# 1530-70 BALLAD ANALYSIS

Location of Printer:
Smithfield in the parish of St Bartholomew's Hospital

Lyrics:
WAs not good Kyng Salamon 
Rauished in sondry wyse 
with euery liuelie Paragon 
That glistered before his eyes 
If this be true as trewe it was 
Lady lady. 
why should not I serue you alas 
My deare lady. 

When Paris was enamoured 
with Helena dame bewties peare 
whom Uenus first him promised 
To venter on and not to feare 
what sturdy stormes endured he 
Lady lady 
To winne her loue er it would be 
My deare ladye. 

Knowe ye not howe Troylus 
Languished and lost his ioye 
with fittes and feuers meruailous 
For Cresseda that dwelt in Troye 
Tyll pytie planted in her brest 
ladie ladie. 
To slepe with him & graunt him rest 
My deare ladie. 

I read somtime howe venterous 
Leander was his loue to please 
who swomme the waters perillous 
Of Abidon those surginge sease 
To come to her where as she lay 
ladie ladie. 
Tyll he was drowned by the waye 
my deare ladie. 

hat say ye then to Priamus 
That promised his loue to mete 
And founde by fortune marueilous 
A bloudie cloth before his feete 
For Tysbies sake hym selfe he slewe 
ladie ladie 
To proue that he was a louer trewe 
my deare ladie. 

when Hercules for Eronie 
murdered a monster fell 
He put him selfe in ieoperdie 
Perillous as the stories tell 
Reske winge her vpon the shore 
ladie ladie. 
whiche els by lot had died therfore 
my deare ladie. 

An axaretis bewtifull 
when Iphis did beholde and see 
with sighes and sobbinges pitifull 
That Paragon longe wooed he 
And when he could not wynne her so 
Ladye ladye 
He went and honge him selfe for woe 
My deare ladye. 

Besides these matters marueilous 
Good Lady yet I can tell the more 
The Gods haue ben full amourous 
As Iupiter by learned lore 
who changed his shape as fame hath spred 
lady ladye. 
To come to Alcumenaes bed. 
My deare ladye. 

And if bewtie breed such blisfulnesse 
Enamouring both God and man 
Good Lady let no wilfulnesse 
Exuperate your bewtye then 
To slaye the hertes that yeld & craue 
ladye ladye 
The graunt of your goodwil to haue 
My deare ladye.


Title:
[Ballad on the defeat of the Devon and Cornwall rebels]

Tags:
religion, rebellion, monarchy, topical, other

Lyrics:
There hartes ware so toted in the popes lawes


Lyrics:
AMYDDES my myrth and pleasantnes, 
Suche chaunce is chaunced sodenly,
That in dyspayer to have redresse
I fynde my chefest remedy;
No neue kynde of unhappynes
Wolde thus have left me comffortles ;
So often warnd. 
In better cace was newer none,
trapt
And yet unwares thus am I wrapt;
My chefe desyer dothe cause my mone,
And to my woo and payne my welth is hapt;
Ther is no man but I alone
grone
That hath such cause [to] syghe and mone,
So often warnd.
He is in welth that feleth no woe ;
But I maye synge and thus reporte,
Farewell my joye and plesure to,
Thus maye I sing withought comforte ;
For sorrowe hath caught me in her sner ;
Alas ! why colde I not be ware,
So often warnd ?Who wolde have thought that ray request
Should bryng me forthe suche bytter fruite ?
For noue is hapt that I fearedde least,
And all is com bye myne owne suyte.
For when I thought me hap[i]este,
Then forthwyth came all myne unreste;
So often warnd.
Thus am I taught for to be ware,
And trust no more suche pleasante chaunche ;
For happye happe hathe don this care,
And tourned my welthe to great grevance.
Ther is no man that happe will here,
But weane she lyst welth is bare,
So often warnd.
To my myshapp, alas ! I fynde
That happy happ is dangerus,
And fortune worketh but her kynde,
 To make the joyfull dolorus;
But all to lat yt comes in mynde
To wayle the wante whyght make me blynd;
So often warnd.


Lyrics:
AFTER man had broken the presepts of the Lord,
Forthewith he was banyshed clerly Godes syght 
Yet God made hyme promys, as scrypture dothe reccord,
That a rnayd shold bere a sonne whose name Chryst shold hyght ;
Which agayne shold restore hyme to Godes favowr ryght,
And bryng hym to the state wher as he was fyrst grefft.
God therfore, to fullfyll the promys he had plyght,
Sei t downe hys only sone to be ower new yers gyfft.
why shold we be penssyff, sorowfull, or sad?
Or for to dyscornfort what thyng shold us compell?
We have a cawse rather to rejoyes and be glad,
The benyfyts of God yf we conseder well;
For of balefull branches and fyere brandes of hell
To be members of mersye he hathe us up lyfft,
By the means of hys sonne, callyd Emanuell,
Whom he sent among us for a new yeres gyfft.
What great lovyng kyndnes dyd God show in thys cace ?
We beyng slaves to Sathan, and thrall captyves vyle,
Abgect from hys presence, hys favower, and hys grace,
That yt so pleased hym to relet owr excyle ;
Whereyn we remaynyd a long season and while,
From which to come agayne we knewe no kynd of shyfft,
Had not hys only sonne come us to reconsyle,
Whom he sent among us for a newe yeres gyfft.
Of all the great benyfyts that God with hyme sent
Ther ys no tung able to make demonstracyon ;
For he brought with hyme peace, by the which stryffe dyd stent,
The key of delyvery frome deathe and dampnacyon,
The dore and the entry to hellthe and salvacyon,
The rawnsom for ower synns, wherby we ware relyfft,
And of Godes wrathfull chere the full mytygacyon,
All thys we reseyvyd by Chryst owr newe yeres gyfft.
He brought deathe with hyme suer deathe to devowr and kyll,
Owr ryghtyusnes and eternall resurectyon,
All veryte" and truthe, with the decay of yll,
The lantarne to lead us in the pathe of perfecttyon,
The redemptyon and ryght to owr fyrst electtyon,
With the food of owr soulls and everlastyng thryfft,
And agaynst Sathans chalenge allso owr protecttyon ;
He may therfor be callyd a noble newe yers gyfft.
By hyme we do reseyve all good and no badnes 
By hyme the inherytors of joye we ware made;
He ys owr swete savyor and slaker of sadnes ;
The barer of ower synns, wherwithall we ware lade ;
He ys owr gracyus gyde, which dothe us styll perswade
To walke the wurthy wayes, and frame them not to wyfft,
By the flowr of vertewe that cawsyd vyce to fade ;
He ys therfore, I knowe, a noble newe yeres gyfft.
With Chryst came remyssyon and pardon of ower synns ;
With hyme came all mercy and God the fathers love ;
With hyme came grace, the rote that all goodnes begyns;
With hyme came all fredom, as the scrypture dothe prove;
With hyme came the lyght all darknes to remove ;
With hyme came the arowe of repentans full swyfft ;
With hyme came all holynes unto owr behove ;
He ys therfore, I trowe, a noble newe yeres gyfft.
Chryst ys the lovyng fowntayne and pure chrystall well,
Of whose stremes they that dryncke of death shall taste never.
He ys owr phycyssyon, which dothe clerly expell
All sycknes from owr soulls, and helpe them for ever.
The corne from the chaffe with hys fan he shall sever,
And eke the fyne flowr from the bran nerly syfft 
To save the good allway he shall do hys indever;
For the which God sent hyme for a newe yeres gyffte.
In Chryst all fullness of power and myght dothe dwell ;
In hyme voyd was nothyng that was nydfull and fytt ;
In hyme was and ys the sprete of lovyng cownsell ;
In hyme ys our atonment and peace with God knyt;
In hyme ys owr wysdom and strengthe that shall not flytt ;
In hyme we are justyfyed from owr deadly dryfft;
In hyme ower preservacyon dothe rest every whytt ;
He ys therfore, I say, a plentyus newe yeres gyfft.
Ower lyffe was hys deathe, hys deathe ower lyffe eternall ;
Hys ryghtyusnes ys owr, owr inequyte ys hys;
By hys obedyence he brake the gates infernall,
Wheryn ower primat parent had closyd us, I wys.
He ys owr medyator nowe in trone of blys,
The seate of grace and mercy, that nothyng shold beryfft;
Mankynd of Godes savowr of what a cause ys thys,
For us to be thanckefull for Chryst ower newe yeres gyfft.
Nothyng shall let us nowe to rejoys and be fayne,
Seyng all dolare, all sorowe, and all care,
All greffe, all angguyshe, all trubble, and all payne,
And fynally all thyngs agaynst ower wellfare,
Are clerly expellyd, that they shall us not dare.
Ower harts to the father therfore hye let us lyfft,
That we thus redemyd through Chryst hys sone are,
Whome he sent among us for a newe yers gyfft.
For as myche as thys ys the tyme of newe yere,
Callyd the feast of Chrysts syrcomsysyon indede,
Therfore I have declaryd thys song to yow here,
Your memory unto those benyfyts to lede,
Whyche we have reseyvyd by Chryst, as we rede ;
Consederyng wherof we can not be to swyfft,
To render thanckes to God for ower undeservyd mede,
And allway to remember ower gracyus newe yeres gyfft.


Lyrics:
I wyll not paynt to purchace prayes,
Nor ope my lypps in leasynges vayne,
But temper styll my tung allwayes
The truthe to talke and sothe to sayne,
As concyence shall my wyttnes be;
For flattryng frawde be farre fro me.
Attend and harke, all yow, I saye,
To whom the Lord hathe chyldren sent,
And loke yow marke my wordes allway,
With full accord and wholl intent ;
Prynt thys for ay in mynd and thought,
Unborne ys better than untought.
In youthe fyrst them instruct and teche,
God and theme sellves that they may knowe,
And that thys ruelle they may ons reche,
There dewtyes in all poynts to showe ;
To thys parents are justly bownd,
As in Godes boke ys to be fownd.
And for to teche theme to obtayne
Connyng in thyngs comly and mete.
As ther degre requyrythe playne,
Reason to ruelle ys most dyscrete ;
The hy and lowe, ryche, pore, and all,
Industryes mete to theme dothe fall.
Good maners unto all degrese
Ys mete for to be vulgar playne ;
But wurthy feats and qualytese
Dothe cheffly unto those pertayne
That be of wytt and wysdom pure,
And of good stock prosedyd sure.
Allbeyt what a thyhg yt ys
Wythe vertewes garnyshed to be ;
Yet among all of one I wys
I wyll speake wordes nowe two or thre,
Whyche ys of musyck verament,
Beyng a vertewe excellent.
SONGS AND BALLADS.
The cause why nowe I do intreat
Of musyck cheffly, I yow tell,
Ys that some hold opynyons great
That maydes therwith ought not to mell ;
Wherin ther judgment I tell yow
To be but vayne I can alowe.
For yf musyck a vertewe be,
As I am abell well to try,
There ys no way wherby to se
Wemen therof for to deny ;
For vertewe no man can defacei,
But all creatures may yt imbrace.
The wyes man dothe prohybyt playne
The hynderans of musyck ryght ;
Ye, musycke muche dothe chere the brayne,
With hart and sprete bothe day and nyght,
And dothe expell all thoughts unclene,
Example playne for to be sene.
Davyd by musyck dyd expell
The unclene sprete owt of kyng Saull ;
As by the fyrst of Kyngs full well
The matter easly prove I shalL
The good doughters of Israeli
Dyd use the lute and the tymbrell.
Musyck prolongs mans yeres on yerth;
Musyck therfor who wold neglect?
Musyck increacythe joy and myrthe;
Musyck much dolore dothe rejectt;
Where or in whom yt be I wys
Musyck a goodly vertewe ys.
Musyck in spretuall imes and psalms,
Musyck in vyalls regalls, or luttes,
Musyck in pleasant harpes and shalms,
The holy psalmyst playnly imputes,
Shold serve no dowt at all asayes
Godes name to magnyfy and prayes.
Syns musyck dothe so myche excell,
And ys a thyng that God dothe love,
Yn maydes and wemen than to dwell
No wyght ys able to dysprove,
With other vertewes requyssytt,
Among whom sylence ys most fytt.
The sylence which of maydes I mene,
Ys of ther tungs and wordes in dede,
Whyche whan that they in place be sene,
Fewe wordes or none from them prosede ;
Which thyng all men wyll muche commend,
Whose reasons wyt can comprehend.
God grawnt bothe wyffe and mayd ther grace,
That they may gyve ther wholl intent
All godly vertewes to imbrace,
Whyche leadythe to lyffe permanent ;
Wherto God grawnt us all to come,
Ever to raygne in hys kyngdom.


Tags:
Moral, Social criticism, Common Weal, Religious

Lyrics:
Cleane witheowt feare truthe dothe me constrene
To synge the truthe, why shulde I refrayne ?
Thoughe I for truthe saynge be hade in disdayne,
And oft tymys shente,
Yet wyll I note dowte, but tell the truthe playne,
And thoughe I say but lyttell, let all men repent.
Let all men repent, for all hathe offendyd;
Let all men repent, for all may be amendyd ;
Let all men repent that hathe not pretendyd
To gyve tru jugmente,
But hathe made wronge ryght, and from the truth desendyd;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, let all men repent.
I cold declare muche howe lawe hathe byn abusyde ;
I colde declare muche howe justis ys refusyde ;
I cold declare muche how concience ys yet usyde,
Unto the poor innocent,
Be summe men off lawe, bute no man accusyde,
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc. "i
Promotars off the lawe wyll brage, host, and ly,
To set lawyears on worke suche wyll them selves aply,
To have that the ought not, yf truthe myght it try ;
But she ys absente.
Thus be fals accusacione all goythe awrye,
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
I colde declare moche what sum lawears use amonge,
Of kepynge mattars in the lawe a to or thre years long ;
And yete at the laste ryght shall have wrong,
And all his good spente.
Thus the weake ar overcum by thoys that ar stronge ;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
Moche more off lawyers I myght well declare ;
But many men knowe to moche what sum of them ar ;
Beholde throughe lawyng howe som be brought bar ;
It ys evidente
How all ther wholl howsholdes lyve in povarte and car ;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
Sum that be lordes off vyllages and townnes
Hathe covetyd to have away othar mens grondes ;
Also in" every mans years daylye yt sondes,
Howe the heighten ther rent;
Besydes all othar things, wherin sum pas ther boundes;
And thoughe I say but littell, etc.
Be incommys and fynes many tenantes decaye;
Sum begge, sum steale, and sum ron away;
And this caus sum landlordes sum teanantes saye,
When the lacke ther rent
All thing shal be stranyde, yf the poor man break day ;
And thoughe I say but littell, etc.
Hosbande men be brought so nakyde and poor,
That sum are not able to put a shepe owt ath dore,
To grayce uppone the commins, the lordes cloye them so sore,
Yt ys verament,
For who but suche landlordes all pastors in store ;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.

Sum takys in commens, thus all men may se ;
And som brynges in bondage that ever has ben fre;
So that all ys the lordes ; howe dothe this agre
Withe Godes testament,
Whiche doth nat apoynte such ordar for to be ?
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
Wo be to them, saythe scripture, that falsly tak in hand
To joyn hows to hows, or land unto lande,
Pastor to pastore, or that maikithe fre bande,
Or thearunto consent;
All thoys that have years this undarstande ;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
Behold howe the poor dothe cry, morn, and wepe,
Both man, wiff, and chylde, that for hongger cannot slepe,
The ar so oppressyde and brought in danger depe
By men moste pestilente,
I mean suche extorcinors that all upe dothe swepe ;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
Wo agayn be to them that makythe wrong ryght;
Thus Esaye the prophet pleanly dothe resyght;
No man exseptyd, be the lord or knyght,
Of God omnypotent,
When we shall apear befowar him in syght ;
And thoughe I say but lyttell, etc.
God grant that the ryche may have mor compassioun
Uppone the poware commens, thatt be brought in dissolacioun
Be extort poware, whiche ys no godly facioun
Suche ways to invente ;
For this and all othar wicked imaginacioun,
Gode grante us all grace in hart to repent.


Lyrics:
Wo worthe the, Lenttone, that ever thowe wast wrought,
For raoche soar hongger with the thowe has broughte;
Ther ys no welthe in the wonnes but sorrowe unsought,
And dear cheape of vittels withe the thowe hast brought
To the towne ;
Nethar sylvar nar golde
Thowe hast brought, as hite ys tolde,
But sorowe and colde,
And many blastis browne.
Thowe commyst every year ons withe sorowe and withe sadnes,
Or thowe be sent after, withe bayle and withe badnes ;
Then jentill Cristimas, with his myrry madnes,
Thowe doyste hime exsyle, whiche ys grounde off gladnes,
I tell;
Fybull ys thy far ;
Thy pastors be all bare ;
I wolde God that thowe ware
Drownyde in a well.
For thowe brynges to the merkyte but lyttell good els
But clatterynge off cockyls and off muskyll shellys ;
Hearynge and stocke fishe, and dry mackrells;
Full lean be the pottage whene the pote wellis,
For to truste;
Thy clocke ys clute withe jaggis;
On thy necke hynges thy baggis;
Feble thy wallyt waggis,
Withe hongger and with thruste.
Thus he workys us moche wo the space off seven wickys,
Withe miche soar hongger our bodis that he meikys ;
The stuffe of his howsolde ys onyans and lykys ;
Thearfowar a sorowe lyght on his lean chikis,
And a mischance.
For thos that be leale,
He makys them to weale,
For faute off a meale
And good sustinance.
Thus he has us cacchide with his lean crooke ;
He makys many beggars be banke and be brooke ;
Feble is his far, and leanare ys his looke;
He ys but a brybare, be the feth that I tooke
At a founte stonne.
Many mane on him wondare,
And shortly brynge him undare;
I wolde God in sondare
I myght wrythe his necke bonne. .
Poor men he pyllys withe his fals jobbys;
It ys ruth to rehers howe he revis and he robbis 
He settes at a penny a pecke of herynge kobbis 
What for honger and colde men sorous and sobbis ;
And thus
In his thraldome we stande,
Faste bowndene in his bande ;
Wear he slembde owt ath lande, .
Then well wear us.
Poware men in the centre soar uppone him pleans,
Moche sawte off thear food from them he reteans ;
The ar glade when the may fyll up thear ballys with bennys,
With, owte uppone him, horsone, for aye and for yeans;
And, alas !
That he cum off suche birthe,
To exsyle Cristimas with his myrthe ;
He has degarde him off his girthe,
And put him owte offe place.
The dyngon at Bostone with hammars and with mels
Uppone rottene stocke fishe as thike as hande-bels;
The skayt withe here grene tayle, that full off maggottes welles.
That nyne myll and mor the merkyte on hite smeles ;
To suppos
That and a man wear blynde,
And helde him in the wynde,
The heghe way myght he fynde,
Yf he folowyde on his nos.
Muskyls ly gapyng agenste the newe mone ;
Fayne wolde the fisshars sell, but byars wyll not cum ;
The code and the lyng lyes burnynge agenste the sune,
The favour .so sweat as a pear off newe showene ;
Withe fy !
Much doth fisshare lyes,
For magotes and Sturbighe flyes,
Moch thickare then honny beys,
Abowte his pannyar flys.
Red hearynge thear be, but the be muck rotten 
Fy ! fy ! for a penny yete be the shotten,
The savare full stronge, and the mayke a fowl skotten,
Hit ys but a dear good that ys uppone them gotten,
And a bare ;
Be my truth, as I trawe,
Thear shall no crape in my crawe,
Nat and I may hit knawe
From a gray mare.
The code and the codlyng lyes burnyng agenst the sonne ;
Ye so dothe the kylyng, as great as a tonne;
Also the congars, as dry as a bonne;
The be a monith off age, be the cors of the mone,
At the leaste ;
Withe sorrowe he wrynges us,
With hongger he dynges us,
It ys but brybery he brynges us,
Be him that ros in the easte.
Doys nat he for envy put all awaye,
Both egges and collopes and allaluya,
Fryttars and frummete he closis in clay,
And off all the day ith the wicke he makys Fryday,
No dowte.
Thear ys no mor to tell,
But, be Sent Mychaell,
Yst rynge his bell
All Ynglonde abowte.
Far well, allelua, with thy lybarte,
The jentillyste song that ys or may be;
He that hath the exsylyde owte off the contre,
A doggis dethe myght he dy, I pray the Trynite,
Sartayn,
He was comfort of care,
And weale off wellfare,
I pray to Jhesu that Mary bare,
Send us him agayn.
Lentton has brought us, as I undarstande,
Laus tibe Domine, tyed in a band ;
He ys cum to the cost in the wanniande,
And sir Te Deum ys put out off the lande ;
No nay;
Now thear ys no mor to mayke,
But the devill his necke crayke,
That has mayd all the brayke,
With alleluiay.
Nowe our leave may we tayke at all wellfare,
At venisone, at wylde fowle, and at the wyld bare;
Puddynges, and paunchis, and all suche ware,
Now must we forbear, the mor ys our care.
Nowe, alas !
Far well all at ons,
Ye sweat marybonys ;
I se non othar means,
But away must ye pas.
Far well, jentill wat, with thy longe ears;
Also pigs and porke, with all your sweate smears;
Far well the fat goys, with soar wepyng tears,
Be gold brybre Lentone howe he uppone us blears !
No wondare
Thus can he chasti
Men that be haste,
Ye, feth, yet trust I
To se hime ons under.
Far well, fat motton, fat bacon, fat byffe !
Far well the fat swane, that in sarvis ys cheffe ;
Far well the fat capone, to me ys so leffe ;
No lenggare may youe tarry, but hastely tayke your leyffe,
At a worde.
Far well the bustarde,
The brawne, and the mustarde,
Also the short custord,
Met for a lorde.
Far well the calvis foot, and also the trype ;
Far well the feldyfare, the spynke, and the sknype ;
Far well the woodcoke, and also the wype ;
All I have up reconyde, full small may I pype
In a cornete.
Far well in fay
For seven wickys day ;
No mor may I say,
And the dyvell had sworn hite.
The fesante and the wylde fowll stande in lyttell stede,
When Lent cummys to the towene as hongre as a glede;
He wyll mayk many to pyll a garlyke hede,
Syt dowen and eat hit with a pece off brownie brede,
Such sorrow !
Oft tymys in the wycke
Thar dynnars be to secke,
Thell be glade off a lyke
At mydday and at morrowe.
Hawkars and hontars, and all that howndes leades,
The may go secke them sarvis in dyvars stedes;
The mynstreles the may go pype with the gleades ;
Ye, so may the buchars tayke him to his bedys,
I plege,
The truthe shall I say them,
And nothyng denay them,
In feth the may go play them,
On pylgremage.
The kocke in the kychyne may hing up his roste;
The pultare and the partrege may make them a tost ;
Thus this brybery Lenton makys a great bost,
That the shall sell no fowlys whyllys he ys in cost,
No stor;
The may tayke upe ther stayles,
Thear nettys for thear quels,
Set them downe, and pyke thear neals,
This monith and more.
Yt ys good for the shepard locke well to his fold,
Tayke tent to his tayle, and hede what he tolde ;
For then the bochars doggis begynne to waxe bolde,
The rost ys not allway redy, but sum tymys colde,
Under locke ;
The have no puddynges nor crages,
Panchis nor baggys,
And the be a sort of sturdy staggis,
Yf the cum to a flocke.
For yf the fyel the swete fleshe off the yonge lammes,
It wyll mayke them plucke the cottis off the olde dammys ;
The mon abyd the reconynge, and the gett them byth hammys,
Such bourdyng ys nought, nor yet such gammys;
Therfore
I say hongger ys a gloottone,
And dogges love motton,
The set not a button
To worry up a skoare.
He that holdes any suche howndes, ty them up with clogges ;
For the wyll pres for ther foode throughe brears and shrogges ;
But I beshrowe there hartes yf the worry wethar hogges,
Be the kennites, or currys, or good banddogges ;
So I the,
Yt wear allmost as I hope,
Who so wolde the ryght grope,
Trus them upe in a rope
Tow owars or thre.
Ther ys grynnyng and gnasshinge for nawynge of bonys ;
Tearynge off hoodis and cottis for the nonnys ;
Sum haltes, sum hedles, sum grynnys, sum gronnys ;
Sum stickys in the myar, sum lyes on the stonnys ;
No grace;
Be Mary, Godes mothar,
I never se suche othar,
Exsepte ichone wold worry othar,
I never se the cace.
Thus this brybry Lenton with sorrowe he leades us ;
Both man and beast with hongger he fedys us ;
Set a wondar uppone him ilkeone, I rede us,
For and he reane a whyll, he wyll hong us and hede us,
And he may.
Thus he puttes to pennance ;
And also to a fynance ;
I pray God a mischance
Lyghtten on him this day !
He kepis a nyvell hows, and that well ye ken ;
For nygard ys next him off all othar men,
Olyvere brybare ys stewarde over dere a salte hen ;
A vengeance off suche a howsolde ! now say ye all, amen ;
And I say the sam.
Abstinence ys his kocke,
He puttes all in his bocke,
The horson has a hongre loocke,
The dyvell give him shame !
Now tayke us to our beadis, it wyll no bettare be,
Let us set us to sadnes and leave vanite ;
For now the tym ys cum we may not fle,
But put us to penance for our folly,
And gryffe.
I hade rathar then my gowen,
The horsone wear ready bowen,
To be rong owte ath towene,
And fear to tayke his leve.
To the churche must we go to do our penance,
Cry unto Crist with great repentance,
Remembar our mysrull and our governance,
And mecke us to his mercy that we have done grevancc,
And knowe,
That Lentton thus dears us,
And nothyng forbears us,
With mastre he gars us
To obay to his lawe.
He crys on our conscience, for nought wyll he let,
Buxsomly and beauly he byddes us go bete ;
Looke up our rentall, his awditor ys sete,
And mayke a trwe acounte to our curete,
And wyll ;
No alowance may we lege,
For and we be cast in the rerage,
Yt wyll be the worst berrage
That ever dranke we tyll.
Morover must we counte, we have not yet done ;
After we have mayd our confessione,
We must reaken for our tythinges with our persone,
And all that ever he gettes he thinkys it well donne,
I dar swear ;
Tenthe penny wyll he crave,
Mickyll mor will he have,
Lyttell symmony his knave
Syttes rownyng him yth eare.
Therfor I red youe, clowte your howes well ath knyes ;
Untoth cros muste youe crepe, ye may not ches ;
Leve your offryng ther, yt ys our persons feys,
Muche car we cache who so knowes and seys,
Nat to seke.
God gyve him yll chance !
For he has done us grevance,
And lede us an yll daunce
All this syxe wecke.
He has ponisshede us first with hongger and with cold ;
Sen fleshe that was norrisshinge he hath forbyd us bold ;
With tenthe parte of our tilthe and our howsolde
He has taken, ye me trust, and ecke a penny tolde,
And cros;
He has the poor opprest,
Both be est and be west;
He ys a shrcrwide geste,
And to a poor mans losse.
Now ys pace even cum, and he ys redde bowen
For to tayke his leave, the devyll myght him drowen !
On a skalde mare backe to ryd owt ath towne;
Many a knave after him for to crake his crowne,
With payn;
With his lykys in his necke,
Stynkyng fishe in a secke,
I pray the dyvell breake his necke,
That he cum no mor agayn.
Leve we this Lentton, and no mor on him talke,
Sens that he ys gonn, on his weas lett him walke ;
Over the benttes browne still let him stalke ;
Let no man him lete be stret nar be blalke,
That swayne ;
He bare mickyll blame,
And he was worthe" the same ;
But our Lady a Walsynggame
Let hime never cum agayne !
Nowe God, the which was on a crosse tormente,
And for our mysdedys was shamfully shente,
Save all the cpmpayny which ys hear present,
And bryng us to the joye whear he ys permenent,
I do pray;
As he mayd us he mend us,
And frome the fende defend us ;
He save us, and he send us
To the blysse that lastith aye.


Lyrics:
The Perse owt off Northombarlonde and a vowe to God mayd he,


Lyrics:
I hard lately to a ladye
A lover say, which dyd featly,
Grant and denye
As doth inshue,
"Maddam," quoth he,
" remember me."
" I will," quoth she.
"Syth I love the, tak sum petey."
" I nyll," quoth she.
" In that I cane, take me your man."
" I wyll," quoth she.
" Reward me then in my tyme when."
" I nyll," quoth she.
"By wyll and nyll, you answear styll."
" And wyll," quoth she.
' ' Revoke that nyll, and grante good wyll."
" I nyll," quoth she.


Lyrics:
Take hede in tyme, whylste youthe dothe reane,
Lest that in age thoue soore complayne ;
Thys world yt ys so unsertayne ;
Therfor take hede.
Fayr wordes ofte tymes, wysse men have towld,
Dothe make fowlsse fayen be not to bowld ;
All thyngs that shynythe ys not gold;
Therfor take hede.
Nature hathe wrowght soche propertye
In everye beast go yt or flye,
To provyed fore theme selves most suerlye ;
Therfor take hede.
Ofte tymes the thyng that plesure hathe wroght,
When plesure ys past, ys sett at nowght ;
Wysdom with myserye ys to dear bowght;
Therfor take hede.
For summe we se that makythe great mone,
In age whene they be lefte alone,
To latte they spare, when all ys goone ;
Therfor take hede.
The pysmere workes in somer fast,
In wynter that she may have repast;
He can not save that styll dothe wast ;
Therfor take hede.
The servynge man that takythe wage,
Lett hyme not spende, but kepe for age ;
For servys ys none erytage;
Therfor take hede.
Trust not all promys, yf thou be wysse ;
For promys nowe adays ys of small prysse ;
They turne as fast as chance of dyece ;
Therfor take hede.
Take hede of change, tho yt seme swetter ;
Howld whylst thoue art well, yt shal be metter ;
For seldome comythe, mene saythe, the better;
Therfor take hede.
Thowghe thoue be delygent, and justly meane
To do thy dewtye never so fayne,
Yete ofte we se newe brome swepes cleane ;
Therfor take hede.
Be not to hahte, nor yett to hye,
Thowghe fortune seme to favore the;
The forthyst in vavor sownnyst owt may be ;
Therfor take hede.
Be not to busye in tellynge news,
Lest thyne own wordes do the accusse;
Yf thoue be espyed, men wyll the refews ;
Therfor take hede.
Be not to lyberall of wordes, I say,
Lest summe do take theme contrarye way ;
One may not speake that another may;
Therfor take hede.
And sume ther be in soche a casse,
Lest anye other showld obtayn grace,
To remowve theme cleane they wyll labor apace ;
Of thos take hede.
And sume ther be that be so blynde,
They thynke there facyons no man dothe mynd ;
Yf they contenewe, sume wyll theme fynd ;
I say, take hede.
In tyme ys welthe, and in tyme ys wo ;
Take tyme yne tyme, and lete all go,
Sythe yt ys hard thye frynd to know ;
In tyme take hede.
For reformacyon I thys intendyd ;
Yete summe perchancce wyl be offendyd ;
Therfor lyttell sayd ys sowne amended ;
In tyme take hede.


Lyrics:
After mydnyght, when dremes dothe fawll,
Sume what before the mornynge gray,
Me thowght a voyce thus dyd me cawll,
"lustye youthe, aryes, I say."
"youthe," he sayd,
"lyfte upe thy heade;
Awake, awake, yt ys fayr daye ;
Howe canst thoue slepe, or kepe thy bede,
Thys fayr mornyng? aryes, I say.
" The sonne ys upe with hys bryght beames,
As thowghe he wold with the no fray,
But beat the upe owt of thy dremes,
And resse the upe ; aryes, I saye.
" Harke how the byrdes all with on voyce,
Wythe one concord ther cordes they lay,
Wythe joyfull tewnes the to rejoyce,
And styre the upe; aryes, I say.
" Behowld the felde nowe in lyke forme,
Furnyshyd with flowrs bothe freshe and gaye ;
Yt saythe to the, thowe slothefull worme,
Cume walke in me ; aryes, I say.
" The day, the sonne, the byrd, the feld,
Syns all thes cawll, thow lumpe of clay,
Unlesse shamlesse now be thy sheld,
For verye shame, aryes, I saye."
With thys me thowght the voyce reherst
Thes wordes, and sayd,
"youthe, I the pray.
What means thys day and all the rest,
That sayd to the, aryes, I say ?
Truly thys day nowe to dyschos
Of Crystys faythe that longe hyd lay,
And now fule cleare and fayr yt shos,
To reasse the upe ; aryes, I' say.
What ys thys sonne that shynythe so bryght,
The verye sone of Gode, no nay;
Whos bemes of gracce be bent eavyn ryght,
To reasse the upe; aryes, I say.
What be thes byrdes that thus accord,
That ther swett cordes yche ear wold tay ;
Trulye true prechers of the lord,
At whos swet cordes, aryes, I say.
And se thoue walke amonst thes flowers,
Not for pastyme to feast and play,
But reverentlye suppres thy powrs,
Frome wanton pryd, arys, I say.
For better clarkes ther hathe byne non
Then in thys feld theme selves dyd slay;
Trustynge to moche theme selves uppon ;
Be ware ther fawll ; arys, I say.
Now syns thoue knowst bothe wher to walke,
And how to walke thou knowyst the way,
Lett age lye sty11 as drye as chalke,
And lustye youthe, arys, I say."
To thys me thowght dowtynge the truthe,
And lest thys voycce showld me betray,
He sayd,
" a ! voycce ! whye more to youthe
Then unto age; aryes, I say."
" That thyng," sayd he,
" I shall declare,
Thys youthe and age now to beware ;
The Jews and Gentyls suer they are,
Now gesse to whome; aryes, I say.
" The Jewe he ys so owld and worne,
That speake to hym in vayn I may ;
But thoue, Gentylle, art newlye borne,
Wherfor to the, arys, I say.
Syns Cryst the lord hathe chosyn the stoke,
And lett hys owne floke go estray,
Now shewe thy self a lovynge floke
Unto the lord; arys, I say."
Thys sayd, I hade no more to tell,
But walke, and seynge fayr clere day,
Sayd to my selfe thes wordes myght well
Be sayd to me, "aryes, I say."


Lyrics:
I lothe what I dyd love,
In youthe that I thowght swet,
As tyme requyars for my behowve,
Me thynkes they are not mett.
My lustes they do me leave,
And fances all be fled,
And trake of tyme begyns to weave
Grey hears uppone my head.'
For age wythe stelynge stepes
Hathe clawd me wythe hys crutche,
And lustye lyf away he leapes,
As ther had byne none soche.
SONGS AND BALLADS. 35
My musse dothe not me delyett,
As she hathe done befoor;
My hand and pene ys not in plyght,
As yt hathe byne of yoore.
For resone me denyes
Thes youthelye idyll ryemes,
And day by day to me she cryes,
" Leave of thos trykes be tyemes."
The wrynkylles in my browe,
The furros in my facce,
Saythe lympyng age must lodge hyin now
Wher youthe must gyve hyme placce.
The harbyngare of deathe
Towardes me I se hyme ryede;
The cowghe, the cowld, the gaspyng brethe,
Which bydes me to provyd
A pyke-axe and a spade,
And yke a shrowdynge shette,
A howsse of clay for to be mayd,
Of soche a gest full mette.
Me thynkes I hear the clarke
Which knowles the carfull bell,
And bydes me leave my merye warke,
Or nature me compelle.
My keperes knytes the knott.
Which youthe dyd lawghe to skorne,
Of hyme that shal be cleane forgott,
As he had not byne borne. Behowld the bare head scull,
By whos bawld skyne I knowe, .
That lympyng age away shall pull
That youthefulle years dyd sowe.
Thus must I youthe gyve upe,
Whos badge I longe dyd weare ;
To theme I yeld the wantone cupe,
That better may yt beare.
And youe that byedes begyne,
Have youe none other trust,
As youe of clay are mayd be kynd,
So shall youe turne to dust.


Lyrics:
The lyf ys longe that lothesumlye dothe last,
The dowllfull days drawythe slowly to ther datt.
The present panges and paynfull plages forpast,
Yeldes gref eay grene to stablyshe thys estatt.
So that I feell in thys greate storm and stryffe,
The dethe ys swett that shortnythe soche a lyffe.
And by the stroke of thys strawnge overthrowe,
At which conflycte in thraldume I was thrust,
The Lord be praysyd I ame well tawght to knowe
Frome whencce man came and yke wherto he must ;
And by the way uppon howe feble forcce,
Hys tearme dothe stand tyll dethe dothe end hys cowrse.
The plesand years that sown so swyftly rune,
The mery days to end so fast they flytt,
The joyfull nyghtes, of which day daws so sowne,
The happye owrs which mo do mysse thene hytt,
Dothe all consume as snow agaynst the sonne,
And deathe makes end of all that lyf begune.
Syns dethe shall dewr tyll all the world be wast,
What menythe man to drede dethe then so sore?
As man myght make that lyf showld allways last,
Withowt regard the Lord hathe led before
The dancce of dethe which all must runne one rowe,
But over whome onlye the Loid dothe knowe.
Yf man wold mynd what burthynges lyf dothe brynge,
What grevows crymes to God yt commytt,
What plages, what pawnges, what perylls therby sprynge,
With no suer our in all hys tyme to sytt,
He wold suer thynke, as with gret caws I do,
The day of dethe ys happyar of the towe.
Dethe ys a port wherby we passe to joy ;
Lyf ys a lake that drownythe all in payne ;
Dethe ys so swet, yt sesythe all anoye ;
Lyf ys so lued, yt yeldythe all in vayne ;
And as by lyf to bondage man was browght,
Eavyne so by dethe was fredome wrowght.
Therfor, with Pawll, lett all men wyshe and pray
To be dissolvyd of thys fowll fleshey masse ;
Or att the lest be armyd agaynst the day,
That we may be fownd good sowdyars prest to passe
From lyf to dethe, from dethe to lyf agayne,
To soche a lyf as ever shall remeane.


Lyrics:
My frynd, the lyf I lead at all
By thes fewe wordes perceave youe shall.
The sloggyshe bede I do detest,
Syth I therin can take no rest;
And wythe the larke yche day I ryes,
One feelde to fayre, soche ys my gyes,
Wher I the lustye grene may vewe,
And yke the yelowe flowers newe,
Which colors I do love and shall,
For in myne yeys they passyne all.
Thene to the mowntayne fast me by
I take my way, as yt dothe ly ;
And upe my merrye lymes I gette,
Thowghe ofte I puf, and sumc tyme sweate;
Yete stynte I note whylst I may stand
One the hyghyste tope to vewe the land,
Where I may se yche day wythe yeye
The land, the sea, soche fowls as flye,
The hughe forest, feryst of all,
And everye beast that I name shall ;
The hart, the hynd, the buke, the do,
The swyfte and yke amasyd ro;
The nymbyll hear, that swyft can rune;
The crake, nut sqyrell, lyttyll bonne;
Ther may se howe the fawlcce foxe
The bawsone betythe frome the the roxe,
Mawgre hys head, throwghe subtell sleght,
Of hyme sowne can he wyne the streyt.
Amonge the rest ther may I se
The only placce that lykythe me;
On whyche full longe myne yeys I stay,
And to my self thes wordes I say :
Wythein thy wawiles, o placce of blesse,
My dearyst frynd inclosyd ys,
Wher as I wyshe me ofte to be,
So that no whyght myght know but she ;
Transformyd in soche maner of wys
As she here self cowld best devys,
Of beast or byrde soche shape to take,
As fowlle or fyshe that swymes in lake;
A fylype sparowe to be fede
At here owne handes wythe cronies of bred ;
A lyttyll whelpe one here to fawne,
So that my mynd to her wear knowne ;
A faythfull flye in for to crepe
At crevys small whene she dothe slepe ;
A chyrpynge mowsse in creast of wall,
Whene she lyst slepe my noys were small ;
A levytte in here cage to synge,
Ne stynt wold I of warblynge ;
The lyttyll robyne with the rede brest,
Or elles a blake flea in her nest.
In faythe ne cowld I fynd in hart
Oute of here slepe here to estartt ;
But in here presencce ever to be,
I aske of God none other fee ;
And with myne yeys here to behowld,
I hade my wysh, nowght elles I wold;
To hear, my frynd, the holle estate
Of thys my lyf early and latt.


