tounges to staye,
Thys is it that ye haue read whyche if you lyst to knowe
He wil aswage your sturdi stormes wich you haue reised so
Take this in worth good Reder now expound it to ye best
For I haue sayd to theyr deuyce, now harken to the rest

 The iudgement of the Authour.

Some thyng is a mys and euer shalbe so,
Scripture writeth thys as learned men do knowe.
And some men haue the gyft therof to speake and wryte,
Whych fal yet at a lyfte to frayle and fonde delyte.
It doth behoue vs all so iustly as we canne,
To do ryght well in deede, and eke to wryte it thanne
How be it in hym I iudge much greater faulte there is,
Whych nought can saye nor do, but that whych is a mys.
The best may be amended, and that is very true
The more that haue offended, the more we ought to rue.
If any fal from grace gentelly hym assayle,
Burden hym wyth charity, no rygour can preuayle,
For why, if that the shepherde do wander from the waye,
No maruell if the shepe therafter go astraye
Some men perhappe ther be wyl take me to the wourst
I pray you iudge of me, as I spake it at the furst
For it becommeth yll in wryttyng to contende,
Wythout wytte or skyll to make a raylyng ende
Take me to the best, as one to you vnknowen
Whose worthy wyts I do commend & wold wt you be one.
Not mindyng so assuredly to spende and waste the daye,
To make the people laugh at me, & here I make a staye,


Title:
An Epitaphe upon the death Mayster John Viron Preacher.

Location of Printer:
lytle Britayne streete by great Saint Bartelmewes

Lyrics:
THou soule whych on Christes brest, doest rest as John loved,
And corps whych art lyke hys also, wyth earth enVironed:
Full joyfull mayst thou be, but we (alas) may wayle,
Thy presence to forgo so soone, thy voyce so soone to fayle.
But oh thy payne and toyle, in God thee prayse we shall,
That thou ensample now mayst be, unto thy fellowes all.
Whych ceasedst not at morne, at noone, nor yet at nyght,
To preache Gods woorde, to beate downe vyce, and to put synne to flyght.
Thyne native countrye thou, regardedst not a whyt,
When God dyd call thee foorth to preache, but out thou wentst wyth it.
Whych when in thyne owne toung, thou mightst not preache in Fraunce,
Yet foorth thou wentst, and by God led, to us wast brought by chaunce.
Where thou wyth paynefull watche, dydst learne our Englysh tounge,
And wyth as paynefull diligence, dydst preache Gods truth among.
No Tyraunt, nor fierce lawes, coulde make thee us forsake:
But in the mydst of ragyng stormes, wyth Gods Sayntes part dydst take.
And synce thou hast well shewde, whose servaunt thou hast bene,
In preaching and in writyng both, whych to Gods prayse is sene.
But now who shall lament? or who may joy now flee?
Even every state from top to toe, both hygh and low degree.
The poore may wayle hys mysse, whych wyth both tounge and hand,
Dyd well refreshe theyr weary state, whych often they in stand.
The ryche may mone wyth them, hys barkyng voyce to want,
That kept from them that karking beast, whych rychesse dayly haunt.
And though hys lyke yet lyve, and many suche there be:
Yet shall we mysse hym in our lyfe, and nombers more then he.
But oh London, London, thou oughtest chiefe to wayle,
The people suche, and vyces great, may at hys want sore quayle.
For twyse so many as there be, and myllions lyke to hym,
Were not sufficient to draw backe, thy people from theyr synne.
But shall I shewe the thankes, whych in thee he hath got?
Oh London, London, Sodome was, not so yll unto Lot.
His paynes deserved prayse, but some in thee hym gave:
Obprobrious woordes, and sclaunders vyle, even to hys bodyes grave.
But what for that they thus, have used hym so yll:
Hys vertues were thereby more knowen, in spight of their yll wyll?
And eke theyr lying blastes, are so layde in their face:
That they may shame and weepe thereat, if they have any grace.
But now thou flocke and folde, whych he in lyfe dyd guyde:
What cause hast thou to wayle hys want, and count thee wo betyde?
Whych hadst a Shepheard good, that dyd hys duty ryght:
In saving Rammes from daunger neare, and helpyng Lambes to myght.
From pasture unto pasture, he dyd thee bryng to feede,
And never ceased to make thee from fayth to fayth proceede.
There restes no more for you, hys paynes now to requite:
But so to walke as he you taught, and speake of hym the ryght.
And thou O England now, to ende and mone wyth theese:
Lament thou mayst also wyth us, a woorkeman thus to leese.
Thy harvest is so great, and Laborers so fewe,
Yea of those fewe some Loyterers, full yll them selves do shewe.
And let us here by take, a warning to us all,
That seing harvest is so great, and woorkemens nomber small:
Our fruit must needes be lost ourselves to famishe brought,
Our Land layde lyke a wyldernes, and brought at length to nought.
But thou O Lorde and God, of this our harvest great,
Spare thou our woorkemen, and more send, that labour wil with sweate.
That as we mone for John, enVironed by death,
Thou wylt us glad wyth many a Paule, enspirde with heavenly breath.


Title:
A brefe confutacion of this most detestable [and] Anabaptistical opinion

Lyrics:
A brefe con futacion of this most de testable, & Anabaptistical opini on, that Christ dyd not take hys flesh of the blessed Vyrgyn Mary nor any corporal substaunce of her body. For the main tenaunce whereof Ihone Bucher otherwise called Ihone of Kent most obstinately suffered and was burned in Smythfyelde, the .ii. day of May.

Anno domini· M. D. L.

Cum privilegio ad Impri mendum solum.

SO subtile is sathan, our Enemy Immortal,
When hé is transformed into an angell of light
He captiuates oure sences, so fond and phantastical
That we doubt not to deme the day to be nighte. [Note: Histori. Ecclesi. Lib. iiii. ca. xiiii ]
By Suche lieng spirites seduced is the sight.
And with pernicious opinions amased in a miste
Ace al they that beleue not, the incarnation of Christ.

 In the primatiue churche, within fortie yeres,
After Christes asencion, this darnell begonne,
To springe vp by Marcion, his complices and feers
Whom Policarpus called, the deuyls eldest sonne.
The Anabaptistes hold herein, an erronius opinion
So did the wayward Virago, that wold not repent
The deuils Eldest doughter, which lately was brent.

 Beware of such errours, and reuerentlye reade
Gods worde with humilitie, and modestie· of mynd,
Geue faith to the same, and sticke to thy Crede
For the deuyll nowe bestirs him, and doth but hys kind
To hinder the Gospell, many meanes doth he finde.
He rages and raunges, the wyld worlde ouer
He makes many lose with shorte, and some with ouer.

 This the scripture is wrested, and all to be Rackte
Of Such as with spirites of errour are ledde
Thassistance of God, and his meke spirite is lacte
To teach them the true sence, whan his word is redde
It serues not to mayntayne fonde toyes in their heade. [Note: iii. [...] xix. ]
And wher the proude spirite is halt, and voyde of goddes feare.
Non ibidem dominus. The Lorde is not There.

God promised to Eue, that the sead of a womanne [Note: Gen. [...] ]
Shulde treade downe the head of the subtill serpente,
This Promise was fully accomplyshed than
When Christ became man and made the attonemente.
This seade was of his mother· and not from heauen sente [Note: [...]at[...]. [...]. ]
How can it be called the sede of a woman truly
Which taketh no substaunce, nor parte of her bodye?

To Abraham and Iacob, the same sead was promysed
The boke of Genesys, is playne and manifest:
In thy sede, shall all the people of the worlde be blessed
Not brought from aboue, but borne to performe the behest
Was Christ of his mother, and not from heauen sent
To this sence and meanyng thy wittes thou enclyne,
And marke well what is meant by thys pronoune thyne

How could it be their sead, whiche take not their substaunce
But came downe from heauen, and was not of their kind?
The scripture. Conteineth no such repugnaunce
Who shalbe able by the same, to proue or to finde
To warrant Christes humanyty, or beleue it in his mynd?
If ye make it vncertayne, of whom he did take it
It appereth by thys opinion the deuyll is awaked.

God promised to rayse vp the same sede to Dauyd
Of the frute of his belly to sit on his seat.
In the second of Samuell and the seuenth ye may haue it
God is full Iust and did not forgette
To conquere the dyuel and his deuise to difeate,
To vanquish his iudgement and putt awaye synne,
Christ was this sede borne of his mother the virgyn.

Esaye the prophete confirmed the same
A virgyn shall conceiue and brynge forth a chylde,
With this the Gospell of Mathewe doth frame
The fruite did growe in the wombe vndefilde
And the mother waxt greate, nature was begild
This came not by fortune or casuall chaunce
That Christe toke of his mother his corporall substance.

From the rote of Iesse procede shall a bud,
And a flower of this rote, for so the prophet saies.
This bud was Marye, of whose fleshe and bloud,
Came Christe the flowre, my fayth shalbe alwayes
The fruite of her wombe whyche neuer decayes,
And not as water which runnes to a Condit,
And passes thorowe a pipe, as the Diuell nowe hath found it.

 To conceyue and beare a chylde what other thinge is mente,
Than the mother to her child to geue and participate,
As the tree to the fruit? for euen so dyd this parent,
Of her body with thys chylde communicate.
Nourished him in her wombe where he was incorporate.
And not as tayne comes from heauen as Martian spoke.
Whyche is as true as an oringe springes of an oke.

Mathewe discribing the Lineall dessente
In his genealogye, thus he writtes of Marye
Of whome is borne Christ, learne what he meant
By this terme of, for he doth not saye by
Whom, or through whom: the holy ghost cannot lye.
Beleue than gods worde though the deuel be neuerso loth
And let thy wyl and thy wyt gaue place to the troth

As touchyng the flesh Christ was borne of Dauids sede,
And whan the tyme was perfourmed, God than did send
His sonne borne of a woman, let this be the Crede,
And forget not the Aue, with what wordes it doth ende
Blessed is the fruyte of thy wombe, pray to god he may defende
The, from this errour, and so from al other,
That thou may beleue, Christe toke fleshe of hys mother.

But if froward fondnes, haue so wedded the to thy wyl,
Both piuyshe and peruerse, that these will not perswade
The fourth of the Galathians I wyl write in my bille
The place is pithy, to tourne the from that trade.
But when the ful tyme was come, God sent his sonne made
Of a woman, the greke hath it made, written by Poulle,
And not bourne: beleue this scripture, and dampne not thy soule.

Tyme wil not serue to vtter the store
Of sundry textes, which scripture contaynes
Agaynst this opinion, and most dyuelish erroure,
Lately maintayned by a sort of Idle braines.
And all to seme singuler but marke well their gaynes
They are so sturdy and stoute, they wyll be take for no starters
Thei had rather goo to the Dyuel, like stinking marters.

Scripture disdaynes not, to cal Christ the sonne [Note: [...]he. i [...]. ii. ]
Of Marye his mother, in Luke and in Mathewe,
But their hartes are so hardened they will not be wonne
They make a tush at a text, be it neuer so true.
They wyl beleue Paule no more, than a turcke or a Iewe,
To aledge them scriptures, it greately skylleth not
Ther is none so blind as they that can se, and will not.

Thys doubte were discussed if they vnderstode
And wold rede and beleue, the second to the Ebrues,
Forasmuch as the chyldren were pertakers of flesh and bloude,
He also him selfe likewise did not Refuse
But toke part with them, wherby he subduse
Through death the deuyll, our mortall aduersary
Where had Christe his fleshe, but of his mother Mary?

Christ toke the sede of Abraham, he toke it not of Aungelles
So that be became like to his brethren in al thinges
Synne only excepte, thus playnly Paule telles,
Where came he by thys flesh, which amongst vs he brings?
Had he fethers as well as flesh, and came downe with winges?
Christ came to be a mediatoure, it was requisite that he
Shuld be partaker of the godhede, and of our humanitye.

Christe preached the worde, and sowed forth good sedes,
The Apostles trauayled, and toke greate paynes,
But Belsebub besturred him, and vp came the wedes
Whiche shortly sprong vp in fantasticall braynes.
Suche Deuilishe deceyuers the Deuyll intertaynes.
Many entred in Iohns tyme whyche woulde not confesse:
That oure Sauioure Iesus Christe was come in the fleshe.

It semed most mete to gods hyghe prouidence
And also most necessarye for our redemcion,
That wher the fyrst man in our nature committed disobedience.
The second Man Christe shoulde make satisfaccion.
Repayre and recompence in the same nature and parson
And paye the payne of synne this was not omitted
In the fleshe of man wherein it was committed.

Howe standeth to the Corinthyans Paules dysputacion
If Christ had not his nature common wyth vs?
In whom now rysen Paule proueth an vniuersal resurreccion
It were easy to reply agaynst the same thus:
If it myght: be alledged (as it cannot) that Iesus
Broughte downe from heauen an heauenly body
In to the wombe of the Vyrgyn Mary.

What maruell is it, if an heauenly substaunce,
Be vtterly voyde and exempte from corrupcion
It cannot well folowe ther must be variaunce,
That our bodies subiecte to putrefaccion,
Shoulde ryse vp agayne wythout corrpucion
That we doute not hereof let vs beleue sure
That Christe toke parte wyth vs in our nature.

Esay the Prophet sayd he was made Emanuell,
The worde soundes and signifieth God is wyth vs,
Howe it should be other wyse, I cannot tell.
But I am assured that Dauyd in the parson of Iesus [Note: [...]alme ]
Reade the .xxii. Psal. where he this doute doeth dyscus
Thou toke me from my mothers wombe to performe the behestes
Thou wast my hope when I hnaged vpon my mothers breastes.

Let vs praye vnto god longe to mayntayne and defende
The state of this realme and goddes true religion,
Let vs also geue thankes to god whiche hath sende
Vs a kynge to al princes a president and patron, [Note: [...] ]
A counsell most catholike for a christian congregacion.
To surceasse al sedicion to punyshe false teachers
And to stablishe true doctrine god sende vs good preachers.


Title:
A ballad concernyng the death of Mr. Robart glover, wrytone to Maystrys marye glover, his wyfe, of a frende of heres

Tags:
Political, Religious, Topical, Confessional, other

Lyrics:
O lord, thou god of Israeli,
to the[e] I macke my mone ;
In my distrese and miserye,
I pray the[e] helpe me sone.

For why, my hart is so oppreste
with sorowe and wyth payne,
[So] that except thou helpe me nowe
[I] shall not long remayne.

When I considere with my selfe
the death of my deare frend,
Which in coventrye was burnt of lat[e],
no reste my hart can fynd.

Robart glovere his name it was,
yf you will liste to knowe,
A mane of lernyng excellent,
to antechryste a foo.

Which evere loved godlynes
in all his wordes and dedes,
As it appered in hys end
in gevyng vpe his sprites.

What stedfastnes, what manfuli[ness],
he showed at his deathe
(A numbre ther cann witnes bay[r]),
in all his moste distrese.

O Coventrye, thou wickede towne,
which haste spylt this man's blood,
That was moste giltles in his lyfe,
in chryste to all mene good.

Macke haste, amend thy lyf with spede,
or els thou wylt be shent ;
The plages of god will fall on the[e],
except thou doo repent.

O glover dear, happye thou arte
that thou haste paste this lyfe,
Whear I am lafte to se the paynes
of thy childrene and wyf !

Th]ear wippynge and ther waylynge sore
[fjor the[e] both day and night,
The[y] fill my hart (that is appreste)
[w]ythe heavynes and syght.

When I call to rememberaunce
the tendre love whych thou
Dedste bear to me, vnfanedlye,
and with thy dedes dedeste showe,

I am appreste with heavynes,
so that I cannot fynde
No reste nor quyit for my hart,
nor also for my mynd.

Therfore to god I macke my mon[e],
desyerynge hys comfort,
Yet to lament I cannot chose,
my great lose of this sort.

But nowe to you whom he hath [left]
be-hynd hym in this world,
That is his wyfe and childr[en],
of whom I well be bolde,

To tell you without all vayne[ty]
that god your hosband is,
A father swe[e]t, without desete,
in all your myseries.

To you, therfore, dear maysterese,
whom I doo reverence,
Bothe in my mynd and in my hart,
dpo showe my full pretence ;

Desyerynge you, in godes behalfe,
your sorowe to forgett ;
Cheryshe your hart with godes word,
whear comfort you shall gett.

[Co]nsydre well the cause for which
[yo]ur hosband ded depart
[This] worlde and so from all worldly thynge,-
[bec]ause of godes reward,

[Whi]ch is promysed in his worde
to all them that doo professe
His holy name and gosple dear,
which he dothe nowe possese.

Reioyse, therfore, in godes behalfe,
so fare as nature will bear ;
And doo not morne as hethene doo,
which are wrapt in despayre.

Praypare your selfe in hart and myfnd]
to goo his stepes allway,
The which he went to heaven's blis[s],
then shall you not decaye.

Doo nott forgett his wernynges g[ood]
and admo-nisions swett,
Which he gave you out of godes bo[ok],
which was all his delyte.

Call to remembrance for your [sins]
yf anye you have doone,
And aske godes pardon with all spede,
with syighinge and wythe groone.

Prepare your hart to bear your chrose
for cbryste and his gosple,
The which, trullye, will folowe you,
as scripture dothe vs tell.

[Bojthe fleshe and pleasuers of the same
in sprit do you withstande ;
Soo shall you fynd without delay
his good and helpynge hand.

[In] prayer be fervente and ofte
[to] god macke all your mone,
[His] helpe desyar moste instantlye,
[then s]hall you fynd it soone.

[AJbhore paprye ; to god doo cleve ;
[d]efyle not you your selfe
Wyth wicked doctryne ; tacke no hed
to all your warily pelfe.

Have your delyt in christ allways,
and marke his godlye will ;
Soo will he be your helper true
and gued you ever styll.

His word see that you not neglec[t] ;
butt in his gosple deare
Lett all-ways your pleasuer be,
soo shall you then be suer.

To your howsholde tacke good hed,
gyd them in godlynes,
Which are att your governynge,
kype them from wickednes.

Your neglygence in that behalfe
God will punishe it selfe ;
Be-wayre, therfore, and sycke his love
above all warldlye pelfe.

Consydre offt with-in your hart
the treasuer whych you have
Of god, in all your chyldren dear,
from syne see the[y] be save.

In godlynes and vertue puere,
see that you teache them all ;
So that the[y] may, an other day,
be free from devylles thrall.

 [IJnstructe them in the laus of god,
[n]or let them not forgett
[Th] ensample of ther father swe[e]t,
[be]for ther eyes that sett.

Reherse to them, without all vayn,
his vertues great and puer ;
Teach them to folowe hym allways,
from yll shall the[y] be suer.

His lernynge and his godlynes,
his eloquence soo greatt,
His godlye lyfe, his gentelnes,
in england which are spred,

His wisdome and experience,
his counsells wythout vayne,
That no man yet that godly [is]
nor shall ever disdayn.

In daungers and callamityes,
manfull without dispayre ;
In god put he all confydens,
as no man ded ells whear ;

In paciens, he may to all
a teacher be ryght well ;
Agaynste the lord for he ded not,
nor ever woulde, rebell.
.
His sicknes, which he had longe tym,
coulde never macke hym shrynke
From god, his lord ; but ever ded
spaycke well of hym and thyncke.

He had delyte to rede and spacke
the gosple, puer and clayne,
To everye man, bothe highe and low ;
no mane he ded disdayne.

_ He had great pleasuer in the pore,
[to] helpe them in distrese,
[Than] anye man in england ded,
[no] man can say no leasse.

[The] callynge and estat he ded
applye accordynglye,
To which god had appoynted hym,
as in his end you see.

He ded with ryght vnfanede love
embrace you, his dear wyfe ;
For your sacke he coulde have bine
content to losse his lyfe.

His childrene he ded love so muche
as anye man elles whear ;
In godlynes brought he them vp,
so longe as he was heare.

His fethfull harte towardes his fre[nds]
no man ought to forgett ;
His lyberall mynd and hart so ky[nd]
to them whych weare in debt.

His reverent behavyore
to them which weare in giftes
And lerny[n]ge, also, excelent,
he would have them in syghtt.

He was not met to tarrye hear
in this moste wicked warld,
When his tym cam, at Coventry
ther was he bought and sold.

The sheryffe ther layd hand on him ;
full meckelye he ded bear
The crosse of cbryst, for why, he knew
[th]at he sholde leve els-whear.

The[y] kept him in the prison ther,
agaynste all lauwes and ryght ;
Full wickedly the[y] ded offende
the lord, him selfe, of myght.

The busshope, att his commyng ther,
sent for him out of hand,
Intendyng hym to bring from christ ;
manfully he ded stand

Agaynste the busshope and his trayne,
agaynste ther masse so vayne,
Ther tromperye and paperye,
he ded dispyse moste playne.

The bosshope, beinge moved then
with his boldnes and his sprit,
To lychefyld he ded sende hym th[ere]
with great disdayne and spyte.

What trouble, what great my[series],
the[y] ded showe vnto hym
In his impriso[n]ment so longe.
O lord, forgive ther syne !

From tyme to tyme he ded disp[ute]
with them that sought his blode,
Agaynste ther masse and papish dr[ove],-
in lernynge he was goo<~

The day of condempnacion
then being comm att hand,
Full manfully and lernedlye
aganst them all ded stand.

The busshope and his schapplens all
ther lernyng ded thene fayll,
No ansure the[y] coulde macke to hym,
therfore the[y] fell to rayll.

[With] wickednes and lyes foulle,
[they] ded withstande his worde,
Which he spacke in godes behalfe
[God] will distroye ther sword.

Moste cherfullye and merelly,
without all tremlynge feare,
Ded he reseve ther sentence ther,
as men cane witnes bear.

The day of execution
and his deleverance
Att coventrye appoyntted was
by god, and not be chance.

For ther suffred not long before
a man of good halase,
His fethfull frende and brother treu,
Sandars he namede was.

Too tell you nowe, my dear mary,
the maner of his deathe,
And his vnfaned hartenes
and hope in christe with feathe,

It nedethe not, for why, all men
which wear with him presentt
Canne bear recorde that never man
to dye so was content.

Butt that I wishe moste hartely
be not to[o] slacke nor slowe,
By his deathe to teche your sons
to god to stand in awe ;

To folowe, with all godlynes,
ther father's lyfe and deathe ;
The which wilbey the beste tresuer
the[y] may reseve on earthe.

 [I]n syence and in l^rnyng good
god grant the[y] may excell,
To helpe to teache the flocke of god
Antecbriste to expelL

Moste instan[t]lye I doo requear,
forgett not that same chylde,
Tymothye glover, yonge in age,
the lordes will be fullfild !

For him to care above the rest,
my dutye doth requear ;
Beinge the yongest of them all,
also my good-sonne dear.

My prear is, and shalbey soo
so longe as I doo leve,
To god, my lord, to kepe them all
and you, his feathfull wyfe.

Thus fare you well in god, the lord,
whoo graunt that you may fyn[d]
Eternall reste in heven's blys.
Amen, I say, your frynd.


Title:
Alteracio[n]s of kindoms, for despisi[n]g of god [and] how God defendeth his

Lyrics:
Repete these. vi. lines after euery sixt line

Euery Kyngdome,
Both all and some.
That is deuided within it selfe:
Desolate shalbe,
Without feare truly
Of God, be in that Commen welth.

THe fyrst deuision,
In Paradise begon.
when Satan, the woman tempted:
By whose entisement,
They breeke Gods Comandment
For that thei wer thence banished.

Spitefull wicked Cayn,
His brother hath slayn,
Bycause that Abels sacrifice,
Of God was accepted,
And Cayns neglected,
This mischeife he dyd deuise.

This manslaughtor,
God dyd abhor,
And cursed wicked Cayn,
He dyed a lyke death,
Thus scripture saith,
At length himselfe was slayne.

Good Seth to auaunce,
Gods Kyngdome to enhaunce,
Of him came many holy men,
But Cayns posteritie,
For their infidelitie,
wer drowned in Noes flood then.

Thei despised God,
All godlinesse withstode,
In adultery liued they,
In all wilfulnesse,
In tiranny doutlesse,
For this ensued their dekey.

Of their yll liuing
God gaue them warning,
An hundereth yere before
By Noe his seruaunt,
To that they wolde not graunt,
but oppressed the poore moch more

And sodeinly came on,
The flood them vpon,
And euery one there drowned,
Saue only that Noe,
And his familie,
In the Arke they were all saued.

Thus God preserued,
His Church, figured,
By faithful Noe & his housholde,
So surely he wyll.
Preserue them styll,
That [...]e of his true flocke & folde.

[...] [...]e,
[...] one,
[...] [...]he.
[...]
[...]

Then after this,
The Caldeys,
Builded the towre of Babilon,
But in that building,
God not deliting,
He brought it to destruction.

The first kingdome than,
By Nemrod began,
Among the Babilonians.
Through Idolatry,
And liuing vngodly,
It came to the Assirians.

Then Sardanapall,
Most lecherous of all,
Of his kingdome was depriued,
For his yll liuing,
His Office neglecting,
His people were then deuided.

Sodome and Gomor,
with .x. Cities more,
Sanke for the synne of lechery,
Therin they were brent,
They wolde not repent,
They lyued so delicatly.

Ioseph most prudent,
In his gouernment,
Brought the Egiptians in religion
He set vp godly fere,
with Ciuile good maner.
Of him is right famous mencion.

Pharao truly,
For his tiranny,
was drowned in the red sea,
when Moses the capten,
with Gods people then,
Passed clene through that way.

Kyng Roboam,
was a wylfull man.
He set nought by his counsell olde,
For diuers thinges,
To his subiectes vndoinges,
To obey them he neuer wolde.

Release nought he wolde,
That he vniustly did hold,
His people went from him a stray.
And a new kyngdome,
was there begon,
And set vp in Samaria.

The good Kyng Ioas
An holy man was,
As long as Ioiada liued,
But when he did dye,
He set vp Idolatrie,
& zachari his son causde to be killed.

Good king Ezechias,
A godly man he was,
He restorde Gods worship againe,
[...]
[...]
[...]

King Balthala[...],
Gods worship did ma[...]
And for spite he caused
That the Caldies god
was a gretter God,
Then had the Iewes

This great blasph[...]
Braught their calam[...]
The angel of god wrot[...]
That Bal[...]hasars ki[...]
To destru[...]tion shuld[...]
And he sh[...]de perish t[...]

Thus the Caldia[...]
And the Assirians,
were at much desenc[...]
Through straunge [...]
Then grew the Per[...]
which made their k[...]

Now Christ is co[...]
The true kingdome [...]
Seke ye rest and fol[...]
And repent from sy[...]
A new lyfe now beg[...]
That vertu may w[...]

Symeon Christ [...]
In his armes and [...]
Now let thi seruant [...]
An exsaumple true [...]
which we shulde er[...]
From strife that w[...]

Now do ye rega[...]
How God doth re[...]
The wicked world
when punysh doth
Vicious men trulie
He geueth to reign

But when God
The Comens, he
Kynges and Rule
which maketh the
And to them they
Both louing, go[...]

watche ye and [...]
Ye know not the [...]
Nor the hour w[...]
To iudge the liui[...]
And they in grau[...]
At the dreedfull d[...]

God defende o[...]
From tongues fl[...]
And send him a pro[...]
with long contin[...]
Gods glory to a[...]
And the welth [...]

Loue one [...]
[...]


Lyrics:
A litle boke was made in dede 
by the cownsell of marlin & bede
who so it doth rede uority shalbe
that a litle c[.]]dtrey called braytin
shalbe brought in such cras certayne
and be compelled to begyn agayne
at A.B.C. that saide not chiste crosse
therfore I like it the moore
They toke marlyn his house & Rode his way
Bede bade still and made good chere
and saide as ye shall after here
here beit I harde hym not swere
moch ill and och of a sinat note
as Cro[m]well set in a mans throte
that shall put many other to payne god wote
But when Cro[m]well is brought in lawe
and we Bede owre the Christ crosse Rowe
To KL&m. they shall we knowe [...]loes
The bere no […] he was so wild
therfoe he lost his Bagged staff
the cave nave he no fyled
It was sor cownsaill that he gave
the which Lyarde shalbe put out of mynd
by cause he will not to the cownsaill assent
they shall call hein unkynde
so shall they do hamshire and kent
The fayre Crossaint shall loose his light
therfore england may make great mone
wer not the helpe of god alone
The whit Lyon shalbe Layde to slepe
for envye of the apes clodge
he shalbe Boland yo[ur] deo sholde kepe
the Talbot your good dogge.


Title:
A Ballad Intituled, A newe well a daye as playne maister papist as Donstable way

Location of Printer:
Fleet Street beneath the conduit at the sign of St John the Evangelist

Lyrics:
Well a daye well a daye, well a daye woe is mee
    Syr Thomas Plomtrie is hanged on a tree. 

Amonge maye newes
As touchinge the Rebelles
their wicked estate,
Yet Syr Thomas Plomtrie,
their preacher they saie,
Hath made the North countrie, to crie well a daye.

Well a daye, well a daye, well a daye, woe is me,
Syr Thomas Plomtrie is hanged on a tree.

And now manie fathers and mothers be theare,
are put to their trialles with terrible feare,
Not all the gaye Crosses nor goddes they adore,
will make them as merie, as they haue ben before,

Well a daye, well a daye, &c.

The widowes woful, whose husbandes be taken
the childerne lament them, are so for saken,
The church men yt chaunted the morowe masse bell
Their Pardons be graunted they hang verie wel.

Well a daye well a daye. &c.

It is knowne they bee fled, that were the beginers
it is time they were ded, poore sorofull sinners
For all there great haste, they are hedged at a staye
with weeping & waylinge to sing well a daye.

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

Yet some hold opynon, all is well with the highest
they are in good saftie wher freedome is nieste
Northumberland need not, be doutefull some saye,
and Westmorlande is not, yet brought to the bay.

Well a daye, well a daye &c.

No more is not Norton, nor a nomber beside,
But all in good season, they maye hap to be spide,
It is well they be wandred, whether no man can say
But it will be remembered, they crie well a daie.

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

Where be the fyne fellowes, that caried the crosses,
Where be the deuisers, of Idoles and Asses,
Wher be the gaie Banners, were wont to be borne
where is the deuocion of gentyll Iohn Shorne.

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

Saint Pall, and Saint Peter, haue laid them a bord
and saie it is feetter to cleaue to Gods worde
Their Beades, & their bables, are best to be burnd
and Moises tables towardes them to be turnde.

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

And well a daye, wandreth still to and froe,
be wailinge the wonders, of rumors that goe,
Yet saie the stiffe necked let be as be maye,
though some be sore checked, yet some skape awaie

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

And such some be sowers of seedes of Sedicion,
and saie the popes pardo~, shall giue them remission
That kepe them selues, secrete and preeuilie saie,
it is no greate matter for this well a daye.

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

You shall haue more newes er Candelmas come
their be matters diffuse yet lookte for of some,
Looke on, and looke still, as ye longe to here newes
I thinke Tower hill, will make ye all muse.

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

If they that leaue tumblynge begin to war climing
for all your momblinge and merie pastimeing.
Ye will then beleeue, I am sure as I saie,
that matter will meene, a newe well a daye.

Well a dayes, well a daye. &c.

But as ye be faithlesse, of God and his lawe,
so till ye see hedles, the Traitors in strawe,
You wilbe still whisperinge of this and of that,
well a daye, woe is me, you remember it not

Well a daie, well a daie. &c.

Leaue of your lying, and fall to trewe reason,
leaue of your fonde spieng, and marke euery season
Against God & your contrie to taulke of revelling
not Syr Thomas Plumtrie can bide by ye telling

Well a daye, well a daye. &c.

And such as seduce the people with blyndnes,
and byd them to trust the Pope and his kyndnes
Make worke for the tynker, as prouerbes doth saie,
by such popishe patching, still comes well a daye.

Well a daye, well a daie. &c.

And she that is rightfull your Queene to subdue ye,
althoughe you be spitfull hath gyuen no cause to ye
But if ye will vexe her, to trie her hole force,
let him that comes next her, take heed of her horse

Well a daie, well a daie. &c.

Shee is the Lieftennante of him that is stowtest,
shee is defender of all the deuowtest,
It is not the Pope nor all the Pope may,
can make her astonyed, or singe well a daie.

Well a daie, well a daie.

God prosper her highnes, and send her his peace,
to gouerne good people, with grace, & increase,
And send the deseruers, that seeke the wronge way
at Tyborne some Caruers, to singe well a daie.

Well a daie, well a daie. &c.


Lyrics:
Whan thow hast felt what Fortune ys,
And sownd hyr firme to few,
Thy Trade in Truth and Fayth parformyd,
Shall clere all clowdy shew.


Lyrics:
The mountaynes high whose lofty toppe 
Doth touch the haughty Skye
The craggy Rocke that to the Seas
Free passage doth deny
The aged Oake that doth resiste,
The force of *blowinge blaste, * blustringe
The pleasant herbe that every where
A fragrant smell doth caste
The Lyons force whose Corage stoute, 
declareth princely mighte:
The egle that for worthines
Is borne of knights in fighte
The loathsom Toade that shunneth light
And liveth in exile
The Serpent eake whose venomed iawes
*doth bleche up venome vile *do
Theese, these I say and thousands more
By tracte of Tyme decay:
And lyfe to Tyme do quite consume
And vade from form to clay
But my true harte & service vowde
Shall last tyme out of minde:
And still remayne thine own by doome
As cupid hath assinde.
I am not mine but thine as now
Thy *will I will obay *hest
And serve the as a servant ought
In pleasinge if I may
My Faith so here I vow to thee
My trust thou knoweste right well:
My life my goodes my Frendes are thine,
What needes me more to tell.
And since I have no flyinge winges
To see thou as I wishe
Nor finnes to cut the * silvered streames *silver
As doth the glydyng fyshe
Therfore now leave forgetfulnes
And send agayne to mee
And stray thy hands, & pen to write
That I may gretinge see.
And thus farewell more deare to me, more deare
Thou chiefest friend I have
Whose love in hart, my mynde shall shrine
Till death his fee do crave.