Lyrics:
When I do cawll to mynd
What cuers we have in care,
Thys one chefe claws I fynd
Ryght nedfull to declare ;
We knowe what Gode hathe syynd
To do or to forbear,
Yete wyllyngly we wynd
Frome saftye unto snare.
Wherfor nowe in thys casse
My judghment dothe advancce,
That knowledge wytheowt gracce
Ys worcce thene yngnorancce.
We know what thankes we owe
To Gode for all hys gyftes,
Yete contrarye we showe
To hym our selves unthryftes.
The good frome yll we knowe,
Yet in owr daylye dryftes
The yll in us dothe growe,
The good frome us yt shyftes.
Then may we uus thys fracce
Most ryf in remembrancce,
That knowlege wytheowt gracce
Ys worcce then yngnorancce.
Now knowe we scrypturs playne
Wher as befor we dyd not,
Yet are we nowe more vayne
Thene whene the same rede not.
We rune forthe in the rayne,
As God or man we dred not,
Whyche sowne wyll plant our payne,
Yf God the same forbyd not.
When knowledge was mor scarcce
We hade summe obaysancce,
Ower knowledge withowtt gracce
Ys worcce thene yngnorancce.
We knowe we awght to love,
Allthowghe we be not lovyd;
Xo wronge agayne to mowve,
Tho wronge to us be mowvyd.
We awght not to reprowve,
Alltho we be reprowvyd,
But folowe owr behowve,
Thes godlye wordes aprowvyd.
Yet wantynge gracce we chacce
Away Godes ordynancce;
Owr knowledge withowt gracce
Ys worcce then yngnorance.
We know that we showld hatte
Ower neghbore in no wysse,
Yete hate hys chef estate
That dothe amonge us rysse.
Owr minor or owr matte
We sertaynly dyspysse,
Owr major in lyke ratte
To scallder we devyse.
Thus bothe wythe hyghe and bacce
We ar at defyancce;
Owr knowlege without gracce
Ys worcce then yngnorancce.
We knowe we showld forgyve
As we wold be forgyvyne ;
Yet styll in ire we lyve
As tliowge owr hartes wear ryvyne.
Kevengmentes do we dryve
For lyght occacyon gyvvyne,
We seke for cawse to greve
Owr neghbor morne and evyne.
The mor we spy in spacce, .
The lesse ys owr entrancce ;
Owr knowlege withowt gracce
Ys worcce then yngnorance.
All fallcyd and dysseate
We knowe we showld abbor ;
Yet usse we mor that sleght
Then ever we dyd before.
Lyyng in cownter weght
To hurt owr neghbore sore,
So we may catche the baytt
We passe uppone no more.
Oppressyon berythe the masse,
And lucare leades the dancce ;
Owr knowlege withowt gracce
Ys worcce then yngnorancce.
We knowe that we showld worke
The workes of ryghtuowsnes,
Yet lye we styll and lurke
In slothe and idyllnes.
We showld eschewe the durke,
And to the lyght addres,
Yet do we as the Turke
Thys godlye lyght oppres.
SONGS AND BALLADS. 43
In stead of workes we placce
Owr lust and dalyancce ;
Owr knowlege wythowt gracce
Ys worcce thene yngnorancce.
Yche man acownt must make
As he hathe heare vocuycyone,
Hys talent not to slake,
But turne to agmentacyon.
Thys must we undertake,
In payne of our damnacyone,
Yet nowght we do but crake
Of owr justyfycacyon.
We thynk to knowe the passe,
Dysscharge the elegencce,
Thys knowlege withowt gracce
Ys worss then yngnorancce.
Better to syt eavyne styll,
Then for to rysse and fawll ;
So ys yt moche lesse yll
To know nothyng at all,
Then for to have great skyll,
And then lyve worst of all,
Fullfyllyng not Godes wyll,
As he hathe wyld we shall.
Thus yngnorancce may facce
Owr knowlege nowe in trancce ;
For knowlege withowt gracce
Ys worcce then yngnorancce.
Whyche gracce that we now want
For want of cawllynge for,
Pray we the Lord to grant..
To salve thys forsayd sore;
And that in us he plant
Repenttans in soche stor,
That we may fle the hant
Of owr wyllfulle errore ;
All vertue to ymbracce,
And vycce away to glancce,
As knowledge knyt with gracce
May vankquyshe yngnorancce.


Lyrics:
The reare and grettyst gyfte of all
That ever God gave unto mane,
Unto kyng Salomone dyd befawll,
A wytte yche wordlye thyng to scane ;
Whos sacryd wordes and wys request
Egravyd ys within my brest,
When he thus sayd, with hart accord,
" Thre thynges deny not me, o Lord !"
Fyrst can he pray with humble hart,"
Thy servant, Lord, do not compell
Throwghe povertye to plaay soche part
As thos that in dyspayr do dwell ;
Ne with the wykyd to cast lotte,
By wronge to wyne that I have not;
Wythe lothesume scyrpe my crums to crave,
And wyshe my mothered womb my grave.
Nor for to cursse hyme me begott,
Soche synfull threde in fume to spyne,
A breche of laws, to truth a spott,
A share for eay unto my eyne ;
And last of all, for my most blame,
My sowll shall suffer for the same ;
Forome soche hard hape and fynall end,
Thy humble servant, Lord, defend."
Wythe bowyd kne and handes elatt,
Whos lyvly lowkes can percce the skye,
Wythe a puer hart thys hyghe estatt,
Wythe swett shyrlle voyce thus can he crye
Abundancce, Lord, gyve not to me,
Lest that myne hart exalltyd be,
Throwghe heps of shynyng gold at fyll,
I the forsake and worke my wyll.
Soche hatfull hordes to have in store,
Soche worldly welthe to walowe in,
Soche gredye hartes eay wyshyng more,
Soche vayne advancment for to wyne ;
Frome humble bede to hyghe estatt ;
Kegardyng not the fynall fatt ;
Soche hasty sprynges, soche faydynge grene,
Sown ryepe, sown rottyne, as I wene."
Thus hathe thys wysse kyng mayd request,
With nedye nakyd not to stryve ;
Soche reches yke he dothe detest,
As keppthe the hart allway caytyve.
And only thys thyng can he crave,
A meane convenyent welthe to have,
And yke a hart contentyd thene,
A thyng most rear amongst us men.
Menyng therby not to pressume
Wythe the fenyxe for to stryv in flyght,
Lest that the sonns heatt them consume,
And forome therthe arotte theym ryght;
Nor with the dolfyne so to sownd,
Wher anker howld non can be fownd,
But with the meane content allway,
Thus can thys wysse kyng Salomon pray.


Lyrics:
In historyes off olde to rede
He that dothe exsarsyes,
Adventewrs strange maye se in dede
Aparente to his eyes.
As I my selffe have rede no dowte
In auchtors many on,
Wheryn the acttes hath bene sette owte
Off many deade and gone.
Off some whyche in ther lyves have done
Acttes dygne off note and fame,
And some have wroughte wherby was wone,
Notes off reproche and blame.
And as the worthe to our syghte
Ar glassys to insewe,
So ar the othar myrrors ryghte
Of shame for to eschewe.
Off Herculys and Jasan stronge
I cannot showe the factes;
Off Hectore eke it ware to longe
To name his noble acttes.
Of Achyllys and Traylus sure
The dedes worthe and greate,
It passithe farre off me the cure
At this tym to intreate.
Off Lawncelate and stronge Trystram
I cannote speke this howre,
Whiche wane allway wher the became
Off chevalrye the floware.
With thowsandes more which leke them ware
In worthenes and strenghte,
Whiche at the laste be envyes snare
Consumyde wear at lenghte.
The caus whereof the trouthe to tell
Is ease for to name,
Even that the dyde so fare exsell
In worthenes and fame.
Whiche thynge in them som dyd envye,
So, for the trouthe to saye,
That by all means the dyde aplye
To brynge them owte athe way.
Sum thorowe gyll and trouthles trayne
To dethe no dowte wear browght ;
Sum cruelly of iare ware slayne,
As hate the caus had wroughte.
Yet was there non among them all
Slayne with more crewell spyghte
Then one whome nowe to mynde I call,
Whos name Lewes Weste highte.
A goodly jentill mane and squyare.
As any in all this londe,
And dwellyng was withein Yorkeshyare,
Youe shall well undarestande.
I knowe not well what the cans was
Whereoff the hate dyd sprynge,
But howe in ded it came to pas,
I wyll declare the thynge.
Bothe Johan and Jorge be name,
Sonnes unto the lord Dars,
As men whos harttes iere dyde flame,
Voyd off all grace or marcye,
The xvij. Day off Apryll pleane,
To mayke heareoff shorte tayls,
Assawghtyde hyme to have hime slayne
At his owene howse at Wayllys.
Havyng with them twellve men in dede
Ther quaryll to assyste,
Yet at that tyme the colde note spede,
But off ther purpas myste.
At Aytton the vij. Day off Maye,
With seventyne men ryght tall,
The dyd assaughte and miche asaye
Uppone hyme eke to fall.
But Lewes West, that jentyll squyare,
As evydence ys ryffe,
Dyd ever mor off them desyare
Not to attempte suche stryffe.
The lord Darse yete mayd beheste,
And dyd them undaretayke,
Betwene his sonnys and Lewys Weste
An unyte to make.
This Lewes Weste he ment none yll,
But thought all hade bene sure,
But the no dowte went forwarde styll
His dethe for to procure.
As at the fear of Eotharerame
Apearyde very well,
Whiche on the nexte. Monday thene came,
In Whytsone wicke it fell.
Thethare rode Lewes Weste full strayte,
And Edmonde Weste his brothare,
Twelve tall yemen on him dyde wayt,
His sarvauntes and non othare.
Both Johan and Jorge Darse also
Cam thethare with thear bownde,
And all that day abowte dyde go
With him to fall in honde.
But when the sawe it wolde not be,
The dyd consullte full strayte,
And sone betwene them sellves agre
Homwarde hyme to awayte.
Whiche done, the rode ther ways before
To Ayeton, thre myll thence,
And laye in wayte with men thre skore,
Armyde to make defence
With pryvy cottes and shtirttes off maylle,
With weapons off iche kynde;
Wherwithe they thoughte them to assayle
As afor and eke behynde.
Theroff nowghte wyste the bretharne twayne;
Lewys and Edmonde Weste,
But rod togethare whom agayne,
At tyme when the thoughte beste.
But as the rode homwarde that tyde,
Ayttone witheowte lette,
The fonde them selvis on every syde
With enymes besett.
" Good brothar," then sayde Lewes Weste,
" We ar I se betreade,
Yet lete us nowe do even our beste."
Whereto then Edmonde sayde,
"Whyleste I," quothe he,
"may lyfte my hande,
Havyng my lyffe and brethe,
With the, my brothare, I wyll stonde
Unto the very dethe."
The jentyll squyar to his men spayke,
Axsyng off them that stownde,
Yf the with him suche part wolde tayke
As he wolde on the grownde.
To whome the answeryde by and by,
Saynge,
" We ar thy men,
And with the wyll bothe lyre and dye,
Thoughe yche off them wear ten."
With that Johan Darse for the dyde breake,
And sayde to Lewes Weste,
" I have a worde with the to speake,
To drawe thy sworde ys beste."
" I have no thyng with youe adoo,"
Then sayde that jentyll squyare,
" But whomwardes on our way to go;
Lett us, I youe desyre."
Johan Darse then to hyme dyd saye,
" A very knave thowe arte,
And or thowe pas from me awaye,
My sworde shall pears thy harte."
Weste sayd unto the Darse thane,
" The mache ys no thyng leke,
That ten or twelve agenste on mane
At ons shulde fyght or stryke.
" A jentyllemane I knowe youe be,
And so youe wate ame I ;
With shame therefor mordare not me,
But thus the mattare trye.
" Cum youe and foware off your beste men
At ons and fyght with me,
And furtharemore yf youe wyll thene
To yche off my men thre.
" And yf youe chanche to slay me no we,
I do youe cleane remyte ;
And yf I chance for to slay youe,
Theroff do me acquyte."
The Darcys then mayde no delaye,
With all there rowte in fear,
But all attons dyd then assay
To slay that worthe squyare.
Who with his sworde and buclare stronge
Agenste them mayde defence,
But that, alas ! Cold not be longe,
Agenste that vyolence.
His sworde was brokene to his hande,
Wherewithe he manlye fowghte ;
Whiche his enymes shulde els have fownde,
And haplye deare have boughte.
On persyde there the body throrowe
Of that ryght worthe wyghte;
Unto his brothars mortall sorrowe,
Whiche sawe that dollfull syghte.
Yet classpede he the Darsyes twayne,
And caste them to the grownde,
And hade them bothe undowtyde slayne,
Hade the not succare fownde.
Whiche him anon from them oiftoste,
And threwe him dowene asyde ;
Who forthewithe all gave up the goyste,
And ther among them dyede.
Yet Edmonde Weste, his brothar deare,
Bestroyd him in that cace,
Tyll he was felde, and deyde ryghte neare,
As the thought, in that place.
A pypare with the Darsyes was,
I knowe not well his hame,
Whiche cryede lowde, and sayde,
" alas !This ys to great a shame."
On off the Darsyes harde that worde,
And, as a man paste all grace,
Persyde hime throrowe with his sworde
Kyghte in that present place.
Whiche thinge ons done, the flede in dede,
With all there bande thear weas ;
God send all suche ons yll to spede,
And here to lyve shorte days !
The squyare and on off his men thare
Lay dede uppone the grownde;
And all the reste that lyvynge ware,
Hade many a grevous wownde.
God sende them well to lyve and fare,
And eas off all thear smarttes,
And for the othare sorte prepare,
That whiche ys thear desarttes.
Whiche ys most condygne ponishemente,
And dethe for theare offence;
And gyve them grace for to repente,
Or there departure hence.
A shamfull thing it ys to kenne,
And also moste unfite,
That ever any jentill men
Suche evell shulde commyte.
A warnyng, Lorde, grawnte this to be,
For them to fle suche mys,
Even thowe that dyede uppone a tre,
To brynge us to the blys.


Lyrics:
Remember man thy frayle estate, repent thy folles past,
Refrayne thy mynde from worldly woes, for deth approchythe fast.
Ther ys no holde in worldly joyes; no surte can be founde,
No stable frute for to imbrace, no pleasur to expounde;
But slyppeir chaunces ryse to se, and wondars very strange,
Which hape and hite in sondre sortes, as yeare and yeare do change.
But suche as lyve I thus advis ther doynges so to frame,
As the may well desarve to have a well reportyde name.
A good name dothe Wynne renoune, and shall not be forgotten,
But fame shall sounde it forthe abrode when we be ded and rotten.
By famous brute we heare and knowe the workes off fathars olde,
From age to age, and tym to tym, we ar and have ben tolde,
What frute ys found by suche reporte that brutyde ys off fame,
Excepte that suche as heare and se tayke warnynge be the same.
Consydare then as the be dede and buryede owte off syghte,
So shall the higeste in estate withe all his poware and myght;
Then shall his dedys, yff he desarve, be brutyde mor and mor,
Frome age to age, and tyme to tym, as othars wear befoware.
This ys the moste assuryde hope that worldly men can have,
Their workes shall wynne an endless fame when the be dede in grave.
All vertue tendithe unto fame, and fame dothe make reporte
What worthe acttes ar worthe mynde withe men off every sorte,
What vertue ys avauncide moste, what vice in moste exsyle,
What wysdome ys in worldly men, what folly wrought be gyle,
Whot slyppar holde in worldly joyes, what ways to wyn renoune,
What slyppare chaunce to rys and fall, what tornynge up and downe,
What gredynes, what great disspyte, what rygore hath ben wrought,
What wylfullnes for to revenge, what thraldome hath ben sought.
But fame hathe brutede owt abroade that nought may be forgotten,
Our chyldrens chylde shall hear as moche when we be ded and rotten.
No bettare frut ys founde on yerthe, no wyght that bearythe brethe,
Cane bear hime bolde off worldly joyes, for all consume be deth.
Suche as be wyse shall wyn renoune, for wysdome wynnithe fame ;
Wysdome settithe furthe the lawe and dothe perform the same.
By wysdome men do understande what thinges be wronge or ryght,
By wysdome men off mean estate ar chosen men off myght ;
For wysdome teachithe what ys good, and what ys vyle and veane,
What stay ys hade in worldly joyes, howe long the shall remayne.
What can we aske for our defence? What can we wishe or crave?
But wysdome bryngithe to effecte in forme as we wolde have.
What sentence ys so difficulte? What jugement so profounde?
What suttell tayle so wylye tolde? bute wysdome can expounde.
What ar done, or shal be done, but wysdome can declare,
Howe and when in every thing, and howe we may be ware.
By wysdome men do lyve upryght and leyd ther lyff in peace ;
And whear no wysdome plantyde ys, ther can be no incres.
So by wysdome fame ys wone, and folly overthrowene,
And where as wysdome takvthe place, ther veitue shal be knowene.
Sythe then by wysdome worldly men do rule in every thinge,
We muste regarde frome whence it came, wheroff doth wysdome spryng,
But only of the fear of God, which fear muste fear us all,
To lead our lyves from tyme to tyme as skripture showes we shall.
The man ys wyse that fearithe God, for he shall wyn renoune;
He shall lament with wepyng eyes when ryght ys troden downe ;
He shall obsarve the lawe of God, and worke to walke upryght;
He shall note fear the yle reporte of suche as worke disspyte.
The fear of God withestandithe synne, and sheldithe worldly woes ;
The fear of. God disswadithe wrathe and reconcilithe foes;
The man that hathe the feare of God well plantyd in his breste
Wyll do no wrong nore worke disspyte, but seke to lyve in reste ;
He wyll repulse the vayne desyre of treasour, land, or rente,
He wyll not gethare syne to synne, but synfullnes repente;
He wyll not seke his fleshly luste nor fed his fleshly eyes,
Nor joye to have the vayne reporte that folly dothe devis ;
He wyll do good be all his days, ofiendyng no degre ;
He wyll refrayne to treade the ways where wicked peple be ;
He wyll defende the comfortles, that non shall them oppres ;
He wyll relyve the fatharles and wedows in distres.
Such on shall wyne the hartes off men, his lyvyng shal be knowen,
He shal be lovyd of his joys, his vertues shal be blowene
Into the eares of every lyge unto his endles fame ;
For whear a man belovyd ys, all men wyll preas his name.
Love excedithe all the joyes that worldly men can have;
For love unytithe God and man, ther fethe and sollys to save ;
Love makythe men to joyne in on in welthe and woe alyke;
Wher love ys knyte no pryde ys knowene, but joinyng cheke be choke.
Love dothe ingender famous brute, and workithe no dysdayn ;
Love recompensithe good desarte with dowble gyfte agayne ;
Love wyll not suffare fals pretence to forge a fonde debate;
Love dothe note mormer non envye at honore and estate ;
Love causythe pryncis to provyde ther subjectes to defende;
Love cawsithe rulars to forse the workys that the intende ;
Love causithe joye and mery days withe every man and wyffe ;
Love maykithe subjectes bowe and bende in peace to pas ther lyf;
Love defendithe ryghte and truthe, and wynnes the hartes of men ;
And wher debate dothe bear a brage, love maykithe peas agayn.
Suche as be lovyde may rejoyce, ther joye shall never seas,
But spede and prosspere to ther wyll, and lede ther lyffin peas.
I have no better gifte to give, for wysdome passithe golde;
Yt ys a perphyte way to lyve, I thinke, as I have tolde.
Then shall your lyvyng well declare the joyes that youe embrace;
Then pray to God that he may helpe to strenght youe with his grace ;
Then shall ye kepe good nam and fame, youre lyff and concience clear ;
God graunte ye may for Christis sake, whiche bought us all so deare.


Tags:
Common Weal, Moral, Social Criticism, Religious, Political

Lyrics:
Who lovithe to lyve in peas, and merkithe every change,
Shall se suche newes from tym to tym as sem wonderous strange ;
Suche frawde and frendly lokys, suche frendshipe all for gayne ;
Suche clokyde wrathe in hatfull hartes, which worldly men retayn ;
Suche fanyde flatteryng faythe amonges bothe he and lowe;
Suche great dissayte, suche subtill wittis, the weake to overthrowe;
Suche spyte in sugeryde tongis, which bryng men ofte to care ;
Suche slydyng downe from slyppery seates, yet we cannot be war;
Suche barkyng at the good, suche bolstrynge up of yle ;
Suche threatenynge off the wrathe off God, suche vice imbrasyde still ;
Suche clymyng to estate, suche discorde daly wraghte ;
Suche forgyd tallys, dull wittes to blynde, such mattars mayd of nought ;
Suche tryfyls told for truthe, suche credytyng off lyes ;
Suche sylence kepte when follys speake, such laugheyng at the wyes;
Suche plentithe mayd so skars, suche cryeng for redres ;
Howe welthe declynithe towarde decay, what tong can well expres;
Such changges lyghtly merkyd, such trobble still apears,
Which never was befor this tym, no not this thowsarid years.
Such poverty abrowde, and fewe men takyth them in;
Suche juels warne and poore men want, which ys both shame and syne ;
Suche pryntynge off good bookys, such praychyng synn to Sle ;
Suche ronnynge hedlong into hell, it pittiethe me to se.
Suche brybyng for the purs, such gapynge after more;
Such hording upe of worldly welthe, such kepyng mucke in store;
Suche prolynge for fate farmes, such dublyng of small rente;
Suche heppis of golde in sum mens handes, yete no man ys contente.
Suche byldyng of fear bowars, suche honger kepte in hallys ;
Wher nydy men have fownde relyffe, nowe may the se bar wallys;
Such folly fond in age, such wyte in tender youthe ;
Such sondry sectes among great clarkys, and few that speak the truthe;
Such reconsylyng under crafte, and suche unstidfaste ways,
Was never immagynede within mans harte, as ys fownd nowe adays.
The caus and grow[n]de of this ys our unquyate mynde,
Which thinkythe to tayk thoys goodes away which we shall leave behinde.
Why do men syke to gete whiche the cannote posses?
Or los ther slypes with carfull thoughtes, and all for wracchydenes ?
Thoughe won among a skore have welth* and eas a whyll,
A thowsand wante that toyle full soar and travell many a myll ;
And sum allthoughe the sleape, yet welth fallyth in thear lape ;
Thus sum be ryche and sum be poware, as God givith them the hape.
Whearefoware I hold hyme wysse which thinketh himselff at eas,
And ys content in symple stat both God and man to pleas.
For thoys that lyves lyke Godes, and honoride be to day,
Within shorte tym thear glory fallys, as flowars that fade away.
Unsartayn ar thear lyves on whom this world doth frowne,
For thoughe the syt above the starris, a storm doth strik them downe,
Yf that the boughe do breake be whiche the yous to clym ;
For God doth exsalte and overthrowe as he syeth caus and tym.
The tymes apoyntyde be, and alteryde in ther kynde,
Be Godes forsyght and provydence, whos knowlege fewe can fynde.
In welth who fearythe no fall may slyde from joie full son;
Thear ys no thyng suar on yerth but chaungys lyke the mone.
What pleasur hath the ryche or eas mor then the poware ?
Allthoughe lie hathe a pleasante hows, his troble ys the more.
The bowe and speak him fear which secke to sucke his blude ;
And sum do wishe his soil in hell, and all to have his goode.
The covetynge off goodes doth nought but dull the sprite ;
And sum men chance to taste the soware which grope after the swete.
The ryche ys still invyede with thos that eate his brede,
Withe fanyde speche and flatteryng tallys his ears be daly fede.
In fyne I se and prove, the ryche hathe many foys;
The slepe full sownde and fearithe leaste that hath not moche to loys.
As the worlde requerithe nowe who wyll avoyd muche striff,
Wear better be a pleane poor man then leade a princis lyffe.
To pas thes troblous tymys I se but lyttell choys,
But helpe to weale with thoys that weape and loughe when the rejoce ;
For as we se to day won brothare brought in care,
To morrowe may we have lyk chanche, and fall into the sknare.
Of this we may be suar, who thinkithe to site moste faste,
Shall soniste fall lyk wetheride levis, which can abyde no blaste.
Thoughe that the flude be great, the ebe as lowe doth rone ;
When every man hath playde his parte, his pageant shall be done.
To trust this wracchyde world I hold them wors men made ;
Hear ys not on that fearith God, the beast vs all to bade.
For thos that semith sayntes ar very devils in ther dedys ;
Thoughe the yerthe bryng forth sum flowars, it berith many wedis,
I se no present helpe from mischiffe to preveyle,
But loys the seale off worldly caris, and bear a quyat scale.
For who that medlythe leaste, shall save him selffe from smarte,
Who stirrith an oar in every bote doth play a folishe parte.
Thus hear I mak an ende, wisshing for grace and helthe;
God save Philepe our kyng and Mary our quyne, and eke the commenwelthe.


Tags:
Religious, Political, Social Criticism, Moral

Lyrics:
As I lay of lat musynge in my bede,
To bestawe my thoughts muche frome ydlenes,
My mynde throughe fantasye all sore was ledde
Uppone this vyle vale full off wracehydenes ;
I meane the worlde, dryvynge with drerenes,
Wrappid with woo, wanderyng uncartaynlye ;
My mynd mased that very hevines
Drove me to droppe on a dreame sodaynlye.
Where as me thoughte I was aravished in extacye,
In a place wheare I hade never eareste beene;
A multitude and a huge companye
Was moving busylie on a greate grene,
And suche a mountayne have I note yete scene
As in the myd of this greate grene was sete.
I musyde muche whate this meany dyde meane,
So faste up this mowntayne for to covete.
And as I dyd up at the tope beholde,
I sawe wone stande me thoughte with facis thre,
Muche angelyke, with whinges glytteryng offgolde,
And on off his facis, as semyde me,
Fayre smylede, the seconde loughte lovynglye,
Comforte whearoff mayde me for to drawe neare ;
But the threde face frownyde so anggerlye,
That I was glade to hyde myne eyes for feere.
Yete stoode I, and staryde in a greate muse,
And markyde howe iche dyd theme exsarsys ;
Sum with pleannes, and sum greate crafte dyd use,
Howe to assende upe the dyd styll devis,
That who cowthe clymbe hygeste was tayke moste wyse.
Sum wane the tope well, and stoode faste withall,
And sum I sawe in there greate enterpryse
Cum to the heghte, and sodenlye downe fall.
And all sortes off peple apearyde theare,
Great lordes, lewde laddes, meane men, and slavis,
Spirituall and temporall crepyde neare,
Ankers and harmittes with hokyde staves,
Monkkis, cannons, and of frears many thraves,
Curators, chancelars, and bisshoppes also,
Officialles and deanys, with somnars theare knavis,
Pardonars and hipocrittes, withe many moo.
Shreves and sysours that wraughte muche for mede,
Queste-monggars, perinears, a greate rable,
Borrewars and beggars that lyvede in neede,
And of userars unnumerable ;
Lawyars, craftes men, merchauntes off the stable;
I musyde what this meany pretendyde,
Many and moste parte unmesurable,
And fewe wightes I saw was well contentyde.
Lorde Jhesu ! thoughte I, whate meanythe this syghte ?
I stood as dasyde, I make God avowe.
Then stepte forthe an olde man, a goodly wighte,
With whyte heare, whyte clade, sayde,
"why stodys thowe?"
Alas! thought I, whate shall worth on me nowe?
He sawe me dismayde, then with feare semblance
And swete wordes, quothe he,
" abashe ne drede youe,
I ame your frende, my name ys Eepentaunce,"
" I pray youe, sir," sayd I,
" off acquyntance,
With licence I may move a questione ;
Of this visione showe me the cyrcumstaunce."
"Yes," quothe tholde mane,
" that shall sone be done.
Marke ye thes peple withe theare provicione,
And this large grene, the worlde doth syngnifye,
Loo of covetus and pryde thabusion ;
The mounte meanythe honore and dyngnitye.
And yondare hymage on heghte, withe the whynges,
Whiche ye may well perseve hathe facis thre,
Sum he lyftithe upe, and many downe brynges."
Quothe I, "me thoughte he loughede ons at me."
" But truste him note," quothe tholde man hardelye,
" He wyll nowe loughe, and by and by yle frowne ;
He ys but fickle, fals, and untrustie,
Hite ys Worldly Fortune, nowe up, nowe downe.
" Yete shalte thowe se more, loo," ande bade me cum;
He showyde me anothare vision;
Of all sortes off pyple theare sawe I sum,
And but and handfull in comparison,
With a mayde amonge them shone as the sone.
" What ys she yondare. off glorious estate,
To whome kynges and greate lordes honore have downe ?"
" Hit ys Grace," quothe he, "greate Godes advocate."
w I mervele," quothe I, "so greate a tumulterye
Laboure uncartayne fortune to obtayne,
And so small nombare to grace, Godes bountie."
Quothe tholde mane,
" I shall mayke that to the pleane.
Be meane of frayltie and follye thoys twayne,
With fayntnes off fethe, firme and note constante,
Maykys pyple regarde mor the worldes gayne,
Then the Lordes love, whiche makes conscience skante.
No respecte to Cristes actes and kyndnes,
Not considerynge his passione and payne,
But rulyde be pryde and covetousnes,
And who may clymbe highe on this made mountayne.
The heghte wone, yete vanitie ys the gayne,
Streghte fallynge ande faydynge as somer flowars.
No seate owte of heavene ys sure of sartayne,
Take exsample of oure predissessors.
And looke lowe on thy lyfte hande, and thowe shalte se
The place for thos whiche frome grace dissever."
A depe withe dongeouns he showyde me,
Wher Dyves dothe dwell, and owte shall never,
Sarvyde withe Sathane, and shal be ever.
" He was set full hyghe on yonder mountayne,
And nowe then all the worlde hade he lever
Be easyde but one halffe owre off his payne.
A folly loo ! to shewe this unto thoos
Whiche beene soare rotyde in covetouusnes ;
The tayke the trwe wryte but for a fonde gloose,
Estymynge muche more uncertayne ryches
Then drede of Gode, suche ys theare folishenes,
Studyenge more to clymbe on this mounte
And to enjoye this worldes excesse,
Then tavoyde Godes yre at there laste accounted
" Good fathare, I pray youe tell me on thynge,
What peple beene thes withe thys feare ladye ?
Sum poor, sum ryche, me thinke I se a kynge."
" That thowe may, off all sortes are sum," quothe he,
" Pore piple, greate lordes and ladys manye,
Whiche have goode charitable concience,
Lovynge God above all thinges earthelye,
Frome yondare mounte Grace and I gate them thence.
And marke all yondare at the mountayne,
Thear travell, theare truste, thear extrem facion;
To go to the dyvell the tayke much more payne
Then thothare done for there salvacione,
Whiche shalle have heavene for their habitacion.
All the meanye at the mounte, marke me well,
But the cum to me by Graces vocacion,
Bene dampenede with Dyves to burne in hell."
Withe that I fell prostrate flate on my face,
Cryede,
"helpe, Repentance, I tayke me to the !"
" Stande upe,”
quothe he, and broughte me streght to Grace,
And admyttede me off here companye.
Withe that I awakyde evene sodenlye,
Withe suche repentance as I hade sleapynge,
Unable* besechynge the Holy Trenyty
Make me as perficte when I am wakyng.


Lyrics:
In a comly closset, when the tyme was,
With fear yonge damsels, galante and gaye,
Thear lafte I my harte, and loste hit, alas !
A tym of yle luke to me I may saye.
Wone me thoughte fearyste dyd me sore move,
Gravyde in my harte suche a grevous wonde,
Throughe a wonderfull great occasion off love,
A salve for the same I have note yete fownde.
Kynde harte be occasion broughte into love,
Where on shulde thinke to fynde stydfastnes;
Alas ! no thyng cane such a harte remove,
But dreary dethe or cruelle unkyndnes.
And to tell youe what was this occasion,
Able to alure a trwe honeste harte,
Semynge myn owene by juste exspectacion,
Such a secrite syne I hade for my parte.
I knawe she lovyde me withe all here harte,
And so continewede years twoo or thre,
Tyll she fell to change, whiche causyde my smarte,
That sorowe srvys on me incessauntlye.
Me thoughte me well spede as ever I was,
Passynge my tyme nowe ofull and nowe glade ;
My comforte was to beholde here swete face,
Bute then here absence, God wote, mayde me sade.
She was in myn yee the lowde-stare of lyghte ;
She was in my harte stintare off all stryffe ;
She was in my eye comforte of my syghte ;
She was in my harte leadere off my lyffe.
She was in myn eye suche as was no moo ;
She was in my harte loggyde thear full sure ;
She was in my eye comlyste, me thoughte soo ;
She was in my harte chefiste creature.
She was in my eye lustye off currage ;
She was in my harte evene my wholl hartes helthe ;
She was in my eye that mayde my harte rage ;
She was in my harte grownde of all my welthe.
She was in my eye whiche in my harte wroughte ;
She was in my harte a thing I hade longe sowghte ;
She was in my eye that me in love broughte ;
She was in my harte God wote dearly boughte.
So passyde I my joyous tyme a why11,
Never in my lyffe so far in love befoware ;
Tyll unfrendly fortune dyd me begyle,
And cumbryde me withe care for ever more.
All the worlde to joye cannote me restore,
No welthe ne riches can my harte redres;
No creature can eas my harte of hit sore,
But that comly whiche ys all merciles.
Whear love lackys, no sayng ys in season ;
No complaynte ys harde withe a harte stubborne ;
What valithe to utter ryme or reasone,
Where pitti and love lackys, trwe harte may borne.
I have complanyde in mytter and prosse,
But spyte and dysdayne dothe me interrupp ;
Folly to try or complayne unto thos,
Whos earys from pitti bee cleane stoppyd upe.
Howe shulde I nowe have good expedicion,
Sithe frowarde fortune frowardly workythe still
Agaynste me all that may be sayde or done,
And she that shulde save ys readieste me to kyll.
cruell damys, that beare suche spytfull hartes,
Leave for very shame your arraunte dysdayne,
And to hime that lovis youe showe lovynge parttes,
Jentillnes wolde ye shulde pitti his payne.
Looke or ye leape, and leave dirision ;
Govarne well bothe your acttes and your eye ;
When ye have gevene lovynge occasion,
And then shrinke frome hime ys small honestie.
Whene ye have treanyde a man with your lure,
And knowes hime your owene be perfite dewe prove,
Then to late to leave, for this ame I sure,
A fethfull trwe harte cannote borde in love.
Use youre strangnes to him that lovis youe note,
Covete to sete youre trwe frendes harte at reste ;
Alas ! considare, for ryghte well ye wote,
A mane can do no more but love youe beste.
Let me examplifie you, o lovars all,
Tayke hede off womens occasion in love ;
Be ware howe ye truste, be the great or small,
Sum be forgetfull, carles of reprove.
She that ys carles ys never stidfaste ;
She that is carles, thoughe her frendes shulde dye,
She that ys carles, here car ys sone paste ;
She that ys carles shall never love trwlye.
She that ys carles sur hath no mercye ;
She that ys carles hathe no lovynge harte;
She that ys carles lamenttes no boddye ;
She that ys carles wyll playe a carles parte.
She that ys carles tendars no manes smarte ;
She that ys carles ys nowe owte and nowe in ;
She that ys carles ys ever overtwarte ;
She that ys carles, who losithe hur dothe wyne.
Women weare mayde for to well wyll men ;
Women wear mayde to love men and spare note ;
The wear not mayde wittinglye to kyll,
Or for manes discomfort, say I care note.
I wyll not say that I am so macchyde,
Yete a lyke disseas I fele at my harte ;
Whiche I knowe wyll never be disspacchide,
Tyll my lyffe and sole in sondar departe.
Thus into love wonderfully wyled,
Yete at begynnynge she meanyde no crafte.
God wote, myn eye and hart was begylled,
For, alas ! she was nat sur in the hafte.
When she hade even my wittes berafte,
And knewe me surly here owen fethfull mane,
Withowt caus gyvynge sodenly me lafte,
Havyng no resspecte howe our lovis begane.
Then hur frendly eye was clean tayk awaye,
Hur unkynde harte apearyde in hur face ;
Wrongfully she wrought me wo day be daye,
Alas ! then dyd she my corrage deface.
I sawe then I was cleane owte off here grace,
Offence I mayd non, I knewe perfyghtlye ;
So sodene change in hur that so yonge was,
I wonderyd in my harte how hite myghte be.
I have knowen provyde perchance two or thre,
And I have rede of lovars many on,
So sodayn a change dyd I never se,
Nor rede of the lyke, for it ys alone.
Yll loste my sarvis and wors loste my tyme,
I knowlege me gyltye of myn abuse ;
As towchynge love this shal be my laste ryme,
I hite defye and uttarlye refuse.
O immortall God, that lendd me reasone,
Gyve me thuse thearof in this peanfull cace,
That it may rull me in shorte dewe seasone,
To forget to love here and hure sweate face.
Besechynge thy clemencye off thy grace,
To showe mercy, for mercy she hathe none,
That I may love the, and lyve withowte trespas,
For the love of women ys not to truste on.


Lyrics:
Considerynge this worlde and the incres off vice,
Strykene into dumpe, ryght muche I musyde,
That no maner of man, be he never so wyse,
From all sortes theroff canne be excusyde.
And on vis thear ys the more it is usyde,
The more inconvenience shall gro day be daye ;
And that ys this, let it be refusyde
Give no sure credence to every hear-saye.
Credence ys quycke in hearynge off yle,
But in that whiche ys good our beleve ys as harde ;
Our evene cristinede slaunderouslye to kyll
We be full readye withe tong frowarde.
As with on worde our neaboure shulde be marde,
Then owte it shall spyttfully as maye;
The worste tall ofte withe most ys beste harde,
Muche hurte hathe happenyde with belyvyng the hear-say.
A tayle shall seme trwe, and falls every whit,
Yete credyte geven be reasone off the tellare.
Thearfoware the goode and substanciall wyte,
Or hite tell a tayle, tayke hede and be ware.
For on shall sum tyme a falls tayle uttare,
When after a thowsande canne hit nat downe laye;
Thus rasyde ys ofte muche damnable slaundare,
Be gyvynge credence to every heare-saye.
Lyghte womens tonges wyll rune at large,
Whethare the tale be trwe or unjuste ;
Tythinges of tavarns, or Gravisende barge,
Bayr-baytynges, barbars-shoppis ys nat to truste.
An enymys tayle ys sone disskuste,
Ye shall perseave it parciall allwaye ;
To all thes forsayddes refrayne we muste
To give sur credence to theare hear-saye.
Lewede laddys wyll ly, flatter, and glaver ;
Dronkardes thear bablynges have never done ;
Sum lyes to obtayne thear mastars favoure;
Sum lokys gravlye, and yet wyll ly sonne.
But not the counsell of wyse Salamone
Says, put the fals tonge from the awaye,
Least the falls brynge the trwe to confusion ;
Of a lyars lyppis beleve nate there-saye.
Consave the propertie of a falsse lyare,
The persone, the purpas, and the intente ;
Be ware off a fals under-mynynge syare,
Semyng all sollome and insolente.
To suche let nat thy wysdome consente,
Nor kepe thy harte closse to them, but assaye
With thy reasone thear purpas to prevente ;
Disclos disskritly, and avoyde thear hear-saye.
Also in a lyare marke well this,
He lovis no bodye, thowe may be sure,
But ever glade to mayke the ryght amys,
Disspysynge, disdanynge iche creature,
But such as ar mayde to his owen lure.
He lovis nat the but for his owen praye,
Whome withe flatterye he taykythe under cure,
To give occasione to beleve his hear-saye.
A fawte may be done nate greatly amyse,
Then commythe wickyde tonge with his ile wyll,
And maykith it ten tymys wors then hit ys,
Withe his vengeable venome he dothe the truth kyll,
Disgorgynge of posonyde wordes his fyll ;
Lyke a devill he dothe poware paciente betraye,
Whiche shall we blame thutterare of thill,
Or the lyghte credence belyvinge the hear-saye.
Thoughe hear-saye be trwe, as perchance may fall,
Yet fyxe nat thy credence to lyghtlye ;
Ye and thoughe the tellare seme ryght substanciall,
And tell but be heare-say, why may he not lye ?
Thus betwyxte lyghte credence and a tonge hastie,
Ofte tymys the giltles ys caste awaye,
Condemnynge the absente, that ys mrworthe";
So passithe a ly from hear-say to heare-saye.
Throughe hear-say sum have lost ther wyvis,
Hear-say injenderithe suche jeliose" ;
Throughe hear-say sum have loste ther lyvis;
Throughe hear-say sum lake lybarte.
Be hear-say a wholl queste dyssevide may be ;
Thus hear-say hathe made muche fowle aray ;
And wyll do more yet or we de,
Yf lyght credence fle nat from hear-say.
Good Lord, howe sum will with loude voice
Tell a tayle after the worste sworte ;
And sum hears howe the wyll rejoce
Of ther neaheboure to hear il reporte ;
As thoughe it wear matter off comforte.
Hearin our charite dothe deacaye;
And sum makithe hit but game and spiorte,
To tell a ly aftare the hear-saye.
Concludynge I speake to youe that be wysse,
Hearein to dance all after on trace ;
That ys fals tonges to abbore and disspyes.
And give them comfort in no suche cace.
Then no dowte but in shorte tyme and space
False flatterynge tonges shall fall in decaye ;
Who lyste a lyar discorage and deface,
Tayke but lyght credence to his hear-saye.
Sith so many be the secte off lyars,
And harde to knowe them but by probacione,
Thoughe the be noughte and all yle desyars,
Lete the diskrite use a wyse facion ;
And nat uppon a lyght relacion
To exsarsys any hastye waye;
Yt is lat to repent when a mischiffe ys donne ;
Therfoware be ware of belyving the hear-saye.
Tell a tayle of Gode, ore of sum sente,
Or of any miracle that Christe hath donne,
Sum will beleve it but harde and skante,
And tayke it after a full lyghte facione.
We hear saye Criste sufferide his passion,
And man shall revarte to yerthe and claye;
The rycheste and stronggeste knowes nat howe sonne,
Beleve well this, for trewe ys that hear-say.


Lyrics:
THOUGHE weddynge go be destenye,
Yete love dos followe be fantasie.
My fantasie ys so sete on oone,
Of all othars me thinkes hur alone.
Shall I to youe this darlynge disskrive,
In myn eye non mor pleasaunte on lyve,
And marke here feawltre in every case,
Hur makynge, hur shape, in every place.
Womans bewtie ys mans affeccion,
So I juge after myne eleccion.
Frome myn opinyone I will not starte,
For sur I say thus with all myn harte ;
And no dowte sum have givene me prayse
To be a good woodman in my days.
I will here estate unto youe eomrnende,
And in myn eye harde hur +o amende ;
As hard of here a kys to obtayne,
But when I gete hite I am so fayne,
Hit doos me more good, be Godes mothare !
Then pleasure of a thowsande othare.
Here hear ys of the comlyste colloure ;
Here brethe pleasaunte, of ryght swete odore;
Be my fethe and trothe, I meane no mockes,
She ys a galant goldiloxe.
Natur also hathe here so deckyde,
And I dar say she ys as feare neckyde,
As ys the sattene moste whyte and fynne;
Woo ys my harte that she ys not myne.
Here eye ys of a comly compas,
And able to peares the harte off brasse
Of him that doys his love to here owe,
As pleasante when she lyste it bestow.
In here eye extendithe dethe and lyffe,
Now revivis, nowe woundis lyke a knyffe.
No dowte she ys a pleasaunt maystris,
Sum tyme angre", but not merciles.
Hur forheide ys fayre, and full formall ;
Not bettell-browyde, but ryghte well equall ;
Great pittie here forhede or here face-
Shulde be coveride withe a bonne-grace.
To see hur upcaste ys a good syghte ;
She letts note hur brous hinge in hur lyght.
That I do say I may well performe ;
Here nose, also, off as good a forme;
Nothare ys it to longe, nor to shorte,
But muche better then I can reporte.
She ys nat mowthede lyke a sparrowe ;
Nothare to wyde, ne yet to narrowe ;
A pretie swete muse one may it call,
And fayr bluddye lyppes theareto withall ;
Yf I myght but a nyghte with lybarte them lyk,
It wolde mayke me wholl and I wear sycke.
I must nedys prays here, it ys my parte,
For I promys youe she hathe my harte.
Hur countinance ys constaunte and cumlye ;
In her behaviour she lokithe as umble,
And, as reasone requearithe othare whyll,
She wyll pratelye and swetlye smyll.
Hite pleasithe me well when she dothe smyrke ;
But her heavye locke makys me as yrke ;
Then away I lurke, awaye I rune,
As thoughe all my joifull days wear done.
And hur face ys as butifull and clear
As man can wisshe, or yet desyare.
No proporcion can be devysede
Better then in hure ys comprysede.
She ys comly frome the fote to the crowne,
Ytes pittie to se hure wear a slope gowne.
She ys feare bodiede, and very streghte ;
Not losynge on hear breade off here heghte ;
Browde in the shuldars, small in the waste,
Hur loynes and thes juge whene ye taste.
But I trust all ys well thear no dowbt,
I am note aquyntyde theare abowte ;
I canne say nothinge in that behalfe,
But hur lege hathe a praytie rownde calffe,
The small thearof as on wolde devise,
And a prettie fote of the beste syse.
Thus of here fewtre ys disskripcion,
But yete of hure I have note all donne ;
Of my darlynge this ys the furste fyte,
And ye pleas ye shall hear more of hite.
This comlye cors, this my swete love,
Hathe goodly qualytes I can well prove.
A fear hande, with finggares longe and small,
To handell an instrumente witheall,
Lut, gitehorne, virginall, or sawetris;
Non instrument commys to hur amys.
But when she buckyls hur to daunce,
The galauntes gyrlle thinkys me hence to France,
Exsepe God wolde say even for the nones,
I will mayke on off fleshe, blude, and bonnys,
Hard in a wholl realme to fynde hur mache,
Ayhe well ys him that may this byrde cache.
In my harte so soar pryntyde ys she,
When I slepe me thinkes I do here se,
And nyghtlye do I dreame firste or laste,
I se hur, I fele hure, I holde hure faste ;
But whene I awake, hit ys not soo;
Then with syghenge renewes myn olde owe.
Alas ! she ryves my harte in sondare ;
I love hure so, it ys no wondare;
My harte will sarve me none othare ways,
Hur comly daunsyng I muste more prayse.
I think therin she doth exsell,
For hit becommys so wonderous well
To se hure cum so trickynge towardes one,
Ahe to me it ys a syghte alonne.
Fayre bendynge backwarde above the waste,
Lyke a jentyll bowe off a tre caste;
The wombe furthewarde to the beste advauntage,
Lyke a lustie bowe off a fre corrage.
To se hure cum in so freshe araye
My harte wolde sarve me to met hure halffe waye,
To give hure thankes withe lowe obaysaunce
For hur paynys taykynge so well to daunce.
She semys higheare in hur daunsynge
Be an ynche, she makys sich pransyng.
Hur personage ys fayre to beholde,
But yonge, note yete even xxti
years olde.
Or she be off that age full so moche,
I thinke in Ynglonde wyll be fewe suche.
Here wysdome ys perfecte exselente,
I promys youe, unto my jugmente;
And say not but even withe a trw intente,
Her pears nat betwixte Carlyle and Rente.
Marke hur in all poyntes of goodlynes,
Also in all poyntes of jentillnes,
And all hur exsellente qualytes
Moche more to prayse then I can devis.
Fye ! my wite doos note so muche extende,
As halffe hure worthenes to commende.
Yet wyll I pray hur to disdayne note,
Allthoughe I nowe be playne and fayne note ;
Yf this propertie in hure rayne note,
Whiche yf it do I wolde ryghte fayne wote.
Sum womene do use this tricke cum trayne,
Whiche commythe off a churlishe harte playne.
When she hathe a mane in hure daungare,
Then wyll she use him as a stranger;
And use to hime poyntes off onkyndnesg,
Whiche commys of pryde or folishe blyndnes-
To mayke hime sade she hathe delyte,
And smyle on othars for his disspyte ;
Dally with him that doys nat move hure,
To greve his harte that beaste dothe love here.
Thinke youe this dothe a woman behove?
Nay, hearein she dothe hure selffe reprove,
With many mo trickes of unkyndnes,
Whiche wear to tedious to expres.
Me thinke it ys an onjentill parte,
To hurte a mane havinge his harte.
With fethfull love and so to here kuowene,
And yete wyll hurte him that ys hur owene.
I wolde use no suche spytfull dysdayne,
Althoughe I couthe not love hime agayne;
But use to hime honeste jentillnes,
And not devise to him unkyndnes,
As thoughe she wolde poole owte his harte roote
That for very love wold dy at hure foote.
women, thys dothe note behowve youe ;
What can a man do mor then love youe?
Suer nothynge becummes a woman lesse
Then to be spytfull, or mercylesse.
But as Gode helpe me, as I suppos,
1 trust my ladye be non of thos.
I thynk in her ys pyttye and ruthe,
And no spyt, but jentyllnes and truthe.
For tyme that I have byne here servant,
I have not yete fownd her varyant,
Or she showld showe me ane unkynd tryk,
I hade rather be put in tholl quyke.
What showld I nowe but make an end,
I can her not worthelye commend;
Not in a years studye with my pene ;
Be God, me thynke here flowr of wemen.
Prayng God gyve here longe lyf and helthe,
With plentye of hartes-eas and welthe,
And frome her yll wyllers her defend,
And shortly a good hosband her send,
Evyn to her fances contentacyon,
And to her hartes gratyfycacyon.
I promys youe in myne opynyon,
Who caches her, caches a mynyon.
Far well, darlyng; God gyve youe hys gracce,
And send youe hartes-eas in every casse ;
And gyve theme small powr that wold you yll,
And them long lyf that bears youe good wyll


Lyrics:
Of lyghtnes most unsade,
Whiche many women shewe,
A frende and I off late talk hade,
Where after worddes a fewe,
Requeste to me he made,
That I shulde serche to fynde
Sum whote wherby I myghte perswade
From wontonnes ther mynde ;
And that it myghte them wownde
With suche shapnes off shame,
To tayk occasione in short stownde
Ther tryfflynge toyes to tame.
Which then I undartooke,
And made therto beheste,
Takyng to me Godes holy booke,
Where as I knewe dyd reste
The trewe levell and lyne
Of holly matrons lyves,
Glasses to sete before the eyne
Of wydowes, maydes, and wyves,
Wherin the may well se
Aparante to there face
Howe fare ther manners dysagre
From the meete wande of grace.
Whiche dothe as fare dissente
As darknes dothe fro lyghte,
Or as the sonne most resp[l]endente
Dothe fro the clowdy nyghte.
For wher with vertewes wyce
They garnisshede sholde be ;
The ar the myrrors lyght and nyce
Wherin all vice to se.
As pryde in there atyare,
And muche talke owte off tyme,
And drownyde in all suche desyere
As ys the cawse of cryme.
Which thinges to reprehende
Dewty my mynde dyde move ;
Yet not of hate that to intende,
But under bondes of love;
As in shewynge the glas
Of matrons meke and mylde,
Which in this worlde ther tyme dyde pas
With no evell defylde.
Thus whyles I dyd arectte
My syghte on sacryd wrytte,
Examples sone I dyde colectte
Servynge thereto moste fytte,
Consarnynge womens lyves,
Which in olde tyme ware leade,
Myrrors for wydowes, maydes, and wyves,
To lern trewe womanheed ;
Whose modeste mannars all
And vertewes to repeate,
My wyttes no dowte ar fare to small,
The tyme ware eke to great.
For bothe in youthe and age
So blamles was there tyme,
As styll remeynes a myrrore sage,
Cleane voyd of culpe and cryme.
Which yf the wolde beholde
With symplenes of mynde,
Better it weare for them then golde,
That the therin shuld fynde.
Ferste lerne of theme the maye
All vertewes to frequente,
God and ther parenttes to obaye,
With jentillnes deacente.
To be vyrgyns in youthe,
Of speche sylent and soffte,
And of ther moode moste mylde in truthe,
When welthe ys moste alofte.
To be moste fare from gle
Of wanttone gyglottes toys,
The which no dowte where meadens be
The ar ther parenttes joyes.
Marke well, therfor, I say,
Whate I unto youe tell,
And beare thes thinges in mynd all waye,
As nottes of good cownsell.
For jentillnes benygne
Uppone Eebecca looke ;
And for obedience condygne
Old Sara ys a booke ;
In honore meke to be
Lerne of Hestere the quene ;
In wydoweheade for chastitye
Judythe a glas ys sene;
Anna the wedowe old,
For godly contemplacione,
A spectacle ys to behold,
And lyght of conversacion.
Thes ware not prowde, but meke;
Thes ware not lyght, but grave ;
In them was nothinge for to seke
Which wemen oughte to have.
Thes to ther husbandes heades
Ware crownes of honor ryglite ;
And pressious perles withein ther beads
To rest with theme by nyghte.
Thes ware constante and juste,
And kepte ther wedlocke pure j
Thes ware nothinge adycte to luste,
But chast and honeste sure ;
Thes wrytten dothe remayne
For examples most trewe,
That maydes and wyves and wydowes playne
By them may take a vewe ;
Withe many othar ryffe,
Leke florisshinge in fame,
Which also in the booke of lyffe
Prescribede ar by name ;
Whose lyves all those that dothe
For to insewe agre,
Within the booke of lyff for soothe
Lykwyes wrettyne shal be,
And wynne the same reporte
That the befor have wonne,
Who in this lyffe hade never sporte,
But ryght ther race to rone ;
Havynge before there face
The rewarde and the game ;
God grawnte bothe wyffe and mead the grace
To do lykwyes the same.


Tags:
Moral, Social Criticism, Common Weal, Political


Tags:
Moral, Religious, Social Criticism, Political

Lyrics:
Of late as I layde me to reste uppone my bede,
Most trobbluslye vexsyde in my mynd and thoughte,
A slomberous sodayne slepe ther fell in to my hede,
As nature in my eye the occacione had wroughte ;
Be mean whereof anone full sowthtly I was broughte
Into a strange visione or dreame of my mynde,
Throughe whiche be a voce thus to wryght I was tought,
The may seke longe yenoughe that lystithe not to fynde.
Sonne after this voice hade to me revelatyde
This notable sentence, wherto I tooke good heede,
I awooke owte of slepe, beynge moche instygatyde
To explycate and showe with brevitie and spede,
Consarnynge that parable the full effectte in dede ;
Wherto full busylye my stodye I dyd bynde,
The mocion of the trewthe for to say dyd me leade,
The may seke longe yenoughe that lystithe not to fynde.
To prove this sentance trewe I ned note to go fare,
For who ar the so blynde as thos that have ther syghte ?
Who cane make mor bettare then the that moste do mare ?
And who goythe mor crokyde then the that may go ryghte ?
Whose dedes ar those so darke as the that have the lyghte?
The that shulde go formaste, cum often tymys behynde;
Which movithe me therfor to say with all my myghte,
The may seke, ete.
Some wyll objecte and say that my wordes ar not lyke,
And that Criste in the gosspell the contrary doth prove,
In as moche as he saythe the shall fynd that doth seke,
Unto whiche objectione this answare dothe behove.
He that sekythe be hate that muste be fownde be love,
Or wolde obtayne be pryde that whiche meeknes ys asynd,
Ye, or lokythe beneathe for that that ys above,
He may secke longe yenoughe, for he lystithe not to fynde.
This manner of sekynge ys nowe a days amonge most men,
For the ar never ryghte tyll theye be furtheste wyde ;
The ar beste acquyntyde in ways 'the do not kene;
And loththeste to departe thence where the shulde not byde.
Ther stondyng ys note sur, tyll ther fyte t-lype and slyde,
Dessarnynge have the non, untyll the be starke blynde;
But then all ways ar knowen to them withowte a gyde,
Suche may seke long enoughe or ever that the fynde.
The dewtye of a cristiane it ys that I do meane,
The whiche to knowe sarttes we ought the way to seke
In skripture, wher yt ys to be fownde of the clean,
Whiche take the thinge in honde with harttes umble and mek ;
And not of the ongodly, whiche serche and reade yt eke,
For vayn glory and prays accordynge to ther kynde ;
For why the se and se not, wherfor it ys moste lyke,
The may seke long ynoughe, etc.
The thynge only wherin the Lord dothe wholl delyghte,
Ys in our obedience to his worde and wyll ;
When we above all thinges love hime with all owr myght,
And of fethe glade allways his presepttes to fullfyll ;
Lovynge our neabore also as our selffe ever styll,
To seke his helthe and welthe and prophete unrepynde ;
But this a frowarde harte cannote obtayn untyll,
For why the may long seek, etc.
Serchars of the skripturs ar few or non, I thynke,
But have fownde all mens dewtyes ther owene set aparte
And cane tell them every poynte therof, thoughe the wynk,
Ye whethare the go ryghte, crokyde, or overtwarte.
But them selvis amonge all ar moste blynde and pervarte,
For refusynge softe greane, harde gravell the wyll grynde,
And wolde carry in a nute-shell that wyll combare a carte;
But thus the may longe seek, etc.
The majestrate cane se the subjecttes dewtye well,
So cane the poor subjecttes the majestrayttes lykwyes;
The master to the sarvante of his dewte cane tell,
To knowe the mastars dewtye iche sarvante him aplyes :
Hosbandes cane showe ther wyves wherin ther dewte lyes,
So cane the wyves ther hosbandes in the space of on wynde ;
But yche to se ther owen I fear me have no yes,
Wherfor the may long seke, etc.
We ar lothe to do that, say som, to angger Gode,
But the way to plays hime the wyll no thinge insewe ;
The ar lothe to refrayne from doyng thinges forbode,
And mor lothe a great way for to do ther owene dewe,
As scripture dothe teche them, byenge the lowddes-man trewe,
Whiche leadythe them to lyff that therto ar inclynde.
Wherfor to this sentence let all men tak a vewe,
The may long seek, etc.
Let no man, saythe Pawll, seeke his owen utyllitie,
But every man the welthe off his neabore in dede ;
But yt ys a thing of most dificilitie,
To se amonge ten thowsande on that way sucsede.
For ryche men rathar famishe wher the fean to fede,
And the that shuld be gyvars bereve bothe root and rynde ;
Well, thoughe suche looke for heavene, hell shal be ther mede ;
For why? the may long seek, etc.
He that lokys after lyffe, and drawse the way to dethe,
And sekys after peace in the vayle off dissencion,
Shall wante his wynde when he wold faynist tak his brethe,
And in stede of prayse obtayne grete reprehencion.
But many dothe cownte it exsellent invencion,
Fanydlye to serche for the thinge the do not mynde;
Of whom thoughe I hear do make but small mencion,
The may seek, etc.
He that sekythe at Kome for him that ys in France,
Or lokythe in Denmarke for that which ys in Spayne,
Yf he loos nott his labowre it ys a great chance;
So he that sekethe pleasur wher nothinge ys but payn,
Ys lyk to reape in loos when he lokys for most gayn.
And he that sekys in Ynglonde for that that ys in Inde,
Or to the sea dryede upe for lake and want of rayn,
The may seek long yenoughe or ever, etc.
As unlyke ways are sowghte unto parfeccion juste
By moste men at this day, who so marke it well 
For sum rebucke lecherye, when the have layd ther luste,
Invaynge agenste theffte when the have stoll ther fyll ;
And when the have shede blude, the call it syn to quell.
Most love to talke of fastinge when the have well dynde ;
And sum when the have brawlyd, call quyatnes the bell ;
But the may longe sek for the, etc.
For yf the wyll not fynd the way to lyff eternall,
The shall not fynd the thing wherto the waye doth lede ;
But rathar where ther wais ar moste fleshly and carnall,
The shall obtayn and fynde that the moste fear and drede.
For why all men shall reape accordynge to ther sede,
And what ways the have walkyde the shall fynd at the ende,
Let us intend therfor to seeke that way withe spede,
Wherin all the that walk eternall lyff shall fynde.


Tags:
Religious, Moral, Social Criticism, Common Weal, Political

Lyrics:
As I lay slombrynge in manner of a trans,
Uppone my bede sowthly, but even this othar nyghte.,
Into a dream dowtfull I fell that tyme be chance,
Me thought a great company apearyde to my sighte ;
Among whom many preachars desarne well I myghte,
Which tought them all the ways the owght to walke in ;
But to worke the Lordes wyll and to do that ys ryght,
The all streanyde curtese who shuld firste begyne.
Ther was of all degree from the highe to the lowe,
And non to do goode but wear lothe and very slacke ;
For among all the ryche towarddes the poor, I trowe,
Of on ynche of goode wyll mor then the halffe dyde lake.
The pore ther wholl love also from the ryche kepte backe ;
And so betwen them bothe miche spyte the dyde spynne ;
But to walke the Lordes ways, and to kepe the ryght tracke,
The all straynyde curtasie who shulde firste begynne.
The more that the preachars ther dewtyes to them tolde,
The mor lother the ware in the same to prosede ;
The faryde as the hade byne neathare whot nor colde ;
At the whiche syght trewlye my hart for wo dyd blede.
The way of dethe and mischiffe to drawe the hade no drede,
Of Goddes ferfull vengance the passyde note a pynne ;
But to ensewe the way that unto lyff doth lede,
The all stranyd curtasye, etc.
No vice was revokyde, neathar vertu frequentyde ;
No thyng was done worthe to desarve a good name ;
But the beste of there doynges was to be lamentyde,
And even to be taken for dissonestye and shame,
For to play with harlottes the cowntyd it good game,
Usyng rape and modour as it hade ben no synne ;
But aftar the gosspell thear lyves for to frame,
The all straynede, etc.
For whear as the ryche to the pore shulde have gyven,
Leke rygorous ravyns the pore the oppressyde ;
And wher the to fede them of dewetye war drcven,
With fammyn the frett them, ande that never seassyde.
And whear the shulde have clede the pore, beyng distressyde.
The tooke away ther clothes, and whipte ther bar skynne ;
But to foliowe the worde whiche the hade pr.ophessyde,
The all straynede, etc.
The por ware unpaciente, and thoughte the ryche to shende,
Lyke ranke rebelles be rowttes, accordyng to ther luste ;
Tyll the had provokyde Gode his wrathe to extende,
Wherby the perisshede a nombar to the duste.
Wher hade the prayd to God in faythe and perfite truste,
Of ther balfull burthens sone easyde the hade bene;
But I sawe to do well as the wear bownd most juste,
The all, etc.
Godes worde was so abowndante in ther mowthes for the moste,
That the colde teache yche othare to amend the leaste yle ;
But the greateste in them selvis myght be long yenoughe at oste,
And yet to reform them the knewe no poynte off skyll.
The mottes wear plucte away, but the beamys abode still ;
The recte not ther follys losse, so ther bodyes myght wynne ;
But Godes holly preceptes to followe and fullfyll,
The all straynyde, etc.
The theffe tolde mortherare he dyd nought to kyll;
The mortherare sayde it was synn to play the theffe ;
The vowterare tolde the swayrare he dyd very yll,
" Thow avawtterare," quod the swearare,
" arte woithe off repryffe."
" The covetous," quod the sluggard,
" of yll doars ar cheffe."
" Slothe sluggarde," quod the covetous,
" thow art of Sathans kynne."
Thus yche man to tell othar ther fawttes wear very leffe,
But to amend ther owene, etc.
The lyar tolde the gloottone he eat and dranke to muche ;
The gluttone sayde the dyvell was fathar off them that lyede ;
The prowde man at the flatterare very sor dyd gruche ;
" The angels," quothe the flatterare,
"fell from heaven for pryde."
"Idolytars," quod the wrathfull,
" of heaven ar denyde;"
"Wrathe," quod the idolytar,
" that ys a dedly synne."
Thus after this manner yche othars fawtes the spyde,
But to amende ther owene I sawe non, etc.
I sawe sume hade corne, cattell, and leathar for to sell,
To whome of compowllsion sume com for to bye,
Desyrynge and requyrynge them the price to tell ;
" That ys," quod the sellare,
" Gode knowithe, for to hye."
" Then abat," quoth the byar."
"Ye," quothe the sellare,
"whye?
Shall I not take my marcote? Yes, the hold the a wynne,
Yche sell as my neabours do in the spyght of the pye ;
For iche chill not be the furste that the cheape shall," etc.
"Why, why?" quod the byar,
"youe wyll grant yt ys to dere;
Whiche youe may remedy, I knowe, yf ye wyll'
" Go to mor of my neabours," quod the sellars,
" that be here,
And wet yf the wyll bate the valewe off a quyll."
Forthe wente the pore byar over all the wholl hyll,
To grassyar, fermer, tanner, or ever he dyd lynne,
But to fall of ther price I behelde them well still,
The all stranyde corche who, etc.
But howe so ever it chansyde, ther fell a great debate,
Betwen grassyars, farmars, and tanners, well I wote,
Butchars, brewars, bakars, and many anothar mate,
As mylnars, and ayle-wyves, a very shamfull knote.
The on in the othar spyede many a fylthe blote,
With harppynge and tappynge, the curste iche othars shynne,
But still among them all the powar went to the pote;
Which thing for to amend I saw, etc.
The grassyare and the farmare of all I merkyde well,
And I bare away the worddes betwene them every jote.
" Thowe knave," quod the grassyar, "wylt not thy corne sell
Tyll it be molde and mustie?" Thes worddes the farmer bote.
" Knave on thy hede !" quod the farmer,
" wet nowe whot thow haste got r
For befor thow wylt fall of thyn own price a whynne,
Thow hadste rather have a thowsande shep to dy of the rotj"
But yet nothar of both to amend wold, etc.
The tanner and the boychare but lyttle ado dyd make,
But the breware bent his browes, and swar by coxe soull,
That withowt all conciance the baker made his cake.
"Brewar," quod the bakere,
" I befooll thy lowsey noull !
Thow ladste on dubble wattere with thy great myghte boull,
And maykeste thy drynke syngle, syche ys thy crafte and gynne."
But bothe sayde the myliar was a false theffe to toull,
Yet the all stranyd curtesey to mend who shuld, etc.
The myllar he waxte made, of whom I spayke before,
And the ayle-wyffe not a lyttell he begane to taunte ;
Firste he sayd playnly she wold augment her score,
With many othar craftes that ayle-wyvys use and hawnt,
As in mesur and myxsyng, which she allmost dyd grawnt;
But when she sawe in ded that to barke he wold not blyn,
She cald him arrante theff, and bad hem to avawnt;
Yet for to amend ther was non that wold begynne.
As every man can spye the fawttes of his brothare,
But wyll not se them selves wherin the ar detecte ;
And as many wyll rebucke a small thing in anothar,
Wher as the hade moste ned ther owen fawttes to correcte 
So lykewyes amonge them even suche as ware infecte
Moste shappely reprehendyde othar men to ther chynne ;
But for to leade ther lyves holly and syrcumspecte,
The all stranyde curtesi who shuld begynne.
Ryght sodenly withe that from slomber I awooke,
The salte teares from myn eys ronnyng then full flyght,
And unto this vision good hede sartis I tooke,
Thinkyng uppone the same this small song to indight.
Lete us pray to God therfore both day and nyghte,
To fyll us so with grace, which ar but weake and thynne,
That we may walke thos ways axseptyd in his syght,
And not to strayn curtesye who shall firste begynne.


Tags:
Moral, Social Criticism, Common Weal, Political, Religious

Lyrics:
In a pleasante earbar, very quaynte and quadrente,
With bordars bewtifull uppone every syde,
Amonge the flowars so fresshe and fragrante,
Whos aromatyk odours insensyde owte full wyde,
Weryly as I walkyde, a grene bancke I aspyde,
Whearon I layde me downe in heavye slepynge plyght,
Slombrynge, by a vision a voice to me ascryde,
Saynge, vice throughte vyolence hathe put vertu to flyght.
Halffe dysmayde and afrayde, frome slomber I awooke,
Beynge maysede, I gaysede the place all abowte,
My reasone that seasone dyd move me for to looke
In the vale of a dale; where I sawe an hewge rowte,
Which dyd cry owte on hye with a sharps hedious showte ;
For so stronge was the thronge, and so fell was the syghte,
That in thoughte I was coughte tyll myn eye teares brast owte,
To se vice throughe, etc.
I sawe faythe overfasyde throughe infydelytye ;
And hope was fayne to fade by means off dispayere 
Pryde was full placide in rume of umilytie ;
And love was overlayde, for hate was here betreare;
Truthe kepte but lyttell trayde, for fallshede became ayer;
Sor pynede was pacience by wrath that wyckede wight 
Marcy a mocke was made by rygur the lorde mayer 
And thus vice throughe, etc.
Lassivious lecherye hade chastitye in chace;
And creweltye the cur put pyttye to myche payne 
Gluttenye the gutlynge beat abstinence in bace 
And peace was put in prysone be stryife that sturdy swayne 
Lyenge, that lowde lossell, sought southnes to have slayn
Brute brallare the beggare exsylde quyatnes quight 
Trewe measur was martryde by crafte, that cursyd Cayn 
Thus vice thrughe vyolence, etc.
Obedience was bannyshede by the secte off sedicione 
Myld meeknes was maymyde by stubbernes the stowte 
Ignorans ierfully barkyde at cognyssyon 
Wyld waste the wytles expulsyde plentye owte 
Rank ravyne the ruttare made foyson fle the rowte 
Wracchyde wrong withe his weppon wan ryches uppon ryghte 
And covetoussnes cursyde good concience all abowte 
Thus vice throughe vyolence, etc.
Throughe dyvellyshe dyvysyone Concorde was confowndyde;
And faynede ipocrysye ponyshyde trewe perfeccion ;
By dronckennes the drane sobryete was wowndyde ;
Dysdayne chaynede charytie in the pyte of perplection ;
Byttarnes the baylyffe by his highe eleccione
Put sofftnes to sylence ; ye and temperance full tyghte
Was caste be ragynge furye into rejection.
Thus vice, etc.
Consumyde was constancye throughe instabyllytie ;
And pytiles the pagane in revell gane to range 
Sufferance by vengeance was caste in debelytie
Veritie dyd vanishe, and stode in state strange ;
Symplicitie the saynte his face was fayne to change ;
Dylygence was drownyde throughe slouthe with his slyght ;
Goode mannars ware melttede by Jake Sawce of the Grange ;
Thus vice, etc.
By teanaxe in a trance layde was lyberalytie ;
And skante with his skorge made largnes for to lowre ;
Dullnes with his dumpes slewe quycknes of quallytie ;
And blyssynge was blankyde by cursynge in that stowre ;
Matrymony was mrryde by whordome that howre ;
Foly fret at sapyence with mayne and wythe myghte 
Kyndnes was kyllyde by churlyshenes the sowre 
Thus vice throughe, etc.
Kascall the ruffynne resystede nobylytie ;
Puartye and clennes by fylthe ware defylede ;
Contencion and debate dystroyde tranquylytie ;
Throughe malyce and envye frendshipe was exsylede ;
By meantenance of mischiffe lyffe the les was whylede ;
Dyme darknes abowndyde to quenche the clere lyghte ;
Wyckydnes was in welthe, and goodnes went begylede ;
And thus vice by violence, etc.
Brybery sate for juge in gyvinge of sentance ;
And Perjerrye Prat-faste was forman of the queste;
Lewys Lucur the lawyare made ryght wronge for pens ;
And userye the merchaunte of gaynnes made his neste ;
Rapaxe with his rake off clawynge wold not reste ;
Ambission and smymonye wear busshopes bothe in syght;
Gredygute the graysiare the povertie suppreste 
Thus vice throughe, etc.
Extorcion was exsaltyde and set upe alofte ;
Conspiracie was placide, and treason not revokyde;
Bacbyttyng and slanderynge came abrowde very offte;
Almes was an abjecte, for tyrrany him smokyde 
By ragyng heat the hastye softe coldnes was chockyde ;
Agaynste trewe relygione vayn glory was pyghte;
Famyn the farmare all darthe under him clokyde ;
Thus vice, etc.
Rude ryote was in quyate whane dyot he hade fleane ;
And reasone that season was geasone every whare ;
Dyssordar and mordare the bordare dyde so stayne,
That the crye went full nye to the skye I dare sware;
Coll Unjuste threwe old truste in the duste be the hare;
Worldly shame made good name to ly lame in pore plyght ;
And dyssayte layd-his beat and cought strayte in a snare ;
Thus vice, etc.
Thus howe vice wane the price I stoode and behylde,
Tyll remors dyd inforce me to Gode for to crye,
Helpe to sende, and extende, lest that vertu war spylde,
Which was ther in greate fear, and lyke for to dye.
That this strenghte at the lenghte may cum from an hey,
Let us all cry and call bothe be day and be nyghte ;
And then grace in short space no dowt shall aply ;
That vertue shall florishe and vice be put to flyght.
Let us pray for Philepe and Mary, the firste of the name,
That God ther ryall majestice may longe prosspare and mayntayn
And with trewthe and veryte ther harttes to inflame,
Graciously to rull all the tyme of ther rayne.
And for my lady Elsabethtes grace pray we also a meane,
With all the noble cownssell worthe to resyghte,
That God offe his enfluence may put into ther brayne
For to exsalte vertu and put downe vice quyghte.


Lyrics:
My jornay lat as I dyd take,
I harde on syghe and his mone make,
To mothar Jone showynge his wrayke,
As on drownyde in sorrous lake,
And wo-begone.
" My wyffe," quod he,
"mysusithe me."
" Ye doth," quothe she,
"alocke, good Johan !"
" Good mothar," quod he,
" I have a wyffe,
So apte to skolde, so prone to stryffe,
She makys me werye of my lyff,
All yvele ys in here so ryffe,
And goodnes non;
She wyll not be rulyde by me."
" No wyll," quod she,
"alocke, good Johan !"
" When I commande here to do owghte,
She settes my worddes streate wayes at noughte,
Swaryng by God that here dear boughte,
That thinge ys furtheste from her thoughte,
Lyk a stowte crone;
And wyll agre no thing to me."
" No wyll," quothe she,
“alocke, good Johan !"
" Nowe when she dyd so use me furste,
To fyght with hur I thought I durste ;
But when I sayd, I hade the worste ;
She was for me to to to curste,
By swete sent An;
Here game and gle nought pleasithe me."
" No dothe," quod she "
alocke, good Johan !
"" She makys me rys upe in the morne,
And go to woorke as on foole shorne;
And she lyes lougheyng me to skorne,
Untill the day away be worn,
And well forthe gon;
Which thing, perdye, dothe sor greve me."
" Ye doth," quoth she,
"alocke," etc.
" All the wholl day, when she ys upe,
She wyll noughte do but bybe and supe,
Rynsynge the can and good ayle cupe,
Untyll she ryll as rownd as a hoope,
And dronkly grone;
Makyng at me the pottes to fle."
" Ye doth," quod she,
"alocke," etc.
" Nowe when to dyne or supe I cum,
I have nought but the lowrynge glome ;
But wyll I eathar brede or bunne,
I muste it fache both all and some ;
And she lok on ;
Which makythe me ner made to be."
" Ye doth," quothe she,
"alocke, good Johan !
"Ye, yet yf I speake ought to that,
She waxsithe strate made as a wate,
Fallyng with me to fyghttyng Hate,
And then to say she dothe me bate
Both bak and bon ;
And she goithe fre away fro me.'"
" Ye dothe," quothe she,
"alocke," etc.
“ In crowyng, mothar, she ys a coke,
To skrache a cate, to byght a brock,
A star or popynggay to mock ;
That when in dede I chos that stock
To graffe upone,
Yle desteny was hard to me."
" In dede," quoth she,
" thow sayste truthe, Johan !"
" Here yle condicions all to tell,
Trewly, good mothar, I cannot well;
For yf a man shuld rack all hell
And fynd here mache, I wold mervell,
The truth to scan ;
Fayn wold I be frome her ons fre."
" I do," quod she,
" beleve the, Johan."
" In dronkennes, good mothar, nowe
She ys most lyk a swyne or sowe ;
Here clanlynes I dare avowe,
Ys not so good as Tybbes my cowe,
Which ys alon ;
That wo ys me, alas !"
quod he.
" In ded," quod she,
" no mervell, Johan !"
" When I wold reste," quod he, “at nyght,
I fynde my bede in lowsie plyghte,
The shettes stinckynge allmost bote whighte,
Which ys, God kennes, a lothsom syghte
For any man ;
No better be it wyll for me."
" No wyll," quod she,
"alocke, good Johan !"
" We never cum togethar nye,
Untyll hur bally waxsithe hye;
Yet wyll shy say and testifye
That fathar to here chyld am I,
Both hede and ton;
Which howe to be moche mervels me."
" In ded," quothe she,
" thowe mayste well, Johan !"
"Well, thoughe she use me lyk a lowte,
She nede," quod he, "not be so stowte;
For she her selffe ys fowll of sknowte,
Havyng great legges and full of gowte,
As blacke as slon ;
Yet most grevis me her harlotre."
" I do," quod she,
" not blarn the, Johan."
" Fortune to me but yll hape gave,
When that she led me here to have ;
But God myght nowe the matter save,
Yf he wold tayke here to her grave,
Flesshe, blude, and bon.
That wear," quothe he,
"great joye to me."
" Youe lose," quod she,
"your bacon, Johan."
"Bacon," quod Johan,
" so mote I the,
Shuld not be clamyde ons for me,
Allthoughe that Donmowe pryorye
Stond in the old prosperitie,
Ech stood and ston.
Therfor lete be suche talke," quothe he.
" Well then," quod she,
" I have done, Johan."
Thus stondyng in a cornor queynte,
I harde howe Johan to Jone made playnte;
Tyll sorrowe hade my harte ataynte,
Whiche me compellyde of constreante
For him to mon.
Therfor all ye, pray now with me,
That God may se a meane for Johan.


Lyrics:
Awak, all fethfull harttes, awake,
And with meeke myndes your selvis prepare
The crosse of Criste on youe to take,
Whiche all trewe cristiance ought to bare;
As Christ doth teche,
This lesson sur all men muste lare,
That lyff wyll reche.
Cristis crose in dede both yonge and olde
Must nedys tak upe, I tell youe trewe ;
Or els to say I dar be bolde,
We cannot ryghtwysly insewe
The perfite race,
Whiche the gosspell dothe pleanly shewe
Befor our face.
This crosse ys trubble, payn, and smarte,
Affliccions sharpe, and tormenttes fell;
Mockes, skorns, and rayllynges overtwarte,
Prisonment, bonddes, the truthe to tell,
Which we must bare,
Yf we with Criste in joye wyll dwell;
This prove I dare.
Our Saviour Criste this crosse hathe borne,
With his apostelles more and las ;
So dyde the prophettes long beforne,
And patriarkes whiche dyd proffes
Ryghtly to walke ;
The truthe no dowte dothe bare wyttnes,
With this my talke.
Let us therfor with on assente,
The which of Criste trewe membars be,
Tayk upe his crosse with meke intente,
And bare yt leke in eche degre,
As the have done;
Whiche in moste sharpe perplexitie
Ther ras dyd rone.
For unto them that lovith Gode
No thyng but chancithe for the beste,
Sycknes or helthe, deth, squorge, or rode,
Or whote so ever on us doth reste,
As Paull dothe say ;
Whose wordes forsoth I dare proteste,
Non can denaye.
When persecucion doth aryes,
We ought therat joyefull to be,
For Crist allways his juste flock tryes,
In sharpnes of adversitie,
In every age,
As in the wryttynges we may se
Of awghtors sage.
And when Gode dothe his churche so prove,
He dothe theryn nothyng declare,
But the great admyrable love
Whiche he to us dothe dowtles bare,
Which ar his flocke ;
Why shuld we then fore any fare
Eefus his yocke?
The greateste joye we owght to take,
Belovyd frendes and bretharne all,
Ys even to suffore for Cristis sake
What thing so ever to us befall
By days or nyghttes ;
For Crist doth such most blessyde call,
As Mathew wryghttes.
Pytare, with Johan and Paull by name,
Which tought of Criste the fethe so pure,
Suffrynge therfor bothe payne and blame,
Dyde cownte them selves most happye sure ;
Becaus the ware
Cowntyde worthe for to indure
For Criste suche dare.
 
The joyes whiche the had in there syghte
Dewe unto them at ther ways ende,
Dyd mayk ther paynes and trubblys lyghte,
Which tyraunttes dyde on them extende ;
Drawe nere and harke,
And all whiche nowe have bowes to bende,
Shoute at this marke.
For yf we look to the rewarde
Which Christe for us in store hathe layde,
We shall not think his crosse to harde,
Nor yete for far at any breade
From him ons shrinke ;
But, by his grace and myghttie ayde,
Of his cupe drynke.
This cupe I mean ys mortall payne,
Whiche syngnifyeth his crosse lykwyes ;
Gode mayk use dygne both to sustayne,
And gyve us grace to enterpryce
The narrowe waye,
So that we may at laste aryes
To lyff for aye.


Lyrics:
When ragyng dethe doth drawe his darte,
'And commys to stryk with myght and mean,
No thyng can cans hime to revarte,
But pers he doth both hart and brean ;
No gold nor mede may him infecte,
He dealythe so withowt resspecte.
Deth ys to all estattes aleke,
To ryche and pore, to lorde and knyghte,
To yong and old, to prowd and meke,
And fearith not the best to smyghte ;
For emperoure, kynge, with quyne and prynce,
With his shorpe stinge he dothe convynce.
No wyght in worlde dyde ever lyve,
But of hime he hath wrought his wyll ;
All place to hime ar fayn to gyve,
And even submyt theme hime untyll ;
The wortheste that ever was
Fre from his sting cold nevar pas.
Dethe taykythe som of age an howre,
Sum at a yere, monythe, day, or weke ;
Sum las, sum more, such ys his powre ;
Wher as he lystith for to streke,
He never doth of them inquear,
Howe longe tym the have lyved here
Deth ys not hastye to old age,
Nor slack in commynge to yong youthe ;
But wher he lystithe in his rage,
Of bothe the sorttes he takys for truthe ;
Neathar ys flattery nor threatte,
That may aswage his fury greate.
Of deth no wyght cane well be ware,
He commys after so many kyndes;
For many of on sort him fare,
With sondry ways he workes ther enddes;
Of some by haltare, sworde, and fyare;
Of some be watar, nude, and myere.
Deth sodenly doth some approche;
To sum be cassalltyes misschawnte ;
To sum agayn deth workyth wroche,
When the off welthe doth most avaunte ;
And when to lyve suche lyek moste beste,
Deth with his mase doth them areste.
Yet commenly dethe most doth warne
By sondry gryffes and sycknes strong,
Which messengars doth all men lern
That deth frome them wyll note be long;
Who when he commys wyll in shorte tyde
The soil from body clean devyde.
Deth grawnttes no lybertye nor space,
Nor perfyte repentance her to tak ;
Deth gyves no tyme to call for grace,
Nor yet of wronges amendes to mayk ;
Both fear and fowll to hime ar one,
Resspecte to them he showithe non.
No dark nor lawyar with ther crafte
Cane fynde that holl to hid them in,
Wherby the may avoyde the shaffite
Of deth, which ys so sharpe of gynne ;
But wher he commys, ther ys no naye,
Wyll the or nyll, the must obaye.
Deth neathar ys a foe nor frynde
To good nor bad, as trewe as crede ;
But uppone both he doth his kynde,
As Godes just messenger in dede ;
And in what stat he doth them tak,
Ther dissolucione he doth make.
Deth puttes all men from ther intente;
All flesshe to hime ys subjecte sure;
Deth doth the wyckede still prevente,
When synne and vice the moste in ure;
And doth therin them overthrowe;
Breakyng of them bothe arme and bowe.
But unto thos that lyvith well,
And trewly doth the ryght way kepe,
Deth can nought do, the truthe to tell,
But only brynge them in a slype;
Such nede not fear the sting of hime,
Lock he on them never so gryme.
Deth unto them advauntage ys,
That ready doth them selvis prepare ;
Deth cannot cum to suche amys
Which justly doth God love and feare ;
For Crist of deth hath brook the stinge,
That he all soch cane hurte no thynge.
Cryst throrowe deth bought mans soil helthe ;
Crist dyd with poware deth overcum ;
Cryst throrowe deth dyd wynne the welthe
Of his just flock, both all and sume.
God mak us, therfor, readye all,
That we may say when deth cum shall,
Wellcum, sweat deth, with hart and mynde,
Thow art my passage unto lyffe ;
I thank the that thow art so kynde
To ryde me nowe from mondayn stryffe ;
Wherby I may obtayne the blys,
Wher no thinge els but all joye ys.