Lyrics:
My lyttle sweet darling my comfort & Joy: Sing lullaby [lulla] 
In Bewty expressing the princes of Troy: Sing
Now sucke Childe and sleep Childe thi mothers own boy: Sing
Now& kepe thee, from cruell annoy: Sing lullaby

Thy Father little Infant from Mother is gone, Sing
And is see in the woodes which thee lefte alone, Sing
To thee little Infant why do I make mone, Sing
Sith thou canst not help me to sigh nor to grone, S

You wilde wanton satyres, thou moodes that frequent S
Permit me unchased my chance to lament. Sing lulla
And thou my sweet Baby tender teares stent, Sing
Yf that Teares wold help vs, I many have spent. Sing

In steede of softe pillowes in Mosse thou must ly. Sing
No corser attenges thee yet happy am I. Sing lull
This Cave doth defend the from rongmoes of sky; S
Smyle on mee deere darling, it harmes thee to cry; S

O that thy […]coward Grau[n]dsyre, beheld thy sweete face, s
Or that he conceaved of owr wretched case, Sing lull
Then know I that pity would purchase some place S
And cause him to take vs againe to his grace, S

Why am I a Princes, a Child of a kynge, Singe
Or why did vyle fortune hir gouldon giftes fling: S
On my Banisht Husband: […] I only thinge, Sing
Adewe my sweete husband, till we meete agayne. S

Meane whils mixt with morning my chyld to attende, S
As Rommlus & […] : good sipe did attend, Sing lullaby
So God to mine infant his goodnes may send, Sing
For ther is non blessed until the last end, Sing


Title:
A complaynt of them that be to soone maryed

Lyrics:
For as moche as many folke there be
That desyre the sacramente of weddynge
Other wyll kepe them in vyrgynye
And wyll in chastyte be lyuynge
Therfore I wyll put now in wrytynge
In what sorowe these men lede theyr lyues
That to soone be coupled to cursed wyues

NOw am I in grete myschefe and sorowe
To soone I put my body in gage
I lyue in care nyght euen and morowe
Lytell lacketh that I ne enrage
To be to soone maryed I layde my gage
Cursed be the tyme that I it euer knewe
The deuyll haue his parte of maryage
And of hym that me fyrste therto drewe

My herte ryght yll dyd me counsell
To a yonge woman me for to same
To soone wedde there they dyd me compell
Wherfore I holde my selfe in fame
By god I swere and by his name
I wyll all louers clene dyscourage
That wolde not wt there wyll take them a dame
And put them selfe in suche domage

Better it were to be a man sauage
Than to be take in that ylke lase
Gentell galauntes flee that passage
Besyde that waye loke that ye passe
Go out of that waye that wyll the chase
Go out of that waye or ye be loste
Go ye therfro tourne ye your face
Go frome that waye to another coste

Go ye thense my frendes I you praye
Go ye therfro I you do praye
Go ye frome that hote flambe of fyre
Go ye therfro as I you saye
Or ye wyll repente an other daye
Go ye therfro full loude I crye
Go ye fro the bonde of welawaye
Whiche is the arke of all folye

Fle I praye you for goddes sake
Fle this passage that is ryght daungerous
Fle ye frome that peryllous lake
Of muddy myre so clam and comberous
Fle that darke place so myrke and tenebrous
Fle fro that ylke cursed temptacyn
I fynde it nothynge auauntagyous
But it all tourneth in to perdycyon

Alas my bretherne ye crysten men
For god take ye in pacyence
To heare the sorowe that I in ren
For to acquyte my consyence
I requyre you in the reuerence
Of the swete vyrgyn mary
For to eschewe all vnpacyence
Loke to soone that ye not mary

The wyse man vs ensygneth and saythe
That none shulde other repreue
Of any vyce hurte yll or scathe
That they se of hym morne or eue
I saye it for I dyd my selfe meue
To lerne to make playes Ioyous
Kepe hym that wyll and me byleue
For there maye be many enuyous

Outragyous alas I dyde not thynke
Thre tymes of that that I wolde do
But hastely I dyde me clynke
Vnto my wyll and wente therto
Symple I was and humble also
Euyll thought was not myne entent
Now haue I for my laboure lo
Anoye thought payne and torment

Thynke thou now what it is of seruyce
Thynke also what it is of franchyse
The seruytude of maryage
Afore all other seruage lyse
All wyse m[...]n dothe it despyse
Let none take it nor other make
For it is the moost fole enterpryse
That ony man maye vndertake
Take ye hede where that ye go
Poore whystelers folysshe and sturdy
Be not assoted nor peuysshe also
So outragyus nor so hardy
That for one dede ne for a crye
Ye caste your selfe in suche a snare
For ye shall not be wrynge nor wrye
Come out therof therfore beware


Better ye were withouten harme
For to become a celestyne
A grey frere Iacopyn or a carme
An hermyte or a frere Austyne
Fle ye therfro ye seke your fyne
And the abregmente of your dayes
Wherfore do not your selfe enclyne
To entre with ryght and other wayes

Man the wiche hathe no tytell
Nor seruytude by ony sent
He is in his owne frewyll
And at his good commaundemente
Man maketh his auowe and talente
For all that god hathe hym gyue
By no maner for to consente
For to bynde hym in seruytude to lyue

Yf thou knowe what charge it is
To take a wyfe and her to kepe
So preest thou wolde not be ywys
At suche a snare in for to crepe
Nor let thy selfe so to be yclepe
To be engloted in suche a clyfte
Out of whiche thou mayste not pepe
Tyll that she be broke and ryfte

These relygyous maundiens
May well an other order take
So many chanons and dekenes
Offycers theyr offyces may forsake
None maye ayenste them noyse make
But we the whiche ben maryed
May nether mount nor yet downe slake
So ben we in this poynt alyed

It is well knyte that is so bounde
That no man can it vndo
In weddynge knote I haue me founde
That I counde not from it go
Yf I were lous no more ther to
Wolde I retourne for so the certayne
I rede them that hathe ben so
Beware and go not to it agayne

Certaynly I wyll not blame
Maryage that god Instytued
But honour it wihouten grame
For the order sholde be worshypped
And I haue me auaunced
Than I ought for to speke more
The charge to yll wyues be deled
For I se euer eche daye wherfore

And for to gyue you for to wyt
The pouerte that therin is founde
I ought well to dysprayse it
For there I haue be bounde
Alas my werke dyde lytell rebounde
And lytell befell to me than
Than to lerne I dyd recounde
By my selfe or by some good man

I nought I wende that I had lerned
I thought that I was full sage
But for all that I was clyked
As a byrde is in a cage
That hath nothynge auauntage
But as longe as the cage maye dure
In lyke wyse I am in maryage
Enclosed nedes I must endure

Endure I must who that nay saythe
For to endure I and constraynt
For I swere to you on my faythe
The Ioye that I make it is but faynte
I am so holden in fere and in craynt
That I am worse than dyseased
I am not come to that attaynt
That I thought in tyme passed

Whan that I was newely maryed
I had good tyme aboute thre dayes
I was not chyddene haryed
I was fulfylled with loue rayes
I made gambandes lepes and playes
I helde me neyther nere ne ferre
But soone ynoughe I had assayes
Of sorowe and care that made me bare

ynnynge they came me to assayle
On the other syde ryght asprely
Full sore they made me to auayle
Were it slepynge or wakyngly
Thought alwaye was present me by
And yet before me made frontere
With them in theyr companye
Greate charge whiche bare the baner

About eyght dayes or soone after
Our maryage the tyme for to passe
My wyfe I toke and dyd set her
Vpon my knee for to solace
And began her for to enbrace
Sayenge syster go get the tyme loste
We must thynke to laboure a pace
To recompence that it hathe vs coste

Than for despyte she vp arose
And drewe her faste behynde me
To me sayenge is this the glose
Alas pore caytyfe well I se
That I neuer shall haue quod she
With you more than payne and turmente
I am in an euyll degre
I haue now loste my sacramente

For me be to longe with you here
Alas I ought well for to thynke
What we sholde do within ten yere
Whan we shall haue at our herte brynke
Many chyldren on for to thynke
And crye after vs without fayle
For theyr meate and theyr drynke
Than shall it be no meruayle

Cursed be the houre that I ne was
Made a none in some cloyster
Neuer there for to passe
Or had be made some syster
In seruage with a clousterer
It is not eyght dayes sythe oure weddynge
That we two togyther were
By god ye speke to soone of werkynge
But syr sythe it dothe you please
It pleaseth me as is reason
Your wyll dothe not me dysplease
It pleaseth me at eche ceason
Ye be syr of this mansyon
And I am your chambere
I wolde fayne fynde some enchesom
That lyenge deed I were on bere

Wolde to god that I were deed
Than sholde ye be quyte of me
In lytell whyle knowe you I dyde
And neyther I perceyue nor se
Ne knowe how that reason sholde be
That to me ye speke of that wyrke
By my soule I se at the eye
That of you I shall haue but yrke

For god syr aduyse you well
That I dyde neuer besynesse
In the house there as I dyde dwell
Many there were that put them in prese
Me for to loue aboue excesse
And yet I put them all awaye
Thoughe they had moche greate rychesse
No man but you was to my paye

Am I of suche lygnage comen
For to haue payne and greate trauayle
I that was so derely holden
And neuer loked for none auayle
No that thynge sholde me prouayle
I was wonte but to go and playe
Daunce and synge at eche spousayle
And ye frome me put all that awaye

Thanked be god ye haue had of me
Of ryche cheuaunce good and fayre
Golde and syluer greate plente
Rentes and herytage you to prepayre
In all this countre there is none ayre
Be ye neuer so ryche of lynage
But he myght of that affayre
Make ryche all his parentage

I do not saye that ye were dygne
To haue one ten tymes better than I
Alas ye shewed vnto me sygne
Of greate grace welth and curteysy
That whan I herde ony company
That spake of you in ony place
I had my herte rauysshed truely
For greate pleasure and solace

whan she had made her complaynt
Lyke an woman all an angred
She than seased vnder a faynt
Full of sorowe and all be weped
The daye and houre there she cursed
with a tryste herte wryngynge her hande
That euer she was nourysshed
For to espouse suche an husbande

whan that I herde and vnderstode
That the whiche she me reproched
I was abasshed and styll stode
And durst not to her be approched
Her tonge towarde me was declyned
I wote not where that she had fysshte
The wordes that she there dysgorged
That I was fayne to be whysshte

In this sayd dolorous songe
I dyde me put for to haue pease
Force it was in to be thronge
Yet wente I not in with myne ease
But my wyfe me to dysplease
Abode not longe for to perceyue
The sorowe that dyde my herte peyse
where throughe she dyde deceyue

Than came her mother to hous
That founde her how she was wepynge
And soone she sayd my nowne sone dous
Why maketh she that waymentynge
And sayd it was not her lernynge
To haue her doughter so to be chydde
And that she had a perceyuynge
That I had her so an angred

By my faythe sayd I good mother
Nought haue I done nor her myssayde
Serue her I wyll as my syster
With good herte and wyll puruayed
For ayenst her I nothynge sayd
But that wayes we muste fynde
Vs for to store and she me nayed
I wys she hath to iyrse a mynde

By god my fayre sone you ne ought
So alwaye for to threten her
For ywys she was neuer taught
For to werke therfore dele softer
But she wyll do well here after
Wherfore speke no more I you praye
Neuer was I in suche daungere
Wherfore I thanke god nyght and daye

Than cometh her cosyns also
For to complysshe my passyon
Her gosseps and her neyghboures to
Semblynge lyke a prosessyon
God knewe what desstruccyon
Drynkynge my wyne all at theyr ease
All thynge goeth to perdycyon
Neuertheles I muste holde my pease

To a feest they brought me on a daye
Aboute two or thre myle hense
God knoweth what great Ioye led they
Takynge lytell intellygence
Her frendes lede her at myne expence
How that the game goeth they ne care
I saye that by experyence
It wyll make a man all threde bare

Now muste they make a pylgrymage
To saynt Lenarde or saynt Laurence
For good they be for the grete rage
That they haue as I maye purpence
Who maye than haue ony pacyence
For to se suche derysyon
Trottynge alwaye without resystence
And not kypynge theyr mansyon

Than must they haue newe habytes
Gownes and other a byllementes
Kynges of of golde perles and cresolytes
Bedes and gyrdelles with longe pendentes
I haue nether hous ne rentes
Wheron that I maye lyue
A man with many suche paymentes
Maye lyue longe or euer he may thryue

wene ye that they take ony kepe
How that syluer is spente anone
The deuyll brenne them on an hepe
Them and all theyr opynyon
we gyue to them suche abandon
Be they fayre or be they foule
That we haue therfore suche guerdon
That we be caytyses be my soule

Almyghty god gyue me suffraunce
For I am sore passyoned
with payne sorowe and dystourbaunce
As moche as ony man hath suffred
But sythe I am therto condempned
I thanke our lorde of paradyse
For therto I am ordeyned
I se it is none otherwyse

Consyderynge that I ne maye
Hyte nor ho auaunte ne arere
I wysshe my dethe euery daye
Hyde me I muste neuer to appere
In donge stynkynge neuer to come here
Desyrynge dethe is my resorte
Chowynge my bytte in this maner
without bydynge ony comforte

You the whiche are clene acquyted
Praye ye for that pore caytyfe
The whiche is all dysheryted
And hathe yspended by his wyfe
His good that neuer in his lyfe
Shall be rendered to hym agayne
Wherfore I maye with herte pensyfe
Crye out alas and thus complayne

I make an ende I lyue in greate martyre
So do they that be to soone maryed
The thynge that moost of all I desyre
Is that they be ryght well haryed
For by women men be so varyed
Eche leseth his vnderstondynge
Wherfore I wyll that they be for prayde
That god gyue them sorowe euerlastynge

For suche is my dyssynement
And wyll proue it before our lorde
That women ben abusement
All aboute in playe stryfe and borde
To soone maryed maye mete accorde
Vnto them wolde I or naye
I leue them here at this sayd worde
And no more of them wyll I saye



Ryght dere frendes louely I do you submite
Of my fyrst werke in to correccyon
But myne owne wyll can not as yet
Endewe ony thynge of myne intencyon
Rather I wyll abyde a lytell season
Than to put my wytte afore intellygence
Ventosyte must abyde dygestyon
So I muste do or I come to eloquence

Cunnynge must I haue fyrste of all
Or that I come to perseueracyon
Put forthe I wyll and than somwhat call
Lernynge with good delyberacyon
And than I wyll with good intencyon
Note some werkes of god almyghty
Desyrynge to come vnto his regyon
Euer there for to dwell perdurably

Here endeth a full dolefull complaynte
Of many a man of there one concorde
Lokynge with face pale wanne and faynte
Cursynge the tyme of theyr accorde
Fynysssed and done the yere of our lorde
A thousande .CCCCC. and .xxxv. at London
Enprynted also by Wynkyn de Worde
In fletestete at the sygne of the son


Title:
A dittie in the worthie praise of an high and mightie prince

Lyrics:
WHen heapes of heauie hap, had fild my harte right full,
And sorrow set forth pensiuenes, my ioyes away to pull:
I raunged then the woods, I romde the fields aboute,
A thousand sighes I set at large, to séeke their passage out.
And walkyng in a dompe, or rather in dispaire,
I cast my wéeping eye a side, I saw a fielde full faire:
And lokyng vpwarde than, I spied a Mount therein,
Which Flora had euen for her life, dect as you haue not seen.
Then could I not but thinke the same some sacred place,
Where God or Goddes such did dwell, as might releue my case:
I sat me downe, for whie? Death could but stop my breath,
And to a man so sorrowfull, what sweter is then death?
No sooner was I set, but slepe approcht mine eye,
Wherein the Nymphes of Helicon appeared by and by.
And straight those sisters nine, the ground of Musicks arte,
My thought did striue who might preuaile, to ease my heauie harte.
The cunning they shewed there, the subtile notes they soung,
As wt a wrest clene from my hart (my thought) the cares they wrong:
Celestiall were the notes, which then (amazde) I hearde,
Their ditties eke were wonderfull, note ye whome they preferde.
As for thy bloud (quod they) right noble we confesse,
Thy pettigree (to long for vs) the Heralds can expresse.
But happie happie Duke, the second chylde of Fame,
Which (next vnto the highest) she doth so recoumpt the same.
And happie Thomas ones, twise happie Norffolke toe,
Thrise happie men that leade your liues, where Howard hath to doe:
Which Howards happie daies, they praied God to encrease,
Three times the space of Natures course, like Nestor liue in peace.
What age hath seen his like, so free of purse and toung?
Where liues a iuster Iustice now, though rare in one so young?
What plaint can there be tolde, to his most godlie eare?
But that he kepes the other styll, the blamed soule to heare?
In mekenes he more meke, then is the mekest Doue,
Yet is his secret wisedome such, he knoweth whome to loue:
In freendship, he surmounts Gisippus and his Tite,
All Nobles may well note his race, and thereby take their lighte.
In peace a Salomon, in warre so stoute a Prince,
As raigned not tyll Hector came, nor liued neuer since:
Then Sceuola, more firme, which for his cuntries turne,
His hand from arme before his foes, in fierie slame did burne.
He in the pride of peace, delights in marciall showe,
Doe marke his turnoys vpon horse, note well his vse of bowe.
Nay marke him yet that shall, note well his paynefulnes,
No sugred slepe can make him freend to sluggish Idlenes.
What that becomes a Prince, in his good grace doth want?
In peace, a courtier for the Courte, a second Mars in camp.
Thus styll they soung, whose notes were cause of my releefe,
And I be wrapped in a Traunce, had cleane forgot my greefe:
And triple were my ioyes, ones, cause my paynes were past,
And twise agayne, because that Prince amongst vs here is plast.
I clapt my handes for ioye (alas) I wakt withall,
And then my muses and their songes, my ioyes were gone and all.
And then retournd my greefe, I felt a further care,
Because to shew what I had seen, did passe my power so farre:
And that a man vnlearnd, of arte that hath no skyll,
Should haue a charge so great as this, and could doe it so yll.
Yet thus I gan to wright, I knew right well that he,
Which due desert did thus commend, should shade the want in me:
To whome I pray the Lorde, to send like yeares a Noye
In happie health and quiet state, to his and all our ioye.


Title:
A frendly larum, or faythfull warnynge to the true harted subiectes of England Discoueryng the actes, and malicious myndes of those obstinate and rebellious papists that hope (as they terme it) to haue theyr golden day.