Lyrics:
Consideryng Godes mercye greate,
Revelyde ofte unto mankynde,
Sumwhat therof for to intreate
Dewtye dothe me infers and bynde,
And joyefully our voice to rays,
Godes name for his mercy to preas.
Firste, when we wear for synne rejecte
Frome Godes presence, favore, and face,
God of his mercy hade resspecte,
And him agayn callyd to grace ;
Wherby we have just cawse allways
The Lord for his mercy to prayce.
No creatur on the mold doth move
So full of synne and wracchyde mys,
But God, of his merci and love,
May clearly pardone hime ye wyse ;
Wherfor let us all our lyffe days
Godes name for his highe mercy prays.
The skriptur doth to us unfolde
Godes mercy showyde in every age,
As unto all our fathars olde,
Presarvyng theme frome thrall servage ;
And hallpe theme still at all assays,
That the his name myght lawde and prayce.
Exsample of this thing we have
By Davyd and Manasses playne,
Of whome our Lorde the synnes forgave,
With Saull and Mary Magdaleyne ;
And many othar such lyk strays,
Which after dyd exsalte his prayce.
Who ever trustyde in the Lorde,
That ever dyd his mercy wannte?
Or who hathe stokene to his worde,
But fownd his ayd most abowndante ?
Let us therfor, withowt deleays,
Godes name for his highe mercy prays.
Godes mercy uppone Ysseraell
No tonge ys able to expres,
For when the dyd in thralldome dwell,
He holpe theme owt off all dystres,
And set them at most quyat stayes,
That the his name myght lawde and prays.
Danyell within the lyons denne
Gode kepte from tyne and mortall wrake ;
And Susane frome the wickede men,
Evene for his truth and mercyes sak ;
With many mor in lyk afrays,
Which for his mercy gave hime prays.
He savyd well the chelldrene thre
Within the hote and fyrye name;
Merdocheus frome the gallowe tre,
Which Aman mad for hime by name ;
All thes no dowt, as the texte says,
Godes name for his mercy dyd prays.
To speak of Noy, or fethfull Lot,
I shall not nede this presente tyme ;
God shewyde mercy to them, I wot,
Becaus the ware not culpe of cryme ;
He savyd them from great decays,
That the his nam myght lawde and prays.
He hade not sent hes sone to dye
To bryng use to eternall lyffe,
But only for his great mercye,
Which was and ys in him so ryffe ;
Namly to thos that walk his ways,
And for his mercy gyve hime prays.
man, thoughe thowe be at the brynke
Of hell be synne in carfull cace,
Yete in disspayre do not synk,
But look unto the mownte off grace;
Wher God for the mercy up lays,
Whos name for ever let us prays.


Tags:
Social Criticism, Moral, Political, Common Weal

Lyrics:
Awak, rych men, for shame, and here
The powars owtcry and playnte,
Let mercy ons in youe apear,
So eays them of ther streante.
Why be youre harttes so stony harde?
Why stope youe so your years?
Why do youe not ther cry regarde
Which shede so many tears?
Here youe not howe the call and crave ?
Here youe not howe the cry?
Howe can youe think mercy to have,
Which them therof deny?
Yf in your harttes wer any grace,
Or pyttye you posseste,
Youe wold not torn from them your face
Which are so sor oppreste.
Such as wear wont almys to give,
Of almys nowe fell wante,
Be meannys of youe, I do belyve,
Which nedles mak such skante.
Thowsandes have famisshide for food,
And thowsandes mor be lek ;
Change nowe therfor your crewell moode,
And them to sucoure sek.
Thowsandes ar pyned to the bonys
With hongger, thrist, and cold ;
And thowsandes in strong fettars gronnes
Yowe cans therof behold.
The fatharles and wydowe pore,
The syk, the sor, the lame,
Ly dyeng nowe at every dore,
And non but youe in blame.
For that that shuld be ther relyffe
Youe hold frome them away,
Unto your shame and endles greffe,
No dowt, anothar daye.
For that which shal be the rewarde
Of manquellars echone,
Ys dewe to youe, I am aferde,
As provith well sent John.
For manquellars he sayth the be
Which sees the por in nede,
And myght helpe ther necessitie,
But wyll not let theme spede.
Well, yf youe wyll note helpe by gyfte,
Nor with good concience sell,
I se for youe none othar shyifte
But ons to burne in hell.
As doth the fygour of youe all,
Of whom sent Luke dothe wryghte,
Which wold not here por Lazarus call,
Wherfor hime selfFe of ryghte
Dyd cry agayn, and not be harde ;
And so lykwyes shall youe,
Whose harttes ar ten tymys mor upsparde
Then his, I dare avowe.
For wher as he dyd but refuse
The povertye to gyve,
Of ther owen goodes youe daly use,
Them falssly to depryve.
Wherfor I say, at ons repente,
And lerne to worke Godes wyll,
And helpe the nedy impotente,
Whiche be in poynte to spyll.
And know that what you gyve the pore
Youe lend unto the Lorde,
Which shall agayne sevenfold restore,
As skripture doth recorde.
But yf youe wyll not lend to hime,
Which all unto youe gave,
Youre lampes at last shall burne so dyme,
That youe no lyght shall have.
Wher the shall enter into reste,
With lamppes most bryght and cleare,
Which have of mercy done ther beste
Cristes members for to chere.
For almys ys a lyght that dothe
Frome darknes kepe the soil;
As holy Tobe sayth for southe,
Whos wordes lern to uproll
Which wordes for trewe we may prove all,
And most sartayne as crede,
For Crist the mercifull shall call
The blyse for to possede.
Contrarywyes the merciles
Shall then apear in hell,
Among the fendes in great distres
Eternally to dwell.
Wher as such tormentes shall be felte
As no tong can declare.
Lerne nowe, therfor, your harttes to melte,
Which stiffe and stony are.
And pray to God both day and nyght,
Therto to gyve youe grace ;
Who graunt us in eternall lyght
To se his glorious face.


Lyrics:
O God of Goddes and kynge of kynges,
Whos rayne ys highe above
Thowe lorde, of whom all lyvynge thinges
Have ther beyng and move ;
The benyfyttes that we obtayne
At thy handdes, Lorde, allways,
Dothe us moste justlye nowe constrayne
Thy holy name to prays.
Thow never lettyste them decaye
That pute ther truste in the
But doyste provyde for them allwaye
Thos thynges that nedfull be.
Thy chosene flock of Isseraelle
Thowe feddyste forttye years,
Whyllys thate the dyde in dyssarte dwelle,
The hade ther wholle desyars.
Thoughe the dyde neathare sowe nor plante,
Thy grace was yete so goode,
That the dyde nevere fele of wannte,
But fownde sufficiente foode.
The ravens, ohe Lorde, thow dyddyste make
Thy mynistars in dede,
Bothe brede and flesshe with them to take
Elyas for to feede.
The wydewes crewes of oyle and floware,
In here small pychar pleane,
Dyd not discres, but by thy poware
Here howsolde still 3ustayne.
Durynge the moste parte of the derthe
She ever hade inoughe,
Tyll Gode dyd sende abondance for the
Insewyng of the plowghe.
Gode fede Danyell wythein the denne
Among the lyons all ;
And at on tyme fyve thowsande mene
With fyve lovys that wear small.
Yet dyd ther styll of them remayne,
When they hade eate and done,
More then ther was of all sartayne
Befor the fyrste begone.
We knowe, ohe Lorde, thyn arme and poware
To be as great this daye,
As yt was at that presente howre,
This cane no wyghte denaye.
Wherfor, good Lorde, showe styll thy myghte
Among us les and more,
And let us have bothe day and nyghte
Thy grace to be our stowre.
Our prayer shall allway be thus,
In derthe and eke in cheape,
That thow wylte styll thy grace to us
Accumylate and heape.
No yerthly food that ys of pythe
Lyk that I dare proteste, .
For why thow sustaynyste therwythe
All creaturs moste and leste.
And seynge it ys sufficiente
Wheron to take repaste,
Grawnt it us, Lord omnypotente,
At all tymys for to taste.
So that we may lyve ever heare
Withowte all blot of blame,
And at the laste in heaven queare,
Synge prayes unto thy name. Amen.


Lyrics:
O fathar deare, so opulente
Of grace, mercye, and myghte,
That thowe haste allway sufficiente
For us bothe day and nyghte.
We do acknowlege unto the,
Lorde of Isseraelle,
That by thy gyftes off clemencye
We are suffysede well.
Make us gratfull, oty Lorde, therfore,
And ope our lyppys onlye,
That we thy name for ever more
May lawde and magnyfye.
Exspell firome us oblyvione,
Whyche dothe corrupte the mynde,
That we may allway thinke uppone
Thy benyfyttes so kynde.
And that we may remember styll
Our poor bretherne also,
Beyng in nede at poynte to spyll,
For hongger, tene, and wo.
The ar, good Lorde, our flesshe and bonnys,
The truthe for to discus;
And thowe as dear dyd by them ons,
Even as thowe boughteste us.
Howebehite, Lorde, thowe haste not delte
Suche plenttye to them sure;
Neythare have we suche hardnes felte,
As daly the indure.
Thowe colddyst have mad the pore to be
Most ryche uppone the moulde,
And the that ar of best degre
Most pore, yf thowe hade wolde.
For haddeste thowe made all men ryche,
Who shulde allmes have sowghte?
Or hade thowe made all pore alyche,
Who colde mercy have wroughte?
But thowe haste made sum most wellthe,
Some nedy for to crave,
That thowe myght se and knowe therby
What mercy men wyll have.
The gooddes that thow to us hast lente
Ys to this end, I knowe,
Uppone the pore and impotente
Them frely to bestowe.
We ar thy balyffys for a tyme,
And hold all at thy wyll ;
And when we shall vade hence as slyme,
We shall here leve them sty11. .
Lord, grawnte us grace therfor to use
Those thynges bothe all and some,
So that the do use nat confus
Within the worlde to come.
Wher as we trust to se thy face,
In glory for to shyne,
And ever to posses a place
In thy mancion devyne.


Lyrics:
Our Jockye sale have our Jenny, hope I;
Our Jocky sale have our Jenny;
I am well able for to cry,
Our Jocky sal have our Jenny.
This indars day, as I cane pas,
I spyede besyde a spynny
Jockye laykynge with a las,
I hope it was our Jenny.
Ons or twys a wycke or mar
I have farly the wyll note lynnye
I taykte on my sale, I hope full year
Our Jocky sale have our Jennye.
Ther leakys of love the cannote lean,
Nor yete neythinge denye,
But Jenny of Jockye toakene hathe tayn
Mar then ens or twye.
Mare then ens or tway, no dowte,
Yf it be as I wynnye,
I thinge it sal be brought abowte,
That our Jocky sail have our Jennye.
A goodly belte abowte here Jocky dyd wrythe,
Walde sarve a lady full fytlye ;
I have sene them alone full often sythe
Smyland togethar full swettlye.
I merkyde yea thing, say Criste me save,
Set forty at on meale,
And I hawde xxi
, Jocky sal have
The greatyste mes a keyle.
The greatiste disshe Jockye can gete
Among all the meanye,
To quarttes of porrage Jockye wyll eat,
The whiche sale have our Jennye.
Jennye hathe a smyland cowntinance,
Ever twynklande withe here i ;
He God it wald bryde great disspleasance,
Yf her dame or syar shuld spye.
For Jenny commythe of the Tomsons in dede,
Ho so wyll understande,
I thinkte be an of the beste lede
Even in all the nothe londe.
And Jockye commythe of the Hoodsons,
Whilke never man dyd defyle ;
The hardiste and bawddiste blude that wonnes
Within x. hondrithe myll.
But yf Jocky have Jeny till his wyffe,
As the voice gangges every where;
Leve Lord, ther be ney bat nor striffe,
For then wyl be mickle skare.
Then wyl be muckle skare, perdye,
Yf the tak parte in kynnye ;
Our Jocky sal have our Jenny, hope I,
Our Jockye sal have our Jennye.
A tale I hard not lange agane,
Whilke tale may nought be hydden;
Jocky and Jenny, the say full plean,
At the kyrk ther baynnis war bydden.
The ale was brewede uppon Monday,
Whaye so wyll gange, sal se;
And uppone Sonday cum Sonday
This great weddyn sal be.
y Nowe goys Jocky every whear,
God knowes he takys no reste,
To byd his gestis both fare and near
To cum to the weddene feaste.
Nowe Jockys gestes ar geddryde togethare,
And blyth as byrde on brear;
And Jocky and Jenny, as lyght as fethar,
To the kyrk ar commyn in fear.
Ther wear the weddyd on Cristis name,
And ich to othar made spowse ;
When the hade done, agayn the cam hame,
To ther owen weddyn howse.
Then Jenny was at the table sete,
And all the gestes on a rowe ;
Jocky cryede, bryng forthe meat,
And sarve bothe he and lowe.
What sal we set them beforne,
To Jocky thus dyde the crye ;
Gyve them some sardar and sodden corne,
Tyll thear ballys stande awrye.
Of swynes flesshe ther was great plenttie,
Whilk ys a pleasant meate ;
And garlyk, a sawce that ys full deyntye
For any that sail it eate.
Then Jocky, when dynner was done,
Begane hyme selffe to advance,
And sayd,
" let the pypar pype up sone,
For, be our Lord, I wyll go dance."
Jocky took Jenny faste be the hand ;
Then the pypar lafte the trace;
He playd so myryly the cold not stand,
But the dansyd all apace.
The pyper pypte tyll his bally grypte,
And the rowte began to revell ;
that lowde myrth he browth many forth,
Then upstart carll and kevel.
Dance.
" Now play us a horn pype," Jocky can say;
Then todle lowdle the pyper dyd playe.
Harry Sprig, Harry Spryg, Mawde my doughtare,
Thomas my sone, and Jone cum after.
Wylkyn and Malkyn and Marryon be nam,
Lettes all kepe the strock in the peane of shame.
Torn abowt, Robyn; let Bese stand asyde;
" Now smyt up, mynstrell," the women cryde.
The pyper playd with his fynggars and thommes ;
Play thick and short, mynstrell ; my mothar commis.
" I wyll dance," said on,
" and I for the wars;
Dance we, dance we, dance we !"
"Heighe!" quoth Hogkyne, "gyrd byth ars,
Lettes dance all for companye."
" Halfe torne, Jone, haffe nowe, Jocke!
Well dansyde, be sent Dennye !
And he that breakys the firste strocke,
Sail gyve the pypar a pennye.
In with tut, Robsone ! owt with fut, Byllynge '
Here wyll be good daunsyng belyve ;
Daunsyng hath cost me forty good shyllynge,
Ye forti shillynge and fyve.
Torn rownde, Robyne ! kepe trace, Wylkyne !
Mak churchye pege behynde ;"
" Set fiit to fut a pas," quod Pylkyne ;
" Abowt with howghe let us wynde."
"No, Tybe, war, Tom well," sayd Gate;
"Kepe in, Sandar, hold owte, Syme.
Nowe, Gaff, hear gome abowt me mat ;
Nyccoll, well dansyde and tryme."
" A gambold," quod Jocky,
" stande asyde ;
Let ylke man play his parte.
Mak rom, my mastars ; stand mor wyde ;
I pray youe with all my harte."
Hear ys for me wightly whipte,
And it wear even for the nons ;
Now for the lyghtly skypte,
Well staggeryde on the stonnys.
" Be sweat sent Tandrowe, I am weary," quoth Jennye,
" Good pypar, holde thy peace;
And thaw salt have thy bryddys penny."
Then the pyper began to seas.
I swar be God, twyxt this and France,
Ye sal all undarstande,
Ther was not sene syck anothar dance,
I trowe, in all the nothe lande.
In all the nouthe land, my Jocky,
As it pleanly doth apearr
Was not syk anothar weddyne
This fyve and forty year.


Lyrics:
Wanderyng on my way, as I was wont for to wende,
In a mornyng of May, myrthes gan I mynge ;
In the dawnynge off the daye, when the dewes gan dyssend,
In Awrora when Flore gan spreyde and sprynge,
The dear in they dales champpinans gan chace ;
The bryddis sat synggynge this song with lawdacion,
Sayng, good ordar ys ever in that place,
Wher as honore ys hade in highe estimacion.
I stentyde of my Steven, and stoode stone styll,
Undarnethe the holttes, this armonie to heare;
Hit sowndyde so of sapience that wytt was in wyll,
In the wooddes by they watars as I nighede me near.
The honters ther homes to ther hownddes blewe bace,
Ther voicis in the valleys was cause off consolacion ;
Saynge, good ordare ys ever in that place,
Wher as honor ys hade in highe estimacion.
Then buskyde I me backwarde, and tornyde to a tre ;
I was mynddede to the mowntaynes with a mylde moode ;
The lovelyste lady in my syghte ther dyd I se
That ever bar body of bone and off bloode.
I was ravishede owt of reason with her fragraunt face,
She talkyde so tretablye with curtes communicacion,
Saynge, good ordare ys ever in that place
Wher as honor ys hade in highe estimacion.
Withe obedience dyd I bowe, and begayne hir to obay,
Sayng,
"Oh, meydame, I have mervell owt of measure
Of yondare byrddes on the braunchis." " A ! sir," dyde she say,
" Wondare off no workkes that ys apoyntyde for plesur;
Walke and seecke worshipe, let no bewtye youe inbrace,
Tyll youe cum to yondare castell off a fear fowndacion ;
For good ordare ys never owt off that place,
Honor ys ther hade in so highe estimacion.
Quallitie and connynge, with labore and dyligence,
Shal be your gyddes tyll youe cum unto the gayte.
Say ye wear sent thethar be lady intellygence,
To the superiorytie in ther ryall estate.
Umanitie and pyttye ar the portars namys;
Gret them well bothe with this salutacion,
For goode ordare over all that howce infflames,
Honowre ys there hade in so highe estimacion.
Ryghtwyssnes ys stewarde of that noble howcholde,
And truthe ys treasorare bothe be day and be nyghte ;
Disscressione controlare, off this youe may be bolde ;
And umylytye ys secretarye, that discrittlye dothe wryglite;
Eeasone bearithe rail, and ys the marshalle;
Of the usshares befor I have made relacion ;
Good ordare ys in that place unyversall,
Honowre ys ther hade in so highe estymacion.
Abundance ys the seware, marke my saynge well;
Clenlynes ys carvare, hite requerithe so off nede ;
Gladnes ys cupe-bearore, the truthe for to tell ;
And mercy ys allmenare, and gyvis allmys-dede ;
Pleasance ys the kychene clarke allwaye ;
Plentye ys catare, and off good conversacion ;
Good ordar ys ever in that place, I saye,
Wher honor ys hade in highe estimacion.
Honesti ys coocke, that dylygentlye dothe indevare,
To dres all dylycattes that the purvear dothe provyde ;
Purviaunce ys with pleasance, the kychen clarke ever,
So that nothing ther wanttithe convenient any tyde.
Allway redines ys ther when the call
For mele, bankkyt, or othar recreacion ;
Good ordar ys in that place over all,
Wher honore ys hade in highe estimacion.
Then ys the pantere prengnaunte and personable ;
Largenes ys pursbearare, covetousnes to hyde ;
Sobarnes ys butlare, a man allway stable ;
And measure ys harbyngger, when nobelytie doth ryde.
Wysdome ys cheeffe off the hye cownesell,
Where myght ys movyde to miseracion ;
They can no good ordar frome thence expell,
Honowre ys ther hade in so highe estimacion.
Loocke thowe aquynt thy selffe with awdacitie,
To speak to nobilitie in thy caus with dyligence ;
When qualitie and connynge ar befor capacitie,
He wyll knowe thowe commste frome lady intellygence.
Then wyll goode favour in thy caus be pleane,
Into favowre shalte thowe cum withowt any negacion ;
For good ordar ever in that place doth remean,
Wher honore ys hade in highe estimacion.
When thowe art in sarvis, then ther wyl be mannye
Cum to supplant the, but looke thowe be ware ;
Let good governance allway kepe the companye,
Or els disdayne wyll do the moche skare ;
And Pytar Pycke-thanke he wyll not spare
To curry favour, aftar his fanyde facion ;
But thes ar not alowde in non offis there.
Wher honor ys hade in highe estimacion.
When thowe requeariste wagis or any ramente,
Let not dewtye demawnde it withowte umanitie ;
Look that desarvynge bear wytnes of thy pamente,
Or els the wyll reaken thowe haste lyttell urbanity.
Be war off affendauntte, for drede of correccion,
Or pryvye hate wyll be thy confutacion ;
For good ordar ys ever in the eleccion,
"Whear honor ys hade in highe estimacion.
To sobarnes the buttlare every mornynge resorte,
For a droughte of pacience nexte thy hart loock thowe;
Honesty the coocke wyll gyve the a dishe off good reporte ;
With thes towe officars acquynte thy selffe withall.
Nowe looke thowe depart to yondare pallys principall,
Wher lorddes and ladyes have rull and dominacion ;
As provyde pearres pyrriarmiall,
Wher honor ys hade in highe estimacion.
Then departyed I, with great humilitie,
From that fear lady amonge the levis small.
" I warne the," sayd she,
" shewe this to nobilitie,
Howe lady intellygence tolde the this tale."
So forthe I passyde ovare hill and dall,
Tyll I came to that prynccely abitacion ;
Then every offisare gave me in haele,
That I shulde se howe honowre was hade in estimacion.
Withe that one callyde me with a voice exstreme,
Sayng,
"awake, in phantacies thow art very ryffe I"
" Good Lorde," sayd I,
" thinke youe that I dreme,
I was never so joyefull in all my lyffe."
Yet markyde I the trebble, the teannar, and the bace,
Howe the byrddes sat synggynge with great delectacion ;
Sayng, good ordare ys ever in that place
Whear honowre ys hade in highe estimacion.


Lyrics:
Good awdience, harken to me in this cace,
For I intend neathar to glose nor ly;
As I passyd by a sartayn place,
Sodenly I harde a woman crye :
" Alas !"
she sayd,
" undone am I !
My hosband lyes sycke, therfor I rewe ;
Yf itt be so that my husband dye,
I wat not wher for to have a newe.
I knowe not wher, so Criste save me ;
Owte ! alas ! that ever I was born !
Yf he be gone, no man wyll have me,
I am a woman that ys halffe forlorne ;
Consideryng the years of my youthe be worn,
No man to me wyll tayk a vewe.
Yf that my husband dy me beforne,
Good Lorde, wher shall I have a newe?
Now am I brought into byttar bande."
"Gossype," sayde here neabore,
" and why?"
" Howe shall I do for a newe husbande,
Yf it be so that myn olde do dye?
Gode knowithe, strangelye he dothe ly;
Now my bale begynnis to brewe,
Yf itt be so that my husband dye,
God knowes wher I shall have a newe."
" Be not so sade, be rulyde be me;
I wold tayk no thought and he war my brothar."
" I have a good caus, gossype," sayd she,
" For I knowe not wher to have anothar.
And yf he dy, be Goddes mothar,
Ytt ys not a womans part to shewe,
And thoughe I shuld, I do not knowe whothar
Shortly to go and chaunce off a newe.
Jenttle gossype, I youe pray,
Telle me part of your mynd even nowe ;
I am but a browne woman to say, '
Think youe that any man wyll me owe? "
"Yea," sayd the othar,
" I mayk Gode a vowe,
Your face ys fear and of a good hewe ;
Ther ys no honeste man, but he wyll youe alowe,
I warrant youe shortly to have a newe."
"Gossype, youe knowe my mynd a parte,
I byde muche payne, so Gode me save ;
My cummynge to youe was to break my harte,
Yf my husbande dy and be layd in his grave,
Then yf I chance to lyght on a knave
Which wyll beat me both blacke and blewe ;
He may fortune spende all that I have,
Then hade I bene as good to be withowt a newe.
" As for that, gossipe, tayk no ruthe,
Loke that youe stand in no manner of feare ;
Go to your husband, and se howe he dothe,
And as he hath desarvyd, so mak hime cher."
"Gossipe," sayd she,
" be our lady deare,
He wyll eat no meat, full sor I rewe ;
Small ys the tym he wyll tarry here,
God knowes wher I shall have a newe."
"Husbande, wyll youe eat an alberre?
"" Ye woman," saydhe,
"harteley I youe praye."
" Nowe Gode mak thy soil in heaven myrrye !
For the body hear hath lyttell jeye.
Wyll your stomak stand to no thing, I saye?
Alas ! good husband, what bale do you brewe
To me your trewe wyff, yf youe this go away?
God knowes wher I shall have a newe.
Goode Lorde, bryng the owt of thy payn !
Husbande, wylte thowe eate anything, tell me?"
"Ye, womane," sayd he,
" God knowith full fayn."
" A good sole haste thowe to Gode," sayde she ,
"Wylt thowe eat nothing? woys me for the !
An honnestar man I nevar knewe,
I thought ever suche a thing wold be.
Good Lorde, whear shall I have a newe?"
Thus muche sorrowe in her hart dyde synke,
To hear her husband mayk suche mone ;
Yet colde he get neathar meat nor drinke,
But for want of succer full sor dyd grone.
Ther she laft him all alone,
Tyll suche tyme as deth did insewe ;
Then cald she her neabors everychone,
Sayng,
"goode Lorde, wher shall I have a newe?
My husbande is dede, that owt, alas !
Nowe am I a wyddowe, and halffe forlore;
I thought ever this thing wold cum to pas,
I have wept so muche I cane weepe no mor.
Hit cannot preveale to cry nor rore,
When I cum to the churche and syttes in my pewe;
Yf I have then no wepyng in store,
It wyl be xxti
year, gossipe, or I have a newe."
" As for that, gossipe, tayk youe no dowte;
I shall tell youe all the gyes;
Youe shall an onion lafte in a clowte,
And that wyll mayk wattar ron owt of yore yes ;
Then every body that that in youe spyes,
Wyll think youe be a lovar trew;
The contrary no man wyll surmyes ;
I warrant youe shortly have a newe."
"Gossype," sayd she,
" be sweat sent An,
I bode mor pean then all folkes wyste ;
He was but a weak complexionde man,
The thing that I longgede for oft tymys I myste.
Ther ys non of them all, say what the lyste,
Good gossipe, can this pang eschewe ;
That that God wyll have I cannot resiste ;
I beseche Jhesu, send me a newe."
Good Lord, what payn do thes women byde !
What sorrowe do the tayk at ther harte !
What dolore doth to thes women betyde,
That for ther husbandes byde suche smarte !
Ther panys no man can revarte ;
Youe, men, youe never came wher yt grewe.
The thought that the tayk when ther husbandes depart,
Ys to knowe wher the shall have a newe."
In this world be non so kynde peple,
As be sum women, when love doth awayk ;
The wyll drowne them selves in the tope of the steple,
For the deth of her husbandes and for love sayk.
For wher a woman lovis heare mayke,
This tale commenly ys provyde trewe,
The greatyste sorrowe that the do tayke,
Ys to knowe wher the shall have a new.


Lyrics:
In a sartayn place apoyntyd for pleasur,
Wher I was present, as it shall apear,
A meden was mornynge, blamynge all treasur,
Yt pyttyede my hart here for to heare ;
Sayng to her selffe,
" I have so great wronge,
The kepe me in sarvis, but lyttell I wynne ;
For I have bene a meaden so longe,
That my tyme wyll be paste or I shall begynne.
Bothe day and nyght it ys in my mynde,
To jebarde ethar to mare ore make ;
"Was I not ordanyde be cors off kynde
To do as my mothar dyde for my sayke ?
I wold fayne venttar sum tym amonge,
But iche ame the fearfullyste of all my kyne ;
For I have bene a meadene so long,
That my tyme wyll be paste or I shall begynne.
Now shall I ventar withe hime that I love ;
Good Robyne Brucke-holl, wold God thowe wear hear !
Thowe haste my harte all othar above,
And yet I dar not fullfyll thy desyare.
A very fooll I am, to to byde in this thronge ;
Yet my hart wyll not sarve me to do synne;
For I have byne a meade so longe,
That my tyme wyll be past or I shall begynne.
Robyns quallities lykys me so well,
I muste nedys love hyme, thoughe he be my bale ;
He pleas at the foot ball, and rynges a bell,
And whistels ant wear an nyghttyngegale.
Hit makys me syng a sorrowfull songe ;
I cannot gete away be no crafte nor gynne ;
For I have ben a meaden so longe,
That my tyme wyl be paste or I shal begynne.
Or I shal begynne to play the fondlynge,
The world be cleane brought abowte ;
Yf I hade bynne in some bodyes handlynge,
I shulde not have bynne so longe withowte.
Whiche thing my hart full soar hathe stonge ;
Yete I desyre yt and cannote lyne,
For I have byne a meaden so longe,
That my tyme, etc.
When I syte in the felde my cowe mylkynge,
I am as myrry as any wence can bye ;
I knowe as well when Kobyn dothe rynge,
As ife I wear ther in his companye.
When that I hear them chyme dynge donge,
My hart is set on a myrry pyn ;
For I have byn a meaden so longe,
That my tym wyl be paste or I shal begyn.
When the holyday commis, then ys yt my lote
At the churche end to met him at the goode nale ;
We have whyte brede, ande goode ayle, and caykis be note,
Theas mettes us Wyll Gregge and jentyll Jone Gale ;
A wonderous propar cowple, but the ar but yonge ;
I woide Robyn and I wear as far forthe yn ;
For I have byne a meaden so longe,
That my tym, etc.
The wolde have hade me to have marryede a cowrt nail ;
But when I se him I was aferde ;
With ragges and jaggis his clothes wear cutt small;
A great polde horsone with a long berde.
He shall not have me and he wear never so stronge ;
But I wyll have a neabors childe, yf he be not of my kyn;
For I have byne a meaden so long,
That my tym, ete.
Myn owne hunnye, Robyn, I set him loose,
To think uppone him it dothe me goode ;
When we mett at the merkyte, at the syne of the gose,
Ther we drank the wyn as rede as any bloode ;
And wear glade we wer myrry, when we wear well apayde,
Lorde, howe he coste me bothe cheak and chin !
For I have byne so long a meade,
That my tym wyl be paste, etc.
He gave me a gaye gyrdell lyk sylk and golde,
Hit coste him ijd, I knowe well that.
Well, good Robyne, and thowe wolddeste be bolde,
Thow myght perchance obtayn I wot whate.
The love that betwyxte us to ys spronge,
I trust in God shall never blyn ;
For I have byne a meaden so longe,
That my tym wyl be paste or I shal begyn.
My fathar, my mothar, my mastar, nor my dam,
Shall not let me, I shar by sent Tyve ;
When I remember our sporte and game,
I wen Robyn be the maddist orchit on lyve ;
Once in his armys he dyd me fonge ;
I was as blythe as any wenche colde byn;
For I have byn a meaden so longe,
That my tym, etc.
Alas ! good Robyn, why darst not speake?
Nowe thow myghtteste sped, and thow woldest be bolde.
Yt ys not a womans part the mattar to breake ;
Why shall I lyve this tyll I be olde?
My body wastithe, my hart is clonge,
My face ys wryncklyde, and payle ys my skyn;
For I have ben a meaden so longe,
That my tym wyl, etc.
Ons he spayk, and I sayde him nay,
Lyk an horsone callote as ichecham ;
Yf he spayk any mor to me, by my fay,
We may hape to play at the trym tram.
Nowe Gode of myght, whiche ys most stronge,
Graunt me grace good Robyn to wyn ;
For I have byn a meaden so longe,
That my tym wyll be past or I shall begyn.


Lyrics:
In an arber of honor, set full quadrant,
With quartars quayntly pleasantly pyght,
Amonge the gryn flowars freshe and fragrante,
A woman ther walking I sawe in my syght;
Pookyng and lokyng, as a wofull wyght,
And ever she sought, and she wyst not what ;
At the last she fownde, and sayd it was that.
" In faythe," sayd she,
" even that it ys,
Whiche I have sought that I never lost;
Nowe have I fownde that few women can mys,
It comforttes full many and helppes the most."
Thus styll she walkyde, makyng great bost,
And ever she sought she wyst not what ;
At the last she fownde, and sayde it was that.
Thus she sought lokyng on the grownde,
And she wyst not what, howe can this be?
Howe shulde she knowe what thing she fownde?
To say it was that, some thing it must ned be.
To apply that to nothing, it wear marvell to me ;
Ever she sought, and she wyst not what;
At the last she fownde, and sayd it was that.
She fownde that she lackyd, but yet she ney wyste
Howe nor when nor wher to obtayn.
Nothing she lost, yet som thing she myste;
And when she fownde yt, she was bothe glad and fayn.
Yet here yt ys apearaunte plean,
Som thing she sought, and she wyst not what;
At the last she fownd, and sayd it was that.
That what nowe ges all ye,
She fonde in the garden, wher she dyd walke ;
A goodly erbe withe braunchis thre,
The on was complete with a longe stalke ;
" Ha ! ha !" gayd she thus in her talke,
Long have I sowght, but I wyste near what,
And nowe have I fownde, and I knowe yt ys that.
Even that yt ys that I love beste
Of all the earbes on the grownde dothe growe ;
Yt maykys a womans met to dygcste,
Better then any thinge that I do knowe."
Her mynde was movyde to looke on lowe,
For ever she sought, but she wyst near what ;
At the last she fownd, and sayd yt was that.
Forthe on here ways then dyd she tayk,
To ax the phicicions what the dyd yt call.
Then som sayd yt was a mandrayke ;
And sum sayde yt was erbe pulycall ;
Sum sayd yt wolde bothe stand and fall ;
That the that syke the wat near what,
When the fynde yt, the may say yt ys that.
Sum sayd yt wolde all women pleyes;
Sum sayd yt was what in the forthe degre ;
Sum sayd yt wolde helpe them of ther disseas,
Yf yt wear mynistrede as yt shulde be ;
Sum sayd hit makys suche game and gle
For them that seek the wat near what;
When the fynde yt, the may say ytt ys that.
Sum sayd this erbe hade dyvars spyces,
Of a contrarye vertu, yche on can tell.
Sum sayd the sweatees many women intycis
To reseve so moche that ther ballys swell.
Thus the phisicions at varience fell ;
For the thing she sought she wyste near what,
And when, etc.
Some sayde the vertue of the shortteste was lest ;
Sum presyde the hardyste, and sum presyde the strongeste ;
Sum sayde the quyckest for a womans harttes reste ;
Sum sayde the greatiste, and som sayde the longgeste.
Som sayde the olddeste was ever clonggeste;
Ther the that secke the wat ner what,
When the, etc.
Sum sayde the phisicke of hit was bace;
Sum sayde it hathe byn usyde synce the worlde began;
Sum sayd yt kepes myrthe in the place,
Wher ytt ys mynystrede now and then ;
Sum sayde the colde not this matter skane ;
How she shulde sek she wyste near what,
And whenshe fownde yt, etc.
Thus on phisicion at anothar dyde gruge,
And wear vexsyde clean owt of measur.
The principall matter non ther colde juge,
Whiche in her sycknes dyde here greatyste pleasur.
Then bade the every woman judge her own treysur ;
Yf that the seek the wat near what,
When the fynde the best, let them say yt ys that.
And holde ye contente with thes grosse proverbes,
Then I trust no man shall be offendyde ;
I have talkyde nothynge but off the vertues of erbes,
Yf any thing be amys yt shall be amendyde.
Her ys the conclusion, my purpas ys endyde ;
Yf any woman seek and she wat near what,
When she fynddes the beste, let here say ytt ys that.


Lyrics:
Yf love wear all lost for lacke of lybartye ;
Or pacience and peace expulsyde thrughe pryde,
With all joye and jentylnes abjecte in jupertye,
Hatyng good behavyour, all honesty to hyde ;
Good maners and mecknes or mercye wear defyede ;
Wysdome, womanhede, and all wear awrye;
Grace clean forgotten, the grownde withowt gyde ;
Hit myght be fownde in women, ax them yf I ly.
Yff beatitude and bewtye from barrens wear' banyshede,
Conscience and clenlynes so coveryde clean,
Severitie avacuate and from this vale vanishede,
Or semlynes wear set asyde and not sene ;
Yf worshipe shulde waunte in this world, as I wene,
Or credyble cownsell convenyentelye ;
Good fassione or ffellyshype shulde fbutt so I meane,
Yt myght be fownd in women, ax them yf I lye.
Yf faythe, frendshype, or favour shulde fayle,
Charytye, chastytye off the cheafyste chewsyde,
Sylence or sufferance full slyghtly to asseale,
Or curtes custums wear cawsyde to be accusyde ;
Yf obedyence or bucsomnes wear blankkyde and abusyde,
Good exsampls forsaken so synggularlye,
And all feattes that wear fytlye from us shuld be refusyde,
Ytt moughte be fownde in women, axe them yf I ly.
For women ar wortlie to be worshipped every wlier ;
Ther lyves so lowlye loke youe howe the leade ;
Ferce worddes nor fell to stryve the wyll not stear,
Nor dowttes to do ther dewtyes so dylygent in dede.
The never hat ther husbanddes, therof the tayk great hede ;
But purposlye proseddes to pleace them the applye ;
With fanynge, wythe flatterynge, nor with falsshed the them fede;
Youe shall not fynde me contrary, axe them yf I lye.
Synce my nativitie I never harde non so namyde,
That with wynkys nor wythe wyllys wold give ther husbandes glose ;
Nor showes no sharpe showttes, but as the wear ashamyde,
The ar wrappyde all in womanhede, what so ever men disclose.
The wyll dysplay no blynde spectacles on ther husbandes nose ;
But ever trewe and trusty the them selvys trye.
I prove all your frienddes, and non of them your foose ;
Youe shall not fynd me contrary, axe them yf I lye.
The neathar pyn them nor trym them but for ther husbandes plesur ;
Wher the ar bownd to obay, ther the bath them selves ;
To kepe Goddes commaundement the think yt a great treasure ;
The bande that Gode bynddythe to break the do not delyghte ;
Phantasticall facions the put them all to flyghte ;
Ther communynge Concordes all unto curtesie ;
No ffawte can be fownde any woman for to wyghte ;
Youe shall not fynde me contrary, axe them yf I lye.
A woman was the firste in this world at owr begynninge ;
A woman wrapte us or that we were wendynge ;
A woman was the workare and way to our wynnynge ;
A woman most lykly ys to be at owr last endynge ;
A woman be ryght the price of our comprayhendynge ;
A woman cannot be dysprasede, for wliye?
A woman be hur meeknes bar the caus of our amending ;-
Youe shall not fynde me contrary, axe them yf I lye.
Withowt women we wear all but grysly gestes;
Withowt women gone wear our worldlye joye;
Withowt women we wear as ivell as bestes;
Withowt women this world wolde sone decaye ;
W'ithowt women full rude wear our araye;
Withowt women full sone we shulde dye;
Withowt women men in this world shuld wast away ;
Youe shall not fynd me contrary, ax them yf I ly.
Gode, the whyche all thinges dyd mayk
At the begynnynge, be his dyvyne operacion,
Sent downe his sone for mankynde sake,
In a vyrgine to lyght for our consolacion,
To redem us by his bytter passion ;
A woman was chosen most blessydlye,
That her sonnes deth shulde be our salvacion ;
Youe shall not fynde me contrary, for this ys no lye.


Title:
A co[m]mendation of the adue[n]terus viage of the wurthy Captain. M. Thomas Stutely Esquyer and others, towards the land called Terra florida

Location of Printer:
Long Shop adjoining St Mildred's church in the Pultrie

Lyrics:
IF Fortunes force procure,
The valiant noble hart:
In trauail, pain & daungers great,
In warres to haue his part.

If losse of goods insue,
Through valiant enterprise:
Or for slaknes, or the foresight,
Of diligent aduise.

Yet of his wurthy praise,
I can not speak tomiche:
Who ventreth bothe his goods and life,
His Contrey to enriche.

The worldly wise doo muse,
And also doo invay:
At noble harts when that their welths,
Doo fall vnto decay.

As now of late I knew,
And saw the euidence:
Of one whose part it was to shew,
The like experience.

A noble hart in deed,
And wurthy great renowne:
Whose fortune was not to remain,
In Cittie nor in Towne.

A yung Eneas bolde,
With hart and courage stout:
Whose enterprise was only pight,
Straunge things to bring about.

And though that all men seemd,
His dooings to deride:
Yet this his fact he would not leue,
Nor throwe it so a side.

But stil he dooth procure,
With boldned hart and minde:
That thing whiche erst he had assayd,
By trauail now to finde.

Into a land vnknowne,
To win hym wurthy fame:
As exequies and memory,
Of his moste noble name.

Whiche if it fall his lot,
With fortunes helping hand:
He may wel make a law hing stock,
Of them whiche him withstand.

Same terme it Stolida,
And Sordida it name:
And to be plain they doo it mock,
As at a foolishe game.

If reasons sence be cause,
Of this forespoken talke:
Or fayned folly be the ground,
Why mennes tungs thus doo walke.

Then might it seem to me,
The Frenches labour lost:
Their careful pain and trauail eke,
That they therein haue tost.

The cronicles also,
Whiche only seem as trew:
And writ by them that of that place,
Before did take the vew.

The spaniards eke doo shew,
And verify the same:
To be described as a thing,
Deseruing suche a name.

The Portingales doo say,
The crownacles be iust:
And all that trauaild haue that coste:
The same confes it must.

If that in times before,
Through talkes men haue refraind:
Whiche for the loue of trauail sore,
Their harts haue long been paind.

Columbus as I re[...]d,
The space of many yeeres:
Was counted as vnwise also,
As in writers appeeres.

His ernest sute denied,
Yet in the finall ende:
His wurds & deeds did seem at length,
On reason to depend.

The like assay in hand,
He did at last procure:
Whose life and lucky viages,
Good fortune did assure.

At thend in sauety home,
At lenght he did retourn:
And quenched all their mocking harts
Whiche erst did seem to burn.

For fire of force must needs,
Declare his burning heat:
Though for a time in smothering smoke
It seemes it self to beat.

So talk of tungs may not,
By smothering through be tame:
But bursting out at length wil turn,
Into a firye flame.

And then the mallice gon,
The fire falleth down:
And quenched quite as by this man,
Whiche was of great renowne.

Now Stuetley hoice thy sail,
Thy wisshed land to finde:
And neuer doo regard vain talke,
For wurds they are but winde.

And in reproof of all.
I wil not once refrain:
With prayer for to wish that thou,
Maist safely come again.

And that sum frute at length,
By trauail thou maist finde:
With riches for to satisfy,
Thy manly modest minde.


Lyrics:
When all men hathe spoken, and all men hathe sayde,
And all dowttes be domeffyede, and every dryfte drevene ;
When all men hathe fastyde, and all men hath prayde,
And done all the dedys that any man cane neven ;
When all men ar charytable at every Steven,
And every man glade to amende ther lyves ;
I think ther ys no sorte commythe so nar to heven,
Then thes men that ar pacient, and hathe shrowes to ther wyvys.
In the prayse of pacience Socrates dothe treate,
And reproves all them that lyvis in stryffe ;
Saynge the pacient man with God ys full greate,
And esspecially he that hathe a shrowe to his wyffe.
All men that with hastye worddes ar so ryffe,
Mark howe the do that with women stryves ;
Ther ys non commythe sonare to eternall lyffe,
Then thes men that are pacient, and hathe shrowes to ther wyvys.
A pacient man must have worddes fewe,
All thingges to suffar bothe in worde and in dede ;
For yf yt chance so that his wyff be a shrowe,
Trust surly therto he shall have great mede
Bothe of Gode and of wemen, yf he precede,
To be dylygent to pleayse and tayke no great greves;
Ther ys non that of heaven sonar shall spede,
Then thes men that ar paciente, etc.
An hasty man, that ys fearce and full of fure,
And wyl be revengyde on every jetter,
Yf his wyffbe a' shrowe, he shal be ryght sure
To forbear all othar women the bettare.
For Socrates, so highelye sen in lettare
Praysithe all them suche pacience diskryves;
Ther ys nomans worddes sowndythe mor swetter
Then thes men that ar pacient, etc.
A paciente man, ever this ys provyde,
Yf his wyffbe lowde, then ys he styll;
No hasty worddes can mayk him once movyde,
But he says as she says, be hit goode or yle.
Lorde, howe glade he ys here mynde to fullfyll !
He crowtchis, he croppes, and to here mynd clevis ;
Ther ys non commithe sonare to ther owen wyll,
Then thes men that ar pacient, and hathe shrowes, etc.
A pacient man neathar bostithe nor crackithe,
But look, what his wyffe saythe, he says the same;
He nothar dispraysith that she praysith, nor praysith that she lackithe,
Nor tak that she refusithe, nor exskus that she doth blame ;
Nor ys not sade in here mirthe, nor ernest in her game,
Nor denyethe that she confyrmythe, what so ever she contryves;
Ther ys non mor worthe to have worldly fame,
Then thes men that ar paciente, etc.
All women presithe thes men full of pacience ;
A paciente man moste women wolde have;
Thes men that ar paciente shall have celebracions,
Among all men women doth them crave.
Ever axsyng of Gode that he wold wochsave
To sende her an husbande whom pacience dryves;
What ar the whom women least doth deprave?
Men that ar pacient, and hathe shrowes to ther wyvis
To a famylyar exsample nowe wyll I retorn ;
All thinges that flames, and ys as hote as fyare,
The mor yt ys styrrede the mor yt wyll born ;
The nature of whote thinges no wysman'wyll styare.
Therfor pacience quenchis and pacifyethe yre ;
And wher yare ys pacifyede, the harte revyves ;
Ther ys non cummythe sonare to ther desyre,
Then thes men that ar pacient, and hathe shrowes, etc.
How to be paciente fewe men doth knowe;
Gyve year to my sayng, or yt ys worth a leke.
When she speakys hey, then spayk thowe lowe;
When her worddes be hastye, let thy worddes be meke ;
When she chydes or fyghttes, play thow bowe peke,
Then mum and be dum, when she jobbars and jyves;
These men of ther purpas be never to seke,
That ar allway pacient, and hathe shrowes to ther wyvcs.
All men that hathe shrowes to ther wyves her ma lern
Throwghe pacience to overcum bothe anger and dysdayn ;
And also yf he have the wyte to dyssarne,
By pacience the love off all othar to obtayn.
pf a paciente man moste women ar fayn,
And especially shrowes that allways stryves ;
I consell youe that wyll in quyatnes remean,
Allway be pacient that have shrowes to your wyves.


Lyrics:
When the wyntar wynddys ar vanished away,
Then the byttar blastes be ovar blowe,
And folles synge in the summars daye,
With flowars florisshyig on a rowe.
I walkyde in a mornynge graye,
Over hyllys and dalles lowe,
I harde one speake of womens araye,
Saynge many men doth nought I trowe ;
To jest of women yt doth not accorde,
And much bale ofte tymes ytt brewithe ;
For all the falssehede in this worde
Fyrst sprange owt of a woma"ns trewthe.
Men makys of women many a lyght songe,
To ther impoverishement, both great and small :
In ther caus to a [n]swear full sore I long,
Praysyng ther namys, what ever befall.
Thoughe som be wyckyde oft tymys amonge,
Think then how many be goode withall ;
To confownde them all, yt wear great wronge ;
Mankynde ys freale and ever mor shall.
Be this sayng it doth apear,
Looke ye consent bothe age and youthe,
That all the falsshede in the worlde hear
Firste sprange owt of a womans trewthe.
The ar trewe and trustye, war and wyce,
Bothe meek, mercifull, and mylde of moode ;
Preste and pleane, prophitable of pryce,
Joconde and jollye, jenttele and goode;
Fresshe and fearare then the flowar delyce;
Euddye as the rose that on the branche dothe bude ;
And ther sayng as sur as the chanche of dyce ;
Bayryng never to facis in on hoode.
Ther truth makyth men to surmyse,
For mor and mor yt styll renewithe ;
For all the falsshede that man can device
first sprang owt of a womans trewthe.
Men spekys of women ofte tymys amys,
And saythe that the be fals at nede;
Yf the sothe wear spoken to youe, be gys,
Men ar mor falssare then the in dede.
Yf men wear wowede as women ys,
And falssly flatteryde with moche mede,
Full sone yt shulde be syne I wys,
Who beste colde speake, soneste shulde spede.
For thes men most soneste wolde consente
To them that so nowghtelye sewyethe ;
All the falsshede that man can invente
Fyrste sprang owt of a womans trewthe.
We nede no auctors here in this matter,
The trewthe of women all shall declare ;
Sum dothe reporte that the wyll flatter,
Marry, peace, for shame, and holde youe ther !
The ar trewe and juste, youe do but clatter,
And wolde gladly tayk them in som sknare ;
Yf the hade crafte, yt wolde son skatter,
And yt shulde be persevyde every wheare,
In felde and towne, with chylde and man,
Whiche thing no creatur I se eschuethe ;
For all the falsshede that any tell can
Fyrste sprang owt of a womans trewthe.
The trewthe of women all thinges dothe exsell ;
To speak of ther trewthe I am ryght fayne ;
Of all trustye creaturs the bear the bell,
The ar so ladene with trewthe, yt puttes them to payn.
All manner of falsshede they do exspell,
The ar not envyous, nor infecte with dysdayn ;
Blessyde ar the that amonges them dothe dwell,
For truthe with them ever styll dothe remean.
Of ther truthe many men hathe musede,
Yet with that the have Gode them induethe ;
For all the falsshede in this world that ys usyde,
Fyrste sprange owte of a womans trewthe.
In the trewthe of women yf ther wear dyssayte,
To fortifye ytt the wolde not be bolde ;
Yff a pownde of ther trewthe myght be sold be wayte,
iij. halffpence starlyng ytt wear worthe to be solde.
Tayk truthe in ther love, and yt ys not strayte,
Nor geson to be gotten for golde ;
To cache them with truthe, that obskur bayte,
Yt wear no mastre yff youe cold them holde,
And kepe them therm saffe and sownde,
The whyllys that the snythere smuthe ;
Ther ys no falsshede that can be fownde
But ytt sprange owt off a womans trewthe.
This expediment I wold youe shulde note ;
Yf a busshell of ther truthe wear taken and tryede,
Ytt wolde fornisshe all Cocke Lorrels bote
vij. years after, this cannote be denyede.
All Sknoballys chyldren hit settes aflote,
For owt of that many thynges may be spyede.
The trewt of women makvs men to dote ;
Yf youe kepe ytt tyll hite be stall, ytt wyll not abyde;
Nor youe may not bowe yt, for ytt wyll breake,
The vertue of hit whowe so avewythe ;
For all the falsshede that men can of speak
Furst sprange owt of a womans trewthe.
I have sene good auctors in bookys and in tables,
Howe our holly fathars ther truthe hath disskuste ;
Look in the viij. chapter of Isopes fables,
Howe blessyde sent Renolde saythe the ar fule juste.
The ar asses and worths' to wear babies,
That womens trewthe wyll throwe in the duste ;
But set them sowthfastnes in our syght with sables,
To ther highe honor and prays we muste
Exsalte ther trewthe and brynge ytt to pas,
Or I hade as lyff youe sayde yt sknewythe.
For all the falsshede that ever was
Furste sprange owte off a womans trewthe.
The trewthe of women ys of that operacion,
Beyt hit in powdar, and yt wyll ondowe loxes ;
Put therto an once of dissimulacion,
And yt wyll break presons and open stockes.
To mayk any farthar declaracion,
Yt preveallys no mor then to clym highe rockes;
For gyve sum women never so highe lawdacion,
He shall have evell wyll, or sum privie mockes.
Of this matter to mak an ende,
Magre of them that saythe qui fuithe ;
For all the falsshede that man can comprehende
Fyrst sprang owt of a womans truthe.


Lyrics:
I wolde no man wear anggre, but all women pleasyde ;
I wolde all men wer myrry, and no woman sade ;
I wolde all women hade reste, and no woman dissesyde;
I wolde no man wear sorry, but all women glade ;
I wold all men wear good, and no women bade;
I wolde no man shulde varry, but all women gre ;
I wold no woman lackyde, but I wold all men hade;
And I wold no woman war thus, as many men be.
So gronttyng, so grownynge, so gaspyng, so gryme ;
So ferce, so fell, so ffemeshe, so flockynge;
So daungerous, so doggyde, so dyvellyshe, so dyme;
So crewell, so comberous, so crabbed, so cockynge;
So jarryng, so gybynge, so jellious, so jockynge;
So habberyng, so hatfull, so hasty, so angre ;
So mischevous, so maugre", so mynddyde, so mockynge;
I wold no woman wear this, as many men be.
So falsse, so folishe, so fonde, and so fyckle;
So growce, so grevous, so gawyshe, so glaverynge ;
So bustious, so barratyng, so babblyng, so bryckle ;
So wyckede, so wylde, so wolvishe, so waverynge;
So swart, so swellynge, so swynishe, so swaverynge ;
So pomppious, so prowde, so payntyde in pomperye;
So quarrellynge, so questionynge, so in qualmes quaverynge ;
I wold no woman wear this, etc.
So ronishe, so rompynge, so ravenynge, so ryfflynge ;
So byttyng, so beastly, so brockishe, so brallynge;
So towgh, so talkyng, so tatlyng, so tryfflyng;
So skoffyng, so skornynge, so skowlyng, so skravlyng;
So jumpperyng, so justlyng, so jaryng, so javlynge ;
So folttishe, so fowll, so infect, and so fyllthe ;
So wanderyng, so wastyng, so wrynklede, so wravlyng ;
I wold no woman wear this, etc.
So hackyng, so hurlyng, so hampperinge, so hynchynge ;
So luskishe, so lowttynge, so lurkynge, so lowrynge ;
So prattyng, so pivishe, so peart, and so pyntchynge ;
So crackyng, so cowardlye, so katthynge, so cowrynge;
So snappishe, so snuffynge, so snatchyng, so snowrynge ;
So slake, so sluttishe, so sluggishe, so sleppye ;
So rought, so rashe, so ralyng, so roryng ;
I would no women wear this, etc.
So noughttye, so nastye, so nedy, so nuselynge ;
So knappishe, so knavishe, so knurlyng, so knarynge ;
So gaddyng, so gappyng, so gullyng, so gusselyng;
So swasshing, so swynkyng, so swyllyng, so swarynge ;
So styff, so stubborne, so stampperynge, so starynge ;
So waytyng, so wondarfull, so wycked, so wracchydlye ;
So bannyng, so bawlkyng, so bellowyng, so blarynge ;
I wold no woman wear this, etc.
So dubble, so drowsie, so dasyng, so dustie ;
So plantyde, so pavlyde, so ponderyng, so pleanyng ;
So raggyd, so rentt, so ruggyd, so rustye ;
So druggyng, so dessperate, so dayling, so dysdanyng ;
So histering, so humblie, so hanggre, so haynynge ;
So sullen, so sowre, so symple, say ye ;
And contrary-wyes, withowt any faynyng,
I wold all men wear this, as most women be.
So just, so jocond, so jentle wytheall ;
So meke, so myndede, so manerlie, so marciable ;
So lovesome, so lykynge, so lauflull, so liberall ;
So fethfull, so frutfull, so fryndly, so ffaverable ;
So paciente, so pittiful, so pithe, so peceable ;
So flbrtunatt, so ffygguryde, so famede, so ffree ;
So choyche, so cherisshynge, so chayst, and so charitable ;
I wold all men wear this, as, etc.
So sobar, so sartayn, so secrete, so sade;
So semelye, so sufferinge, so savyng, so sure ;
So gorgious, so gay, so gallante, so glade;
So pleasant, so prest, so parphyte, so pure ;
So mek, so mynsynge, so meddenlye, so demure;
So godly, so gracious, so grownded to agre ;
So handsume, solioneste, so egall, so in ure;
I wold all men wear this, etc.
So tyddye, so tendar, so trewe, and so trustye;
So bryght, so borlye, so bewtiffull, so abundauntte;
So lyth, so laykyng, so lyght, and so lustye;
So cumlye, so curtis, so curious, so constaunte ;
So freshe, so florrisshynge, so fyne, so fragrante;
So bonner, so bucsome, so blusshynge in ble ;
So playn, so plentifull, so prime, so pregnauntte;
I wold all men wear this, as most women be.
So welthe, so worthe, nothar wanttan nor wylynge ;
So tyght, so tickle, so tarn, so tricke;
So smatterynge, so smale, so smothe, and so smylynge;
So quaynte, so quyate, so quyver, so quycke;
So formede, so feyatte, so ffyttlye, so frycke;
So mynnyeon, so meane, so made, mark me;
So larnyde, so lyvlye, so luckye, and leyke ;
I wold all men wear thus, as most women be.
So dylygente, so deffte, so decte, so durable;
So sweyver, so swyfte, so swemynge, so swete;
So content, so cordyall, so connynge, so curable;
So marvelous, so movyng, so myrry, and mete;
Sy spraryng, so spedfull, so speakyng in sprite ;
So sapiente, so synggulare, so syghtly to se ;
So blithe, so bydynge, so blessyde, so bete;
I wold all men wear this, as most women be.
I wold nothynge hyde, but all thynges declare ;
I wold make an ende, that youe myght perseve me;
I wold no woman wear as many men ar,
But wolde all men were as most women be.
I wold I hade that I have not, and then shuld youe se,
I wolde do that I do not, for lake of opertunitie.
Yf I myght, as I may not, and all throughe povertye,
I wold that of discorde mak peace and unytye.


Lyrics:
Allmyghtty God, uncreat and withowt measur,
That be measur hathe made the mobilie by his myght,
The altitude of the hevens, at his wyll and pleasur,
Frome the depenes of the yerthe by measur standith pyght ;
By measur hathe he made all thinges hear in syght,
Both of lenght and of breade, wherof we shuld not muse ;
All this world hath he wrought by measur as the wryght,
Therfor measur ys a mean that every man shuld use.
By measur hathe he mayd the sone and the mon,
Every constillacion and star in his degre ;
All the synes zodiacke by measur wear begone,
By ther divyn movinges as southly we may se ;
Measur surmontithe all mervels that be.
Measur makythe men to tak good ordar and advewse,
Wher men that wanttes measur be set all on myserye ;
Therfor measur ys a mean that every man shuld use.
Measur ys a mean, and his propertie ys suche,
Yf that he be usyde in his cors naturall,
In anny kynde takyng to lyttell or to muche,
Ys cleane owt of measur, for measur ys egall.
Measur presarvith both the great and small ;
He that hath no measur, no dowte cannot chuse,
But cum into the danger of this worldly thrall ;
For measur ys a mean that every man shuld use.
Measur ys the orrygynall of thinges that doth remean,
The exsalttyng off honore, to be usyd both tym and tyde ;
Ther ys no prynce in this worlde that can continewe or rayne,
Excepte measur mil him and be hys grownde and gyde.
What abondance hath any man in all this world so wyde,
But for wannte of measur he may ytt so abuse,
That yt can cum to non effecte ? this cannot be denyde.
Therfor measur, etc.
For wher as ys no measur, ther ys moch maglyngnitie,
Measur presarvethe mor then a thowsand folde ;
Ther ys no nobleman that can kepe his dyngnitie,
Exscepte measur effectually do govarn his howsolde;
For wher as ys no measur ther prevealyth no golde.
Youe have hard for want of measur many a man ruse,
That throughe nede and nessessitie ther landes away have solde ;
Therfor measur ys a mean that every man shuld use.
From the higheeste estat unto the loweste degre,
Measur must be usyde in his egall quallytye;
Accordyng to ther lyvlowde, so let ther spendyng be,
So that measur provock them to honest liberalitye,
Not to be covetous, nor use no prodigalytie.
For measur must govarn all them that escheuse
The pyt of poverty and parrell of sensualitie ;
For measur ys, etc.
Let all men use measur, thoughe the do welthe attayne ;
For welthe tarris not ther wher as measur the wyll not obaye.
So that anothar tym the ar dreven to tayk a greatter payn,
Or els approchis poverty, and bryngges them in decaye.
Wher as ys no measur, we se this every daye,
Not in on, but in all thinges, muche bale ytt brewes;
Have measur in your mynddes, therfor, as nighe as ever youe may,
For measur, etc.
Tak measur in thy spendyng, and measur in thy sparynge ;
Tayk measur in thy travell, and measur in thy reste ;
Let measur be a continewall wede for thy wearynge ;
Measur must be usyde at every solem feaste.
Of all pryncipall vertus measur ys the beaste ;
Ye, kepe thowe styll measur, for any flam flewsse ;
For wher as ys no measur commythe mony an unbydden gest ;
Therfor measur, etc.
Take measur in thy myrth, joye, and in thy gladnes;
Tak measur in thy game, jestyng, and in thy sporte;
Tak measur in thy pensivnes, sorrowe, and in thy sadnes;
Tak measur in thy talking, among every resort.
By measur we meat both the long and the short;
By measur we knowe the sort that love doth yl use ;
Tak ever measur for a principall comfort;
For measur, etc.
Tayk measur in thy studdy, and measur in thy dyate;
Tayke measur in thy eatynge, and drynkyng therto ;
Tayk measur in thy wacchyng, and measur in thy ryat;
Tak measur in thy labore, what so ever thow shalt do ;
Tak measur in thy slepynge, and wakyng also;
Forsak thowe not measur for non othar newse ;
Measur in takyng or givyng to or fro;
For measur ys a mean, etc.
In dam natuis workyng, for all her highe pleasur,
Grosly spoken, but yet mark myne entente,
Mor then her dewtye in dede owt of measur,
Then weak ys thye corrage, thy tym ivell spent ;
Rustically rehersyde, cleane withowt avismente,
Yet measur in all thingges I trust shall me excuse ;
Owt of measur exsalt not thy selffe verament ;
For measur ys a mean, etc.
x2
156 SONGS AND BALLADS.
Tayk hede to this measur, thow shalt find yt moste swettiste,
What Crist sayth to the in his gosspell plean ;
Look what measur to othar that thow meatiste,
That measur shall be motten unto the agayn.
The that have years, let them hear what I sayn,
Crist speakith universallye, he doth non refuse,
That all maner of men shuld be glad and fayn,
What measur the wold have motten, that measur for to use.
Unto God wyll I pray, as my deutie requerithe,
That we may kepe measur in all our usacion ;
And all the that the contrary desyrithe,
Them to expel owt of the cristian congregacion.
Cryst, that dyed, suifride payn and passion,
And was cruelly crewcifyede among the crewell Jues,
Grawnt us grace, with good conversacion,
Amongeste all manner of men measur we may use.


Lyrics:
O God, what a world ys this now to se !
Ther ys no man content with his degre.
1 can cum in no company, be nyght nor be day,
But all men lacke mony, me thinkes I her them say ;
Whiche thinges for to hear makys myn ears weary,
For withowt mony men cannot be myrry.
For wher the have no mony in store,
Ytes tyme for the mynstrell to gete owt ath dore.
The day hathe ben I have ben myrry ande glade,
And nowe to se the worlde yt makys me as sade ;
And why I am sade I shall mak declaracion,
As well as I can, aftar a rude facion.
For to tell youe the trewthe now I wyll not lete,
Be the occasion of a robbery I am fallen in greate dete;
Whiche thing doth trobble my hede very sore,
Hit hathe grevide me moche, but shall grive me no mor.
After my robbery my memory was so decayde,
That I colde neathar syng nore talke, my wyttes wer so dismayde ;
My awdacitie was gone, and all my myrry tawke.
Ther ys sum hear have sene me as myrry as a hawke ;
But nowe I am so trublyde with phansis in my mynde,
That I cannote play the myrry knave accordyng to my kynde.
Yet to tak thought I perseve ys not the next waye,
To bryng me owt of det, my creditors to paye.
I may well say that I hade but ivell hape,
For to losse above threskore pownde at a clape.
The losse off my mony dyde not greve me so sore;
But the talke off the pyple dyd greve me moch mor.
Sum sayde I was not robde, I was but a lyeng knave;
Yt was not possyble for a mynstrell so moch mony to have.
In dede, to say the truthe, yt ys ryght well knowene
That I never hade so moche mony off myn owene.
But I hade frenddes in London whos namys I can declare,
That at all tymys wolde lende me xx1(ls worth off ware ;
And with sum agayn suche frendshipe'I fownde,
That the wold lend me in mony a nyn or tenne pownde.
The occacion why I cam in dete I shall make relacion ;
My wyff in dede ys a sylke woman be her occupacion,
And lynen clothe moste cheffly was here greatyste trayd,
And at fearis and merkyttes she solde sale-war that she made,
As sherttes, smockys, partlyttes, hede clotthes, and othar thingges,
As sylk threde, and eggynges, shurte banddes, and stringes.
158 SONGS AND BALLADS.
At Lychfelde merkyte and Addarston good costomars she fownde;
And also in Tarnworth, wher I dwell, she took many a jl
And in dede when I hade gett ray mony togethar, my dettes to have payd,
This sodden mischance on me dyd fall, yt cannote be denayde.
I thought to have payde all my dettes, and to have set me cler,
And then what yvell dyde ensewe ye shall herafter hear.
Because my carryage shulde be lyght, I put my mony ynto golde ;
And withowt company I ryde alone, thus was I folisshe bolde.
I thought beth reason off my harpe no man wolde me susspecte ;
For minstre[l]s offt with mony the be not moche infecte.
Iiij. Theves for me the lay in wayt not far from Donsmor hethe,
Wher many a man for las mony hathe ofte tymys cought his dethe ;
I skapyd wythe my lyffe, but in dede I lost my purs,
And seyng yt was my chance, I thank God yt was no wors.
For mony may be gotten, and lyff cannote be bought ;
Yet yf good consell had not ben, I hade kyld myselffe with thought,
Hit grevyde me so sor, yt well nyghe kylde my harte,
Because hit was my fortune to play so folissh a parte.
Ther ys an old proverbe,
" had ye wyste commis ever to late" ;
Thus throughe myn owene neclygence I am brought to por estate.
After this my robbery, the truth as I youe tell,
I tooke my hors and ryde home to Tarnworth, wher I dwell.
When I cam unto my wyffe, my sorrowe dyd incresse,
To se her mak suche lamentacion, I cold do no lesse.
I sent toth balys off the towne in all the haste I myght,
Desyrynge them to mak serche whoo lay yth towne that nyght.
For the iiij. Thevis that robde me playnly to me dyd say
That I had one my bottes ready to ryd by ix. A clock that daye ;
And yt was seven a clock at nyght or ever I cam thethar;
So uppone ther saynges thus moch I dyd gethare,
That owt of Tamworth off me the had some prevye gyde,
Which knewe off all my gold, and whiche way that I wold ryde.
But hetharto, be no shifte that ever I cold make,
I cold never prove what the war that my purs from me dyd take.
Therfor with my losses I must nedis be contente,
For now yt ys to lat for me to repente.
Ther ys no man lyvyng that in this world doth dwell,
But mysfortune on him may fall, thoughe he gyd him never so well.
Many a man hath ben ondon for speakyng of a worde,
And som hath lost ther lyffe for the strock off a sworde ;
Som hathe ben ondon be the cassaltye off fyare ;
And sum both hors and man hath perishide in the myare ;
And sum throughe surtishipe hath brought them selvis in band ;
And sum throughe gamnynge hath lost both howsse and lande.
I am not the first that hath hade an ofull daye ;
For sum be robde ath land, and sum be robde ath seaye ;
Sum be robde in ther howses, in placis wher the dwell,
And sum hath bene robde in ther yns, as I have hard men tell :
The chamberlayne or ostelare, when the have a bowgyt spyede,
May gyve knowledge to fals knavis whiche way ther gest wyll ryde ;
And he him selffe wyll byd at horn, and his office sty11 aplye.
Many a man thus hathe be robde, and so I think was I.
Sum fals knave dyd me betray, and made my jornay knowene.
Yt wold never have grevyd me so moch, yf the mony hade ben myn own ;
But nowe I am in det, whiche ys a dedly payne.
I trust to God in this powar state I shall not long remean.
I hade frendes yenowe tyll I fell in this thrall;
But nowe in my povertye the be ron from me all ;
Exsepte yt be thos that be suar in the hafte,
Whiche in all my nessessitie the never me lafte.
My creditors, I thank Gode, it ys not unknowen,
Hathe geven me reasonable days for to pay them ther owen ;
The whiche causithe me, as natur doth bynde,
Ernestly to go abowte sum honeste meanes to fynde,
That the may be payd, as reasone ys and skyll.
Concience compels me to put to my goode wyll ;
And I have no othar mean, but even be supplycacion
To beg hite abrowde among the congrigacion.
Truth oft tymys among sum may be blamde,
But I am sur and sartayne it can never be shamde ;
All men that lovis truthe owght to be commendyde,
Allthoughe sum wickede persons therat be offendyde.
I thank God, my good lord and mastar, whom I sarve,
In my greatist povertie from me dyd never swarve ;
But dyd wryt for me frendly aftar a lovyng facion.
And my lord Strang also on me dyde tak compassion.
For whos sakys I thank Gode I have ben well regardyde,
And among ther lovyng frenddes I have ben well rewardyde.
Ther goodnes showyde to me I cannot worthely prayse,
But I am det-bownden to pray for them all my lyff days.
Throughe ther goodnes yff the worlde mend, I am in no disspar,
But I shall pay all my dettes and set my selffe clear.
The occasion off thes wars hath hindrede me very sor ;
But yet sum thing I have gotten, and I trust to get mor.
My lovyng neabors off the towne off Tarnworth, wher I dwell,
Dyd lyberally rewarde me, this ys trewe that I youe tell;
Which kyndnes off them hath ryght well provyde
That among all my neabors I am well belovyde.
For lyberally with me ther mony the dyd spende,
And thos that came not them sels, ther mony the dyd sende.
My neabors dyd caus me to mayk a pot off ale,
And I thank God off his goodnes, I had very good sale.
For a bushell off malt, I do put youe owt off dowte,
I had fyv pownd off mony, or nyghe therabowte.
How be hit, sum off my neabors therat wear offendyde,
And sayd the mony myght moch better have ben spendyde.
But the that so sayd them selvis wear at no coste,
For yf the had, I perseve the wold have thought hit loste.
But the worlde nowe adays ys so full off hat and spyte,
That to speak yle off all thinges sum have a great delyte.
But God I do thank him of his goodnes and grace,
That senddes me good loock wher I cum in every place;
Yt ys God that scnddes me so well for to spede,
Which puttes ynt good mens mynddes to helpe me at my nede.
Whom Gode wolde have holpen he shall never wannte,
But he shall fynde relyff, thoughe thinges be never so skante.
God save my good lorde, for whos sayke I fynd frenddes,
That helppes me every whar, and thus my tall enddes;
Desyryng youe all to bear this tayle in mynde,
That I among your pursis nowe sum frendshipe may fynde.
Every man a lyttell wold satisfye my nede,
To helpe a poor man owt off dett, it ys a gracious dede.


Lyrics:
Ser, for the good chear
That I have hade heare,
I gyve youe hartte thankes,
With bowyng off my shankes;
Desyrynge youe be peticion,
To graunte me such commission,
Becaus my name ys Sheale,
That bothe at meat and meale
To youe I may resort
Sum tym, to my comforte.
For I perseve here
At all tymis ys goode chear,
Both ayle, wyne, and bear,
As hit doth now apeare.
I perseve withowt phable,
Ye kepe a good table ;
Sum tym I wyll be your gest,
Or else I wear a beaste,
Knowyng yore mynd,
Yf I wolde not be so kynde,
Sum tym to tast your cuppe,
And with youe dyne and suppe.
I cane be content,
Yf it be owt off lente,
A pece off byffe to tayk,
My honger to asslayke.
Both mutton and veile
Ys good for Rycharde Sheill;
Thoughe I look so grave,
I wear a veri knave,
Yf I wolde think skorne,
Ethar even or morne,
Beyng in Longer,
Off fresshe samon or kongger.
I desyre youe allway
Marke what I do saye;
Allthoughe I be a ranger,
To tayk me as no stranger.
I am a yong begynner,
And when I lak a dynner
I can fynd in my hart
With my frend to tayk parte
Of such as God shall send,
And thus I mak an ende.
Now, farwell, good myn oste,
I thank you for yor coste
Untill anothar tyme.
Thus do I ende my ryme.


Lyrics:
In Bocas an Guydo I rede and fynde,
Thatt wemen of verrey nature and kynde
Be subtyll and unstedfaste of mynde ;
But I wyll say nothinge.
If the trothe were well sought,
Thoughe somme be goode, moste parte be nought,
The beste for mony may be boughte ;
But I wyll say nothinge.
Truste to them as to the wether,
And trust sure of a hode or a fether,
Or elles a home, all goes togethar;
But I wyll say nothinge.
Of good, I trowe, there ys but fewe ;
Whoo ys so wyse as ys nowe a shrewe,
That can make a rame of a selye pore ewe ;
But I wyll say nothinge.
For somme weyrythe beydis, and shoithe to pray ;
Somme make hit straunge, and cannot say nay ;
All that be strekene, for shame may not bray;
But I wyll say nothinge.
Somme delytithe to be caulede an olde mayde,
Thoughe she hase hade spawne and be twyse spayde,
And be well trodden, yet not over hayde;
But I wyll say nothinge.
Somme ar smothe facede, and hase a softe lyppe ;
Somme a short hele, to torne with a tryppe,
Redy to cowrsse yf ye wyll lett slippe;
But I wyll say nothinge.
"What thoughe there be some that hathe so doo,
All cannot trede aryght ther shoo,
In a thowsande I trowe not too ;
But I wyll say nothynge.
Of tounges lyke develles, in syght lyke seyntes,
In speche of speykynge as the paynter payntes;
To tell the extremyte my hart hit fayntes;
Therfor I wyll say nothinge.
Lowlye to loke one, and prowde withowt measur,
To fynd one good hit were a greyt treasur ;
Hit askythe a goode geldynge and thre mounthes leasure ;
But I wyll say nothinge.
Of all compleccones be ware the salowe,
That has whyt lyppes shynynge lyke talowe;
As a doo sockene ye may hir hollowe;
But I wyll say nothinge.
But all ye wetnen that here this same,
For sainge truthe ye may not me blame;
Appeyre youe cannot, amende for shame ;
And then I wyll say nothinge.


Lyrics:
Within in the northe centre
Many noblemen ther be ;
Ye shall well understande,
Ther ys the yerle off Westmorland,
The quynes lyffeteanant,
A noble man and a valyante.
Then ther ys the yerle off Combarlande,
And the yerle off Northomberlande,
And ser Harry Perse his brothar,
As good a man as anothar;
He ys and hardy knyght,
And hath ofte put the Skottes to flyght.
Ther ys my lord Ivars, my lord Dacars,
With all ther partacars ;
Noble men and stowte,
I do put youe owt off dowte.
Yf the Skottes ons looke owte,
The wyll rape them ath the sknowte;
For northarne men wyll fight,
Bothe be day and nyght,
Ther enymyes when as the hawk uppon ther pray.
Ther ys also ser Harry Leye,
Which dar both fight and fray,
Whether it be night or day,
I dare be bold to say,
He wyll not rone away;
He ys both hardy and fre.
Ther ys also ser Rychard Lye,
Which ys both war and wice,
And of polityk device.
All thes well I do knowe ;
Yet ys ther many moo,
The which I cannot nam,
That be men of mickle fame.
God save the yerle off Shrowesbyrry !


Lyrics:
Aryse and wak, for Cristis sake,
Aryse, I say agayn;
Awake, all ye that synfull be,
Awak, for fear of payn;
Amend your lyff, both man and wyff,
Whils youe have tym and sppace,
For God hath sent his punisshment,
Which shortly wyll tayk place.
Forsayk your synn that youe be in,
And do not God withstand ;
I do not fayn, but tell youe plean,
His vengance ys at hand.
Great pestilence ys not far hence,
As now apearith playn ;
Great darth lykwyse must nedys aryse,
And put us to great payn.
Off plagges great stor we shall hav mor,
For God ys fully bent
Us to anoie, and clen distroie,
Yf we wyll not repente.
The breche off his lawse ys nowe the caws
That we shall feell his smarte ;
Therfor repent incontinent
From the bottome of your hart.
God lokith still yf that ye wyll
Bewayle your wickednes,
And on your knys, with wepyng yes,
Your synfull lyves confes.
Yf Christes blod, shed on the rode,
In youe have any plas,
Your noughtte lyff, both man and wyff,
Forsak whill youe have space.
My brethren all, to youe I call
For spedy amendment,
For God doth stande with bow in hand,
To shut all ready bente ;
His string shall slack, yf ye torn bake,
And cum to him agayn.
Therfor aryse, yf you be wyse,
And avoyd this dredfull payn.
Now call and cry for his mercy,
Disdayn not for to crave
With on acorde to Criste our lorde,
And merci shall youe have.
lyvyng God, now stay thy rode,
And vengance do not take ;
We do the pray, both nyght and day,
For Jhesu Cristes sayke,
To the be prayse now and allways,
And to thy holy nam ;
And so all ye that godly be,
With lowd voice say the same.


Lyrics:
Fyrst whan thow, nature, all thynges brought to pas,
To everye yerbe and tre thou grauntedest vertu and terage,
What did I offend, pore crabbe-tre, elas!
Croked and deformed to be sett in everye heyge.
Not onlye I am depreved of my shappe,
But nature also my frute hathe soo sowred,
That I am dysdayned for myne unhappe,
And here set in the waye of beastes to be devoured.
Where other plesant trees beryng frute to abyde,
Wythe the olyffe, sypres, jenoper, or beye,
For my croked shapp in the heyge I me hyde,
My frute blowne downe and troden in the waye.
Croked I am, not fayre, large, nee streyght,
And ever excluded where other do remayne,
To beastes wylde most common fode and bayet,
I dysvigored tre, whom alle men do dysdayne.
The orynge, the lemon, they garnard alsoo,
The damson, the peyre. and eke the cherye rownde,
Endued be wythe vertu, so be other moo,
Onlye I am baroun, where as no goodnes dose abownd.
On me there hanges nother pleasant leafe ne barcke,
Nor frute also gretlye to be desyred,
Save mi croked knobes to sustayne age olde and starke,
My frute to make vergeous, and mi bodie to be fired.
Byrdes in me to brede they do me cleane refuse ;
By the way I stande moste commonly on the playne;
Noo man of me ys glad, but soyche as cannot chuse,
When gredye hongar to eyte doth them constrayne.
YfF any man in an unhappye ower
Dose chaunce of my frute unwarelye to aseye,
With a frownyng fase on me dose he lower,
And in hastye rage and fume dose caste me weye.
Synce that to profett off nothing I serve,
For rayn unsaverye taste no man dose me desire ;
Myne unpleasant frute, even as hit dose dysserve,
I bequeathe to the morter, and my body to the fyre.
Thus I, Jacke Sawse, do mayk my laste wyll,
Pore crabe-tre I mean, be intarpretacione ;
When the tanner hathe grownde my frut in his myll,
I bequethe my lyccore to the whole conggregacion.
When my body ys dede and layd in grave,
I desyr all cokis for me to praye;
For in ther costodye my liccore the have,
For to sarve ther torne both nyght and day.