Tags:
Topical, Confessional, Religious, Political, other

Lyrics:
WHat meanes the ragynge mindes,
of cruell carelesse sorte?
To raunge with rage whose chollor hot
they deeme a sweet disporte.
Or why do Papistes mutter so,
in euery corner now?
Such tidinges straunge, as scarsly they
in triall dare auow.
Their tongues to tell forth lies,
they dayly do imploy:
To sclaunder truth, and godly men,
they take exceeding ioy.
As rechlesse forth they raunge,
regarding nought at all:
Some liue in hope againe to see
the worship of God Baall.
And still they boast therof,
as peruerse Papistes will:
They spit their poison where they please,
as Hydras whelps full ill.
And here they prie, and there they spie,
their equals forth to finde:
And oft in Paules they parley forth
their spiteful cankered minde.
Yea, still they talke of newes,
and then their mindes they say:
But partinge then, adew saithe one,
vnto the Golden day.
When wee shall haue our wils,
and purpose come to passe:
And eke enioy as wee doo wish,
our longe desired Masse.
And then shall goe to wracke,
the broode that Luther bred:
Olde custome shall supplie the Churche,
whiche errour now hath fed.
Thus prate they as they liste,
in secrete muttringe sorte:
Not basshing suche pernitious talke,
to parley and reporte.
Some wish the Basan Bull,
might haue the rulinge sway:
Who (as they boast) shall them restoare
vnto there Golden day.
Some wish the waueringe Moone,
might quite Eclips the Sunne:
And thus before their wittes wée sée,
some Papistes tounges doo runne.
Some wish ye Redcombde bird might crow,
and beare away the game:
But yet his combe may hap be cut,
for practisinge the same.
And longe this sauage crewe,
of Bonner made account:
To Throne of Londons rule againe,
in Golden day should mount.
Who then would make our Protestants,
the Cuckoes songe to singe:
Or els with faggottes firie flames,
to ruine them to bringe.
But God berefte their hope,
which vainely fed their minde:
And vnto his elected Churche,
a pleadge of loue assinde.
For when they bragged most,
to haue there Golden day:
Then God by death did ouerthrowe,
the piller of their staye.
And then they hunge their heades,
as men that wanted braynes:
And sobbingly did shewe by sighes,
their straunge tormentinge paynes.
Some then were drownd in deepe dispaire,
that longe in hope did liue:
Yea, some did showe with streames,
what griefe his death did giue.
Thus were the Papistes drencht
in fluddes of flowinge woe:
As plainely men might sée and vew,
by their externall shoe.
As euery subiect will,
that God and truth doth loue:
Indeuer to the vttermost,
these Rebels rage to moue.
And séeke in Princes cause,
and quarell to contende:
As farre as life and worldly pelfe,
will serue for to extende.
Although the waue ringe Moone,
and other of his crewe:
As doth the Bull and so the rest,
rebelliously renewe.
To bringe againe to Throne
the Bore that fometh so:
Whiche feares by force of sincere truth,
his Kingdome to forgo.
And therefore hath begonne to worke,
accordinge to his skill:
With gréedy tuskes to pray vpon,
all suche as hate his will.
What hauocke hath he made?
How toyles he euermore?
For to deface the bloud of Christe,
and suche as him adore:
His pompous pride, his Pagans hart,
corrupt and moste vniust:
Delights with Martirs bloud to quentch,
his hote and Woluishe thurst,
Not Phallaris the fearce,
the Bulles of Brasse did frame:
To vexe the Saincts that did delight,
to praise Christs holy name.
In tiranny doth more exceede,
then doth this Tiger wood:
Whose exercise is wholly bent,
to spill the faithfuls bloud.
As Nero sought to butcher those,
that Idolles did disdaine:
So doth this Borish Brock with sworde,
his maingie Masse maintaine.
As Traiean did extort we read,
when he did Septer hold
In Rome, as lawfull Emperour,
the shéepe of Christes fold.
So doth this Romish Wolfe,
not spare to take his praie:
And where he may, no Sheep nor Lambe,
his téeth can scape awaie.
As hath ben heard and séene,
in Fraunce and Flaunders late:
Where cruell Pharo furiously,
doth maintaine his estate.
And so tormentes the Fold,
and flocke of Christe in deede:
That for to heare the faithfull hartes,
may cause with woe to bleede.
In Fraunce by Ciuill warre,
the Pope hath plaide his parte:
His toyle is séene, Gods open truth
by force for to subuart.
What slaughter hath ben there,
to vs hath not ben hid:
Ne yet to them that thousandes haue,
from out this life ben rid.
Their countrie sore decaid·
their wealth decreased still:
And shall be sure if case the Pope,
may haue his wisshed wil.
For as he hates the truth,
and séekes to hide the same:
So doth he séeke to butcher those,
that loue and feare Gods name.
And where as Gods most sincere woorde,
doth seeke to take a roote:
This viper doth attempt by force,
to treade it vnder foote.
But Heauen and Earth, saith Christe,
shall perish and decaie:
When his eternall veritie,
vnspotted still shall staie.
And though Saule hauock make of his,
and touch them to the quicke:
Let Saule take héede, for hard it is
to spurne against the pricke.
For though his Curres a time,
do persecute and spoyle:
At last Gods truth maugre there might,
shall giue his foes the foyle.
In spite of all his crew,
that purpose his aduaunce:
Gods truth through knowledge at the last
shall rule and raigne in Fraunce.
He shall confound that carelesse traine,
those Iabins fearce and fell,
Which spoile his Church, & kil his Saincts
that loue his déere Gospell.
In steede of warre and bloudy fight,
he shall establish peace:
And plant his worde, euen there as here,
when Papistrie shall cease.
In Flaunders to discourse,
the Tirannie which is there:
Not only strikes the hart with griefe,
but noyes the Christian eare.
As well by fight as other wise·
the Popish trayne do toyle:
To wast and harme the godly ones,
their goods to pray by spoyle.
Yonge men, and Uirgines pure,
which God and truth do loue:
O violent rigour from this life,
by dent of death doth moue.
The Husband from his Wife,
by violence is refte:
And oftentimes the wife euen then,
all Husbandles is lefte.
And all to kéepe the Pope in Throne,
God knowes a heauy thinge:
When Darnell shalbe caused thus,
by Princes power to springe.
As late a Pageant straunge,
by force inured there:
Upon a woorthie man of God,
seruant of Christe so deare.
Iohn Camberlaine he hight,
in Armes a woorthy man:
Whose hawtie courage, all the traine
of Papists witnes can.
So zealous in his Maisters cause,
his doctrine to maintaine:
As prest for to resist the crewe,
of Popish doctours vaine.
So valliant in the field,
to cheare his Souldiars all:
That Camberlaine they waile with teares,
and oft this Captaine call.
Who to the Papists was a pricke,
and cause of gripinge griefe:
Unto the Protestants in neede,
a comfort and reliefe.
Against this godly wight,
in Armes renowmed so:
His enimies conspierd still,
to giue him cause of woe.
And God permitting them,
this Captaine true to take:
A sacrifice vnto him selfe,
this Camberlaine did make.
In pryson they him cast,
sore clogd with yron bands:
Which as reward, the faithfull reape,
at these preude Papists hands.
No triumphe small was made,
that Camberlaine was caught:
The Popes own pigges right ioyful were
the faithfull tooke great thought.
And Camberlaine in fetters clogd,
to God did call for aide:
To strengthen him with pacience,
for constancy he praide.
That as he had begonne to taste,
the fulnes of his grace:
So in his truth he would confirme,
his fraile and mortall race.
Corroborat Lord this carkas now,
which is but dust and slime:
All torments straunge for to indure,
for testimonie thine.
I know as thou my Christe,
of worldlings wert contemd:
And vnder Pilate or the Iewes,
to cruell death condemd.
So shall thy seruant liynge here,
with fetters sore opprest:
Amonge the broode of currish Caines·
with death be due distrest.
I read that thy Electes,
by Tirantes haue ben slaine:
I reade that Herode for thy sake,
put Infants yonge to paine.
And afterward the Tetriarcke,
which Herode also hight:
For Herodias sake, Iohn Baptist head,
in pryson of did smight.
I read that Peter and S. Paule,
by Nero lost their liues:
And so these Curres of Neroes broode,
thy Saincts from breath depriues.
And shall thy seruaunt then,
now subiect to thy crosse:
Dispaire one whit to follow thée?
Or thinke his life a losse?
No, no my God, for sith the world
haue thee no fauour showne:
Now should they loue, or fauour those
which aye remaine thine owne.
Oh should thy seruant thee exceede,
sith thou was well content:
With thy hart bloud vpon the Crosse,
to seale thy Testament.
Sith they haue persecuted thee,
thy Saincts, and Prophetes pure:
How should they spa[…]e, to vexe thy Flock,
which in thy truth indure?
These Popish Traieans brood,
the bluddringe Balams blinde:
To vexe thee in thy members still,
occasion do finde.
But Lord when thou shalt thinke it meete,
rise vp, redresse the wronge:
That thy elected Churche and Saincts,
haue now indured longe.
With draw their neckes from Pharos yoke
thy heauy crosse remoue:
Not as I will, but as thou wilt,
O rulinge Ioue aboue:
And fortefie this brittell Flesh,
so weake and fraile my Christ:
That to the death, with losse of bloud
thy foes I may resist.
This carkas is the praie,
that Papistes thinke to spoile:
To reaue from it my breathed life,
with hote desire they toyle.
But so confirme my faith,
when perilles present be:
That feare of death constraine me not,
to swarue or straie from thee.
The Chaos of this fleash,
is mould and slippery dust:
Then whereunto, or vnto whom,
should I thy seruant trust.
But only vnto thée my God,
whose mercy doth abound:
Which to relieue thy Saincts opprest,
by grace meane hast founde.
To thee I still appeale,
to thee I call and crie:
My faith perswades me I am thine,
although my fleash shall dye.
And with thy preaching Paule,
who resteth in thy handes:
I couet Lorde dissolu'd to be,
from these terrestriall bandes.
But when it shall thée please,
thy Sion hill restore:
Reedefie Ierusalem,
deface the Popish Lore.
The Turrets of prowde Babilon,
in mercie ouerthrowe:
That all the worlde a mighty God,
thy Maiestie may knowe.
This said, the Tormentours in hast,
from pryson him conuay:
To Brussels in the market steede,
where they their Pagents play.
So straunge to hear and know,
as any hart would bléede:
To thinke that woorthy Camberlaine,
should so be vexte in déede.
Whose paines so passinge were,
so perillous and great:
That any Pagan would abhorre,
to worke so vilde a feate.
For passinge by the Bishops gate,
a gate so named there:
With knife in hande, a slaughter man
to Camber. Did appeare.
And vnto him approched fast,
and cut of both his eares:
Which facte of those that feare the Lord,
requiers bloudy teares.
But yet as vncontent,
they prosecute their ill:
They spoile him of his robes and then,
they whip and scourge him still.
Unto the firie flames, where he
shall fine his vitall life:
Where they his torments to enlarge,
do showe them selues full rife,
And then with pron Tonges,
in fire burninge hot:
They pinch, and pul his flesh from boanes
all mercy is forgot.
But he opprest with payne,
to God doth call and crie:
To place his soule amonge his Sainctes,
aboue the Starrie skie.
But when his flesh from boanes,
is pluckt in many a place:
About the market steede with whippes,
they Camberlaine do chase.
So that no parte of him is free,
from bloudy streames so redde:
And then to firie flames againe,
this Godly man is ledde.
Where as they did before,
they double more his payne:
From boanes to plucke his tender flesh,
the Tormenters are fayne.
But still he crieth to God,
to ayde him in that case:
And at the laste to graunt to him,
in Heauen a resting place.
The Tormentors againe,
to take their whippes prepare:
About the market him to scourge,
they pr[…]st and ready are.
This donne, vnto a stake they binde
and tie this Godly wight:
And on the top, a burninge tubbe,
of pitch the Papists pight.
So that the droppes did light a pace,
vpon his tender skinne:
This kinde of paine did Camberlaine,
for Christes Gospell winne.
Who then amidst his panges of payne,
did neuer more oblight:
To mightie God for to commend,
his ghost and troubled spright.
And of the wisht that Antichrist,
might haue an vtter fall:
And that the truth might publisht be,
to ouerthrow of Baall.
But still these Uipers fell, alas,
haue sought his tormentes still,
And iiii. Foote distant from the stake,
to show their cursed will.
A fire huge they frame,
to compasse Camber. Bound:
Whose ardent heate about the stake,
constraines him to runne round.
Till God from Heauen cast downe his eies
his tormentes to asswage:
Who now no doubt doth rest in ioye,
most free from Papists rage.
Iudge ye that haue Gods feare,
iudge ye these Papists spight:
And magnifie the God of Gods,
for Camberlaine that wight.
Whose praise in spite of death,
shall liue and last for aye:
Maugre all those that wish and looke,
for such a Golden daye.
That they may burne and whip,
as Papists learne by skill:
All those that seeme for to prefer,
Gods Testament and will.
Also the late attempted fact,
in Skottish zoyle and land:
Which cruell clownishe caitife late,
to practise tooke in hand.
Doth plaine discourse to me,
what fruites in Traitours raine:
As well recordes the Noble bloud,
Lorde Ieamie lately slaine.
With thundringe stroke of gunne,
and eger pearsinge shot:
A griefe to comly Courtiers sure,
and subiectes true God wot.
This Regents death is wepte,
with sobbes in many a place:
Who with the sound of iustice sought,
disorder to deface.
His truth and Noble skill,
in Armes was not vnknowne:
A pricke to those which vnto truth,
were heinous mortall fone.
But cursed be that Tiger fell,
that Gorgon fearce and wood:
Which greedely to quench his thirst,
did shed Lord Ieamies bloud.
Woe worth that Caitifes hand,
that made the simple morne:
Whose stroke of gun, with heaps of ioies
the Papists did adorne.
But so torments the mindes,
of those that faithfull bee:
That brinish streames doth show to them
a dismall daie they see.
But yet perhaps· this verlet vile,
which did commit this fact:
May Canonised be a Sainct,
by Pope for that his act.
For Cronicles discourse to me,
Alphonsus borne in Spaine:
Which did the Lore of Pope wee see,
by study longe maintaine.
Did so disdaine his brother deare,
Diazius by name:
Who then with Bucer sought to preach,
the woorde of life and fame.
That all in rage gainst reasons skill,
and natures skilfull Lore:
He sought for to conuert him still,
as busied euermore.
To hate the truth, but all in vaine
Diazius faithfull was:
And sought by truth him to allure,
from pelting Popish Masse.
And then Alphonsus fainde him self,
conuerted for to be:
And outward iesture made it play,
as all estates might see.
He seemd with tounge to speake,
that harte disdained quight,
Againste the Poape he fained then,
with earnest truth to fight.
His brother was right glad in minde,
and Ioyfull in his harte,
That Alphonse did from Papistrie,
to sincere truth conuarte.
And oft embraste him in his armes,
and kist his tender face,
Eke he with teares repentaunt seemde,
though doublenesse had place.
And faining to departe from thence,
a letter did endight,
And hierd a Slaue to beare the same,
to Diazius poore wight
Who nothing slowe to execute,
his purpose and his will,
A hatchet brought vnder his cloake,
Diazius to kill.
And as he to peruse the same,
was diligent in deede:
The Hangman cleft into his hed,
while he the same did reade.
Then home to Rome Alphonsus fled,
pursuite was after made:
But yet the Popes most sacred Bull,
causde Iustice skill to fade.
And for this bloudy murther showne,
he Canonised was:
A Sainct, such zeale hath peeuish Pope,
to his most wicked Masse.
And so this Clowne which late we heare,
Lord Iames with gunne did kill:
The Pope may hap to make a Saincte,
so diuelishe is his will.
Iudge now the Iuglinge castes they vse,
iudge you the cruell trade:
Iudge you the cause of Ciuill strife,
the Pope this time hath made.
Whose crueltie is suche,
expressed euery where:
That vnto such as loue Gods truth,
right noysome is to heare.
Was Nero halfe so wood,
as are our Papists now:
The Turkes that heare this crueltie,
will not the same allow.
Not Phallaris so cruell was,
such tormentes to deuise:
As do our Bloudhoundes in defence,
of their late written lies.
Though Dioclesian cruell were,
to butcher Christes flocke:
Which vnto Iupiter his God,
for mercy would not knocke.
Not halfe so mercilesse was he,
as seeme our Papists aye:
For some would bite, which now do bark
to haue a Golden daye.
But whence doth springe the cause,
and ground of all this strife?
Euen from the filthy Seas of Rome,
in mischiefe very rife.
Whose wares began to smell,
as dunge and durtie drosse:
And therefore like a rauenous Wolfe,
the Sainctes of God doth tosse.
And now the time is come he sees,
that truth must runne his race:
He feares the wracke of Babilon,
and of his Papall place.
He feares his pelting pardons now,
no lenger will be sold:
And therefore striues with footh & nayle
his trinckets to vphold.
He feares his slender God,
his Robin in his boxe:
He feares no man will be so mad,
to call to Stoanes and Stockes.
He dreades a sudden chaunge,
may happen soone to fall:
Which him and his, if truth runne foorth
may spéedely appall.
And therefore sendeth forth,
with thundryng voyce his curse:
Wherewith he thinkes, to staie & cause
his foes to speede the worse.
And then he stirs vp freindes,
and Pardon dothe them send:
That in his cause, and quarell will
by force of Armes contend.
Thus seekes he to obscure the truth,
which God will haue to raigne:
Yea, to deuide al Kingdomes now,
imployed is his payne.
Where peace should ay remainynge be,
he Battayle doth procure:
Where loue should raigne, ye fruits of hate
he trauels to invre.
As hath in Fraunce and Flaunders sure·
continued very songe:
And now into our English pale,
he seeketh fast to thronge.
And many Northen Dawes,
aquaynt them with his Grace:
And séeme to burne their Bibels pure,
and Masse bookes plant in place.
Some seeme to disanull the thinge,
that God and Queene allowes:
And seeke to prosecute apace,
their Popishe peltinge vowes.
The broode of Balaams Priestes,
their Coapes did soone assay:
And some in London then had thought,
to haue their Golden day.
When they might knocke and kneele,
and crutch to Masse againe:
When they might praie, & sucke the bloud
of such as truth maintaine.
But then their hope supprest,
and dasht by Princesse might:
And both the Moone and Bull for feare,
had take them selues to flight.
And these pestiferous Priestes,
which Masse beganne to singe:
Were trussed vp, and sent to Heauen
as some say in a stringe.
The portly Beare. The shininge STAR·
this whurly burly ceast:
In Princesse cause, haue rebels rage
by Iustice skill dicreast.
And quiet made those stormes,
which then did seeme to floe:
And quenched quite, those glimering sparks
that then began to gloe.
Euen sodainely the wauering Moone·
so apte for euery chaunge:
As eke the Bull, whiche after him
most fickelly did raunge.
Had lost the day, that lingring hope
to gayne their mindes had fed:
Another Birde of carelesse kinde,
after their Pipes was led.
As well content, to treade the daunce
that they had so begonne:
As into further perill sure,
disordredly to runne.
And now with forraine power,
they mixed do remaine:
Intendinge by their practise found,
to worke their Countries paine.
They nought regard the Princesse loue,
hir fauour they disdaine:
Also hir offred Pardon late,
the Bull, and Moone thought vaine.
And contrary vnto theyr Othes,
vnto their Princesse plight:
They tooke the field against hir grace,
and offred there to fight.
But then the STAR prepard in post,
their malice to withstand:
And at the last a prudent Beare·
would take the Bull in hande.
The Moone was quaild, the Bulles hart faild
they fled away for feare:
And left their Soldiars in the field,
dispersed here and theare.
Who hearyng these two Champions fled,
began to shifte for life:
But England hath iust cause to hate,
the Authours of this strife.
But then the Redcombd byrd in field,
in Princes cause was found:
With Speare & Shield by force of Armes
those Rebels to confound.
And none more prest, then he was there
for to pursue the chase:
Of those that sought, as periured wights
to disobay hir Grace.
But when these stormes were calmd,
and euery thyng at rest:
Euen then to ioyne with them, we heare
the carelesse Byrde thought best.
And beyng a faithfull feathered Byrde,
disceyte hath chokte his hart.
But God I pray for Christes sake,
their stony mindes conuart.
And ouerthrow the enterprice,
that they haue take in hand:
Which only tendes the Lawes of God,
and Princesse to withstand.
But if their mindes corrupt,
do Diuelish custome loue:
And that to place the Pope in Throne,
this discord now they moue.
Let them take héede, for God is iust,
and Maugre all their might:
As he hath donne, so will he now
for his Elected fight.
When Pharo did oppresse,
the Isralites wée reade:
He plagued him and all his Land,
with sundry Plagues in deede.
And Maugre Pharoes Hoast,
and fortitude so stronge:
He brought them thence, & drowned those
that would his people wronge.
And is he not? The same God now
like wonders for to show:
On those that neither will his might,
nor Gospell learne to know.
Thinke you his Arme doth weaken now:
or is his power lesse?
At this present, then then it was
his foes for to suppresse.
If not, why seeke ye then
his Honour to decay?
And that the Pope in England should,
againe beare rulinge sway.
Where are your English hartes become?
Is truth and faith now fled?
Haue ye forgot the place, where ye
where borne and also bred?
Regard ye not your Nourse,
your Natiue zoyle and Land:
Whose Honour you are bound to séeke,
and all hir fees withstand.
Your God ye should obay,
his worde you ought to loue:
Your Crowne and Countrie to defend,
it would you all behoue.
First God to Honour ye are bound,
for giuinge breathed life:
For blessyng you with wealthes increase,
as you haue felt full rife.
And next your Queene whose clemencie,
ye haue both knowne and felt:
Which bountuously vnto you all,
hir gracious giftes hath delt.
As well for that hir Grace,
is heyre vnto the Crowne:
And child vnto the Eight Henrie,
a Prince of hie renowne.
As also that hir Maiestie,
all errours doth suppresse:
And trauels still, that Gods truth may
in England haue successe.
And to your Countrie ye be bound,
as Nature doth you will:
Because that she hath Nurst you vp,
ye ought to loue hir still.
In hir Defence ye ought with sword,
as well in Princesse cause:
In bloudy field to striue against,
all those that hate hir lawes.
But you forget all this,
no God, nor Prince ye feare:
Ne to your Countrie any loue,
your déedes do proue you beare.
But euen as Catterpillers sure,
ye seeke hir wealth to spoile:
But God is able by his power,
to giue you all the foile.
When that his people haue ben vext,
by Tirants raginge yre:
As now your Pope this rule to kéepe,
perhaps doth you require.
Whose peltinge Pardon ye enioy,
to make your hartes so stronge:
That forth ye rush, to worke your wils
suppressinge right for wronge.
What are ye now absolu'd
from thrift and fall to sinne?
Or doth the Pope to make you Saincts,
for this practise beginne?
Why then, its Cock: ye may be bold,
the Heauens shalbe your owne:
I blame ye not if your good willes,
to further him be showne.
But harke ye Balaams blind,
if Popish Saincts ye bee:
The darknesse with cleare light,
at no time can agree.
Can Christe an[…] Belliall loue?
Can truth a falsehood bée?
Or shall the Goates expulse the Lambes,
from Heauen confesse to mée?
No more can you his Sainctes,
the Flocke of God deface:
Ne yet his Pardon graunt to you,
in Heauen a resting place.
But yet if cursed cruell Cain,
which shed iust Abels blood:
For Homicide shall winne the Heauens?
Then Christ shall doo you good.
If Arius that Heretique,
enioy felicitie?
Then shall your Pope, & you his Sainctes
which are as ill as he.
If Iudas for betraying Christe,
shall raigne in Heauen on hie?
So shall the Pope, and you his Saincts
I can it not denie.
If Mahomet that Prophete false,
eternitie doo gaine?
Then shall the Pope, & you his Sainctes
in Heauen be sure to raigne.
If Iulius Apostata,
with Christe a place possesse?
So shall the Pope, and you his Saincts
of force I must confesse.
But harke, prepare your eares to heare
what tidinges I shall tell:
As these for their most wicked liues,
did sincke downe into Hell.
So shall the Pope, and all his Saincts
vnlesse they doo repent:
Receiue like hyre, when Christ from Heauen
to Iudge vs shalbe sent.
For none more prone then he,
the truthe for to withstand:
And none more apte then are his Saincts
to take the sworde in hand·
To fight against Gods heauenly truth,
and those that loue the same:
Such zeale haue they vnto the drosse,
that peltinge Popes did frame.
What truth their doctrine hath,
is easie for to trie:
A man may Iudge the fruites thereof,
that hath but halfe an eie.
No truth contaynes the same,
therein is flatly coutcht
A heape of errours false and vaine,
which they for truth haue voucht.
Then cursed are they then,
that Heresies maintaine:
And teach vntruthes, in steede of truth
the Apostell saieth plaine.
If Christes death and precious bloud,
shed forth vpon the Crosse:
Unable be to pourge our sinne,
and pay to God our losse.
His death was vaine I iudge,
his bloud was shed in waste:
Which all that know and trust therein,
do know the gaine they taste.
By faith they purged are,
from sinne in his sweete blood:
Though now the Pope, do tell to vs
a tale of Robin hood.
Who comes with peltinge pardons now,
and stinkinge Bulles of lead:
To Pardon sinne, and would cause vs
vnder our féete to tread.
The bloud of Christ, that heauenly Lamb
(a prety Iuglinge cast)
But God from Heauen with vengeance hot
this Monster vile will blast.
Yea, he will breake the crewe,
of all the Popish brood:
That hope to haue a Golden day,
to shed more Martyrs bloud.
Yea, Christ wil swage the gréedy thirst,
of cruell carelesse Cain:
Which persecute his members still,
and put his Saincts to paine.
He will not leaue his Churche,
to languish in distresse:
Though he permit some Tirants still,
hir Children to oppresse.
But as a faithfull husband sure,
he doth his Church regard:
And at the last amidst his wrath,
his foes will sure reward.
Yea, he will breake the Iawes
of Antichrist so wood·
Which gréedely his Woluish thirst,
doth quench with-Martyrs bloud.
When OG and ZEON sought to spoile,
the Israelites I finde:
A Ieptha for to shield his flocke,
the mightie God assinde.
When that Phelistia sought,
with Israell to striue:
A Sampson God did rayse at last,
to denne his foes to driue.
When Ahab did displease the Lord,
and Iesabell his Quéene:
Whose hauocke to oppresse his Saincts,
full greedely was seene.
He waxed wroth, and plagued hir
in his most furious moode:
She brake hir necke, the dogges at last
did lap hir gilty bloud.
When […]abins Captaine Cisera.
Did sore oppresse Gods fold:
God raysed a Debora we read,
to make his harte full cold.
When that Assyria annoide,
Samaria in deede:
God by his power, fought for them
and from their foes them fréede.
When Oliphemus did assault,
Bethulia I finde:
A valiant Iudith vnto them,
the mighty God assingd.
When that Antiochus did extort,
the people of the Lorde:
And sought for to distroy them cleane,
by force of bloudy sworde.
God raise a Machabeus then,
his flocke Elect to shield:
Thus vnto his oppressed Church,
God comfort still doth yéeld.
And what haue these his foes?
Vnplagued gonne away:
No, Cysera lost his life I read,
in Tent where hid he lay.
And Oliphernus lost his head,
by Iudiths valiant hand:
Thus God doth fight for Sions health,
you Foes may vnderstand.
What? Was not Haman hanged on
the trée he did prepare:
To hange the Iewes, why then I red
some Papists to beware?
Antiochus was plagued sore,
in Chariot where he lay:
The wormes did drop out of his flesh,
as you can not denay.
The Bible forth doth show,
a number such as these:
Which plagued were, because the Lord,
they did so sore displease.
For which som Papistes looke,
and therof make great boast:
And then as late they did, be sure
the faithfull they will roast.
Then rigor should haue rule,
where mercy now doth raigne:
And fier and faggots should not faile,
your Masse for to maintaine.
You long to haue your Holy water,
and holy bread againe:
Ye long to haue your little round God,
in Pix for to remaine.
You long to haue a popish priest,
to sing a pelting Masse:
Ye wish to haue the Churche againe,
abused as it was.
But God your longing can depose,
though long therfore ye looke:
Your Golden day may chaunce to cause,
Your neckes to stand a crooke.
And therfore leaue your whispering you,
that daily gape for newes:
Take heede all ye that do Paules Church,
in order such abuse.
Repent, amend and call for grace,
while God doth lend you time:
Embrace the truth and skorne it not,
least vengeance plague your crime.
And ye that stand in doubt my freindes,
cast all your doubts away:
And vnto Gods eternall truth,
trust as your only stay.
For if ye stray from Christe,
and vnto Sathan cleaue:
He will when you haue greatest neede,
in daunger still you leaue.
For who so doth forsake the Lord,
for feare of worldly losse:
And thinketh skorne vpon his backe,
to take his Maisters Crosse.
Is far vnmeete to haue a place,
with Christ in Heauen aboue:
As plainly he in his Gospell,
at large doth show and proue.
And now ye that do raunge at large,
like Papists stoute and bolde:
In many a place of London sure,
when tidinges straunge are tolde.
Refraine your tounges, beware henceforth
what you do speake and saie:
For God regards his little Fold,
we haue the Golden daie.
His Gospell pure is truly taught,
and Preachers ready are:
To vs out of his holy Lawe,
our dewties to declare.
The Sacraments are ministred,
as Christe to vs hath tought:
Wherein we learne what he for vs,
by his deare death hath wrought.
For as we eate materiall Bread,
and Drinke materiall Wine:
So spiritually we feede by Faith,
on Christes fleshe deuine.
And so we drinke his precious Bloud,
to cheare our Soules with all:
Not grosly as you Papists saie,
with outward teeth Carnall.
But Spiritually by Faith,
vpon his Flesh we féede:
And so we Drincke his precious Bloud,
to comfort vs in deede.
Then haue we not a Golden daye?
The Lord prolonge the same:
That in his feare, henceforth we may
practise our liues to frame.
And so be thankfull to our God,
for these his giftes of grace:
That he may still behold our daies,
with his most louyng face.
That all our wordes & déedes henceforth,
may learne so to accorde:
That we with harts vnfained may,
still liue and Laude the Lorde.
And next our gracious Queene,
so Honour and obaye:
That England may be freed still,
from Papists Golden daye.
Which vnto those that feare the Lord,
and loue his Ueritie:
Through rigor and extorted force,
a dismall daie would be.
From which Lord fende thy little flocke,
and giue our foes a fall:
Confound those cruell Caines (O Lord)
that for a chaunge do call.
And so thy truth do grafte,
with in our tender hart:
That from thy truth and Testament,
no daunger cause vs start.
Confound the rage of Rebels stout,
Lord be our strength and Towre:
As from the Turke so shield vs Lord,
from force of Popish powre.
Abate their pride which wilfull be,
in lingringe hope to staie:
Protect thy Fold, defend thy Churche
from Papists Golden daye.
Aduaunce thy Gospell still,
let not thy praise decaie:
Stretch forth thine arme, & shield vs still
from Papists Golden daie.
Let all that loue thy Testament,
with harts vnfayned praie:
That neuer more in England here,
the Pope haue Golden daie.
Increase the number of thy folde,
thy mercie Lord displaie:
Prolonge amonge thy simple sheepe,
this happy Golden daie.
That we thy pasture may attaine,
and so thy woorde obaie:
That we at no time neede to feare,
the Papists Golden daie.
Come hast thy kingdome mighty God,
come Iesus Christ we praie:
That all our foes, may learne and know
we haue a Golden daie.
Our Realme & Queene defend dere God,
with hart and minde I praie:
That by thy aide hir Grace may kéepe,
the Papists from their daie.
Hir health, hir wealth, and vitall race
in mercy longe increase:
And graunt that Ciuill warre and strife,
in England still may cease.
Confound the pupose and deuise,
of all that carelesse crewe:
Which seeke by force for to withstand,
thy worde and Gospell trewe.
Preserue the Counsell of this Realme,
let thy Sprite be their staie:
That they their Councell may imploy,
to breake the Papistes daie.
Sende Preachers true good Lord,
thy Gospell to display:
That by their trauell they may let,
the Papists Golden day.
The Commons of this Realme defend,
that loue may ay abound:
And graunt obedience to our Queene,
may euer more be found.
That as she faithfull is,
hir Subiectes ay to loue:
So true and trustie vnto hir,
our hartes may euer proue.
Thus shall the mighty God,
be our Defence and stay:
And keepe the cruell Papists still,
from their longe wished day.
And we shall haue as God do graunt,
to Papists swift decay:
The worde of grace sincerely Preacht,
which is our Golden day.
Which to continew longe,
to God let vs all pray:
Whose glorious name be Lauded still,
for this our Golden day.