Lyrics:
Yff I durst, butt I dare nott for drede off dyspleysure,
For drede off displeasur partly I wyll refrean ;
I wyll refrayne myne owne wyll, for ronnyng owt off meisur,
For ronnyng owt off measur many hathe suffryd payn.
Many hathe suffryde payne, and nott witheowt a caus whye,
Not withowt a cause why I do judge be estimacion ;
I juge be estimacion, me think, yf I shuld dye,
That on drope off good hoope avoydes dessperacion.
Yf I had grace to the space that God hathe sent me hear,
Or lernyng to the dyssarnynge accordyng to the same,
I wolde not fflatter in this matter, ytt pleanly shuld apeare,
Thoughe mede for my dede were no worldly fame.
Awdassitie, withowt capassitie, this matter cannot frame,
No more then lenkthe, withowte strenght, may lyft a stronge fowdacion,
Nor boldnes, withowt coldnes, to obtayne an honeste name ;
Yet on drope of good holpe avoides dessperacion.
To beholde every phantasie, I mervell in my mynde,
To behold howe variable all worldly thinges be to accuse,
And howe unstable ytt tornes, as dothe a blaste off wynde ;
To beholde the workes off wyckednes, ytt makis men to muse ;
To beholde every transposynge, the pyple cryes for newse ;
To beholde sum makys myrthe, and sum makys lamentacion ;
Ytt makys me halffe dysconsolate to behold all thinges the use ;
Yet on drope ofFe, etc.
To se the wonderous workes in this worlde that be wrought : O "
To se the worlde wondare off thinges that be usyde ;
To se thinges usyde brought cleane to noughte;
To se noughte off owghte, thought wold be refusyde ;
To se thought cought by thinges that be abusyde ;
To se thinges bowght sowght for lawdacion;
To se cowght the ne wrought, full sor I musyde ;
Yet on drope, etc.
To se richis howe he gricchis, and pricchis for a penny;
To se poor for soccore lowre at every bowre;
To se payne remean, the compleane, and that mennye;
To se wittie in every cittie put pittie from his dore;
To se golde, faste in holde, trewely tolde every owre;
To se ned fayne fede, and cannote spede off sustentacion ;
To se them pante, that dothe not wante, but makys skant with operrowre
Yet on drope, etc.
To se quicke men ly as dede men, and non off them sterres not;
To se dede men waxe quicke, and fayne wold be awrokene ;
To se yes witheowt sight, and eares that hear note,
And yete can dissarne every thing done and spokene ;
Thes quicke men have knowledge, thus ytt dothe betoken,
And lyes dede as a dur nayle, and makis no relacion ;
Thes dede that waxe quicke ys yngnorance owt broken ;
Yet on drope off gode, etc.
But let the worlde worke, ffor they workes therin dothe showe,
Thoughe sum be blynde, yet all wannttes not ther syghte ;
Thoughe sum be lame, yet many on cane go;
Thoughe sum be deffe, yet sum wyll hear full lyghte ;
Thoughe sum be crippels, yet sum have ther lymmys ryghte ;
Thoughe sum fayne, yet sum youe se the fethfulle facion;
Thoughe som disdayne, yet sum with charitye ys dyghte ;
And on drope, etc.
Hite avoides desspetacione, I wyll tell youe howe;
A connyng man hopis connyng wyl be regardyde;
For lacke off intelligence, all cannote this alowe,
And a goode sarvaunte hopes for to be well rewardyde;
Froo many off thes thinges mens harttes be so hardyde,
Ytt ys no poynte nowe off thear delectacion,
When that aftar the sownde in ther years hathe reverberatyde ;
Yet on drope, etc.
Good hope goithe with comforte unto every degre,
Furste to men off landes he treaddes them untyll,
He whispars them in the year, and saythe,
"cum, followe me;
I hope in God," saythe he,
" ons to have my wyll;
Yf I myght by suche a purchace, then my car wolde kyll,
I hope I shall obtayn ytt to my consolacion ;
Then wyll I kepe a good howse, and me hit to fullfyll."
Thus on drope, etc.
" I hope," say the that favore Goddes worde in every towne,
" To se the byble and the testament regardyde a lyttell more.
" I hope," saythe the othar sorte, "to se them bothe layd downe;
I hope even to live as our fathars hathe done before."
This hope bringes every man unto deatthes dure,
And says,
" the tym ys cum off your mortifycacion."
Thus all men lyves in hoope, that hope shuld them restor;
For on drope, etc.
Thus he that hathe lyttell, hopes to have myche;
And he that ys in sorrowe, hopes to cum to joie;
And he that ys in povertye, hopes to be ryche;
And he that ys in trobble, hopes ytt shall awaye.
All men that be in dolowre hopes off a myrry daye;
The that be in sicknes or have any vexsacion,
Hopes to have helthe and be clean owt off decaye ;
Thus on drope, etc.
Nowe what that hoope ys, nowe off all to showe youe sum,
Marke my sayng well, and youe shall fynd nothing mor treware ;
Hope ys a sur confidens off thinges that ys to cum,
Hevenly or yerthly as your harttes ys set in ure.
Therfor let us hope and truste in that we knowe ys sur,
That ys the joyes off heaven, be the merittes off Cristes passion,
Eternally to remayne whear all joye dothe indure;
Tayk ever a drope off this hope, and hit avoiddes dessperacion.


Lyrics:
Considerynge the great goodnes off Gode, full off myght,
That mayd heaven and yerthe and all in six days ;
He mayd mane to his lycknes and simylytude in syght,
To the natur off the elementtes, so Macracosme says;
When off them abowndes or incresis anyways,
Then ys the bodye off man off a ffeble dysposicion ;
Therfor Gode hathe ordaynde comforte unto his glory and prays,
That we shuld seeke to have remodyo off sum good phisicione.
Gode hathe gyvyne us, off his abundaunte grace,
Vertu in all erbbes to heale and to cure
Mans corporall bodye in the interior place,
And off worldly surgions to have it in urc.
All that, I grawnnte youe, ys both juste and sure ;
God hathe ordanyde this for mannes tuicion ;
Owre corporall bodye to dense and make pure,
We shulde seyke to have remodye off sum good phisicione.
All youe that seikys remodye your mortall lyvys to save,
Take part offe my cownsell, leste youe be oversene,
Provyd not remodye youre mortall bodyes to save,
Your sollys beynge spottede, corrupte, and unclen-
I drede ther be many in this world, I wen,
So that the may avoyde bodyly perdycion,
Passys not thoughe ther sollys be in tene,
The syke not but for the worldly phisition.
Worldly pliisicions at the lenght shall the fayle,
Therfor God hath commandyde the firste off all
To tayke thes medsons shall beste preveyle,
For hevenly phisick to hyme thowe muste call,
To have gostlye comforte for bodye and for soil ;
Thus many holy doctors hathe mayde exposicion,
He mynnistrithe his mercy to the world over all,
That seikythe to have remodye off the hevenly physicion.
When thow art dyssesyde or sycke at thyne harte
With gostly sycknes, by worldly delectacion,
Then lyfte upe thy handdes, and do thy selffe revarte,
That the hevenly phisicion on the may tak compasion,
To mynistar a medsone for thy gostly consolacion;
For yf thowe continewe styll in that condicion,
Hit wyll brede a dysseys whiche is callyd dessperacior ;
That ys oncurable but for the hevenly phisition.
Therfor take hede hit do not the dyspleys,
Be rulyde be my and thowe canste never myse;
Looke in thy watar, and thowe shalte knowe thy dysses,
This wattar that I men thyn owen consience ys.
Serche thyne owene concience, remember well this,
And ther shalte thowe se the roote off mallicion ;
Whote commythe offe thy selffe but wyckednes ye wis,
Withowt mynnistringe off the hevenly phisition.
The great phisicion in the hevenly mancions
Commaundythe the, whyleste thow hast tym and space,
Thowe shuldyste locke in thy watar that ys callyd thy conscience,
And se howe hite standythe with the in every cace.
And yff thowe be infecte, dyssesyde, or brought bace,
To the heye master off phisyk make thowe coungnicion,
And aske of hime an earbe which ys callyde erbe grace ;
For thowe caneste not have yt, but on the hevenly phisicion.
And when this erbe grace wyll sown in thyne harte,
Thus many holye docters that be mynnistars now saythe,
A branche owt off him ther shall cum and starte
Which bearith a floware, and that ys callyd faythe.
This floware bryngith forthe a seed that many dyssesys staith,
Which ys callyde good workkes, that ys off great fruicion ;
And this worlde ys the place wher man this sed leathe ;
And all this commis from our hevenly phisicion.
Grace ys a preparatyve for this purgacion,
Our hard harttes to molyfye, hit cannote be refusyde ;
Though Criste hath purgyde us by the merittes of his passion,
Yet, yf thowe want grace, thy deeddis shal be accusyde.
Look wher grace ys mynistrede, nothing ys ther abusyde ;
Lete no man presumme of Goddes highe promission,
This erbe callyde vertue continewallye muste be usyde;
And all this we muste have off our hevenly phisicion.
There ys a parleus dysseys that ys callyde pryde,
The root and begynner off all othar syknes ;
When thowe art dyssesyde with hyme at any tyde, .
Us to take an earbe ys callyde umble mecknes;
To be jentyll and lowly yt ys a goodly lycknes.
Take hede and be ware by this lyttell monicion ;
For fear yt be peanfull, and do abate thy quicknes,
Sek to have remedy off the hevenly phisicion.
For all gostly dyssesis that in mans body bredys,
Our hevenly phisicione hathe preparide this ordinance ;
Agenste covetusnes, compassion, and all mysdeddes;
Agenste envye and wrathe use charity e and sufferaunce;
Agenste slothe, bucines, labore, with attendaunce;
For every sore a salve, and all to avoyd punicion;
Agenste glotinye, measur, tyme, and temperaunce ;
And all this we muste have off our hevenly phisicion.
Agenste the fowll synne off lecherye, that doth man sor oppres,
We muste prepare a medsone for him in lyk cace ;
Agenste flessly luste use chastitye and clennes;
But thow canste not have this, excepte thow have erbe grace.
Desyre firste off all that thowe mayste yt imbrace,
To use from above yt commys, be Goddes permission ;
And all that dessyars this medysone to purchace
Shall obtayne yt off the hevenly phisicion.
When we ar dyssesyde or sycke at any tyde,
Marke howe glade and fayne we ar remodye to have ;
To the worldly phisicions we do both go and ryde,
Moche more oughte we to be glade our sollys for to save.
For hevenly phisyke in tym let use crave.
So that in our concience be fownde no supersticion ;
For when we be deede, and ons layde in grave,
Yt ys to lat to call the hevenly phisicion.
Therfor whyllyste that we here in this world doth remeane,
Let use syk to have sum remedy or deth uppone use steyle,
For drede leste we be dreven to perpetuall payn,
Becaus we seek for nothyng but to have worldly weyll.
Our hevenly phisicion so favorable doth deyle,
He byddes us wasshe our selves with the water off contricion ;
Then shall we dwell with him, and have everlastyng heile ;
Therfor honer, lawdes, and prysis be given to the hevenly phisicion.


Title:
An epithe off the dethe off the ryghte honorable lady Margrete countes off Darbe

Lyrics:
O Latham, Latham ! thowe maste lamente, for thowe haste loste a floware,


Tags:
Confessional, Religious, Social Criticism, Moral

Lyrics:
Slepyng in my bede, even this othar nyghte,
Whear I was layde throughe Morplius,
A voice me awakayde and sum deyle afrighte,
Of Davithe the prophete me semyde thus,
Quomodo bonus Isseraell, he sayde, Deus
Unto all piple that nowe be and was,
Howe be hit thowe seiste that the injurious
Qui obtinuerunte deviciase.
Exse peccatores, behold, sayde he,
In every place whear thowe ryde or go
The be naor estimede and mor set by
Then be the othar with frend and foye ;
Musse not thearat, God sufferithe yt so,
And wyllith his ffrenddes to be as he was,
Content withe a littell, so wyll not thoo
Qui obtinuerunte devicias.
But blessyde be the poor, that content be
With small sufficiente be truthe cum by ;
Abundances so namithe not he
That gettes ther goodes be userye,
And be such lyke othar poleci,
His neabor disseving off that he has ;
And so iche owar with perjurye
Qui obtinuerunte devicias.
A wrach, a lorden, off linage bace,
Crokyde, comberous, blear-yede, halt or lam,
That carithe not howe his good that he has,
So that he may cum by the sam,
In towne and cittie ys callyde be nam
A worshipfull man, and in suche cace
After ther mynddes all mattars shall frame
Qui obtinuerunte devicias.


Lyrics:
My fancie did I fix
In faithfull forme and frame,
In hope there should no bloustringe blast
Have power to move the same ;
And as the godes do knowe and world can witnesse bere,
I never served other saynt nor idole other where.


Lyrics:
I rede howe that the marbell stone
Throwgholed ys by rany dropps,
That oft dothe fall and drop thereon
From lofty sydes of hyghe housetops.
It ys not strengthe that hathe so wrawght,
With water softe suche holes to make;
The are the dropps that fall downe oft,
Which force the stone a hole to take.
So ye, my teres and prayers, oft
May perce my loves most stony hart,
And make her love to be more soft
Unto her owene, that may not start.
What ! bytter teares ne my servyce,
Ne prayers sweete, may her love gayne ;
Yet hart with them who joyned ys
May force her love for to obtayne.
Then marche yowe forthe, my souldiers stowte,
And lustely yower selves do rank,
Do yowe a rynge nowe cast abowt
The schylfuller to play yower prank.
My hart shall be yower captayne suer,
That shall yowe stand as stayed guyde,
For to downe raze the hyest tower
Of rampiers that ower force abyde.
Marche yowe, my eyse, the scowtes be ye,
For to dyscry hsr bytter band ;
Yf ye perchaunce dyscovered be
Calyverynge her nere at hand,
Seek yow to gayne the mowntayns hyghe,
As may in neede yowe so defend,
As overthwart yower shot may flyghe
To her that ys my hunny frend.
Aryse, brave voyse, do thowe advaunce,
In trumpet wyse thy self owt sownd,
And courage geeve to spere and lawnce
Thy enymyse to shok to grownde.
If that desyre dyd ever geeve
Thee strengthe agaynst thyne enymy,
The foreward take the to relyve
Of thy most wofull mysery.
Let men under thy banners vewe
In ordered rank thy prayers stand;
Thy smoky syghs, thy paled hewe,
The pallsey that doethe shake thy hand ;
Thy pynynge thawghts, thy carefull care,
The langwor freshe, the gaspynge lyffe,
The dyynge fyts that are not rare,
With envy, hate, and dedly stryffe.
The mene battell I do assyghne
To hope, armed with constancy ;
And sure stay, with trowpe devyne,
The generall shall of horsmen be ;
He on the whynges of footemen shall
Sure trowped be in myghty square,
And faythfull truthe the coronall
Of footmen that be very rare.
My body to the rereward
Shall hym employe, as place most meete,
Where he hys lyff shall then hazard
To dy at mysterys pretty feete.
For I had rather chuse to dye,
And yeeld my self to my sweete fo,
Then thus to pyne in mysery,
My hart in care and grypynge wo.
My gallant lads, with wepons stand,
In flamynge armes glystrynge lyke sun,
Ahe ! waverynge trowpe, ahe ! lusty band,
I see I have yower currage woon.
These wyllynge harts, reddy to fyght
For master dere that am to them,
Declares there wyll to say there myght,
Which shewese them to be warlyk men.
I see them rage muche lyke a storm,
There harts and currage be so grete ;
The do not looke as the woold moorn,
But to my mystrys shake there threte ;
Who withowte strok doethe me oppres,
Holdynge my lyff and yeek my brethe ;
For yt ys she whom I dowbtles
Offendyd have, most worthy dethe.
Ah ! my good God, let us abyde,
It ys not teares that lesson can
Those boylynge flames which from me slyde,
Tormentynge me, unhappy man.
I am her slave, her traytor bothe,
That thus agaynst her dyd rebell;
Hathe she not cawse for to be wrothe,
And towards me to be crwell?
A rashe attempt, a fleetynge brayne,
A enterpryse most hard and fand ;
What washpyshe hete dyd in the rayghne?
Her goolden beernes wooldest thowe withstand ?
The meche of thy most burnynge hete
More kyndled ys by thys thy deede ;
The glowynge flames wyll so the frete,
That of her help thowe shalt not neede.
Therfore in tyme unto her hye,
And to her grace thyself submyt ;
For nowe a tyme thowe mayst espye
That she wyll all thy faltes remyt.
More fyt yt ys my self to yeelde
To her that ys my mistress dere,
Then trayterowsly to stand in fyelde,
And afterwards cum prysoner.
Behold yower slave, my lady feare ;
Behoulde hys fyeld, hys sole, liys hart,
Before yowe stand in tremblynge feare,
Humbly prayinge yower ire convert;
Into yower hands I me betake,
Correct me nowe as yowe see cawse ;
For I wyll never yowe forsake,
Thowghe I be rent with lyons pawse.
And I do crave even at yower hand,
Yf that yt stand with yower honer,
As gage I may for my poore band
Kemayne with yowe yower prysoner.
So shall my army clap there hands,
In yeldynge pardon unto them,
And say,
"lo, yonder mercy stands,
Who hathe forgeeven us poore men."
Yf, in recevynge my request,
Yowe do me gyve in yower sweet bands,
Good keeper, graunt to me at lest
I may fynde favor at yower hands,
Suche as yower face doethe promys me ;
ffor there suche pytty flowynge ys,
As makes me to yowe captyve be,
To lyve in suche a lastynge blysse.


Lyrics:
Lenton stuff ys cum to the towne,
The clensynge weeke cums quiklye,
You knowe well inowghe you must kneele downe ;
Cum on, take asshes trykly,
That nether are good fleshe nor fyshe,
But dyp with Judas in the dyshe,
And keepe a rowte not woorthe a ryshe.
Herrynge, herrynge, whyte and red,
Seeke owt suche as be rotten;
Thowghe sum be hanged, and sum be dede,
And sum be yet forgotten,
The tyme wyll cum the displynge rod,
Thowghe idolls dum make many od,
Wyll fyrk owt som that feare not God.
Walflet oysters, salt and greene,
Are trym metes to be eaten ;
Trusty subjects to there queene
Neede never to be beten.
And a sallet, sure as God, exceedes,
And must procure dysgestion needes,
Thats pyct so pure yt hathe no weedes.
Lylly whyte muskells have no peere,
The fyshewyves fetche them quyklye ;
So he that hathe a consciens cleere
May stand to hys takkell tryklye.
But he that seekese te set to sale
Suche baggage as ys olde and stale,
He ys lyke to tell another tale.
Newe place, newe, at every tyde,
Thys ys the common cravynge ;
In every place let them be tryde,
That are of yll behavynge.
For suche as of beyond say smell,
The cum to far to savor well,
As I here the common people tell.
Carp is cownted verry good,
A trym fyshe and a dayntye ;
But yf yt smell one of the mud,
Whole geeve a grawte for twenty?
So suche as carp at every thynge,
Whereof no good accord doethe sprynge,
To the carren crowes there carkas flynge.
Goodgyns make a goodly dyshe
For suche chees as be syklye;
And as yt ys a foolyshe fyshe,
And wyll be taken quyklye,
So many a goodgyn nowe adayse
Is cawght and coseynd sundry wayse,
To make a foole at all assayse.
And as thys lent tyme many seekes
For yerbs and sallets dayntye,
I never in my lyf sawe lyekes
In every place so plentye.
For every man lykes what he lust,
And as he lykes he puts hys trust,
So fewe or non belyke be just.
Of nettells lykwyse there be store
In sallets at thys season ;
' For men be nettled more and more,
With palltryse passynge reson ;
And sum uppon a nettell pysse,
That see not where the nettell ys ;
And many a on fynds fault at thys.
Fygs, thowghe fewe com owt of Spayne,
Thys Lent tyme are grete plentye,
There ys suche discord and dysdayne,
That fygs can not be deynty.
For " a fyg for yow," sayth John to Jone;
And " a fyg for thee," saythe man to man ;
And " a fyg for yowe all, do what yow can."
Seasons grete and reasons small,
Undoubted a grete meanye,
Have byn thys Lent at Westmister Hall,
And sold for many a penny.
And nowe to London be the cum,
To the burs, I thynk, to talk with sum ;
For deynty mouthes wyll not be donne.
Pepper ys come to a marvelus pryce.
Som say, tliys Lenton season;
And every body that ys wyse
May soon perceve the reson.
For every man takes pepper ithe nose,
For the waggynge of a strawe, God knowse,
With every waverynge wynd that blowese.
With mace I mene to make an end,
For after pepper lyghtly
The maces many men do send,
That glyster fayre and bryghtlye.
And he that meetethe with that mace,
Is sure to have a restynge place,
Tyll the law and he have tryde the case.
Then Jake-a-lent comes justlynge in,
With the hedpeece of a herynge,
And saythe,
"repent yowe of yower syn,
For shame, syrs, leve yower swerynge."
And to Palme Sonday doethe he ryde,
With sprots and herryngs by hys syde,
And makes an end of Lenton tyde.


Lyrics:
My Kebbell sweete, in whom I trust,
Have now respect and do not fayle
Thy faythfull frend, who ys most just,
And shall not in hys frendshyp quayle,
But prove hym self as just and true
As ever sowthe was fownd in yow.
For fleetynge tyme, nor wastfull swoord,
Nor tawntynge gyrds, sawtred in art,
Shall make me to forgo my woord,
Nor from my faythfull frend astart ;
But wyll be fownd as tryed gowlde,
As frendlynes requyrs yt showlde.
Thy tender hart to gentell kynde
Dothe show what rase ingendred thee ;
A nobell hart in the I fynd,
Which makes me to thy wyll agre,
And ever wyll and ever shall,
Thowghe I showld dwell in lastyng thrall.
Lothsom dysdayn dothe swell to se,
And ragyng ire dothe boyle allso,
For sowthe trew faythe grounded to be
In harts dwellynge on yerthe below,
Wher the do thynk that hydden guylle
Dothe trap men with his subtyl wylle.
I woowld I had the nymbell wynges
Of mylk-whyte dove that clyps in schye,
In fethers then I woold be clad,
To mownt over the mowntaynes hye,
And lyght on the I woold be bolde,
That kepethe fast my hart in howlde.


Tune:
Fain Wold I Have Some Pretty Thing to Give Unto My Lady

Lyrics:
When Troylus dwelt in Troy towne,
A man of nobell fame a,
He schemed all that loved the lyne
That longd to merry game a.
He thowght his hart so overthwart,
His wysdom was so suer a,
That nature could not frame by art
A bewty hym to lure a.
Tyll at the last he cam to churche
Where Oressyd sat and prayed a,
Whose lookes gave Troylus such a lurche,
Hys hart was all dysmayde a.
And beynge wrap in bewtyse bands,
In thorny thawghts dyd wander,
Desyrynge help of hys extreemes
Of her dere unkell Pandare.
2 c 2
196 SONGS AND BALLADS.
When Pandar dyd perceve the payne
That Troylus dyd endure a,
He fownde the mene to lurch agayne
The hart which Troylus lured.
And to hys neece he dyd commend
The state of Troylus then a ;
"Wyll yow kyll Troylus ? God defend !
He ys a nobell man a."
With that went Troylus to the fyld,
With many a lusty thwake a,
With bluddy steed and battred sheeld,
To put the Grecians bak a.
And whyle that Cressyd dyd remayne,
And sat in Pandares place a,
Poore Troylus spared for no rayne
To wyn hys ladyse grace a.
Yet boldly thowgh he cowld the waye
The spere and sheeld to breke a,
When he came where hys lady lay,
He had no power to speke a.
But, humbly kneelynge on hys knee,
With syghes dyd love unfolde a ;
Her nyght gowne then delyvered she
To keepe hym from the colde a.
" For shame' quoth Pandar to hys neece,
" I spek yt for no harme a,
Of yower good bed spare hym a peece,
To keepe hys body warme a."
With that went Troylus to her bed,
With tremblynge foote, God wot a ;
I not remembrynge what the dyd,
To fynysh love or not a.
Then Pandare lyke a wyly pye,
That cowld the matter handell,
Stept to the tabell by and by,
And forthe he blewe the candell.
Then Cressyd she began to scryke, .
And Pandare gan to brawle a,
"Why, neece, I never sawe yower lyk,
Wyll yow now shame us all a?"
Away went Pandare by and by,
Tyll mornynge came agayne a;
"Godday, my neece," quoth Pandare,
" le."
But Cressyd smyled then a.
" In faythe, old unkell," then quoth she,
" Yow are a frend to trust a."
Then Troylus lawghed, and wat yow why?
For he had what he lust a.
Allthowghe there love, began so coye,
As lovers can yt make a,
The harder won, the greter joy;
And so I dyd awake a.


Lyrics:
Wysdom woold I wyshe to have,
As Salamon requyred,
When God appoynted hym to crave
Whatsoever hys hart desyred.
Whereuppon, very well,
Salamon in Israeli.
In every dowbt and jeoperdy
When justyce cam to delynge,
Cowld serche and shyfte by subtylty
Of every pak and pealynge.
Whereuppon, etc.
In hys tyme, as trubbells fell,
With many dowbtfull cases,
Too nawghty packs in Israeli
Eche other there owtfaces;
Saynge thys to the kynge,
Judge for us a dowbtfull thynge.
We wemen bothe wer harbored
In won poore howse together,
And eche of us delyvered
Of chyld sens we cam hyther ;
Wheruppon, etc.
And non cam in the howse but we,
Wlierof ower greef now growethe,
That we are coome, o kynge, to thee
To tell how the matter goethe."
" Nobell kjnge," quothe the won,
" Here the thjnge that I do mone.
Thys womans chyld was smothered,
And whylst that I was sleepynge,
The ded chyld hathe delyvered,
And left yt in my keepynge."
Wheruppon, whylst the strave,
Whether of them the chyld showlde have.
Then Salamon dyd call a man
To brynge a sharp swoord lyghtly,
To cleeve the lyve chylde quykly then
In half betweene them ryghtly.
Otherwyse cowld not he
Well devyse them to gree.
With that the on full heddely,
Whose cruell hart consented,
Made answer verry redyly
That she was well contented.
Wheruppon, verry, etc.
The other kneelynge on her knee,
Besawght the kynge, sore weepynge,
To save the chyld, and rather she
Showld have yt in her keepynge.
Then the kynge stayde the bio we,
Answerynge her pyty so.
" No dowbt she ys the mother dere,
Geeve her the lyve chyld quykly."
And all the peopell every where
Dyd lyke the judgment tryklye.
Whereuppon, etc.


Lyrics:
On tyme I layde me downe to rest,
On slumbrynge sleepe I felle,
Me thawght I saw her cum to me
Whom I had loved well.
And as I musynge thus do lye,
That sleepe inclosde myne eye,
Then strayte way to the dore she came,
And shut yt by and by.
Then bold was she to stand by me
With myrthe and merry chere,
She vewde the chaumber rownd abowte,
She saw the cost was cleare.
Me thawght I sawe her blushe was red,
As red as any rose;
And when she sawe howe nakte I laye,
She covered me with clothes.
Save won part that she dyd leve bare,
Her cherry lypps to staye ;
The nyght I past so plesawntly,
I forced not for daye.
In chyrpynge wyse she can then frame
Her shryll and plesawnt voyse ;
The brute bests which in forest dwell
To here her woold rejoyse.


Lyrics:
Wemen to prayse who takes in hand,
A number must displayse ;
But who so dothe most dysprayse
Dothe most lyve at there ese.
Wherat I muse and marvell muche,
And shall do tyll I dye ;
And yf yow thynk I say not true,
Ax them and yf I ly.
And when there husbands be from whome,
Then wyll the spyn and card;
The wyll not gossyp nor go gay,
But then the fare full hard.
The ryse betyme, the ly downe late,
The labor ernestly,
To save a peny or a grawte ;
Ax them and yf I lye.
And yf her husband chawnce to chyde,
She geeves hym not a woorde ;
And yf he fyght, ,she answers hym
No more then dothe a bord.
But owt she goethe abowte her woork,
And takes all quyetly,
Except she crowne hym with a stoole ;
Ax them and yf I ly.
Or els her ten commandements
She fastens on hys face,
That from hys cheeks downe to hys chyn
A man may se eche race.
The goodman then must were a clowte,
The goodwyff she wyll dye,
Her husbands hurt so hevyly
She takes, or 'els I ly.
That to hys bed she wyll not coom,
Or with hym wyll be greede,
Except she have a petycote,
Or els som other weede.
And when she with her gosshypes meets
She tels them by and by
How she her husband handled hathe;
Ax them and yf I lye.
" Well doen, good gossyp !
"sayth the on,
" Yower practyse wyll we prayse."
" I drynk to yow for yower good deede,"
The second gossyp sayse.
And then to put the same in ure
Makes promys by and by,
Which the perform all to there power;
Ax them and if I ly.
Good wyves, ofjuddgment I yow pray,
Yower vardyd let us here ;
Yf all be fals or all be true,
By yowe yt must appere.
How ever tliat the matter stand,
The truthe yow must dysckry,
Or els yt ys not possybell
To knowe and yf I lye.


Lyrics:
When woman fyrst dame nature wrought,
" All good," quod she,"
" non shall be nowght;
All wyse shall be, non shall be fooles;
For wyt shall sprynge from womens skooles.
In all good gyfts she shall excell,
There goodnes all no tounge can tell."
Thot thys ys true afryrm dare I,
I pray yow aske them yf I lye.
All huswyfry in them ys scene,
Lord, how the keepe there howses clene !
There only care ys how to plese
There husbands, and to seek hys ease.
The weepe to se there husband sad,
The lawghe and smyle to se hym glad.
That this is true, etc.
Not on that seekes her lovers payne,
Hys plesure ys her chefest gayne;
So muche the do withstand there wyll,
That all there thawght ys free from yll.
Clene clothes the were, but wot yow why ?
Only to plese there husbands eye.
That thys ys true, etc.
Yf grace were gon, non cowld yt fynd,
Unles yt were in womankynd;
The are so true of woord and deede,
Yow may beleeve them as yower creede.
The never chyd, unles the be
Constraynd to muche by crueltye.
That thys ys, etc.
Noe man, I thynk, could ever fynde
A woman yet to be unkynd ;
Nay, rather wyll they dye the dethe,
Then wons to seek to breke there faythe.
For one true lover of mankynd,
A thowsand women shall yow fynde.
That thys ys, etc.
There faythe and trothe hathe ever byn
So grete that prayse thereby the wyn;
There goodly manners and there lyves
Enforcethe men to take there wyves.
On them to lyghte whose chaunce yt ys,
May thynk he hathe a parfecte blysse.
That thys ys, etc.
Sythe nature gave thys gyft to them,
Why showld I not extoll them all?
Not gods nor nature yet can showe
There goodnes all, that I do knowe;
For nawght in them dothe sprynge or growe,
But goodnes styll from top to toe.
I say no more, but wot yow why ?
Me thynks I make to grete lye.


Lyrics:
My hart is lened on the land, in langer of my ladye deare ;
My body on the se saland wythe sowrefull hart and syghinge sere ;
I so sycke, make my bede, I wyll dye nowe.
I see no thynge but balyngeyr wheare I had wont under the wande
Blythelye to heare the byrdys beyr, my heart ys lened on the land.
I so sycke, make my bede, I wyll dye nowe.
I se no thyng to comfort me, but aye to syghe and be salande,
While I be lodged under the lyne, my hart ys lened on the land ;
I so sycke, make my bede, I wyll dye nowe.
At mydnyght ys my mornynge most, whan that my mynde remeves me,
And all the daye the drerest that ever sayled on the see.
I so sycke, make my bed, I wyll dye nowe.
Fare well haukynge and huntynge bothe ;
Fare well game, solace, and gle;
Fare well, my ladye, fayre of face,
I wene I wyll the never more se.
I so sycke, make my bed. I will dye nowe.
Fare well, castell, towne, and tower;
Fare well, gardene that ys gren ;
Fare well, hale, chambere, and bowre,
For I may not byde wheare I have bene.
I so sycke, make my bed, I wyll dye nowe.
Fare well, woodes wyld, I wene ;
Fare well, frythe and forest fre;
Fare well, my lusty lady shyne,
Thus pas I syghinge over the see.
I so sycke, make my bed, I wyll dye nowe.
Thus pas I syghinge over the se,
In langer of my ladye swete ;
Lord God wan wyll my douloure be,
when shall I my true love mete?
I so sycke, make mybede, I wyll dye nowe.
Whan I beheld the wales weight,
In douloure I am lyke to dye;
Than all my myrthe ys turned to greefe,
Thus passe I syghinge over the se.
I so sycke, make my bed, I wyll dye nowe.
That beny burd gart brefe a byll,
And sende yt so farr over the see ;
Hartelye I commende me hyr untyll,
So soberlye she sayde to me.
I so sycke, make my bed, I wyll dye nowe.
" Man, of thy barret thou let be,
My hart ys locked in thy bande ;
Wytht the upon the se saland,
Geve thyne belevyd on the land."
I so sycke, make my bed, I will dye nowe.


Lyrics:
Adew, my pretty pussy,
Yow pynche me very nere ;
Yowre sudden parture thus
Hath chawnged much my chere.
But turn agayne, and bas me,
For yf that yow pas me,
A better grownd shall gras me,
Untyll another yere.
Thowghe yow make yt daynty,
Wemen wyll be plenty,
When won man shall have twenty,
There wyll be bownsynge chere.
Prynce Arthur cums agayne, sir,
So tellethe me myne host ;
Dick Swashe keepes Salesbury plane, syr,
And schowrethe styll the cost.
But Jayne wyll jest no more, syr;
Tyb was borde before ;
Kate she keepes the schore, syr,
And schores yt on the post.
Talk of other knaks, syr,
Fyll no empty saks, syr,
Put no fyre to flax, syr,
Lest all youre gaynes be lost.
The market wyll be mard, syr,
Yf corn and cattell faule ;
The syt but at reward, syr,
That sarve in slovens haull.
But pres amunghst the best, syr ;
Smell owt every fest, syr;
Shrynke not for a jest, syr ;
Stand up and take no fawle.
For he that fumes and frets, syr,
Syldom payse hys dets, syr;
Smaull gaynes myne ostys gets, syr,
When cards are cownted all.
My pretty wenche dothe smyle, syr,
To here me tell thys tale;
I wowld ryde many a myle, syr,
To carry suche a male.
For she can syt asyde, syr,
Lyke a vyckars bryde, syr,
With all her poynts untyde, syr,
When she hathe in her ale.
But when she cums in place, syr,
Then she hydes her face, syr;
Thys ys all her grace, syr,
When her ale she sets to sell.
The peopell talk and prate, syr,
Of pus and her short lyfF;
And of her mariage late, syr,
Men say there ys grete stryfF.
But the gyrld ys gon, syr,
With a chokynge bon, syr;
For she hathe got her John, syr,
And ys ower vyckars wyff.
This ys no less in deede, syr,
Then holy churche dothe breede ;
Suche serves at neede, syr,
To whet a blunted knyff.
Syns pus wyll part from me, syr,
And do me thus muche wronge ;
Chyll have as good as she, syr,
Before that yt be longe.
Pus ys not contented,
Full oft she hathe repented
That ever she consented,
And thynks she hathe gret wronge.
But cowrtyers can not carve,
Except the tyme dothe serve, syr;
Thowghe thys be overthwart, syr,
Remember me amunge.


Lyrics:
At bewtyse bar, where I dyd stand,
When fals suspect accused me,
"Jeoge," quothe the judge,
'' howld up thy hand,
Thow art accused of flattery ;
Tell, therfore, how thow wylt be tryde.
And eke whose judgment thow wylt abyde."
" My lord," quothe he,
"thys lady fayre,
Whom I esteem abowve the rest,
Dothe knowe my gylt, yf any were,
Wherfore her doome I lyke of best.
Let her be judge and jury bothe,
To me gyltles by her othe."
Then of rjglit the cryer caulde a quest,
And falshood was the formost pier;
A pak of pykthanks were the rest,
That came fals wytnes for to bere;
Craft was the clark, the judge unjust,
That sentens gave I shud be trust.
Then Jelus the jayler bownd me fast,
And showed the verdyd of my bill.
"Goorge," quothe the judge, "now thow art cast,
Thow must go hens to hevy hyll,
There to he hanged by the hed ;
God rest thy sole when thow art dead !"
Then downe I fell uppon my kne,
All flat before dame bewtyse face,
And sayde,
"Fayre lady pardon me,
That now appele before yowre grace ;
For yf ever I were untrw,
Yt was in to muche praysynge yow."


Lyrics:
The prymerose in the greene forest,
The vyolets, the grow gaye,
The dubbell dayses with the rest
So merryly deks the waye,
To moove my sprytes through fond delyghts,
Lyke pretty wons as the be.
With hy !
The swecte record, the nytyngale,
The leveret and the thrushe,
Which whyps and skyps, and wages there teles,
From every bank to busshe,
And chyrpyngly do pas the day,
Lyke pretty wons as the be.
With hy !
Have over the water to Floryda,
Farewell, gay Lundon, nowe;
Throw long deles by land and sese,
I am brawght, I cannot tell howe,
To Plymwoorthe towne, in a thredbare gowne,
And mony never [a] dele.
With hy ! wunnot a wallet do well ?
When Aprell sylver showers so sweet
Can make May flowers to sprynge,
And every pretty bird prepars
Her wystlyng throte to synge,
The nyghtyngale in every dale
Then dothe her duty well.
With hy !
And as I walked towards poles,
I met a frend of myne
Who toke me by the hand and sayde
" Cum drynk a pynt of wyne ;
Wher yow shall here suche news, I fere,
As yow abrode wyll compell."
With hy !
" Have yow not hard of Floryda,
A coontre far be west?
Wher savage pepell planted are
By nature and by hest,
Who in the mold fynd glysterynge gold,
And yt for tryfels sell.
With hy !
Ye, all alonge the water syde,
Where yt dothe eb and flowe,
Are turkeyse found, and where also
Do perles in oysteres growe ;
And on the land do cedars stand,
Whose bewty do excell.
With hy tryksy trym, go tryksy, wunnot a wallet do well ?


Tags:
Political, Moral, Common Weal, Social Criticism,

Lyrics:
That this great ware may stay,
But nowe, be the way,
I must make a digression,
Accordyng to disscression.
Wher the ryche men mayd a darthe,
Gode hathe nowe blessyd the yerthe,
The which hathe brought abondance forthe.
To the pore mans relyffe,
And the farmers gret gryffe.
Yf it continewe longe,
Well a day I wyll be ther songe. 
Well, I hard off no harm,
For no man cold get a farm
Withowt a greyt fyne,
Which makys them nowe to whyn,
And ther bargins to repent,
For the can skantly pay ther rent.
The ryche, as trewe as crede,
Made a darthe withowt nede;
Therfor in veri dede,
God hath payd them ther mede.
But yet me thinkes I se
The pore unthankfull be ;
Which thing doth yl agre,
As hit apears to me.
The ryche men still be harde,
Ther devocion ys debarde;
The por the nought regarde,
I fear ther sollys be marde.
Yt ys pittie yet to se,
Howe the pore for honger dye.


Location of Bookshop:
Paul's Churchyard at the sign of the Star

Tags:
Topical, Historical, Social Criticism, Religious, other

Lyrics:
Remember well, o mortall man, to whom god geueth reason
How he truly most ryghtfully, doth alwayes punyshe treason.
COn&s;yderyng oft the state of man, and of this mort all lyfe
which is but short, and very ful of mutabylyte
I called to remembraunce, the hateful war and stryle
Which hath ben don within this realme thrugh gret iniquite
In clymyng to achyue the crowne, & reyal dingnyte
Of this kyngdome now called England, but somtyme greate bretain
And howe by false and ranke craycours, the kynges they haue ben slayne.

What moued the Duke of Glocester, Edwarde the fourthes brother
Of his two natural Neuewes, by lyneall dissent.
Sekyng of them distruction, and also of the queene their mother,
But that he the ryghtfull rayne of them, he falsely myght preuent
Styll workynge tyl he had brought to passe, his false and yll encent
by murtherynge the innocentes, that he him selfe myght raygne
Yet lyke a noughty false traytour, at Boseworth was he slayne.

He neuer rested tyll he had, made away his owne naturall brother
George the good duke of clarence, that noble prince truly
Causyng the kynge to graunt therto, for it wolde be none other
For which wycked fact sone afterwarde, the kynge was ryght sory
That in a but of Malmesey, the man was forst to dye
Within the towre aswel was knowen, the story is ryght playne
Yet at the last this ranke traytour, at bose worth was he slayne.

 He ekesle we with a short dagger, that mylde Henry the sext
Remaynynge in the towre vntyl, his lyfe he did there end
That he to were the crowne therby, myght surely be the next
Thus to murther and false treason, he dyd him selfe extende
Vntyll suche tyme most ryghtfully, god brought him to his ende
Leuyng hym in tyranny, no lenger for to raygne
But at the last for his desartes, at Boseworth was he slayne.

Lyke treasone to our last Henry, was wrought by haynous spyghe
By olde Hemson and by Dudley, as traytours most vntrue
At Rychemond was their full entent. to haue distroyd him quyght
That their malicious purpose, myght there forthwith ensue
But god out of this present lyfe, awaye them streyght he drue
Takyng their heades from their bodyes, which thyng is most certayne
So not vnlyke to false traytours, they both were iustly slayne

Yet many treasons mo were done. agaynst this noble kynge
By dyuers men of wyckednes, as is most euydent
But god alwayes of his goodnes, reueled their dowynge
So that theyr euyl deuysed thynges, he euer dyd preuent
That no myscheuous traytour could, obtayne his owne entent
But al theyr crafty false treasons, which deuelyshely they wrought
Were ryght sone serched out truly, and ryght sone brought to nought

But out alas the noughty sede, of traytours hath increased
And spronge vp very hastely, nowe in his sonnes dayes
Edwarde the syxt forsoth I meane, whom god hath now displaced
Which sought and mynded goddes glory, entendyng vertuous wayes
With him and his two vncles deare, they made dyuers assayes
Vntyll such tyme as they cought them, in theyr most crafty trayne
And so workyng most wyckedly, the ryghteous haue they slayne.

At last they dyd attempt agaynst, theyr lyege Lady and Queene:
Mary by the grace of god, of Englande and of Fraunce
And also ryght heyre of Irelande, most comly to be sene,
Whom the myghty lorde preserue, from all hurt and myschaunce
For she to ioyful godlynes. ledeth the parfect daunce
Whom god at her great nede doth helpe, workynge nothyng in vayyne
Subdueth to her, her enemies al, which wrought with dredful crayne:

When they forth went lyke men they were, most fearefull to beholde
Of force and eke of pusaunt power. they semed very stronge
In theyr attemptes also they were, both fearse and wonders bolde
If god wolde haue ben helper to such, as stryueth in the wronge
But at the last he helped vs, though we thought it ryght longe
The Nobles here proclaymed her queene, in voydyng of all blame
Wherfore prayse we the lorde aboue, and mangnyfie his name.

Which thyng was done the .xix. day, of this moneth of Iuly
The yere of God .xv. hundred fyfty addynge thre
In the Cytie of glad London, proclaymed most ioyfully
Where cappes and syluer plenteously, about the stretes dyd slye
The greatest ioy and most gladnes, that in this realme myght be
The trumpetres blewe vp all on hye, our Maries royall fame
Let vs therfore styll gloryfy, and prayse his holy name.

The nobles all consented than, together with one accorde
To go to Paules churche euery man, to gyue thankes vnto the lorde
Wheras they harde a songe of praise, as custome it hath bene
To rendre thankes to god alwayes, for the victorie of our queene.

Suche there was made in euery strete, as no man can expresse
In settyng forth wyne and plentie of meate: and fyers of much gladnes
Such myrth was made in euery place: as the lyke was neuer seene
That god had shewed on vs his grace: in geuyng a ryghtful queene

And where as he went forth full glad, as prince both stout and bolde
He came a traytourin full sad, with hart that myght be colde
The same whom al before dyd feare, and were in most subiection
The people wolde in peeces teare, yf they myght haue election.

The same for whom before they prayde, reuyled was and curste
And he that longe the swynge hath swayde, was now most vyle & worst
We se therfore the ouerthrowe, of al theyr wicked wayes
Howe wicked might is brought furlowe, to gods great Laude & prayse,

God saue the Queene.


Title:
A tragicall blast of the Papisticall trompette for maintenaunce of the Popes king dome in Englande.


Title:
A compendious dittie wherin the state of mans lyfe is briefely touchid

Lyrics:
NO wyght in this worlde that welthe can attayne,
Onelesse he beleue, that all is but vayne,
And looke howe it cometh, so leaue it to goe,
As tydes vse theyr tymes to ebbe and to floe.
This mucke on the molde, that men so desyre,
Doeth worke them much wo, and moueth them to ire.
With grefe it is gotte, with care it is kept,
With sorowe soone loste that longe hath ben rept.
And wo woorth that man, that fyrste dolue the molde,
To fynde out the myne of syluer and golde.
For whan it laie hyd, and to vs vnknowen,
Of strife and debate the sede was not sowen.
Than lyued men well, and helde theim content,
With meate, drinke, and clothe, without any reu[...].
Theyr houses but poore to shroude theim selues in:
For castelles and towres were than to begyn.
No towne had his wall, they feared 'to warre,
Nor cunemies hoste to seeke theim afarre.
So ledde they theyr lyues in quiete and reste,
Tyll hourde began hate from east vnto wefte.
And golde for to growe a lorde of great price,
Whiche chaunged the worlde from vertue to vice,
And tourned all thyng so farre from his kynde,
That howe it shoulde be, is worne out of mynde.
For rychesse beareth nowe the fame and the brute,
And onely the cause of all our pursute,
Whiche maketh amonge vs muche mischiefe to reigne,
And shall tyll we seeke the ryght waie ageyne,

Whan mariage was made for vertue and loue,
Than was no diuorse goddis knotte to remoue.
Whan iudges woulde suffre no brybes in their syght,
Their iudgement was than accordyng to ryght.
Whan prelates had not possessions nor rent,
Thei preached the trouthe, and truely thei went.
Whan men did not flatter for fauour nor mede,
Than kynges herd the trouth, & how the world yede.
And men vnto honour thorough vertue did tyse,
But all this is nowe tourned contrary wyse.
For money maketh all, and ruleth as a god,
Wiche ought not to be, for Christe it forbod,
And bad, that we shoulde take nothyng in hande,
But for the lordes loue and welthe of the lande.
And wylles vs full oft, that we shoulde refrayne
From wrastyng his will to make our owne gayne.
For couetous folke of euery astate,
As hardly shall entre within heuen gate
[...]
[...]
[...]
As though perfect blis[...] shoulde that waie arise.
But if thei wolde suffre to synke in their brest,
What trouble of mynde, what vnquiete rest,
What mischiefe, what hate this money doeth brynge,
Thei woulde not so toyle for so vyle a thyng,
For thei that haue muche, are euer in care,
Whiche waie to wyune, and howe for to spare.
Theyr slepes be vnsounde for feare of the theefe,
The losse of a litell doeth worke them muche greefe.

In sekyng their lacke thei want that the haue,
And subiecte to that whiche shoulde be their slaue.
Thei neuer doo knowe, whiles rychesse dooeth reigne,
A frende of effect from hym that dooeth feigne.
For flatterers seeke where fortune dooeth dwell,
And whan that she lowreth, thei bid theim farewell.
The poore doeth theim curse as ofte as thei want.
In hauyng so muche to make it so scant.
Their children sometymes doo wisshe theim in graue,
That thei myght possesse that rychesse thei haue.
And that whiche thei wyn with trauayle and stryfe,
Oftentymes (as we see) doeth coste theim their life.
Lo these bee the fruites that rychesse bryngeth foorth,
With many other mo, whiche be no more woorth.
For moneie is cause of murder and thefte,
Of batayle and bloudshed, whiche wold god wer left,
Of rauine, of wronge, of false wytuesse bearyng,
Of treason conspired, and eke of forswearyng.
And for to be shorte and knyt vp the knot,
Fe[...] [.] [...]eues at all that mo[...]e[...]e maketh not.
[.]it bee yll, whan it is abused,
[.]


As priestes shoulde not take promocions in hande,
To lyue at their ease lylie lordes of the lande,
But onely to feede goddis flocke with the trouthe,
To preache and to teache without any slouthe.
Nor folkes shulde not neede great rychesse to wynue,
But godly to lyue, and for to flee synne.
His will for to worke that is theyr soules helthe,
And than maie thei thynke, thei lyue in much welthe.
For in this vayue worlde that we be nowe in,
Is nothyng but misery, mischiefe, and syn,
Temptaciou, vntrouthe, contencion, and stryfe:
Than lette vs not sette by so vile a lyfe,
But lyfte vp our eyes, and looke thorough our faithe,
Beholdyng his mercies, that many tymes faithe,
The iuste men shall lyue by their good belefe,
And shall haue a place where can be no greefe,
But gladnesse and myrthe that none can amende,
Vnspeakable ioyes, whiche neuer shall ende,
With pleasures that passe all that we haue sought,
Fe[...]ters suche as can not be thought
[...]he place the[...] shall haue that [.]
[...]


Title:
The purgacion of the ryght honourable lord Wentworth, concerning the crime layde to his charge, made the. x. of Ianuarie. Anno. M. D. L. viii.

Lyrics:
ALas where is the man,
that liueth and doth not rue:
To see how falsely I am charged,
with thinges that be vntrue.

My seruice true is knowen,
howe ready I haue bene:
Both with my body and my goodes,
to serue the Kyng and Quene:

And yet some haue deuisde,
to [.]charge me with vntruth:
which euermore hath bene my shielde,
euen from my very youth.

Alas to what intent,
all eyes maye easely see:
That theyr deuise and practise is,
to make an ende of mee.

Alas they seeke my lyfe,
and not for my desertes:
But by consent of wycked men,
which haue vngodly hartes.

Suche haue conspired my death,
as nowe euen so beforne:
That I may say wo woorth the tyme,
that euer they were borne.

Alas there is no man,
more innocent then I.
And yet the wicked seeke my lyfe,
and know no iust cause why.

For there is not a man,
that lyueth and hath breath:
Can iustly say for my vntrothe,
that I am worthy death.

Though they say what they please,
as they can wel deuise:
Yet all theyr trauell in this thyng,
is knowen to be but lyes.

Alas what hartes haue they,
that cannot lyue content:
Tyll they haue spoyled the lyfe of hym,
that is an innocent.

As touching the sayde cryme.
or any parte therein:
I doo protest for verye thought,
that I am voyde of synne.

But thys wyll not suffise,
to mitigate theyr yre:
Nor nothing els that can be sayde,
wyll pease theyr long desyre.

Yet shall my truthe appeare,
whych they would fayne conceale:
And my obedience to the crowne,
and to the common weale.

Though truth be now subiect,
vnto a frowarde wyll:
Yet shall it euermore appeare,
I neuer ment no yll.

Eyther vnto my Prince,
to whom I am most bounde:
Nor yet vnto the common weale,
but it must needes be founde.

Wherefore I saye alas,
bewaylyng my estate:
A noble pere, a subiect true,
rewarded thus with hate.

And thus I make an ende,
wyth woordes that be vnfaynde:
Though I am nowe a prysoner,
my truth cannot be staynde.

God keepe our noble Queene,
God prosper her intent:
God shorten all her enmies dayes,
or graunt them to repent.

Thys is the wyshed daye,
to see her in this place:
God graunt vs true obedience.
vnto her noble grace.


Title:
Of misrules contending / with gods worde by name. And then / of ones Iudgment / that heard of the same.

Lyrics:
I Heare saie, that some saye, ther chaunsed of late
Betwene one madmisrule, & goddes word great hate
The cause of there out fall (as some saye) is this
By here saye, I harde it, now marke what it is

This misrule, was moued, and madde in his mynde
That goddes worde with great men, such grace shuld still finde
Wherby as an out caste he myght be reiecte
Thys some say, and here saye, to be the effecte.

But douting where all things, whyche some saye were ryght
Sith some saye, by here saye, a lye spred be myght
I sought, and harde some saye, they did it beholde
By whose wordes of credit, my doutes were resolued

But now to my purpose, agayne for to come
This misrule, through madnes, at last frynds had some
Of whome he gat comforte, as it maye well seme
His boldnes well wayed, who would not so deme.

And beyng in fauor, at laste well was he
That could vnto mysrule, from good order flee
Who lost not ther labor, as some saye for that
But were well estemed, and had, I harde what.

That gods worde muche lothing, could it not abyde
But stepped fourth boldly, and misrule defied
Wyshing from misrule, all men to refrayne
As from a thing noysome, to vile, and to vayne.

But misrule that hearyng, beganne for to starte
Lyke one that were vexed, and that to the harte
As it well aperethe, by his subtil shyft
Who so well can ponder, the truth of his dryft.

He knew well, he could not, goddes worde well withstond
To mete hym as men do, that fyght hand to hand
But sought his fetch farder, by couler to craue
And so vnder couler, goddes worde to depraue.

But now if in conscience, speake frely I maye
In mynde I digresse not, from that whyche some saye
If mysrule mayntayned be, and seke to ascend
In this casse I doute muche, but mark well the ende.

What regions to Ruyn, hath there not bene brought
Where misrule was chosen, and good rule vnsought
Weales publick full welthy, to nought brought it hath
For mysrule to myschiefe, must nedes be the path.

What caused gods wrath, all fleshe to distroye
Saue onely. Viii. Parsons, with olde father Noye
But for that this misrule, gods worde did deface
And moued that all men, misrule shuld imbrace.

In Sodom and Gomor, suche lyke stryffe began
Betwene this madde mysrule, and gods worde: but than
Could god longe abide it? When he in his fume
With sulphire and brimston, mysrule dyd consume.

His owne Iewish people, as ofte as they ranne
A maddyng with mysrule, wyth plages God beganne
To lerne vs that mysrule, he alwayes did hate
And yet (alas) se you? How he plaith chek mate.

By misrule the subiectes, be so far past grace
Theyr heddes and their rulers, they know not in place
But lyke to beastes brutall, with vngodly strife
As rebelles resyst wyll, wyth losse of their lyfe

What law is so strayt made, they feare not to breake
What threat can suche tounges stoppe, they feare not to speake
What doctrine can dryue them, to know what they be
What myschief may moue them, that onely they se.

What nede mo examples, then this our owne realme
To teach vs that mysrule, hath bene to extreame
In preasinge so proudly, to noble welfare
As some saye, so boldly, as it were Iack hare

And so, vnder couler, of space, and beware
To taunt at gods prechers, as muche as they dare
Sayeng, such passe not, by here saye to go
And preach in ther pulpittes, that thus some saye so.

Of some saye, and here say, this well tell I canne
That here say, and some say, the truth now and than
Of such, as both some saye, and here saye, dysdayne
Bycause that both here saye, and some saye, so playne.

But be it, that some saye, by here say a misse
And saye not (through here say) the truth as it is
Doth it therfore folow, for that thinge fourth brought
That al thinges whyche some say, therfore shuld be nought.

If it be vnlawfull, by here say to wade
I meruell what Paull ment, to vse the same trade
Who speaking by here say, belyue did the same
Which purgeth (as some saye) the rest from all blame.

But gods worde of one thing, hath cause to reioyse
For that this sharpe taunting, is but mysrules voyce
Who beinge accepted, to muche thus I feare
Of ryght shuld leaue courtinge, and not remayne there.

But who shall stand douting, when our noble kynge
Wyth his faythfull counsaill, perceaue shall the thinge
But that they wyll shortly, mysrule so represse
That glad shal the good be, to se suche redresse


Title:
A Balade specifienge partly the maner, partly the matter, in the most excellent meetyng and lyke mariage betwene our Soueraigne Lord, and our Soueraigne Lady, the Kynges and Queenes highnes.

Lyrics:
THe egles byrde hath spred his wings
And from far of, hathe taken flyght
In whiche meane way by no leurings
On bough or braunch this birde wold light
Till on the rose, both red and whight
He lighteth now, moste louinglie
And therto moste behouinglie.

The monthe ensuing next to Iune
This birde, this floure for perche doth take
Reioysinglie him selfe to prune
He rousith, rypelie to awake
Upon this perche to chose his make
Concluding strayght for rype right rest
In the lions boure, to bilde his nest

A birde, a beast to make to choose
Namelie the beaste most furious
It may seeme straunge, and so it doose
And to this birde iniurious
It semthe a case right curious
To make construction in suche sens
As may stande for this birds defens

But marke· this lion so by name
Is properlie a lambe tassyne
No lion wilde, a lion tame
No rampant lion masculyne
The lamblike lion feminyne
Whose milde meeke propertie aleurth
This birde to light, and him asseurth

The egles birde, the egles eyre
All other birds far surmounting
The crounid lion, matcheth feyre
Croune vnto croune, this birde dothe bring
A queenelie queene, a kinglie king
Thus, lyke to lyke here matched is
What matche may match more mete then this

So meete a matche in parentage
So meete a matche in dignite
So meete a matche in patronage,
So meete matche in benignite,
So macht from all malignite
As (thankes to god gyuen for the same)
Seelde hathe ben seene, thus sayth the fame

This meete met matche, at first meeting
In theyr aproche togither neere
Loulie louelie lyueli greeting
In eche to other, did so appeere
That lookers on, al must graunt cleere
Theire vsage of suche humayne reache
As all might lerne, but none coulde teache

Then in conioyning of these twayne
Suche sacred solempne solempnite
Suche fare in feaste to entertayne
Suche notable nobilite
Suche honour withe suche honeste
Suche Ioy, all these to plat in plot
Plat them who can, for I can not

But here one deyntie president
Nombre so greate, in place so small
Nacions so manie, so different
So sodenlie met, so agreed all
Without offensyue worde let fall
Saue sight of twayne, for whome all met
No one sight there, lyke this to get

This lamblyke lyon, and lamblike burde
To show effect, as cause affordes
For that they lamblike be concurde
The lamb of lambs, the lorde of lordes
Let vs lyke lambs, as moste acordes
Moste mekelie thanke, in humble wyse
As humble hart, may most deuyse

Whiche thanks full gyuen most thankfullie
To prayer fall we on our kneese
That it may lyke that lorde on hie
In helthe and welth to prosper theese
As falth for thier moste high degreese
And that all we, their subiects may
Them and their lawes, loue and obay

And that betwene these twayne and one
The thre and one, one once to sende
In one to knit vs euerichone
And to that one, such mo at ende
As his will only shall extende
Graunte this good god, adding thie grace
To make vs meete tobtayne this case


Title:
A breefe balet touching the traytorous takynge of Scarborow Castell.

Tags:
Topical, Religious, Confessional, Political, other

Lyrics:
OH valiaunt inuaders gallant{is} gaie.
Who, with your compeeres conque ringe the route,
Castels or towrs: all standynge in your waie,
Ye take, controlling all estates most stoute.
Yet had it now bene good to looke aboute.
[...]: [...] [...]aue let alone,
And take scarborow warnynge euerichone.

By Scarborow castell, not Scarborow:
I onely meane: but further vnderstande,
Eche Hauene, eche hold, or other harborow,
That our good Kyng and Queene do holde in hande:
As dewe obedience bindth vs in bande.
Their Scarborow castels to let a lone,
And take Scarborow warning{is} euerychone.

The s[...]alers of which castells euermore,
In bookes of olde, and in our eyes of new:
Haue alway lost them selues and theirs therfore.
All this ye did forget: in time to vew.
Which myght haue wrought both you and yours teschew:
Lettyng Scarborow castel now alone,
Takyng Scarborow warnyng euerychone.

This Scarborow castell, symplie standyng:
Yet could that castell slyly you begyle,
Ye thought ye tooke the castell: at your landyng:
The castell takyng you: in the selfe whyle.
Eche stone within the castell wall did smyle,
That Scarborow castell ye let not alone,
And tooke Scarborow warnyng euerychone.

Your puttyng now in vre your dyuylishe dreame,
Hath made you see (and lyke enough to feele)
A fewe false traytours can not wynne a reame,
Good subiectes be (and will be) trew as steele.
To stand with you, the ende they lyke no deele.
Scarborow castels they can lette alone,
And take Scarborow warnyng{is} euerychone.

They know god{is} law: tobey their Kyng and Queene.
Not take from them: but kepe for them their owne.
And geue to them: when such traytours are seene
As ye are now: to brynge all ouerthrowne:
They woorke your ouerthrow, by god{is} power growne.
God saith: let Scarborow castell alone,
Take Scarborow warnyng euerychone.

To late for you, and in time for the rest
Of your most traytorous sect (if any bee)
You all are spectacles at full witnest:
As other weare to you: treason to flee.
Which in you past, yet may the rest of yee:
The saide Scarborow castells let alone,
And take Scarborow warnyng{is} euerychone.

This terme Scarborow warnyng, grew (some say)·
By hasty hangyng, for rank robbry theare.
Who that was met, but suspect in that way,
Streight was he trust vp: what euer he weare.
Wherupon theeues thynkyng good to forbeare,
Scarborow Robbyng they let that alone,
And tooke Scarborow warnyng euerychone.

If Robbyng in that way, bred hangyng so,
By theft to take, way, towne, castell and all,
What Scarborow hangyng craueth this [...]o?
Weare your selues herein Iudges capitall:
I thinke your Iudgementes on these woord{is} must fall.
Scarborow Robbyng who letth not alone,
Scarborow hangyng deserue euerychone.

We wold to god that you (and al of yow)
Had but considered: as wel as ye knew:
The end of all traytorie, as you see it now,
Long to haue liued, louyng subiectes trew.
Alas: your losse we not reioyse, but rew.
That Scarborow castell ye leete not alone,
And tooke Scarborow warnyng euerychone.

To craft{is} that euer thryue, wyse men euer cleaue.
To crafts that seeld when thryue, wyse men seeld when flee.
The crafts that neuer thryue, a foole can learne to leaue.
This thriftles crafty crafte then clere leaue we.
One God, one Kynge, one Queene, serue franke and free.
Their Scarborow castell let it alone,
Take we Scarborow warning euerichone.

Our soueraigne lord: and soueraigne lady both.
Lawde we our lorde, for their prosperitee.
Beseching him for it: as it now goth,
And to this daie hath gone, that it may bee:
Continued so, in perpetuitee.
We lettyng theyr Scarborow castells alone,
Takyng Scarborow warnings euerychone,


Location of Printer:
Long shop adjoining onto St Mildred's church in the Pultrie

Lyrics:
Gar call him downe gar call him downe gar call him downe downe a:
God send the faction of all detraction calld downe and cast away.

AL myghty God
Dooth shake his Rod
Of iustise, and all those:
That vniustly
Detractyfly
Detract their freends or foes.

He telthe eche one
Thou shalt iudge none
And if thou iudge vnbiden:
Thy self saith he
Shall iudged be
This lesson is not hi den:

To this now sturd
This is concord
Whiche wilthe vs in eche dout:
To deem the best
That may be gest
Till time the trueth try out.

Knowing by this
That think amisse
Against no man we may:
Muche more must we
Ill langage flee
And call it Downe downe a.
Gar call him downe &c.

With swoord or skaine
To see Babes slaine
abhorth to look vpon:
Attend to me
and ye shall see
Murder and slaunder one.

Like as a knife
By reuing life
so slaunder fame hath slain:
And bothe ones doone
bothe a like soone
May be vndoon again.

Then what more ill
with knife to kill
Or with the tung to sting:
with knife or tung
Strike olde or yung
bothe in effect one thing.
These woords are short
But they import
Sentence at length to way:
of all whiche sence
To flee offence
call slaunder downe I say:
Gar call him downe &c.

When vice is sought
al vice is nought
But some vice wors then some:
And eche man sees
sundry degrees
In eche vice self dooth come.

Now sins the least
We should detest
vice or degree in vice:
If in the moste
we showe our boste
That showeth vs moste vnwice.

If I in thee
suche faults ones see
As no man ells doth knowe:
to thee a lone
And other none
these faults I ought to showe.

Then of intent
if I inuent
Fauls tales and them display:
that is moste vile
Whiche to exile
god calleth this down downe a.
Gar call him downe &c.

Some count no charge
to talke at large
Suche il as they doo heare:
but Gods account
Dooth not a mount
to take suche talkers heere.

Of woork il wrought
when it is sought
In telling foorth the same:
though it be true
the talke may brew
Drink of damnable blame.

To frame excuse
of tungs misuse
we haue no maner mene:
So that by this
no way ther is
Il talles to cary clene.

Whiche makes me call
Vpon you all
as calling cal you may:
Tales false or true
me to ensue
To call them downe down a.
Gar call him downe &c.

Christe crieth out stil
say good for il
But we say harme for harme:
yea ill for good
Ill tungs doo brood
Wrath is in them so warme.

Slander to fere
And to forbere
this text stands well in place:
Wo by the tung
wherby is sprung
Slander in any cace.

To sleke this fier
of slanders yre
Repentance must deuise:
to set all hands
To quenche the brands
with water of our eies.

Whiche brand then blowe
to make loue glowe
That loue by grace may stay
and by resort
Of good report
call slander downe I say.
Gar call him down &c


Title:
A ballet declaringe the fal of the whore of babylone intytuled Tye thy mare tom boye w[ith] other and there vnto anexid a prologe to the reders

Lyrics:
TY the mare, tom boy
Ty the mare tom?
Lesse she straye
from the awaye
Ty the mare tom.

Now good tom bestirre the
This mare loke thou wake her
And do nothing fere the
But boldely go take her.
For some wil outwere the
Do not now forsake her
A rope for her beare the
That comme thou mayst take her.
And ty her good tom boy

Thou must therfore fetche her
That she maye prouyde her
Some els where to mache her
Perchaunce she wyll hyde her
But se thou well watche her
We can not abyde her
a haulter vpstratche her
Therfore ty her tom boye
This tom boy to name hym
I will nowe proclayme hym
Although some disdayne hym
And also disfame hym
But what though they blame hym
and seke for to payne hym
Tom troth must we frame him
a fole some men fayne hym
ty the mare tomboye

This mare now open
I must nedes declare her
Her name to vnloken
To set her and stare her
She doth sure betoken
a whore now beware her
for Iohan hath this spoken
Which doth nothyng spare her
Therfore ty her tom boy

In his reuelacions
ther maye all men spye her
that haue speculacions
and lyste for to trye her
Her yll frequentacions
wyll make men defye her
for with exclamacions
Iohn doth so discrye her
Therfor ty her good tom boy

Full sore dothe he treate her
Let she now defende her
Or els somwher get her
That she may amende her
For we wyll so frette her
she shall all to rende her
To harken now let her
And to vs attende her
Ty the mare tom boy

O vnshamfaste harlot
so proudly arayed
In purple and scarlet
thou art now dismayed
Of euery varlot
thou madeste vs afrayde
Gods worde our true marlot
Hath the nowe bewrayed
Ty the mare tom boy
In castels and towers
thou were euer walled
great kinges to thy wors
thou hast euer called
thy feldes wt theyr flours
And parkes that were paled
With all thy strong dowers
From the are nowe fauled
ty the mare tomboy

Thy cofers were fylled
With riches and treasure
thy chambers were delled
With sylkes of great valyor
thy red dere were kylled
and slayne out of measure
thus poore men were pylled
to mainteyne thy pleasure
ty the mare tom boy

The fall of the market
Thy marchauntes bewayleth
Their wares no man lacke it
Theyr fyne flower fayleth
In sackes maye they seke it
From ingland it sayleth
Here longer to darke yt.
Yt no thing a vialeth.
Ty the mare tom boye.

The shippe men that spied,
the shall of the cytie.
A farr of they cried.
Lamentynge with pitye.
And saye now ys fyred.
grett babyll so fittye.
alas then the cryed.
consumed now ys she
Ty the mare tom boy.

When preist es saw the crased.
Ther crownes then they skratched
And were so adased,
their sete downe they dashed
And as thei stil gased,
for fere ther tethe gnashed.
the lorde is no we raysed.
that hath them thus lashed
ty the mare tom boy,

for he sent them preachers
and they were disdayneh
to dethe the true techers
Were alwaye constrained.
and this lyke horsse lechers
the lorde was blasphemed
but marke now ye mechers
how well ye haue gayned
ty the mare tom boy.

His laws when he sent you.
Bothe Ioyes Ioly,
Lyke mad men ye rent you
Blasphemynge his body
ye shulde now repent you
And therfore be sory.
neds must ye content you
Yt ys but a folye
Ty the mare tom boy.

Bothe pistells and gospells,
ye alway obskured
to mayntayne fatt mossels
ye haue vs alured
as satons apostels
this ar we assured
your meulls trymd with tossels·
May not now be vsed
Ty the mare tom boye

Lyke humayne vyces
ye were styll grene dowers
of popyshe pastymes
ye were great alowers
for your deuylyshe crymes.
ye muste be now plowers
or in these rymes
with ores to be rouers
ty the mare tom boy.

ye haue vs detected
With your false commycyon
So subtell infected
were ye wythe ambycyon
As men not elected
In chrystes tuycyon,
But Iustlye regected:
As sons of perdycyon
ty the mare tom boy

ye serued with knyues
At other mens tables
and had by theyr vices
yonge chylderen in credels
your great sinfull lyues
For all your fyne sables
I feare with rych diues
In hell be your stables
ty thy mare tom boy

With dysshes full denty
So costly ye fared
the pottes went so plentye
No hote wynes ye spared
tyll go could ye scanty
your eyes so then stared
yet poore men full empty
to speke not ones dared
Ty the mare tom boy

By other mens fyers
your childeren were warmed
With cruell desyres
the christenye armed
Lyke roarars and criers
In churches ye charmed
lyke sellers and byers
the whole earth ye fermed
Ty the mare tom boy

Your deuelysh dissentinos
and loude exclamations
with youre false inuencions
wolde aske long narrations
your subtyll suspentions
And wronge accusations
with spitfull pretencions
they nede no probacyons
ty thy mare tom boye

ther was neuer treason
But ye did inuente it
in eares thys to reason
ye do yet frequente it
With some ly or leson
abroade ye forth sent it
But come ys the season
that ye must repente it
ty the mare tom boy

Lyke Ioly masse singers
ye haue vs deluded
your lytell bell ringers
at them we much mused
for all your cleane fyngers,
ye must be a cused,
In that ye were bringers
Of such wares abused,
Ty the mare tom boy

with lawes so prophane,
that were full vnruly
your ashes and palme.
mainteined so dulie,
your darke laten salme,
this will I assurer ye·
Comme wynde or comm calme
It must a waie trulie
ty thy mare tom boy

with bocke bell and candell
ye gaue vs your curses
and wolde vs so handell
that walke shoulde our purses
some tyme for to strangell,
with ropes ye wolde trusse vs
no longer nowe dandell,
for we ar past nursses
ty the mare tom boy

Yt were greate dispensers
and there with releuers
as shepes with sencers,
Good basens and euers
In vessmentes at venters
ye sange many prayers
for them that were lenters
and to your suche leuers,
Ty the mare tom boy,

your veluettes and satten
By suche trickes ye winned
Betwene masser and mattens
salte water ye sprenged
a sparges in latten
forth with them ye singed,
to call Iacke and wat in
the belles out ye ringed
ty the mare tom boye

your fyne waxen tapers
Besides your longe torches,
with there fumminge vapers,
Caryed before corses
awaye with clappers·
And puddels in porches,
With al such like maters
Ty ar of no forces
Ty the mare tom boy

Your bedes and your bedroles
It was but abusion
Your trendels and trentals
Went al to confusion
your oyells and your yemnolls,
It was playne delusion
So was your mementoes
To tel the conclusyon·
Ty the mare tom boy

Your deryge so netye,
For sowles hens disaesed
your portas so prety
Wherin ye styll preched
Withe feates that were fety
ye haue vs defeted
From gods worde so mety,
For vs to be teached
Ty the mare tom boy

Gon is your nasty
And laten procession
And so must your casty
That false deare confession
Which was alway apty
To rayse insurrertion
Perswading with suertie
To geue vs remissyon
Ty the mare tom boy

At mydnyght to mattens
ye came from dormyra
With lyghtes in youre lantarnes
To se your latins,
Away must your antems
Of Gaude maria
In latin your seuen psalmes
With salue regina
Ty the mare tom boy

ye prestes with your presentes
ye must be now lerned
your lyes and your legendes
Ar lyke to be burned
your picktures with presents
May not be adourned
For all remes & regentes
will shortely be turned,
Ty thy mare tom boy

your god ye longe kepe it
yt wexeth now rustye,
And exepte ye strike yt
ye wil be all dustye
In no wise now slype yt
But shew your selfe lusty
for if the mowse myte yt
He will eate yt: trust me
Ty thy mare tom boye

your cursinge and blessinge,
your brethinge and blowynge
your lycking and kissige
your mockinge and mowynge
your tossinge and tissinge,
Stroud myscheue in soinge,
therfore your false missing,
Is now a downe throstyng,
Ty thy mare tom boye

A nende of my balet,
Anone I wyll make you
With pollax nor sallet
In no wyse now crake you
for thens by the pallet
all good men will take you
Locke vp bagge and wallet
and ingland forsake you
Now harken good tom boy

this mare with her baggage
away loke thou haue her
and make here no tariage
Lesse ypocrites scraue her
Strong cartes for her cariage
She shall haue to saue her
Let sees make her mariage
for landes wyll depraue her
away wyth her tom boy

And cleane to despache her
that none may gene say her
Wyth some good poorte mach her
as no doubt ye maye her
whych wyll so strayght watche her
that if men wolde staye her
At see they shulde fetche her,
Ye may so convaye her.
and ther leaue her tom boy

For as she dothe sealle hee
betwene france and douer:
and ther doth bewaylle her.
that she is a rouer,
the carte wheles may fayll her
before she come ouer.
then can she not bayell her,
But be a sea drouer.
therfore leaue her tom boy

and in england staye the
where none shal ones crake the
nor neuer more fray the
Ne yt ones for sake the,
But newly to ray the,
And euer obaye the,
this promyse we make the,
ther fore tari tom boye.

my song some wil mocke it
I am not ashamed
the kye to vnlocke yt
I haue not yet framed
the truth yet nocke it
I was mythe inflamed
now forthe haue I shot yt
let me not be blamed

for now mythe I care not
althoughe I do end yt
to telle all I dare not
and then to come sende yt,
But stampe not nor stare not
for it canne not mende yt


An exortacion to the papists

O A papysts repent you
& for mercy cry you
the last day preuent you
for yt ys full nye you
with gods worde content you
the pops laws defye you
No lenger absente you
But vnto Christe hye you

For he is a sauiour
that wyll neuer fayle you
yf ye will not wauer
But mekely bewayle you
of your misbeauiour
and forthe with apele you
to his grace and fauour
He wyll surely heale you

for so hathe he tolde you
By Mathewe his hys writer
And also to bolde you
by luke his inditer
the stories beholde you
Of Paule Iohan and Peter
Men doth it vnfolde you
Both in prose and myter

for all this his kyndnes
Which he doth yet bere you
As men that were mindles
ye rent you and teare you
Therfore of payne endles
ye had nede to feare you
for it is not blyndnes
At last day shall were you

The prophetes this telleth
Who so lyst to rede them
Whych saythe all that swelleth
Oor blyndely proceade them
He that aboue dwelleth
Shal surely outwyde them
Let they that rebelleth
beware and take hide them

For though god forgeued
Many that offended
and also relyued
Shuch as were sore spended
Yet some he sore greued
and also condempned
as Iudas which fided
with Christe that asscended
Therfore now amende you
And shortly confesse you,
To god who may sende you,
His spret to possesse you
And also defende you,
That none shal oppresse you
We wil reprehende you
Until ye addrssesse you

Now mekely downe syt you,
and this I exorte you
The gospel to get you
and therin to sport you,
yf that do ones fyt you,
we wolde reporte you,
And this I commyt you
to christe who conforte you


Title:
[How superior powers oght to be obeyd of their subiects]

Lyrics:
The vayne harte of ma[n], full frayle is and blynde,
vncerteynely setled, and rest can none fynde:
Whose hap is in wandring, to wade the wronge way,
As one apte by kinde to runne still astray.

For, what thinge so good by truethe hathe bene wr oght,
Or what so well framed hath nature forth brought,
Which man is not prone by crafte to accuse,
And natures good gyftes dothe not sore abuse?

Thus see we how man, contemning Gods grace,
Is wholie inclyned, that ill shulde take place:
Whose will (truethe reiectinge) delitth that to haue,
Which nature corrupted woulde seeme still to craue.

Sith man then in iudgeinge, so thwartly is bente.
To satisfie fansie, and not true intente:
How hardly in this case, can such iudge vpright,
When trueth doth but peepe out, as semth to our sight.

Ful nedefull then were it, we had this respecte,
Before we receaue oght, or oght do reiect:
The thinge to decide so with Iudgement and skill,
That trueth may be stickler, and not our one will.

Beholde here a trueth drawne forth of her graue,
By power sore oppressed, and made a bonde slaue:
Whose chains, thogh this Autor could not rent or teare,
Yet hath he forth broght hir, in to moste clere ayer.

With whome now to reason, whoso wil assaye,
Shal learne how ill Rulers we oght to obeye.
Whiche kill, how they ca[…]e not in their cruell rage.
Respecting their will more, then lawe, othe, or charge.

[…] longe fostered by suffrance and awe,
Haue right rule subuerted, and made will their lawe:
Whose pride, how to temper, this truthe will thee tell,
So as thou resiste mayste, and yet not rebell.

Rebellion is ill, to resiste is not so,
When right through resisting, is donne to that foo,
Who seeketh, but by ruine, agaynst right to raigne,
Not passinge what perishe, so she spoyle the gayne.

A publick weale wretched, and to farre disgraste,
Where the right-head is of cut, and a wronge in steed plaste,
A brut beast vntamed a misbegotthen;
More meete to be ruled, then raigne ouer men.

A maruelous madnesse, if we well beholde,
When sighes shall assaut men, to see them selues solde:
And yet when from slauery, their friends woulde them free,
To stick to their foes so, still slaues to be.

For France spiteth Spayne, which Englend doth threat,
And England proud Spanyards, with salte woulde fayne eate:
Yet Englande proud Spayne aydeth with men, ships, and botes.
That Spayne, (France subdued once) may cut all their throtes.

A people peruerse, repleate with disdayne,
Thogh flattrie fayne hide woulde their hate, and vile trayne.
Whose rage, and hotte luste, disceate, crafte and pride,
Poore Naples their bondeslaue, with great grefe hath tried.

Lo, these be the byrdes which Englande muste feede,
By plantinge of whom, to roote out their seede
Their owne landes and lyues, by them firste deuourde,
Their maydes then and wyues, moste vilelie deflourde.

Is this not stronge treason, ye vnnoble bloudds?
To ayde suche destroyers, both with landes and goods?
But when they thus pinche you, and ye put to flight,
To what forte then flee you: or where will you light?

For Englande thus solde, for Spaniardes to dwell,
Ye maye not by right, possesse that ye sell.
They seinge your treason, agaynste your owne state,
Wil not with theirs trust you, which they know ye hate.

To Skotlande or France, yf ye then shulde cry,
Your vile deeds now present, they may well reply,
And Dutchland abhorth you: this then doth remayne,
When Spaniards are placed, ye muste to newe Spayne.

But, oh dreadfull plague, and signe of Gods wrothe,
On such noble Gnatos, stronge foes to Gods trothe.
Whom fonde feare hath framed, to prop such a staye,
As countrie and people, so seekth to betraye.

Which thinge herein proued, to be with out doute,
All such full well finde shall, as reade it throughout.
Yf then their hartes fayle them the right to defende,
Confusion remayneth for suche a meete end.


Lyrics:
AS witte is neuer good
till it bee déerely bought:
So fréends vntill their truth be tride,
may passe for thinges of nought.
For fréendship all in woordes,
a kinde of flattringe is.
And if I thinke my woorthiest fréende
may be abusde by this,
I ought in plaine flat termes
to shewe him what I thinke,
And blaze the meaninge of my minde
by paper, pen, and Inke.
Because the doores be barde,
where my good will should pas:
And buzzinge Bées do créepe in place,
where Churcheyards credite was.
The fowlers mery pype
betraies the careles byrde:
And fléeringe fawners lye in waite,
to géeue their fréends a gyrde.
When fortune turnes hir face,
beware the Syrenes songe:
Beware the busie Clawbackes fine
whose freendship lastes not longe.
Thinke you the flyes doo flocke
aboute the fleashe in vaine?
Dooth not the Bée seeke out the flower
some hony there to gayne?
Doo courtiers all for loue,
approche the princes gates?
Dooth plainnesse in these double daies,
repaire to great estates?
No sure in maskinge robes
goeth mischiefe muffled nowe:
And subtile sleightes with snakish stings,
doo lodge in smilinge browe.
And your affections blinde,
hath you bewitched so,
Ye haue no power to finde your freendes,
nor to descerne your fo.
Ye fill the fleesinge fistes,
and let the needie lacke:
And sharpe their teeth whose crafty tungs
can byte behinde your backe.
I pray you tell me now,
if hap woulde let you slyde,
How many would through thick & thinne
for loue with you abide?
Perhaps a heape of suche
could hungry hangers on,
Whose nature geues the courte a fygge
when worldly hap is gon.
Can you not see the cause,
that bringes them swarminge in?
And where the whéele of Fortune swayes,
the worlde fauour winne?
Had not your elders wise,
good triall of suche trashe?
Did you not sée what woorthy wittes
at length were lefte in lashe:
By trustinge some to farre,
and heapinge hope in those
That seemed fréends to outwarde sight,
and yet were secrete foes?
O let me licence haue
to painte these pecocks out,
Whose fethers wauereth with the winde
and so turnes taile aboute:
Yet flicker with their winges,
to faune the face awhile,
Untill their sodaine flight they take,
and so their fréends beguile.
What should we iudge of them,
that stare in faces still:
Where lo, for all their curtsie great,
they beare but small good will.
And where they seldome come,
but when some sute they haue:
They make a signe to sée my Lorde,
yet seeke by sleight to craue.
What makes them watch their howres,
and thrust in thickest preest.
It is for fréendship that they beare
vnto a certaine lease.
My Lorde must helpe to get,
now crowche and knéele they all:
Now stand they vp like sainctes in shrine,
or nayld against a wall?
Now figge they here and there,
as thornes were in their héeles
Now trudge aboute these whirlegigges,
as worlde did runne on whéeles.
Now cast they fréendly lookes,
all ouer the chambers gaye.
Now geue they place as God were there,
now turne they euery waye.
Now talke they trimme in printe,
and prate of Robin hood:
Much like the knightes of Arthers courte,
that knew full well their good.
Some through a finer meane,
doo créepe in credites lappe:
And vale their bonettes by deuise,
as fauour folowed cappe.
Suche Iuglers bleare your eies,
and smile within their sléeue:
When honour in his harmles moode
Dooth best of them beléeue.
Were you but once a daye,
in simple seruauntes place,
And like a looker on ye stoode,
to prie vpon this case:
Then should ye throughly sée,
who plaies the wily foxe:
And how the Wolfe can frame himselfe,
to draw in yoke like oxe.
Then shoulde the mufled men,
shew foorth their faces bare
And therby noble hartes shoulde learne
to knowe what flatterers are.
The glory of your state,
heaues vp your hed so hie:
That many thinges doo scape your vewe,
whiche we sée full with eye.
And who is now so bolde,
that dare flat warninge geue,
To suche as in toppe of pompe,
or princely plasures lyue.
I muse what new founde chaunce,
hath so disguisde the state
That men oft times for speakyng plaine,
doo purchace endlesse hate.
Whilest fraude and fained chéere
dooth euell honour féede:
And noman dare a plaister geue,
to heale the wounde in déede:
Full fickle shall you walke,
and neuer wante disease.
They should be banisht from your courte
that are so glad to please
With twittell twatlyng tales.
The truth like larm bell.
Should shortly sounde in tender eares
and learne you to doo well.
But sure the swéetest nuttes
doo noorishe woormes apace,
And flatterers of the finest stampe,
in courte haue finest place.
I am to plaine therefore,
my penne hath drunke to muche?
An alie hed makes idle hande,
the quicke to néere to touche.
Nay, nay, some one must speake,
although the vice it bée:
Or els the play were done ye wot,
then Lordinges pardon mée.
For frée of euery Hance
I thanke the gods I am,
And serues no turne but for a vice,
since first to courte I came.
To make the Ladies laugh,
that leades the retchles liues
Who late, or neuer woodcocke like
at later Lammas thriues.
Yet if the foole had gotte,
at his departinge thence
A night cap, or a motley coate,
or els some spendinge pence.
It had bene well enough:
but nothinge there I founde
For nothinge from their budgets fell
they were so straitly bounde.
Ye lie sir Daw in déede,
canst thou so longe be there
But needes must fall into thy handes,
some paringe of the peare?
A hungry paringe Lorde
he hath that there doth weight:
He watcheth like a gréedy hounde
that standeth at receight:
That oft for lacke of g[...]me,
runnes home his panche to fill
Or sterues in forest or in parke,
at least at kepers will.
Looke what to courte he brought
it is consumed and gone
And there the fleash of euery iointe,
is worne vnto the bone.
The carraine crowes of Cheape
in steyng bones so bare
Would clap the fell in counter too,
to breede him further care.
Nay fie on such good hap,
on Souldiers faith I sweare:
To sell the Courts and Cittie bothe,
and he that takes me there.
Let him cut of mine cares,
and slitte my nose aright
And make a curtoll of the beast,
that hath a hed so light.
To linger out my yeeres
for moone shine in the well
A hood, a hood, for such a foole,
a bable and a bell.
A coxcombe is to good
for such a calfe I trow.
As of my Lorde my leaue I take,
so now againe I go.
Where fortune shall assigne,
my staffe to light or fall.
And thus I know a truer freende,
was not amonge them all.
Then to my power I was,
to you and all your race
Nor vnto whome I dayly wishe,
more blesse happe and grace.