    FINIS.


Title:
A godly ditty or prayer to be song vnto God for the preseruation of his Church, our Queene and realme, against all traytours, rebels, and papisticall enemies

Lyrics:
Preserue thy Seruaunt Lord,
Elizabeth our Queene:
Be thou her shield and sword,
Now let thy power be seene.
That this our Quéene annoynted,
May vanquish al her foes:
And as by thee appoynted,
Let her lay sword on those.

Geue Lord true faythful hartes,
To vs her Subiectes al:
That we play not the partes,
Of these Traitours that fal
Both from their God and Prince,
And from their lawful othes:
All such O Lord conuince,
And geue them ouerthrowes.

Syng this after the tune of the .cxxxvij. Psalme, which begins VVhen as we sat in Babilon. Or such lyke.

OVr liuyng God to thee we cry,
Now tend vnto our playnt:
Behold thy Church and family,
Which enmies seeke to faynt.
And though our syns haue moued thee
Iust plagues on vs to poure:
Yet let thy Christes death shortly
Thy wrath vp cleane deuour.

Correct vs Lord by thine own hand,
And leaue vs not to those:
That do thee and thy truth withstand
Like diulysh deadly foes.
For better is it for vs Lord
Into thy handes to fall:
Then vnto them for to accord,
Which in hell perish shall.

Behold (O Lord) thine enmies rage
Against thee and thy Christ:
Not our syns they seeke to aswage,
But thy truth to resist.
And shall our syns then be a let
For thee them to withstand:
Seing against thee they be set?
No Lord, set to thy hand.

For thine the glory is, not ours
Which they seeke to suppres:
Bend therfore Lord thine host of powrs
And this thy cause redres.
Resist these Rebels and Traytours,
With Papistes euery one:
Which thy poore people so deuours
In euery nacion.

Let not the wicked thus preuayle,
To vexe thy Church and Sayntes:
But stroy them from the head to tayle,
Let none bewayle their playntes.
Lord heare the cry of Fatherles.
And Wyddowes which do mone:
The which these enmies do oppres
With mischiefes many one.

Defend O God our gracious Queene,
From Pope Rebel, and all:
And as by her thy woorkes be seene,
So let thy wrath now fall
Vpon all those that vexe thy truth,
Our Queene, our Realme and state:
And let their vicious prankes of ruth
Light vpon their own pace.

So shall thy name be magnified,
So shall thy power be knowne:
So shall our Christ be sanctified,
By them that be his owne.
Wherefore O Lord graunt our requestes
Which here to thee we make:
And make vs loue and lyue thy hestes,
For thy Christ Iesus sake.

  FINIS.


Title:
A lamentation from Rome, how the Pope doth bewayle, that the rebelles in England can not preuayle to the tune of Rowe well ye mariners.

Tags:
Topical, Religious, Confessional, Poltiical, other

Lyrics:
ALl you that newes would here,
Geue eare to me poore Fabyn Flye,
At Rome I was this yere,
And in the Pope his nose dyd lye,
But there I could not long abide,
He blew me out of euery side:
For furst when he had harde the newes,
That Rebelles dyd their Prince misuse,
Then he with ioye,
Did sporte him selfe with many a toye,
he then so stout,
From that his nose he blew me out.

But as he was a slepe,
Into the same againe I goot:
I crept there in so depe,
That I had almost burnt my coote,
New newes to him was brought that night.
The Rebelles they weare put to flight,
But Lord how then the Pope toke one,
And called for a Mary bone,
vp howgh make hast:
My louers all be like to waste,
tyse Cardnall, vp priest,
Saint Peter he doth what he lest.

So then they fell to Messe,
The Fryers one their Beades dyd praye,
The Pope began to blesse,
At last he weist not what to saye.
It chanced so the next day morne,
A Post came blowing of his Horne,
Saying Northomberland is take,
But then the Pope began to quake.
he then rubd nose,
With Pilgrome salue be noynt his hose,
runne here, runne there,
His nayles for anger gan to pare.

Not Northomberland alone,
But many of his wicked ayd:
Such as thought not to grone,
They hoped well for to aplayd,
There partes to haue there hartes desire,
But now is quenched there flames of fire,
The greatest and the meane beside,
With other youths fast bound must ride,
Ketch fast, kepe well,
There youthfull bloud they long to sell,
trust this dere Pope,
what is it than wherfore ye hope.

When he perceaued well,
The newes was true to him was brought,
Vpon his knees he fell,
And then S. Peter he be sought,
That he would stand his frend in this,
To helpe to ayd those seruauntes his,
And he would do as much for him,
But Peter sent him to Saint Simme.
So then he snuft,
the Fryers all about he cuft,
He roard he cryde,
the preists they durst not once abide.

The Cardnalles they beginnes,
To stay and take him in there arme,
He spurnd them on the shinnes,
Away the trudgd for feare of harme.
So there the pope was left alone,
Good Lord how he dyd make his mone,
The Stooles against the Walles he threwe,
And me out of his nose he blewe.
I hopt I skipt,
From place to place about I whipt,
he swore he tare,
Till from his Crowne he pold the heare.

He courst me so about,
In the house I conld finde no rome,
Loth I was to go out,
And shrind my selfe vnder a Brome.
Then by and by downe he was set,
with anger he was one a swet,
He rubd his elbowe on the Wall,
So fell a rayling on Saint Paule.
Fye fye bloud harte,
He scratchde him selfe till he dyd smart·
poll nose rube eye,
Grash the teth drawe mouth awrye.

He wept and wrong his handes,
yea worse and worse began to fret:
Thus radging still he standes,
then out at doore I dyd me get,
I was not soner gone from thence,
But worse and worse was his pretence,
The post he plucked from the house,
he left no harbour for a Mouse,
thus now the popes mad.
Because no better lucke they had,
forlorne molest,
that they so yll their meate disgest.

When I had vewed all,
To bring this newes my winges I spred,
to this parplict he is fall.
I wish some would go hold his head.
For certainely he doth yll fare,
yet for the same I do not care,
For God his power will conuince,
And ayd with right his beloued prince.
then Pope radge thou,
The God in heauen hath made a vowe,
to kepe all his,
That God is iust our stay he is.


Title:
A letter to Rome, to declare to ye Pope, Iohn Felton his freend is hangd in a rope and farther, a right his grace to enforme, he dyed a papist, and seemd not to turne. To the tune of Row well ye mariners.

Location of Printer:
sign of the Black boy at the middle north door of Paul's church

Lyrics:
WHo keepes Saint Angell gates?
Where lieth our holy father say?
I muze that no man waytes,
Nor comes to meete me on the way.
Sir Pope I say? yf you be nere,
Bow downe to me your listning eare:
Come forth, besturre you then a pace,
Fo I haue newes to show your grace.
Stay not, come on,
That I from hence were shortly gon:
Harke well, heare mee,
What tidings I haue brought to thee

The Bull so lately sent
To England by your holy grace,
Iohn Felton may repent
For settyng vp the same in place:
For he vpon a goodly zeale
He bare vnto your common weale
Hath ventured lyfe to pleasure you,
And now is hangd, I tell you true.
Wherfore, sir Pope,
In England haue you lost your hope.
Curse on, spare not,
Your knights are lyke to go to pot.

But further to declare,
He dyed your obedient chylde:
And neuer seemd to spare,
For to exalt your doctrine wylde:
And tolde the people euery one
He dyed your obedient sonne
And as he might, he did set forth,
Your dignitie thats nothyng worth.
Your trash, your toyes,
He toke to be his onely ioyes:
Therfore, hath wonne,
Of you the crowne of martirdome.

Let him be shryned then
Accordyng to his merits due,
As you haue others doen
That proue vnto their Prince vntrue:
For these (sir Pope) you loue of lyfe,
That wt their Princes fall at stryfe:
Defendyng of your supreame powre,
Yet som haue paid ful deare therfore.
As now, lately,
Your freend Iohn Felton seemd to try
Therfore, I pray,
That you a masse for him wyll say.

Kyng all the belles in Rome
To doe his sinful soule some good,
Let that be doen right soone
Because that he hath shed his blood,
His quarters stand not all together
But ye mai hap to ring them thether
In place where you wold haue them be
Then might you doe as pleaseth ye.
For whye? they hang,
Vnshryned each one vpon a stang:
Thus standes, the case,
On London gates they haue a place.

His head vpon a pole
Stands waueri~g in ye wherli~g wynd,
But where shoulde be his soule
To you belongeth for to fynd:
I wysh you Purgatorie looke
And search each corner wt your hooke,
Lest it might chance or you be ware
The Deuyls to catce him in a snare.
Yf ye, him see,
From Purgatorie set him free:
Let not, trudge than,
Fetch Felton out and yf ye can.

I wysh you now sir Pope
To loke vnto your faithful freendes,
That in your Bulles haue hope
To haue your pardon for their sinnes,
For here I tell you, euery Lad
Doth scoff & scorne your bulles to bad,
And thinke they shall the better fare
For hatyng of your cursed ware.
Now doe, I end,
I came to show you as a frend:
Whether blesse, or curse,
You send to me, I am not the worse.


Title:
A merrye new ballad of a countrye wench and a clowne

Lyrics:
ALL in a garden greene,
where late I layde me downe
Vppon a banke of camemeyle,
where I sawe vpon a style,
sitting, a countrey Clowne,
howldinge within his armes
a comelye countrye mayde :
courting her with all his skyll,
working her vnto his will.
Thus to her he sayd :-'
Kysse me in kindnes,
‘sweet hart’ quoth he.
'Syr, not for twenty
'good pounds,' quoth she.
He sayd 'Saye not soe.'
She sayd 'Let me goe.'
'Staye, sweet hart,' quoth he.
'Fye! how yow ruffle me.'
' What a lyfe is this :
'Lord, how I love thee,
'sweet hart,' quoth she.
----------
----------
' Fye for shame, I saye :
'take your hand awaye.'
'Sweet,' quoth he, 'be styll ;
'Though against thy will,
'I must haue a Kysse.

Sweete, Ile forsake my holde
yf thow will tarrye styll ;
' And here I make a vowe to thee
'thow shalt not be toucht, for me,
'more then thy good will.'
* Hands off, for shame !
' she sayd,
'In fayth, yow are to blame.
'Yf any body should vs see,
'what a blemish would it be
'to my honest name.'
Syt but a lyttle,
'by me, on this style;
' and I will bringe thee
'on thy way a mile.'
There she sate her downe
by this lovely Clowne.
' Sweete !
' then quoth he,
' Wilt thow wed with me ?
'
' No ! good fayth, not I !
'
'Let me but laye
'my hand upon thy knee.'
' Fye !
'
quoth this bony lasse,
'That may not be.'
'Sweete come kisse me then.'
' Maydes must kisse no men :
' Fye for shame ! I say.'
'
yf yow say me nay,
'Then for love I dye.'
'Lord, how yow hurt my hand;
'for god's sake let me goe:
' By my fayth and my troth,
' I did little thinke, forsooth !
'yow would haue servd me so.'
' Graunt me my suite ;
'
quoth he,
'and then Tie let the goe:
'I praye thee, doe me not denye,
'
gentle sweeting, but say I !
'
Styll she answered ' No !
'
'Let me but lay
my hand vpon thy knee.'
' No ! let me goe.
f l must be gone,' quoth she.
' If my mother knew
' that I were with yow,
'Woe should be my part.'
Stay !
'
quoth he,
' sweet hart!
'she shall never know.'
Then did he carrye her
behynd a tree.
What they did there
is unknowne to me ;
But I hard her say,
when she came awaye,
making low curtsye,
'Once againe,' quoth she,
'kysse me ere yow goe.'
Then the went hand in hand,
a furlong and more ;
Where, as they parted lovinglye
She put her finger in the eye,
and did weepe full sore.
Sighing, 'Sweete hart/ she sayd,
'Since now yow haue me won
'To yeeld and let you haue your will,
'if yow would not love me styll,
'I were quite vndone.'
' Sweete !
' then quoth he,
'I praye thee be content/
' If this be knowne,' quoth she,
' I am sure I shal be shent.'
' Hie thee home,' quoth he,
'for I doe sware to thee
'long it shall not be
'ere I come to thee
'to heare what thow wilt saye.'
Lord, how her colour
went an'd came for shame,
As other mayds
having done the same.
Though they make a showe,
and say often ' No !
'
yet, before yow goe,
they will take it, tho
they crye'
fye awaye


Title:
A merye new balade, how a wife entreated her husband to have her own will.

Lyrics:
IN May, when floures swetely smel.
The people romyng abrode ful ryfe,
A mery tale I shal you tel.
That then was herd, but no great strife ;
In close a yong man and his wife
Sate reasonyng sore, but for none yl;
She said, I am wery of this lyfe,
Good husband, let me haue mine owne will, 

 Wyfe, quoth he, then must I nedes know 
What is your wyll, then, for to haue
At me you must neither mocke nor mow.
Nor yet loute me, nor call me knaue;
Nor Venvs game vpon me craue.
Nor yet your honestye for to spill, 
And make me neyther boy nor flaue,
But do good, and therin take your owne wyl.

Tush, quoth she, sir, as for that
I wyll be honeft, to dye therefore;
But, husband, husband, wot ye what ? 
I haue bene your wyfe this month and more,
And haue not gone but to the dore,
Such keping in my heart doth spyll;
By house-kepers neighbours set no store,
Good husband, let me haue mine owne wyll !

Wyfe, quoth he, be you content;
You shall to church and to market go, 
And to neighbours to, at time conuenient,
But not to gossip, the truth is so ;
Tauernes to haunt ? no wyfe, no, no !
Nor yet alehouses, with Jacke nor Gyll;
You know my mynd for friend or fo,
 Doe good, and therein take your owne wyll.

Husband, quoth she, you be to blame
To kepe me in, and so playne withall;
 Me thinke I shuld be a fyne dame, 
Whereby great prayse to you might fall
I being fayre, nice, and small,
Yf I had gay clothes my body to hyll.
Then gentlewomen for me wold call,
Good husband, let me haue myne owne wyll.

No, wyfe, quoth he, it wyll not be borne
For you to go fyne and gayly clad;
To go as I will haue you, thinke ye no scorne.
That is, comely and cleane, sober and sad;
Wherefore, be you neyther sicke nor yet mad,
Because ye may not your mynd fulfyll.
For your desyre is wicked and bad,
Doe good, and therein take your owne wyll.

Not mad, quoth she ; alas, good man.
What woman culd your wordes abyde ?
I entreatyng you as fayre as I can.
And yet my wordes you set asyde;
Though I be fayre, I loue no pryde.
For I serue your swyne with drasse and swyl;
Unto my friendes I wold fayne ryde,—
Good husband, let me haue myne owne wyll.

Wyfe, quoth he, what nedeth all this ?
You craue a great deale more then neede;
Your friendes haue no need of vs, I wis.
Wherefore be stayed, good gentle Beede:
Now let vs plow and sow our seede.
Our wynter land is yet to tyll;
How to thryue let vs first take heede.
And do good, and therin take your owne wyl.

Oh husband, quoth she, I am but yong.
Wherefore, I pray you, graunt me one thyng.
At libertie let me haue my toung,
Eyther to chyde, or els to syng;
To daunce to kysse, not ouer-workyng, 
But once a weke to go to myll;
My time is short, my death is cumming,
Good husband, let me haue mine owne wyll. 

No, wyfe, quoth he, I am your head, 
Wherefore, I pray you, my counsell take, ;
And let such tricks in you be dead,
Leaft that for it your bones doe ake ;
Therefore learne betime to brue and bake.
And liue no longer in ydlenesse styll
Wherefore, for your owne ease sake, '
Doe good, and therein take your owne wyll. 

Alas, quoth she, what chaunce haue I,
To couple myselfe with such a one, 
That had rather to see me dye.
Then to decke me gay, as I wold haue gone
To chyde, nor syng, nor to daunce alone ?
I wold I had maried John Goosequyll, 
Then nede I not to haue made this mone, 
For by him I might haue had all my wyll.

No more of these twayne culd be hard.
But home they went together playne ;
But let no wyues this wyfe regard,
For her request was all in vayne. 
And yet with shrewes some men take payne, !
And abydeth the iob of the deuylles byll, 
From the which, all good wyues, refrayne !
God geue vs all grace to doe his wyll. Amen


Title:
A NEVVE BALLADE INTITVLED, AGAYNST Rebellious and false Rumours. To the nevve tune of the Blacke Almaine, vpon Scissillia.

Lyrics:
WHat Rumores now are raised of late
Within this English lande:
Which is not much for to be praysed
The case so harde doth stand,
For euery one doth talke,
There tongues contrary walke,
And semes to meddell, of this and that,
There babling tongues, so large doth chatte,
As foolishe fancye, moues them saye,
So out there foolish talke they braye.
And euery one doth besie him still,
About the thing he hath no skill.

Some of his neighbors doth inquire,
What newes abrode there is:
If that he any thinge doth here,
Of those that dyd amisse.
Some longeth to here tell, 
Of those that dyd Rebell,
And whether they be fled or take,
Thus still inquirie they do make,
Some sayth to Scotland they be goe,
And other sayth it is not so,
The Rumerous Deuell is now abrode,
Which makes them so to laye on lode.

Some sayth this yeare there shalbe hapte,
Much trouble in the lande: 
Of Prophesies they carpe and clappe,
As they that haue them skande.
Doth tell them so abrode,
And thus they laye on lode:
And filles the peoples eares with lyes,
Thus Rumor still abrode he flyes.
Which makes them now in such a rore,
As all true hartes may well deplore.
And praye to God if that he please,
These foolish Rumores once maye cease.

And let vs nowe applye our tyme,
In prayer to the Lorde: ()
That he may cease this furious cryme,
That now is blowne abrode.
And euery one to staye,
His tongue and nothing saye:
But of the thinges he hath in hand,
And sée his besynes well be scand?
And not to meddle of Princes actes,
What they will do nor of there factes,
If occupied, well we thus abyde:
The Lorde for vs will well prouide.

For surely Plagues we do desarue,
Most horrable and great:
Because from God we still do swarue.,
And dayly doth him frette.
And still prouoke his Ieare,
Which glous as hotte as fyare:
His Bow is now all redye bent,
Therfore in tyme let vs repent,
Least he for sinne do vs depriue, 
For warned folkes they saye may liue?
And warning take by other men,
Which we before our eyes haue sene.

We haue hard in Fraunce the Rumur there
That hath bene many a daye:
There countrey spoyled in Ruth and feare,
Vnto there cleane decaye.
With losse of many a man,
Since first that sturre began:
And many a Noble hath bene slayne,
A Duke, and eake a Prince certayne.
Which weare the chiefe stayes of that land,
Wherfore in hazarde now they stande,
For where the chiefe are taken awaye,
The rest must nedes runne to decaye.

In what estate doth Souldiers stand,
Great ruth it is to here:
That there is wrought the Tirants hand
We nede not to declare.
Experiaunce well may showe,
What numbers here doth flowe.
Of Flemminges fled from Tirantes hand,
Which dayly commeth to this land:
Whose harts in wrath full long hath boyld
And eake there Countrye cleane dispoyld.
Which thing may warne vs well I saye
Least that we féele the lyke decaye.

The Lorde hath suffered vs full longe,
And spared hath his rodde:
What peace hath bene vs now among,
A leuen yeares praysed be God.
And round about vs hath,
Bene warre and cruell fayth,
And all to cause vs to repent,
For we desarue worsse punnishment,
Then any of these Landes haue done,
I feare we shall be plagud right sone,
Thy Iudgement sure our God hath had,
To plague the good still for the bad.

Wherefore let vs with one accorde,
Fall all to fast and praye:
And Pardon craue now of the Lorde,
To kepe vs from decaye.
And leaue this murmoring spight,
Which God doth not delight:
The Scripture playnely doth declare,
The Isralites they plagued weare:
Because the murmered at there God,
Therin we do desarue lyke rod.
With hartes deuoute now let vs praye,
To kepe this Realme from all decaye.

    Finis.

quod. Thomas Bette.


Title:
A PITHTHY NOTE to Papists all and some that ioy in Feltons Martirdome. Desiring them to read this and to iudge & not in spite at simple truth to grudge.

Tags:
Political, Topical, Religious, Confessional, other

Lyrics:
LOng leuitie abusde, at le~gth dooth lend deserued hire:
whe~ mercy ouer moou'd with vice gins ki~dle Iustice ire.
¶ As now may wel discerned be Unto the smart of such
As heaped by vnfruteful hope and pitie proou'd to much.
¶ But so it is when follyes flud makes wisdom lowe at eb:
And where for harty looue such doo winde vp foule Treasons web.
¶ As Felton fond hath surely felt for fault of treason hye:
So all wil vouch whose hart{is} (with God and Prince) are not awrie
¶ And as ye Nortons twain did taste of late for like offence:
Whom Iustcie paid by portion iust a righteous recompence.
¶ Yet Felton past, when wilful déed of his was wel descryed:
For why? he neuer blushe for shame, nor much the same denyed,
¶ The Bul bewitch this caluish braine And Pius his déer god:
Made him to bolde for his behoof, to taste of such a rod.
¶ He durst presume good Catholick, t'erect vp forraine power:
And Subiects faithful hart{is} now wel by flattery to deuoure.
¶ As though at once all Engla~d would haue shru~k at Pius curse:
And that the Childe at strangers beck would leaue his painful nurse.
¶ Theblessing of the Pope he thought would sure haue take such place:
That English men with Cap and knée would straight the same imbrace.
¶ What ment be els to fix the Bul on Bishops Pallaice gate:
But that he thought by somes return to mend his owne estate.
¶ But English men God haue ye praise wish rather his curse stil:
Then with his blessing to receiue bothe soule and bodyes il.
¶ Gods curse dooth light where he dooth blesse as Malachi dooth rel:
As Felton and and the rest haue tried which seru'd the Pope ful wel.
¶ But Papists say they are moste blest for dying in his cause:
Because he wil their soules redéem from hel and Sathans clawes.
¶ And Felton chée fly they commend For his coragious minde:
Which vnto Pope and holy Church didshew him self so kinde,
¶ Wherfore a blessed Martyr they doo rightly him confesse:
Which mooues me moste for vertues sake to prooue him nothing lesse.
¶ For eu'ry kinde of death dooth not deserue a Martyrs name:
But many sundry deaths doo bring the dyers endles shame
¶ All Theeues and Murderers that dye all Fellons cast by law:
All Traitors and all Hereticks which GOD nor man doo [...].
¶ Are not by death of theirs in count of Martyrs which doo dye:
Though Papists brag that he is one but giue them leaue to lye.
¶ The death dooth not the Martyr make but sure the righteous cause: When Tirants force, the righteous hart to violate Gods lawes.
¶ When Infidelles depraue the truthe and Christians it maintain:
In giuing of their bloods for it, they win the Martyrs gain.
¶ Ignatius wan the noble crown of martirdom y tho
Cassianus and Laurence they did win the same also.
¶ Saint Stephen and Saint Peter they wan Martyrs gain by right:
So did Maturus and the rest that suffred for the light.
¶ whose liues by truthe were sou~dly led whose ends did shew no lesse:
whose ma~ers were vpright, whose faith did perfit looue expresse.
¶ But Feltons life did shew in fine he did no Martyrs fact:
For exitus acta probat the exit tries the act.
¶ A roisting shifting Prodigall so he his time did spend:
Which sought of eu'ry one to haue that able was to lend.
¶ The Psalmist in his Psalmes dooth pai~t out Felton very plain:
The wicked man borowes (saith he) and payeth not again.
¶ Of modestie in maners he was séen to be ful scant:
And of Religious minde no dout he had a dayly want,
¶ As for deuoutnes in his dayes yea, after his owne sorte:
He neuer moild his sprites with prayer, his hart was set on sport.
¶ A Papists hart he had not sure for Papists are deuout:
Although their zele doo knowledge lack in that they go about.
¶ For he ne zele ne knowledge had, but droue to spend the time:
He past not with what kinde of men nor of what kinde of cryme.
¶ So he by flattering might obtain to liue by others sweat:
Ne Lands he had ne hands did séek to get the bread he eat.
¶ But héer & there with Thrasoes brood the simple to deride:
But chéef a scoffer of Gods woord as often he was tride.
¶ A Pleseme~ right which seru'd ye time though fed with Romish hope:
And now beholde the Saint he seru'd hath blest him with a Rope.
¶ A foole bewitcht he was of some who w~atcht the falling Skies.
And lookt for Larkes but purpose mist his flesh must féed the Flyes.
¶ An irreligious Traitor was this Felton, trust me true:
A fit resembler in our time of Eleazar the Iew.
¶ Companion with Ichocanan nay Schimions equal mate:
Which sought Iherusalem to spoils by their discentious bate.
¶ And as for any signe that was in him of godly feare:
His moste licencious life did shew his hart came neuer there.
¶ That his very end whereas he saw it would not bée:
But that he must as Traitor rank go scale the Gallow trée.
¶ Then fear of death gan prick his flesh whiche wicked men dooth touch:
Whe~ their sleause, their co~scse~ce pricks and burthens them comuch.
¶ As Caïn and Iudas ouer fraid with Gods eternal ire:
Yet some wil say that Felton did Gods mercy then desire.
¶ In déed in Popish sort he shewd him self then to telent:
But who can say he shewd such faith as made him right repent?
¶ Of wandring faith he shewd so~e taffe as Papists vse to holde:
That Christe their sauior is in parte, but faith was not (be bolde)
¶ In him that made him then to say Christe is my sauiour:
Ne that he trusted only sure saluation by his power.
¶ Ne cald he back his sclandero' woords, he spake against Gods truthe:
Ne did gainsay his traiterous blast before bothe age and youth.
¶ Which he had spoke agaist our Queen before in Iudgement hall:
But only for this fact heer doon, her mercy I doo call.
¶ (said he) for this offence of mine héer doon that she forgiue:
But from the rest against her power and Throne he did not méene.
¶ He had before denide her grace our lawful Queen to bée:
And of her Supreme power (he said) she ought not haue it shée.
¶ Oh traiterous hart, oh Martyr vile, such Martyrs now a dayes:
Would fain be made to Morter thin to stop the hollow wayes.
¶ He neuer once relented this not once before his death:
But as malicious Traitor, he on Gallows gaue his breth.
¶ Wheras he said in midst Guilde Hall, before the Iudgement seat:
That they might wel his body take, but more they could not get.
¶ For why? his soule he had commit vnto his hollow hope:
To Iesus Christe? to him think yée? nay to his dad the Pope.
¶ Oh Traitor bolde to Christe God oh prowd blasphemou[...] [...]ung:
That euer popish ignorance should rest in olde or yung.
¶ whe~ Christe hath shed his déerest blood when Christes hart was rent:
When Christe hath paid the price for vs his Father to content.
¶ Shall we once dare alas to say, when other name is none:
But Iesus Christe to saue our soules by his déer death alone?
¶ That Pius Pope our soules can saue which can not saue him self:
But yéeld his power to mortal death oh blinded Romish elf.
¶ Was Paule for vs once crucified? was Mary, Mark or Iohn?
No, no, it was our Iesus Christe to whom be praise alone.
¶ But Papists make of him least count, which took the greatest pain:
And all their trust is stil in them that giue the smallest gain.
¶ If Felton had those woord{is} denied, though euen at the last end:
I would haue said and many mo, he had been Christes fréend.
¶ His death was nothing Martir like, he died a Papist blinde:
An Enemy to Christe and Queen, a Monster out of kinds.
¶ A new stert by Herostratus, to get himself a name:
Though that his déed and end shalbe ay to his endles shame.
¶ For as the fame of Godly men shall ouerliue the graue:
So Fame dooth yéeld to wicked men the right that they should haue.
¶ So long as Guilde Hall dooth remain, there shall remain like wise:
A memory of Feltons facts, before all peoples eyes.
¶ Iohn Felton Traitor which denied the Queen our supreme head:
Iohn Felton Traitor which aduanc't the Pope his Bul of lead.
¶ Iohn Felton Traitor which did séek a forren power to place:
Against our Queen Elizabeth, high Treason to her grace.
¶ Iohn Felton Traitor which so raild against the Iudges graue:
Iohn Felton Traitor, which denied his Iudgement for to haue.
¶ Yea if that men doo want to read the Livelles that are writ:
The pauing stones wil witnes bear his Treason to requit.
¶ His Blasphemyes. his raging spite, his brainles wilful talke,
Dame Fame with Eccho shall refound in eu'ry caue to walke.
¶ Iohn Felton Papist héer was raignd, that Traiterous rebelméer:
That faithles man, that Hypocrite receiued Iudgement héer.
¶ So long as Newgate stands in sight, his memory shall last:
And witnes bear what blasphemies out of his mouth he cast.
¶ When learned men & Preachers graue be stowd their learned pain:
To win his Soule to Iesus Christe how he did them disdaine.
¶ How obstinatly he did rest in his vnskilful minde:
That none could him perswade to sée he was so wilful blinde.
¶ That shall the Stones of Newgate tel, if Papists would denye:
And how he did aduaunce the Pope whiche made him sence so hye.
¶ Refusing councel of Gods Book none could perswade his hart:
In any point to trust the truthe wherby he should conuert.
¶ The stayers there in morne can tel how Preachers did exhort:
That he would change his foolish minde [...] Christe the strongest Fort.
¶ But stil he said, I am right wel perswaded sure I:
And as I am perswaded, so I mene in that to dye.
¶ In Christe if his perswasion were no dout there was no shame:
But that vnto the Church of GOD he might haue colde the same.
¶ For (Corde creditur) saith Paule with hart to think makes iust:
But (Ore fit) Confession is saluacion sure to trust.
¶ But his Confession there did tel, what faith was in his minde:
Anto his sauiour Iesus Christe truly but small to finde
But to the Pope that horned beast his hart was fixt ful sure:
And it to leaue while life did last none could him once procure.
¶ The Draile wheron he lay fast bound in midst olde baily stréet:
Shall tel that Preachers woords for ay which then there did him méet.
¶ Oh Felton (said he) now relent now dooth approche the time:
When it wilde to late for qrée for too repent thy cryme.
¶ Now yéeld to Christe, trust in his blood [...]e[...]y the Pope and all:
Defy his Bulles and Pardons vile, which haue begun thy thrall.
¶ GOD yet dooth offer thée his grace, Christe Iesus spredes his armes:
Yet to receiue thy soule to grace and to preuent thy harmes.
¶ But he as graceles héeld on stil in latin Prayers tho:
And gaue no eare vnto the man that did exhort him so.
¶ At last the Preacher said again, oh Felton yet forsake
Thine errors blinde, by Iesus Christe a perfit end to make.
¶ As thogh (said he) moste stoutly then, ye would the People blase:
And make them think I died not wel this said he without maze.
¶ So may they think (quod he again) except thou doo repent:
Because against bothe Christe & Queen, thy Treason thou hast bent.
¶ Oh iudge me not (quod Felton then) I'le iudge (quod th'other) thée:
For Christe hath taught me by the frute{is} alwayes to iudge the Trée.
¶ While thou art héer I iudge thy déed but GOD shall iudge thée ay:
And if thou doo not now repent, Hel fire shalbe thy pay.
¶ All this benignitie of GOD, this Felton did dispise:
And gaue no ear til as he saw the Gallows with his eyes.
¶ Which Gallow tréein Paules Chur|che yard shall tel the endles shame:
Of Felton there for Treason hangd to peril of his name.
¶ And eke the Grou~d shall witnes bear how Conscience his was vrged:
By Preachers, which by truthe did hope his hart then to haue purged.
¶ But GOD (I think) had the~ shut vp the bowelles of his grace:
To him, whose stubburn hart before refusde truthe to imbrace.
¶ For Miserere on his knées all trembling he did say:
But softly to him self that few could hear what he did pray.
¶ Belike he thought as Papists doo, the Latin to excel:
And so he thought his prayer said therin to be ful wel.
¶ For he did neuer once desire Gods people to assist
Him in his prayers he then made, but did euen as he list.
¶ Much les then to repent his fall and turn to GOD by grace:
On Ladder he gan spake alowd, maintaining of his cace.
¶ And purg'd his hart of Treason quite that euer it was cléer:
Which when the woorthy Sherif heard, he said that all might hear.
¶ Felton, a more malicious feat of Treason neuer was:
Then thou a Traitor ra~k hast wrought and falsly brought to passe.
¶ Then was he hanged vp a while, in what a cace GOD knowes:
Such as haue iudgement in the act, I leaue the end to those.
¶ Cut down he was and liu'd again, but after spake not much:
For why? the Executioner seru'd him but a Traitors tuch.
¶ So no good signe in life or death of any Christian minde:
But as he liu'd (I say) he died a paruerst Papist blinde.
¶ But this may make the Papists ioy, that they had one so stout:
For their Relgion and their looue, to passe such torments out:
¶ But let them stay, Religion was no cause why he so died:
But sure because the English lawes a Traitor rank him fried.
¶ He would haue made Religion his plea when he was brought
To his examination, but that preuaild him nought.
¶ For his Religion hey had not to dele with him at all:
But for high Treason he was iudged, in midst of the GuiIde Hall.
¶ And when he saw Religious scuse could not his torment stay:
But that he must by force of Law to Traitors death obey.
¶ Such Sprite him led as in him was moste wilfully to stand
Against Gods truthe whiche now is preacht throughout this Britain La~d.
¶ So, so mtime GOD for sinners sakes dooth giue the Deuil power:
To holde mens mindes in error fast, that he should them deuoure.
¶ And Sathan is so false him self that he can soon infect
All such with vile Hypocrisie whom GOD wil so reiect.
¶ But sure I think if Treason has not brought him to his death:
Religion neuer was so déer to him as t'end his breth.
¶ For neuer yet was heard or séen for such Religions sake:
That any only haue béen brought to dye at Block or Stake.
¶ Ful many of that godles sect haue béen attainted sure:
And haue for Treason suffred smarts as Law dooth right procure.
¶ And haue in iudgement and in death as destitute of grace:
Continewd as this Felton did which makes me rue his cace.
¶ For sure his bodyes death I nought at all did then lament:
But death of body and of souls dooth make my hart relent.
¶ Beware ye papists all take héed I read you yet beware:
And cast all Popery from your harts take héed of hellish rore.
¶ And if you wil not, yet be true to GOD and our good Queen:
I pray to GOD that all your endes as Feltons may be séen.
¶ And GOD saue Queen Elizabeth from Papists wil and power:
That sharpned swoord by Gospelles force may all her Foes deuoure.
Amen.

{quod} T. Knel. Iuni.


Title:
A proper new balade expressyng the fames, concerning a warning to al London dames to the tune of the blacke Almaine

Lyrics:
YOu London dames, whose passyng fames
Through out the worlde is spread,
In to the skye, ascendyng hye
To euery place is fled:
For thorow each land and place,
For beauties kyndely grace:
You are renowmed ouer all,
You haue the prayse and euer shall.
What wight on earth that can beholde
More dearer and fayrer dames then you?
Therfore to extoll you I may be bolde,
Your paces and graces so gay to vieu.
For Vertues lore, and other thinges more
Of truth you doe excell,
I may well gesse, for comelynesse
Of all, you beare the bell:
As trim in your arraye
As be the flowres in Maye
With roset hew so brauely dight
As twinklyng starres that shyneth by night.
For curtesye in euery parte
Not many nor any resemble you can,
In lady Natures camely arte
So grauely and brauely to euery man.

And oft when you goe, fayre dames on a rowe
In to the feeldes so greene,
You sit and vewe the beautifull hewe
Of flowres that there be seene:
VVhich lady FLORA hath
So garnyshed in each path
VVith all the pleasures that may be
(Fayre dames) are there to pleasure ye
Tyl Frost doth come and nip the top,
And lop them and crop them, not one to be seene
So when that Death doth hap to your lot,
Consider and gather what beauty hath beene.



For as the flowre, doth change in an houre
That was so fayre to see,
Consyder and gather (fayre dames) the wether
May change as well with yee:
And turne your ioyes as soone
As Frost the flowres hath doone
So sudden Death may change as well
Your beauties that now doth excell,
And turne your sweetes to bitter and sowre
When death wt his breath comes stealing neare:
Such haps may hap to come in an howre
Which euer or neuer you little dyd feare.

Wherfore I say, fayre dames so gay
That Death is busyest now,
To catch you hence, where no defence
May make him once to bow:
Experience well doth trye
You see it with your eye,
How quickely some are taken hence
Not youthfull yeares may make defence:
And strange diseases many are seene
Encreasyng and preasyng to vexe vs each day,
But sure the lyke hath euer beene
May houe you and moue you to God to pray.

And learne to know, as grasse doth grow
And withereth in to haye,
Remember therfore, kepe vertue in store
For so you shall decaye:
And pitie on the poore
With some parte of your store,
Loke that your lampes may ready bee
The dreadfull day approcheth nye:
When Christ shall come to iudge our deeds
No fairenes nor clerenes can helpe you than,
The corne to seperate from the weeds
Fayre dames, when cometh the day of dome.

Now that I haue sayd, let it be wayed
It is no iestyng toye,
Not all your treasure, can you pleasure
It is but fadyng ioye:
Therfore remember mee
VVhat I haue sayd to yee,
And thus the Lorde preserue the Queene
Long space with vs to lyue and raigne:
As we are all bound incessantlie
To desyre with prayer both night and day,
God to preserue her maiestie
Amen, let all her good subiects say


Lyrics:
SOme hope you sée,
(The more pitie)
Not in the Lorde of might:
Whose harts and mynd,
His wayes should fynd,
To prayse him day and night.

 With hart and voyce,
They should reioyce,
Onely in Christ I say:
And not to hope,
To sée the Pope,
With his lawes to beare sway.

 Lament I doe,
Here to sée nowe,
The ioyes that some be in:
Wyshyng for Masse,
I say alas,
The cloke of filthy sin.

 I may here write,
And truth endite,
Affyrme plainely and say:
The worde of truth,
(The more is ruth)
Is sowne in stonie way.

 For all teachyng,
And true preachyng,
Some harts be hard as stéele:
There is no way,
Their harts to stay,
Or cause them truth to séele.

 But stoute they be,
In all Poperie,
As by this man doth séente:
Whose shamelesse face,
Put forth this case,
And bad his neighbours deme:

 Where best should be,
To make ({quod} he)
An aulter for our Masse:
Let vs first be,
Herein ({quod} he)
It wyll thus come to passe.

 This fréend of Popes,
Offred ten grotes,
This aulter there to make:
Where masse should be.
Haue here ({quod} he)
This money mine here take.

 Lorde our Quéene saue,
We cry and craue,
In godlie state alway:
Defend her grace,
Long time and space,
Emong vs here we pray.


Lyrics:
WHen that Appelles liued in Grece,
Pigmalion also raigned than:
These two did striue to frame a pece,
Which should amaze the sight of man.
Whereby they might win such a name,
As should deserue immortall fame.

Appelles then strayed euerie where,
To marke and viewe ech courtlie Dame:
And when he heard where any were,
Did well deserue the prayse and fame:
He thither rode with willyng harte,
Of her to take the cumliest parte.

And when he had with trauaile great,
A thousand wights knit vp in one:
He found therewith to wurke his feat,
A paterne such, as earst was none.
And then with ioye retourned backe,
For to those limmes, but lyfe did lacke.

Pigmalion eke, to shew his arte,
Did then conclude, in Iuorie white
To forme and frame in euerie parte,
A woman fayre to his delighte.
Wherein was euerie limme so coucht,
As not a vayne he lefte vntoucht.

When their two cunnings ioyned were,
A worlde it was to sée their wurke:
But yet it may greue euerie eare,
To heare the chaunce did therein lurke.
For throught the pece they framed had,
For loue, Pigmalion did run mad.

Which séene, Appelles shut his booke,
And durst no longer viewe that sight:
For why: her comelie limmes and looke,
In one did passe ech other wight.
And while Appelles wiped his eye,
The pece did mount vnto the Skye.

Where as dame Nature toke it straight,
And wrapt it vp in linnen folde:
Estéeming it more, then the waight
Had ten times ben of glistryng golde.
Shée lockt it vp fast in chest,
To pleasure him that shée loued best.

Appelles then dismayed much,
Did throw his booke in to the fire:
He feared lest the Gods did grutch,
That wurkemen should so high aspire.
Yet once agayne he trauailed Grece,
With lesse effect, and made a pece.

Which long time did hold great renowne
For Venus all men did it call:
Tyll in our dayes gan Nature frowne,
And gaue the workemannes worke a fall.
For, from her chest t'auoyde all stryfe,
Shée tooke the pece, and gaue it lyfe.

And for a token gaue the same,
Vnto the highest man of state:
And said: since thou art crownd by Fame,
Take to thée here, this worthie mate.
The same which kyld the caruers strife,
Before that Nature gaue it life.

Lorde, yf Appelles now did know,
Or yf Pigmalion once should heare:
Of this their worke the worthie show,
Since Nature gaue it life to beare.
No doubt at all, her worthie prayse,
Those selie Grekes from death wold rayse.

Then those that daylie sée her grace,
Whose vertue passeth euerie wight:
Her comelie corps, her christall face,
They ought to pray both day and night.
That God may graunt most happie state,
Vnto that Princesse and her mate.


Lyrics:
O Euyll tounges, which clap at euerie wynd.
Ye slea the quicke, and eke the dead defame:
Those that liue well, some fault in them ye fynd,
Ye take no thought, in sclaundring their good name.
Ye put iust men, oft times to open shame,
Ye ryng so lowde, ye sound vnto the Skyes:
And yet in proofe, ye sowe nothyng but lyes.

Ye make great hatred, where peace hath ben of long,
You bring good order to ruine and eke decaye:
Ye plucke downe right, ye doe enhaunce the wrong,
Ye tourne swete myrth, to wo and wallawaye.
Of mischeifs all, you are the ground I saye,
Happie is he, that liueth on such a sorte:
That nedes not feare such tounges of false reporte.


Title:
The fantasies of a troubled mannes head.

Lyrics:
BY Fortune as I lay in bed, my fortune was to fynd,
Such fancies as my careful thought hath brought into my mynd.
And when each one was gone to rest, all softe in bed to lye,
I would haue slept, but that the watch did folow styl mine eye.
And Sodeinlie I saw a Sea of wofull sorrowes prest,
Whose wicked wayes of sharpe repulse, bred mine vnquiet rest;
I saw this world and how it went, ech state in his degrée,
And that from Wealth ygraunted is, both lyfe and libertie,
I saw eke how Envie did raigne, and bare the greatist price,
Yet greatter poison is not found within the Cockatrice,
I saw also how fowle Disdaine, oft times to forge my woe,
Gaue me the cup of bitter swéete, to pledge my mortal foe,
I saw also how that Desier, to rest no place could fynd,
But styl constraind in endles paine, to follow natures kynd.
I saw also (most straunge of all) how Nature did forsake,
The bloud yt in her womb was wrought, as doth ye lothed Snake.
I saw how fancie would retaine no longer then shée lust,
And as the wynd how shée doth chaunge, and is not for to trust.
I saw how Stedfastnes did flye, with wynges of often chaunge,
A flyeng bird but seldome séen, her nature is so straunge.
I saw how pleasaunt times did passe, as flowers do in the mede,
To day that riseth red as Rose, to morow falleth deade.
I saw my time how it did run, as sand out of a glasse,
Euen as each owre appointed is, from time and tide to passe,
I saw the yeares that I had spent, and losse of all my payne,
And how the sporte of youthly plaies, my follie did retayne,
I saw how that the little Ants, in Somer styl doth rome,
To seke their foode wherby to liue, in Winter for to come,
I saw eke Vertue how shée sate, the thréede of life to spin,
Which sheweth the end of euery worke, before it doth begin,
And when all these I thus behelde, with manie mo pardie,
In me, me thought each one had wrought a {per}fect {pro}pertie:
And then I said vnto my selfe, a lesson this shall bée,
For other that shall after come, for to beware by mée,
Thus all the night I did diuise, which way I might constrayne,
To forme a plot yt wit might worke thes brau~ches in my brayne.
I. C.

    ¶ FINIS.


Title:
A very proper dittie: to the tune of lightie loue, Leaue lightie loue ladies, for feare of yll name: and true loue embrace ye, to purchace your fame

Location of Bookshop:
adjoining the south west door of St Paul's church

Lyrics:
Leaue Lightie loue Ladies, for feare of yll name:
And True loue embrace ye, to purchace your Fame.

BY force I am fixed my fancie to write,
Ingratitude willeth mée not to refraine:
Then blame me not Ladies although I indite
What lighty loue now amongst you doth raigne
Your traces in places, wt outward allurements
Doth mooue my endeuour to be the more playne:
Your nicyngs and ticings, with sundrie procurementes
To publish your lightie loue doth mée constrayne.

 Deceite is not daintie, it coms at eche dish,
Fraude goes a fisshyng with frendly lookes,
Throughe frendship is spoyled the seely poore fish,
That boouer and shouer vpon your false hookes,
With baight, you lay waight, to catch here and there,
Whiche causeth poore fisshes their fréedome to lose:
Then loute ye, and floute ye, wherby doth appere,
Your lighty loue Ladies, styll cloaked with glose.

 With DIAN so chaste, you séeme to compare,
When HELLENS you bée, and hang on her trayne:
Mée thinkes faithfull Thisbies, be now very rare,
Not one CLEOPATRA, I doubt doth remayne:
You wincke, and you twincke, tyll Cupid haue caught,
And forceth through flames your Louers to sue:
Your lyghtie loue Ladies, too deere they haue bought,
When nothyng wyll mooue you, their causes to rue.

 I speake not for spite, ne do I disdayne,
Your beautie fayre Ladies, in any respect:
But ones Ingratitude doth mée constrayne,
As childe hurt with fire, the same to neglect:
For proouyng in louyng, I finde by good triall,
When Beautie had brought mée vnto her becke:
She staying, not waying, but made a deniall,
And she wyng her lightie loue, gaue mée the checke.

 Thus fraude for frendship, did lodge in her brest,
Suche are most women, that when they espie,
Their louers inflamed with sorowes opprest,
They stande then with Cupid against their replie
They taunte, and they vaunte, they smile when they vew
How Cupid had caught them vnder his trayne,
But warned, discerned, the proofe is most true,
That lightie loue Ladies, amongst you doth reigne.

 It séemes by your doynges, that Cressed doth scoole ye,
Penelopeys vertues are cleane out of thought:
Mee thinkes by your constantnesse, Heleyne doth rule ye,
Whiche, both Greece and Troy, to ruyne hath brought:
No doubt, to tell out, your manyfolde driftes,
Would shew you as constant, as is the Sea sande:
To truste so vniust, that all is but shieftes,
With lightie loue bearyng your louers in hande.

 If ARGVS were lyuyng, whose eyes were in number·
The Peacockes plume painted, as Wri;ters replie,
Yet Women by wiles, full sore would him [...]umber,
For all his quicke eyes, their driftes to espie:
Suche feates, with disceates, they dayly frequent,
To conquere mennes mindes, their humours to feede,
That bouldly I may geue Arbittrement:
Of this your lightie loue, Ladies in déede.

 Ye men that are subiect to Cupid his strooke,
And therin seemeth to haue your delight:
Thinke when you sée baight, theres hidden a hooke,
Whiche sure wyll [...]ane you, if that you do bight:
Suche wiles, and suche guiles, by women are wrought
That halfe their mischefes, men cannot preuent,
When they are most pleasant, vnto your thought,
Then nothyng but lightie loue, is their intent.

 Consider that poyson doth lurke oftentyme
In shape of sugre, to put some to payne:
And fayre wordes paynted, as Dawes can define,
The olde Prouerbe saith, doth make some fooles faine:
Be wise and precise, take warning by mée,
Trust not the Crocodile, least you do rue:
To womens faire wordes, do neuer agrée:
For all is but lightie loue, this is most true.

 ANEXES so daintie, Example may bée,
Whose lightie loue caused youg IPHIS his woe,
His true loue was tryed by death, as you sée,
Her lightie loue forced the Knight therunto:
For shame then refrayne, you Ladies therfore,
The Cloudes they doo vanish, and light doth appeare:
You can not dissemble, nor hide it no more
Your loue is but lightie loue, this is most cleare.

 For Troylus tried the same ouer well,
In louyng his Ladie, as Fame doth reporte:
And likewise Menander, as Stories doth tell,
Who swam the salt Seas, to his loue, to resorte:
So true, that I rue, such louers should lose
Their labour in seekyng their Ladies vnkinde:
Whose loue, thei did prooue, as the Prouerbe now goes
Euen very lightie loue, lodgde in their minde.

 I touche no suche Ladies, as true loue imbrace,
But suche as to lightie loue dayly applie:
And none wyll be grieued, in this kinde of case,
Saue suche as are minded, true loue to denie:
Yet frendly and kindly, I shew you my minde,
Fayre Ladies I wish you, to vse it no more,
But say what you list, thus I haue definde,
That lightie loue Ladies, you ought to abhore.

 To trust womens wordes, in any respect,
The danger by mée right well it is séene:
And Loue and his Lawes, who would not neglect,
The tryall wherof, moste peryllous beene:
Pretendyng, the endyng, if I haue offended,
I craue of you Ladies an Answere againe:
Amende, and whats said, shall soone be amended,
If case that your lightie loue, no longer do rayne.


Title:
An Epitaph on the death of the vertuous Ma|trone, the Ladie Maioresse, late wyfe to the right Honorable Lorde, (Alexander Auenet) Lord Maior of the Citie of London. Who deceased the vii. Daie of Iuly. 1570.

Lyrics:
HElpe nowe ye Muses nyne, powre out your Noates of woe:
Aide me wt pitious pearcing plaints, the l[...] of her to shoe.
Whose Vertues (maugre Death,) shal lyue and last for aye:
As fliyng Fame in Golden Trump, doth cherefully display.
Ye Ladyes leaue your sportes: your Pastymes set asyde
To weepe this Ladies Fatall fine: Cunduictes of streames prouide.
Cast off your costly Silkes: your Iuelles nowe forsake:
To decke your selues in mournynge Weedes, now poastynge haste do make:
Helpe now ye faythfull Wyues, to wayle this faythfull Wyfe:
Whose flowynge Vertues were not hyd, whyle she enioyed lyfe,
As well to Frende as Foe, her Curtesie was knowne:
But now the Goddes haue thought it good, to clayme agayne their owne.
LVCINA hath forgot her Chardge, the fatall Fates haue don:
CLOTHO hath left the Rocke of lyfe: and LACHAS longe hath spon.
These werie of their wonted toyle, at mightie IOVES Decree:
To whom the Heauens the Earth and Sea: and all thynges Subiect bee.
The Sister dire, fearce ATROPOS, with schortchyng cuttynge Knyfe,
Hath shred the Threede that longe dyd holde, this Godly Ladies lyfe.
Whose losse deare Dames bewayle: and weepe with many a teare:
For you shall misse a Matrone graue, in daunger you to cheare.
Whose Counsell in their neede, her Neighbours could not want:
Her Helpe vnto the Comfortlesse, could neuer yet bee scant.
Vnto the poore opprest, with Sickenesse, griefe and payne:
To minister and giue reliefe: her Hart was euer fayne.
The Poore haue lost a Nurse, to helpe their nedie state:
The Ritche shall want a perfecte Frende: as they can well relate.
Thus Ritche and Poore shall want, her Aide at euerie neede,
For both Estates in daunger deepe: she laboured to feede.
The Ritche with Counselles swete, to chearish styll she thought:
The Poore by Almes and lyberall Giftes: to tender longe she sought.
But who shall haue the greatest losse: I knowe is not vnknowen,
Her best beloued: the Wight whom shee, accompted for her owne.
The Lorde MAIOR whiche nowe doth rule: in LONDON noble Citie:
Shall want her sight, (the greater griefe, to misse a Mate so wittie
A Phenyx rare, a Turtell true, so constant in her loue:
That Nature nedes must showe her Force, her Husbandes Teares to moue
Who for the losse of suche a Wyfe: can sobbyng Sighes refrayne?
In whom so many Vertues dyd, continue and remayne.
You Damselles deare Domesticall, whiche in her House abyde:
Haue cause to wayle, for you haue lost a good and godly Guide.
Whose Lenytie and gentell Hart, you all haue knowen and felt:
For vnto you in Courteous sorte, her Giftes she euer dealt.
You Officers that dayly serue, her Lorde at euery neede:
Can testifie that you haue lost, a Ladie kynde in deede.
So gentell, graue, demure and wise: as ye your selues expresse:
That needes ye must gush foorth your Teares: and weepe with bytternesse
In fyne, both Ritche and Poore, haue iust cause giuen to wayle:
The Ritch in Counsell lacke a Frende, the Poore their Comfort fayle.
The Troupe of maryed Dames, whiche shall her Vertues knowe:
Haue offered cause, in bytter Teares, some tyme for to bestowe.
But sith it is the Goddes Decree, to whom all Flesh must bende:
To take this Ladie from the earth, and bringe her dayes to ende.
Who can withholde that they wyll haue? who dare their wyll withstande?
To vayne it were for mortall men, the cause to take in hande
Her Vertues were so great, that they haue thought it meete:
To take from hence vnto the Heauens, her Christall Soule so sweete.
Which now inclosed is, with Aungelles rownde aboute:
Suche hoape we haue, no other cause, is giuen vs for to doubt.
Her Corps shall shrowde in Claye, the Earth her right doth craue:
This Ladie yeldes her Parent too: her Tombe, her Cell and Graue.
From whence, no Kynge nor Keysar can, nor Ruler bearynge swaye:
For all their Force and Puissaunce, once starte or go awaye.
All Flesshe shall haue an ende: as Goddes do graunt and wyll:
And reape rewarde as they deserue, hap good, or hap it yll.
But thoughe that Death haue done his worste, this Dame to take awaye:
In spite of Death, her Vertues shall endure and last for aye.
¶ Farewell (O Ladye Deare) the Heauens haue chosen thee
Receyue this VALE, I haue done: thou gettest no more of mee.
Post Funera viuit virtus.


Title:
Ecclesi. XX. Remember death, and thou shalt neuer sinne

Lyrics:
YE Adams broode and earthly wightes, which breath now on the earth.
Come daunce thys trace, and marke the song of me most mighty Death.
Ful wel my might is knowen & sene, in al the world about,
When I do strike, of force they yeld, both noble, wise & stout.
Of liuing things which breath and bray, I raigne as puisant Prince,
No sooner take they lyfe, but I, pursue it to conuince.
In Mothers wombe the Babe I slay, in birth sometime I strike,
No place nor state may me exempt, to me all is a like.
The Prince with Begger to graue I take, the yong eke wyth the old,
[...]e wise graue men with fooles and dolts, I lodge them in one fold.
[...] courtly Dames, & town wyues fine, though neuer so trim they be,
[...]th Malkins, Sluts, & sloyes they trudge, in graue I make them gree
The seming braue fine Courtiers, which square it out in gate,
With Hob and Lob I close in clay, and bring them to one state.
The tchuffe with tchinckes and ruddocks red, wherin is all hys trust,
In moment I wyth mysers poore, do hyde hym vp in dust.
The Iudge seuere, and Counceller sage, with me they all must trudge,
I force not for their hye estate, nor feare their hate or grudge.
I wayting am on euery one, as shadow wyth body am I.
And when the myghty God doth byd, I slay them by and by.
Sometyme in game, sometyme in myrth, somtyme in sleepe I kyll,
In eating, drinking, and in sport, I many tymes them spyll.
No place so sure, no food so good, no exercise at all,
Me Death can barre, but at Gods becke to earth I make them fall.
And yet behold how ech one thynckes, to scape me and my dart,
Though neuer so nere I come them to, and grype them to the hart.
My Minstrell Sicknes pipes ech houre, by aches, stitches and cramps,
It soundes my daunce styll in their eares that they must to my damps.
The lusty Brute with snuffing lookes, by manhood doth hope [...]o lyue
The Coward out, yt feares to fight, though wounds him daily greue·
The Coward agayne thinkes long to lyue by sleeping in a whole skin,
With shunning wars and forayn broyles, which countries oft be in.
The rytch by gold, the wyse by wyt, do thinke to shift me of
To Beggers that starue, & careles fooles, but yet them selues thei scot ·
For one wyth other I take them all, feare they, or feare they not,
The desperat toole and fearefull one go all into my pot.
The youthfull Lads by stout courage, thinke to driue me away
To crooked age, yet many times by ryot I oft them slay.
And old old age hopes styll to lyue, by keepyng a merry hart,
With youthful sports and wanton toyes, though it be to their smart.
Yea my nere Syb and Beldam Trot, that croompled is for age,
By youthly tyre & wanton trickes, thinkes deathes power to aswage.
It makes me laffe oft times to see, their gate, their lookes, their walke,
How halting tryps, and fine wryde iestes they counterfet in talke.
They would ine blere and make folkes think, they wer to yong for me,
And yet forsooth if stript they were, faire Notamies might ye see.
What shall I say to these old folkes, when nature cannot them teach?
By fumbling spech & paines ech wher, which death at hand doth preach.
Nay vsuall is it wyth all states, though sences all be gone,
And I at hand to strike the stroke, yet thincke they not thereon.
Thus all would shift and driue me of, though I them follow & trace,
And dayly send vnto the graue all states before their face.
But fooles they are that dread me so, which cannot be auoyded,
Syth God the maker of all thinges to lyfe hath so me ioyned.
Yet nede they not to shun me so, if all were wayde aryght,
For I the worldly griefes do end, which vexe them day and nyght.
Yea and besides the guyde am I, to heauen and ioyfull blys,
Of those that vertuously do lyue, and feare to do amys.
And to these folke welcomde am I, though neuer so sharpe I pere,
Because with Christ they shal then raigne, and see his glory clere.
But as for those that wicked be, and so still leade their life,
Good cause they haue to dread me sore, for I begin their griefe.
With death I bring an endles wo, which neuer shall haue end,
Wherefore if me you would not dread, your yll lyues then amend.
For precious is the death of those, which dye in Christ their Lord,
Who hath saued them from synne and hel, and ended their discord.

  FINIS.