Location of Printer:
saint Marius parish near to Charing Cross at the sign of S John Evengelist

Lyrics:
IN Court some say doth freindshyp stolne.
And some to Court for freindshyp goe:
But I that walke the worlde aboute,
Could neuer yet fynde freyndshyp out.
For fyneness: shewes so fayre a face,
That freyndshyp hath no dwellynge place
Yea, depe dyssemblynge manners mylde,
Hath sayth and freindshyp both erylde:
The holow[...] harte is fowle and fell,
Wheare freyndshyp loketh now to dwell.
The humble speche and Syrenes songe
Hath shrouded freyndshyp ouer longe,
The wylye wordes that waues wyth wynde
Hath brought true frendshyp out of mynde:
And to be shorte fayre wordes is all
The fruite that from the tree dothe fall.
Wordes weldes the worlde, & beares the swaye,
And freindshyp daylye dothe decaye:
Yet durste I make of it reporte,
it is amonge the meaner sorte,
If any faythe or freyndshyp bee:
But I so lytle freindshyp see,
I feare the vertue of the same
Consystes but in the gentle name.
The worlde is waren now so nyce
That we haue learnd the frenche deuyce,
At your commaundement for a showe,
and meane no farther for to goe:
We are as free of promyse styll
as though we mente a great good wyll,
And braue it out for gloryes sake,
and much adoe therof we make,
To blase abrode our bountye great:
T[...]h man the fyre hath lost his heate,
The flame yeldes furthe but sparkles smal,
theare is no freyndshyp now at all.
Geue eare and here a pretye Iest:
Theare was a man (at my request)
That seemd an earnest freinde in dede,
and swore he wolde supplye my nede
Wyth all hys helpe he could deuyse,
and ofte to blere hys Ladyes eyes,
And make her know hys lyberall mynde:
(for women Larges loue of kynde.)
He promyst many a goodlye gyfte,
but when I put hym to hys shyfte,
For quycke performaunce of thys geare,
then backwarde gan he for to swarue
Eche worde had past hys mouth before,
I pray you now if we had store
Of such good freinds, when nede shuld cum
myght not a pore man stryke hys Drum
Before theyr dores wyth chereful sprete,
and sounde a marche in open strete
A thousand tymes amidste hys greefe,
or he should fynde thearby releefe?
Fyue hundred of such mates as thease
(whose freyndshyp is not worthe a pease,
Whose brauery shynes beyonde the Sune,
yet slypper laddes when all is done.)
My hap hath bene to mete or thys:
beware I say the Iudas kysse,
The [...]yrynge face the Parate gaye,
the bablynge tongue that hath no staye,
The fa[...]ner fyne that croutcheth lowe,
the plyant head that bendes lyke bowe,
Whose nature lykes not freindshyps lawe:
the gloryous man, the pratynge dawe.
Tut, tut, I warne thee ouersoone,
ful longe had nede to be the spoone
A man should haue for euery feate
that wyth the dyuell thynkes to eate:
For dyuels in these dayes are to ryfe,
and thou must nedes leade out thy lyfe
Wyth depe dyssemblers euery wayes:
the d[...]uels are much more to prayse
Then muffled men that myscheife breedes:
who are not knowen but by theyr deedes?
Oh frendshyp thou art much mysused
to be wyth freindes thus abused,
For freyndshyp should wyth open face
be seene and felt in euery place.
Of playnenesse first was freyndshyp wrought,
Iust as the Gods, and pure of thought:
Full free and franke as Lordes hath byn,
full bent the peoples hartes to wynne:
Full glad to fyll the nedye hande,
full fyrme of worde, and sure to stande
As Oke that euery storme wyl byde:
not lost with want, nor wonne wyth pryde
And welthy pompe, the pumpe of synne,
that bryngeth euery myscheife in:
But alwayes cleare from falseheddes trayne.
Than tell me now and do not fayne:
Where do that freindshyp buylde his bowre?
where is such freindshyp had thys howre?
Where maketh he now hys mansyon place?
or where (good Lord) hath men such grace
To lyght vpon so great a blysse?
mans mynde and nature altered is:
The worlde in wyckednesse is drounde,
and trulye freindshyp is vnsounde
And rotten lyke corrupted fruite,
though gloryous men wyll beare a brute
Of freindes, theyr freyndshyp is so colde
that we therof haue lytle holde:
When it should serue our turne (god knowes)
we reape the weede, and plant the Rose:
We gape for golde, and grype but glasse:
now dothe such wordes of offyce passe
Tweene all estates bothe farre and nere,
that talke is nought but fayned chere
To make fayre weather for a whyle
tyl one the other do beguyle.
I tell the man who playes the parte
of wylye For, must lerne thys arte:
They are no small byrdes (as I gesse)
if I in authors maye expresse
The synnes that now be kept in store,
that puts in practyse this and more
To compasse cloked freindshyp fyne.
The Fowler neuer drawe[...] hys lyne
So strayghte vpon the selye fowle:
nor sure the byas of the bowle
Goeth not so strayghte on mayster blocke,
as dayly dothe thys dallyenge flocke
Upon the polycye of the brayne
to brynge the selye foole to trayne.
Men are so vsed these dayes wyth wordes,
they take them but for [...]stes and boordes
That Christmas Lordes were wonte to speke.
well, well, I say the worlde is weke,
And weker it is lyke to be,
when credyte out of the worlde shall flye,
When trust is gone, and trothe is dead,
and faythfull freyndshyp hydes hys head,
And wordes are help of none effecte,
and promyse faythfull is suspecte.
Farewell, al earthly hope is past,
I see our maners change so fast,
And suche affection leades our wyll
awrye, to fyckle freindshyp styll:
That sure true freindshyp sylent syttes,
and nought beares rule but wylye w[...]ttes:
Unshame faste wayes, and meare deceyte,
for playnenesse such a pleasante bayte,
As choketh vp bothe hye and lowe,
and poysoneth all the worlde I trowe:
Wherfore synce freyndshyp takes hys leaue,
and fynenesse dothe vs all deceyue,
Let freyndshyppes name be banyshed quyte,
for sure it is a great dyspyte
To speke of freindshyp any tyme,
to make of freyndshyp prose or ryme,
Or gyue to freyndshyp anye prayse,
that is so frutelesse in our dayes.


Tags:
Topical, Social Criticism, Religious, Confessional, Political, other

Lyrics:
A Cyuill warre, doth God and man abhorre,
Hit staynes the ayre, and blots ye earth wt bloud
Hit is a plague, a pestlence botch and soore,
that eates vp Realmes, as worme consumes ye wood.
Hit venom castes, as farre as Nilus flood,
Hit poysoneth all, it toucheth any wheare,
Hit is of kinde, much worsse then horses heare.
That lyes in donge, where on vyle Serpents brede
Rebellion first, sprang out of vipers sede,
And nourisht was, in naughtie canckred minde,
a lothsome lodge, for diu'lish geasts we finde.

 You subiectes all, beware that snakish beast,
Which swels lyke toode, & borsts in sonder streight,
Beware ye come, not neare that Adders neast,
That heads & harts and bowells stings by sleight.
Great fame you winne, in countreis cause to feight
Great shame you get, with Rebelles for to hold,
Great plagues therof in Bookes you see enrold.
Great wracke & ruen, domestike braules do bring,
They want no skourge, that striues against a king
For right shall raigne, and rule as reason [...]hoes,
And sway the sword, in spight of secret foes.

 Eche other griefe, is heald with plaisters fyne,
This findes no salue, so deepe the corzye goes,
With stayned handes, and blouddye staringe eyne
This Monster great, in furye puffes and bloes:
The source & sea, from whence all mischeife floes.
And yet the Lord, that sittes aboue the starres,
Brings them to naught, that seketh Ciuill warres
The best reward, that euer Rebelles found.
Was Tiborne threed, and hempen halters round,
Or elles a choppe, of churlish botchers are,
That with one bloe, ends all their beste knacks.

 Ambishious men, that still desires to clyme,
Sediciously, do seke to pole and shaue,
And naked birdes, when beggry is in prime,
Do snatch for shroud, on foules that fethers haue.
Rebellion thus, with paynted vizage braue,
Leads out poore soules (yt knowes not gold from glas)
Who beares the packe, and burthen lyke the Asse.
And well awaye, a rufull tale to tell,
Their fal & ruen, skarce warnes their neibors wel
Sedicion is, a sicknes and a byell,
Whose breakinge out, bringes people in exyle.

 Desire of change, in thinges we present féele,
Breedes flitting thoughts, of follies new to come,
And rouling minds, that turnes like spining whels
Hath great desire, to here the Forraine dromme.
And whiles the Bee, in brainsick head doth homme
On mad deuise, the idell man is lett,
Then all is fishe, that fal[...]s in fyshers nett.
That knack séems good, that knau'ry much made of
That right made wrong, that earnest made a skoff
That ty[...]ell true, that sta[...]e starke staring nought,
And eche mans cace in cruell question brought.

 Unbrideled will, to spoyle and hauoke rons,
And headlong hales, the hastie wittes awrye:
And subiectes soe, the true obedience shones,
And falles in flame, as doth the feble Flye,
But when in felde, a while these wodcockes lye,
The Princes power, their conscience pricks so fast
That courrage fayles, and home they ron at last.
Then sute with teares, for Pardons do they make,
And so lyke beastes, mens harts do feare and quake
God strikes yt stroke, & plukes stout stomaks downe
And with stiffe arme, stayes vp a rightful Crowne.

 Infect the brest, with breatch of promise dew,
The mind makes place, to lodge ech branch of vice
Forsake old troeth, and fall to fancies new,
Familier fayth throw fondnes wareth nice.
Who takes delight, to cogge and foyst the Dice,
And nosled is, in cutthrote shiftes a while,
Leaues all true playe, and pastime in exile.
When practise proud, takes place in people mild,
The Ciuill swaine groes sauege rude and wilde.
And when madde horsse, in teeth doth brydell take,
He plongeth oft, the riders backe to shake.

 Breake fayth and loue, & drawe a strangers yoke
Mans folly spreades, abrode lyke sparkes of fyer:
And doth great harme, yet makes but littell smoke,
Tyll all our pomp, be tombled in the myer.
O Britayne bloud, marke this at my desire,
If that you sticke, together as you ought,
This lyttle yle, may set the world at nought.
If no then loke, for plague at Princes hand,
Who here is plast, in peace to guide the land.
Your wycked wills, shall come to no effect,
For God shall saue, his choson and electe.

 Though Nuts do fall, that in the cluster grue,
And goodly trées, would cleane forsake the barke:
Yet may we not, bidde kyrnels all adue,
Fresh buds wil blome, whiles stock hit selfe is stark
Alas, wild heads, you know not well your marke.
You shoote amis, when Booe is drawen to eare,
And brush the cloth, full sore against the heare.
The yarne in frame, will neuer cotten well,
Whiles foule abuse, in weauers webb doth dwell.
Troth tryes out all, & shall throw time be knowne,
when Rebelles craft, shall cleane be ouerthrowne.

 In dede tis good, to draw one yoke and lyne,
The house long stands, that wone good ground doth beare,
But for to drink, ye dreggs in sted of wine:
Is madnes sure, and goeth against the heare.
Swete Appells passe, the parings of the Peare,
One parfect dish, well seasoned as hit ought,
Is better sure, then deynties derely bought,
Knit fast the knotte, or els vntwyned threed
In garments good, shall fayle the seame at néede.
Shake setled tyles, from house and you shall see,
That rafters great, and house can not agrée.

 Example make, but of the fagot nowe,
Whose stickes fast bound, together long abydes:
Plucke on sticke forth, and all the fagot throwe,
In sunder shakes, and from the band hit slydes,
Where banks do breake, there runneth out ye tides
Where Commons knit, in countreys cause & right
There Kyngs find frendes, & foes are put to flight.
Where subiects snarre, & seuerall wayes do drawe
Ther god poures plagues, throw iustice of his law.
Then rage bursts out, and brings in wrack & rune,
And so swete strings, are wrested out of tune.

 Dyd Rome not rule, the world at wil long tyme,
Tyll hatefull hartes, dyd stryue for paynted shoes:
And hautie heads, sought further for to clyme,
Upon the splene, then subiectes compos goes,
[...]n whose attemptes, a sore desention roes.
For when throw wealth, & pride in [...]arre they fell.
Rome was not Rome, that state became an Hell,
And Diuels swarmd, in seate where senates sate,
And turned lawes, to strife and lewd debate:
Wrong stept in place, and right was banish quite
And mufled worlde, in mischeife toke delite.

 The head thus sicke, the members fell away,
And euery one, the other still deceaues:
The tree left bare, the sappe must nedes decay,
The barke once gone, ther was no hope of leaues,
The strawe infect, the cor[...]e forsoke the sheaues.
The hyue of Bees, burst out of hony come,
The Common wealth, was banisht out of Rome.
So long as lawes, the true loue knot dyd knit,
In triumphtes great dyd worthy Romaines sit.
So long as loue, in chaynes dyd lynke the land,
In passing pomp, the Romaine state dyd stand.

 This Realme of ours, had neuer yet the foyle,
Tyll sausye sleightes, had seuered sheepe from fold,
And malice hote, in rusty brestes gan boyle,
And lukers lust, for gayne his countrey solde?
Till reuell came, and stately stountnes bold,
And set abro[...]ch, discord in euery shéere,
The world we ruld, and liu'd lyke Princes héere.
O English hartes, let this suffise I saye,
To make you hate, Rebellion euery way.
For if you do, in fury fyle your neast,
You are much worsse, then senceles bird or beast.


Title:
The Epitaphe of the honorable Earle of Penbroke, Baron of Cardiffe, and Knight of the most Noble order of the garter. Who dyed Lord stueward of the Quéenes maiesties houshold, and of her priuie counsell.

Lyrics:
SInce playnts want power to perce the skyes, or rayes the dead from graue,
No teares nor sighes may well suffies, to wayle the losse we haue.
Then lordings wype your blobbred eyen, and sobb no more alas:
For death and deastnye doth assigne, all lyfe lyke shade shall passe.
No seat nor Scepture certayne is, the hye and lowe a lyke:
In spight of pompe and worldly blis, fall both amid the dyke.
But when a propp that stayde the state, dropps downe as you do see:
The lokers on in muse do stand, at crack of such a tree.
which leaues the world in moorning weeds, behynd to weepe the losse,
(Whyles frute is fled from brantch and bowe, as gold forsakes the drosse)
O Penbroke wilt thou part so sone, what hast hath hyed thee hence:
Had I byn warnd I had perfuemd, thy Tombe with frankinsence.
But cald so swiftly to my pen, the sweete insence I want:
yet sweare I by the sacred Gods, though skill and sence be skant.
Thou shalt not hyde in clotts of claye, thy ritch rare gyftes of kynd,
Nor skrawlling wormes shall make no praye, apon thy noble mind.
The Court that knew thy constant hart, bydds thee returne againe,
That art for troth and freendshipp fast, a parfect pattern plaine.
A father where the counsell sate of tongue and talke deuine,
As he at byrth had stolne the grace, of all the Musis nine.
His lookes dyd speake when silent lipps, lockt vp great thinges in head,
yea eu'ry word past Penbrokes mouth, peysd well a pound of lead.
No lightnes lodged in his browes, and sure a man in deede,
That well might ryes from Troyians race, and honour Hectors seede.
Of nature noble voyd of blott, in Court and countrey throwe:
As curteys as the lyttell Lambe, or Faucon gentyll nowe.
In bountie dyd his harte abound, where cause made place before:
Not wonne by feare, but held by loue, what might be wished more.
To such as fau'red learnings lore, (though he no schole poynt knew)
His pursse and hand as closly crept, as hauke weare clapt in mew.
To those that seemd somwhat to be, whose harts he sawe aspier:
He gaue good hope in signe of happ, to further there desier.
To Prince and countrey true as steell, no blast could beare him downe,
He kept his promise fayth and oth, in Court, in feeld and towne.
Deuout to God his lyfe well showes, his death doth that declare,
On Christ alone, the corner stone, he onely layd his care.
O manly Penbroke yet me thinks, I see thee martch vpright,
Thy iesture and thy iolly port, stands still before my sight.
Thy cleanly finenes trimly framd, sprang out of noble brest:
And all thou didst within thy dayes, a noble mind exprest.
But nothing here so cleane or gay, can kepe the lyfe alyue,
Both wealth and Lordshipp leapes away, when death our date doth dryue.
yet death when he hath done his worst, dare not molest the spreete:
That God doth clayme and angels thinke, for Abrams bosome meete.

    FINIS.

A verse of farwell.

I lost a friend, you lost no lesse, who least lost, lost to much,
Who lookes to light vpon the lyke, in Court shall find fewe such.
Quoth Churchyard.


Title:
A farewell cauld, Churcheyeards, rounde From the courte to the cuntry grownd.

Location of Printer:
Fleet Street at the Falcon against St Dunstan's church

Lyrics:
IN Courte yf Largies be
why parte I thens so bare
yf Lords were franke & fre
Su[.] dradg wold Lordings spare
To hyme whose tonge and penn
Myght showe in euery coste
The worthynes of men,
And who desaruythe moste.

Full lyttill maye be gott
Where hungry droppes do falle
Where all goes to the pott
The kitchine fese ar smalle
The Byrde can spare no plumes
That fethers gaye wolde haue
The Courttyer all consumes
who makes hyme selfe so braue

No no here lyes in dede
The padde within the strawe
For eche man pledithe neade
And he is held a dawe,
That gyues to suche as wante
And thynkes hyme selfe in lacke
This makes the world so skant
And tournythe all to wracke.

For fryndshype cowlde as Ise
I wayted longe and late
And gladde to playe the vice
To plesure eche estate
And euer dyd I hope
To hitt my wysshyd marke
yet lo I dyd but grope
For gnats within the darke

Parhappes the froste hathe nypt
Eache Noble lyberall hand
Or ellse a waye is skypte
In to sume other lannde
God send a thawe a gayne
And shyppes drawe home as fast
That pore men for ther payne
Maye fynde sume welthe at las

I saught the Prynce to sarue
As all oure dutyes is
And hope I dyd desarue
A greter sute then this,
But dayes and wekes are spente
And worne my cotes full thyne
And all my yearly rent
yet founde no grace therein

No Monstoure sure I am
Nor fowlle deformyd thynge,
No shepe nor suckinge lame
More lycke to sarue a Kinge,
As shall bothe hand and harte
At lengthe my wytnes be,
When proffe in any parte
Shall be requyrde of me.

Had I but founde a wyght
In Courte when I was there,
The Lady Sydney hight
All changed had byn this gere,
what happ had I to shue
Where no suche helpe is founde,
O dames yt blushe not you
Thought she in grace a bound,

Nowe from the Courte to carte
My horse and I muste pase,
Who hathe the meryst harte
Who is in better case
My horse or I, God knowes,
The one muste beare his charge
The other where he goes
Must pourely lyue at large.


Title:
A greatter thanks, for Churchyardes welcome home

Lyrics:
I Bad not Courte farewell
for such hot welcome home,
But glad to leaue the costly Courte
and lyue lyke cuntrye mome.

From thence I wyllyng went:
and thought in very deed,
To make (ere mischeefs fel on heapes)
a Uertue of a need.

But my cheeff freend came there,
to whome for duties sake
I rode, and did (by destinies lot)
a further iourney make.

Which freend drew me by loue,
to see the Courte agayne:
But sens my suddayn comming there
doth breed in you disdayne:

I fynd more fumish flames,
by this fond frantike smoke:
And see (perhaps) a further fyer,
then you with craft can cloke.

But tyll your fyngers burne,
ye care not what ye doe:
Well, I wyll helpe to kyndle coales,
and clap on faggots toe.

To bryng your handes in heat,
because the ayre is colde:
Ka. me: Knaue thee: I say no more,
the prouerbe is full olde.

Yf Crowes of Cheape cry Ka,
the bawle doth backe rebound:
For sure I owe not all their towne,
the halfe of twentie pound.

And thyrteene candels great,
o euery pound allowe:
Then call an audite of my debt,
and cast my charges nowe.

Yet know I cut tayld Curres,
can neuer byght in frame:
Tyll courage claps them on the backs
and thrusts them on the game.

Come on you snarryng whelpes
I feare your force no whit:
Though lowd ye bark ye dare not byte
your teeth are tender yet.

Baight me lyke Bull at stake,
I haue good flesh and bone:
To trie it out (as hap shall serue)
with any Dog a lone.

No other aunswer sure,
I make: now skan this well:
But leaue the Lob that rayld on me,
the bable and the bell.

Write not to this agayne,
in silence shall ye sit:
As voyde of aunswer euery way,
as you are voyd of wyt.


Title:
A myrrour for man where in he shall see the myserable state of thys worlde

Lyrics:
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, whe~ 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 chyldre~ 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
Tha~ shuld the poore men, soone haue some co~forte
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 [illeg.] Iudgement
Than they that dyd wronge, ryght sore shal repe~t
Therfore o thou man, that fayne wold do well
Lyue thou according, to Christes gospell
Folowe not theyr steps, whose dedes are [illeg.] 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
[illeg.] Byshops and preachers, seke lyuynges agayne
And whan they waxe ryche, they take lytle payne
Marchantes & craf[...]es me~, 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 [illeg.] 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
¶ [illeg.] 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, whe~ tro~pets 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 vpo~ 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.

    Finis

quod Thomas Churschard.
God saue the Kyng.


¶Imprynted at London by Roberte Toye dwellynge in Paules churche yarde at the sygne of the Bell.

Cum priuilegio ad Imprimendum Solum.


Title:
A playn and fynall confutacion: Of cammells corlyke oblatracion

Lyrics:
YE vpright men whiche loues the light, whose heartes be voyd of gyle:
condemne no cause till trueth be tryed, gyue eare and lyst a whyle.
And marke my tale from poynt to poynt, let no worde skip vnskande:
And heare them with indiffrent eares, and way them as they stande.
Fyrst laye asyde affeccion blynd, for trueth my cause must pleade,
let nether foe nor fayned frend, this matter Iudge nor reade.
And then I trust to clere my selfe, and Cammell cleane confound:
that blowes the trompet of defame, which geues vnsertayn sound.
The tune wherof semes yet full straunge, so boystous is the blast:
but quiet calmes settes forth still windes, when stormes be gon and past·
Whiche quyet time I wish to haue, that I may be well harde:
and then I hope this vypars byrde, shall haue his iust rewarde.
That forgeth fautes and seeketh holes, to crepe and steale therin:
and flattereth for no other cause, but fame or gayne to winne.
What thinkes this man he hathe more witte, and learning in his head:
than hathe fyue thousand other men, that (Dycarres dreame hath read.
Or thinkes he that I am so rashe, to run so far from square:
or that I make suche obscure thinges, that I dare not declare.
Than is he blynde and very fond, and scarce him selfe doeth know:
let him loke on his booke agayne, his rule is nothinge so.
To you I speak frend Camell now, which wresteth ryght to wrong:
you saye you haue ben kept at schole, in soothe I thinke not longe.
Your master did but stroke your head, he did forbeare the rodde:
I dout he did not teache you well, howe you should feare your God.
For if he had you would haue stayed, to wryte agaynst this dreame:
to spye a mote within my eye, synce in yours is a beame.
Yf you might sitte and iudge my cause, I should soone feele your worst:
but God forbyd there were long hornes, on beastes that would be corst.
I call you beast because you sayde, here goeth the beast abrode:
the beast will turne you gage a grote, yf he be prickte with goade.
Now turne syr beast and come aloft, fling not for fear of whip:
in dede it is a monstruse thing, to see a camell skippe.
You say you shoke me by the sleue, than rubde I your gall backe:
yf I know howe to do you good, my healpe you should not lacke.
We Iompe in leasse, ye gab syr beast, I am but one alone:
but I can proue (O beaw Camew) that you are moe then one.
My surreioynder doeth declare, this dreame was for the best:
and yet you crye, a bandye ho at tenues thus ye ieste.
What can you laye vnto my charge, of malyce or of hate:
since I do wyshe that euery wyght, shulde walke in his estate.
This verse you hyppe, and yet it standes, next that when rex doeth rayng:
bothe these be good and godlye to, here shall I showe you playne.
But as I sayde, out of fayre flours, the spyder poyson takes:
and yet the bee doeth feede thereon, and therewyth hony makes.
I do compare this spyder nowe, to you whiche so appeeres:
for that you run a patheles way, to leade me in the breerres.
Wheare fynde you this that dreames can haue, any effect at all,
be not they fancies of the hed, and so wyse men them call,
Why do you wryte against a dreme, whiche hath a small effect,
why turn you yt to meanyng leawde, to brynge it in suspect,
You ment no more but me to lerne, so [...]ou wolde you excuse:
Syr yf you mynde to kepe a frynde, [...] [...]ot your frynde so vse.
You bragge you of your master muche when you to skoole dyd goe:
You sayde ye learnd your duetye well, good syr it seemes not soe.
To serue the kyng and praie for hym, I learnde as well as you:
to loue hym leall for concyens sake this lesson well I knew.
His councell eeke for to obaye, my duety learnes me too:
and with ther matters not to mell, nor therin haue to do.
This lesson hetherto I kept, and shall here after kepe:
tyll I to earth retorne agayn, where fleshe and fell must sleepe.
What is the cause you answerde not, to that whiche I wrott last:
You do conclude muche lyke a thefe, whiche is condemnde and cast.
For at the barre he prateth long, and can no reason shew:
to clere hym selfe and saue his lyfe whan trueth doeth hym orethrow.
So you althoughe with matter now, I do you styll assault:
yet with great shame you are content, to yelde vnto your fault.
I wrate more thynges than one or two, yet reade them ons agayn:
I do perceyue a lyttell thyng, wyll soone orecom your brayne.
You haue sought councell fourteen daies, it seemes that you dyd dreame:
or els ye thought to run awaie, into som other realme.
But now I heare a sodayn sownde, the beast begyns to braye:
it is muche like a camels voyce, that dwels in lyn they saye.
Be as be may you say your felfe, ye byd me foet it well,
why will the beast now lead the daunce, with beasts I will not mell.
But wheare you saie, I when out whens, aboue eala a note,
you gront and groen from gammuth farre, I dare you gage my cote.
Sins you will put me to my trompe, with a false carde of ten,
marke howe iustice shall ioyn to trueth, I will make large this when.
Note. Though iustice doeth belonge to Rex, whose sworde puts that in vre,
yet euery iustice vnder him, is not so iust and pure.
Because there be knightes of the post, whiche wil them selues forswere,
and fained troeth will forge a tale, sometymes in iustice eare.
And worke suche wiles, iustice to blynde, and make him credit lies
suche crafty mistes these men can cast, before true iustice eies.
Thoughe iustice of him selfe is pure, and clean deuoide of crime,
yet false witnes may alter him, and chaunge his minde somtime.
The faut therof is not in hym, he woulde fayn ioyn to truthe:
But flatteryng faith, may him corrupt, alas the more is ruthe.
Whan truth is forman of the quest, and right shall vardyt gyue,
Than iustice shall ioyn still to truthe, and so together liue.
Thus is this when made manifest, truely as I it ment,
and yet it was full plain before, to euery true entent.
Here haue I waide what iustice is, to whom it dothe pertain,
who swayes the sworde, who dothe decree, here haue I set out plain.
Now staye a while, and marke this when, which you call principa[...]l,
and is the beast among the rest, and standeth last of all.
Note. When Rex doth reign (And) rule the rost, a coniunction copulatiue,
your master taught you not to knowe, coulde he suche thinges discriue?
Now Rex doth rayne whom god preserue, in long life on vs here,
and sende him rule the rost him selfe, as prince withouten pere.
That he may fynde those secrete slighes, whiche now in cornets lye:
And suche as do abuse his lawes and liue so wickedlie.
It semes they lyue as they delight, and leane not to his lore:
Bycause he doth commende them lawes and they passe not therfore.
Howe doth the master of the schole, his schollers rule and tame:
whan he dothe geue preseptes and rules, and none doth kepe the same.
How doeth the kyng his people rule, let this be better wayde:
whan he doeth geue them lawes and actes and none of them obeyde.
For thoughe that Rex do tayne and rule, as I beleue in dede:
yet dothe not he for mercy grete, the wicked all [...]ute wede.
And like as God is mercifull, so doeth our kyng in dede:
[...]n[...]we and folowe in his steppes (whom God defende and spede.)
His Iustice is to ponishe sinne, with death and payne extreme:
which is most godly exercisde and so doeth shewe and seme.
Yet yf all those that do offende, shoulde haue suche punyshmente:
what man is liuing nowe a dayes, that shoulde escape vnshente?
But folowyng the exa[...]mple o[...], the Lorde and kynge of kynges:
dothe often su[...]er vs vnkynde, in vyle and greuous thynges.
Because he woulde (as it doethe seme, so mercifull and deare:)
bee rather loued then obeyed, for only dreade and feare.
And thys hys mercye godly mente, doothe make vs worse in dede:
as scollers when they lacke the rodde, do lyue withouten drede.
But when he sha[...]l begynne agayne, to punyshe wyckednes:
whiche is hys iustyce (or more playne,) to vs but ryghtousnes.
Then folke [...]or feare (but not for loue,) shall better ende theyr lyfe:
as horses whipte ye then for feare shall stynte and cease oure stryfe.
Wherfore yf euery kyng th[...]s daie whyche oughte in dede to raygne:
do raygne and rule the rost and weede, the wicked oute full playne.
Then haue they welthe withouten stryfe, whyche God geue vs ryght sone:
that all oute wyckednes were paste, and dredfull dayes were done.
If Dy[...]ar sayde, when Rex doth raygne, and all men doe obey:
how could you Camell, thus conclude? he raygneth not to daye.
Note. Or if he sayd, when Christ is God, and you a faythfull man:
would ye conclude [...]rgo, (to him,) he is not God now than.
Wherfore in Rex do raygne and rule, as I beleue he doeth:
and I beseche almyghtye God, he maye do longe in sothe.
Yet [...] you take a nother poynte, conteyned in thys when:
when Rex [...]oeth raygne and rule the roste, and wedes oute wycked men.
You muste not harken halfe the tale, and leaue the reste behynde:
for than in dede you do amysse, and fayne woulde quareles fynde.
You Redde in faythe muche lyke the nunne omnia probate:
and [...] not the other syde quod bonum est tenete.
Redde you no more but Rex doeth raygne, and lefte the reste vnspyed:
is there not ([...]oo) and rule the roste, the sentence is so tyde.
And wede oute wicked worldly men, the spotted from the cleane:
whose vyce infectes the chosen lambes, lo thus did Dicar meane.
He do[...]bted not but Rex doethe raygne the truethe it selfe dothe showe:
but yet he thoughte it good to wede, oute wycked men I trowe.
And thus I say did Dycar dreame, the sence doeth playnly tell:
yf vpryght eyes and righteous mindes, do loke and skan him well.
If you shulde ben[...]y iudge I se, and deme my dremynge thus
I shulde haue but short curtesy, and you my cause discus.
But god hath sawed your hornes so short, no great hurt do you can,
he made you nether lord nor iudge, nor skarse an honest man.
When Rex doth raygne and rule the rost, and out the wicked weede,
than you and many other lyke, wold fyrst of all precede.
But where you set a snare and net, for these that well intende:
to shewe what is the very cause, of euill and the ende.
There you your self· and if it were, applied well in frame,
as he hath ment) shulde certainly be catched in the same.
What if I shuld cast furth the bone, you thought to choke me with:
perhappes you may repent to late, you went so nie the pyth.
Where is your lesson now become, you lernd so long ago,
that spyde such faute in dicars dreme, and yet conceylde it so.
Note. If it had raught to Iupiters seate, as you affirme in dede,
you ought not it haue kepte so long, but straight it told with spede.
Or if you thought you sawe the myst, that no man elles could skrie,
there shuld no cause haue stopte you so, to tell it by and by.
If dicars when, as true it is, be clere from blame and blotte,
yet your offente is no whit lesse, by cause you thought it not.
If ignoraunce had sayd a mysse, the same be my defence,
yet wilfull ignoraunce in you, dothe pleade your great offence.
Behold of god the rightuouse scourdge, that nowe a mydde the gryn:
you layde to trappe the innocent your selfe is fallen therin.
What say you nowe wise camelles caulfe, if rex wede wicked men,
you shulde of right be tide to short, to peruerte dicars when.
But tyll suche spiders be wede out, and all their cobwebes to,
that sekes to trappe the sellye flies, as you begyn to do.
The barnes I say that here do wonne, with in this bryttaine lande,
shall byde alas those dredfull daies, and dicars dreme may stande.
O Syr you toke my then in hand, wherwith my when I knit,
where I perceyue your frantike head, begins an other fyt.
Note Can you denie the plages of god, which he to vs hath sent?
and scourgeth vs for our great sinnes, from which we not repent.
Doeth not the plowe man plowe his grownde, and laborith verey sore,
the earth bringes forthe hys frute lykewyse, encreasyng more and more
Doeth not the heauens gyue vs rayne, the watters gyues vs fyshe?
doeth not the counsell seeke oure welth, as well as we can wishe?
Do not they take great care and payne, all euelles to redresse,
yes all these thinges doe worke as well, as mans tong can expresse.
Yet though oure king do make good lawes, the earth bringes forth muche sede:
tyll God will take his plage awaye, oure plenty shalbe nede.
Thus balefull barnes we be vnblyethe, and dreadfull dayes doe see:
tyll gracious God of his goodnes, will helpe oure miserye.
Within the towne wheare you doe dwell, you know no dred nor stryfe:
than is it sure a paradise, I laye theron my lyfe.
For I haue traueld here and theare, and sought this world full wide:
to fynde a restyng quyet place, where I would fayn abyde.
But in this wery pylgrimage, I neuer found such stay:
nor suche a vertuous towne as Lyn, yf it be as you saye.
Yf you haue done as muche in Lynne, as you in London haue:
I thinke that all your neighbours woulde, sone wyshe you in your graue.
For we were here in quyet all, vntyll you came to towne:
sence that we could not liue in reast, for suche a contrey clowne.
And Dauie Dicars dreame for soothe, was lowed of euery man:
tyll you began youre wrangling riemes, to brall vpon his whan.
Wherin you lost your honest name, you could not lose much more:
thus are you put to open shame, and haue no thanke therfore.
Go showe your councell one by one, what gayne you here haue got:
[Note: Ad b[...] to wal. ] Herman will helpe to rowe you hom, good syr nowe take your botte.
Nowe trudge a waye feare gentyll beast, and kycke no more at me:
and let them lyue in peace and rest, that thinkes no harme to the.
Thus here I take my leaue from you, wishing for grace and healthe:
to kepe my prince from all his foes, and eke the comon wealthe.


Lyrics:
If right or reason· might moue you to speake,
I wold not you blame, your malice to wreake:
Or if your iudgement, were vpright and cleane,
You wolde not so rudely construe what I meane.
How should your folly, so plainly be knowne,
If that your wisdome, abrode were not blowne.
You byd me amende. Whose life you know not,
As though that in you, there were not a spot.
A tale of a tubbe, you bragge and you brall.
Wherin you do rubbe your selfe on the gall.
You touch not one poynt, wherof that I wrate.
You leape ore the hedge, and seeth not the gate,
I muse what you meane to discant and preache,
Upon a plaine song, so farre past your reache.
Why Camell I say, wyl you needes be fyne,
what wyll ye be knowne for a durty deuine.
It seemes you are learned, past reason or wyt,
Or els you coulde not, the marke so well hyt.
You haue so good laten, you can want no pewter,
Though ye are no foole, yet you are a newter.
You writ like a clerke, ore seene well in Cato.
Forgetting your name, which There[.]s cals Gnato.
I can do no lesse, but shew what you are,
Synce you ar a Daniell, darke dreames to declare
Your knowledge is great, your iudgement is good,
The most of your study· hath ben of Robyn hood
And Be[…]ys of Hampton, and syr Launcelet de lake,
Hath tought you full oft, your verses to make:
By sweete saint Benet, I swere by no foole.
You are not to learne, you plyde well your scole.
Your wyts are not breched, who list you to preeue,
You flocke and you flout, and smils in your sleeue,
I prayse you no more, lest you thinke I flatter,
I must now retourne, to the pith of my matter,
How can you well proue, that I do enuye,
At any estate, be they low or hye·
Or that I spye fauts, in Iuppiters seate,
why are you so mad, on me thus to bleate.
It grees not, it cords not, it fyts not you say,
That men shuld find faut, with gods that bere sway
If plaine Dauy Dicar, with wise man be skande,
He speaketh vprightly, I dare take in hande.
I write not so rashly, but I rule my pen.
In faith you mistake. Dauy Dicars, when,
You take chauke for chese· and day for darke night,
Of like you are spurblinde, or ye loke not a right:
Your purpose I know, you were in such care,
Against this good tyme, your purs was fulbare.
You thought to optaine, some garment or gift·
Then dyd you inuent, to make a foule shift.
To flatter the Gods, & get a new cote,
That made you to syng. So mery a note.
You faine me like Iudas, you thinke me not so
For if I were he, then you wold me know
I beare not the bagge, that mai you rewarde
But yet my good wyll, I pray you regarde
You say that order, would haue eche degree,
To walke in his calling: then how may this do.
That you out of fraine, do blother and barke,
So like a curre dogge, at euery good warke,
Is this the order, that Camels doo vse?
Bicause you are a beast, I must you exscuse:
A Camell, a Capon, a Curre sure by kynde.
I may you well call, synce so I you fynde:
Bicause you haue ratled and railed to mytche.
Now giue me good leue, to claw you wher ye ytch
And if that you thinke. I cubbe you to sore,
Then giue me no cause, to scratch you no more.
Holde this for certayn, and for a sure thing,
The ofter you styrre me, the more I wyll styng.
Syns that you wyll needes awaken my wyttes.
I wyll seeke for you, both snaffuls and bittes.
To holde in your head, and make you to rayne.
And byte on the bridle, for angre and payne.
Then will I deuise for you such a burthen,
As long as you liue, you shall beare a lurden:
A Camell by kinde, wyll beare more at once,
Then .iii. great horses, picktout for the nonce.
More meeter for you, to be in some stable,
To beare heauy burthens, I thinke you more able
Then being as you are, walking abrode,
Your limmes ar well made, to carye a great lode:
All beastes that be made for carte and cariage.
Shuld leane to their labour, as man to his mariage
with horses and Asses, you are well acquainted,
Their maners in ordre, right wel you haue painted
I dout of your shape, some monster you are,
Bicause such a name, to me you declare.
Your wordes and your workes, ar tokens right sure
You ar some brute beast, in mans forme & picture.
Right happy he were, that had you in charge,
He shuld gaine moch money, to shew you at large
what cause, or what toye, dyd trouble your mynde,
To make you seeke fauts, wher non you can finde:
Your instrument iarres, your myrth is not sweete,
You play on false strungs, which thing is vnmeete
Your eare is not good, you know no sweete sounde,
You can not espie, where faut may be founde.
So farre out of tune, I neuer hearde none,
Nor so much past shame, nor yet so farre gone,
As you in this case, God sende you to amende,
which seekes to learnr me, to bow and to bende:
Direct well your steppes, by order and lyne,
And sclaunder me not, nor no workes of myne.
In all my writinges, right honestly I ment.
If thei be taken, to my true entent:
Thei shall breede no strife, nor no error sowe.
When truth shalbe tryde, and vertue shall flow.
Thus yet once to, when, againe I returne,
Bicause that you seeme, against it to spurne,
Untill this long, when, do well come to passe,
This world shalbe nought, & you shalbe an Asse:
Since you doo inuey, alle vice to maintaine,
You shew that you haue, a folish light braine:
God send you more wit, now kepe your head warme
Or els the next winter, mai doo you some harme.
Thus here I do ende, and rest for this time,
Excepte you procure me, to make a new rime.


Lyrics:
WHat lyfe may lyue, long vndefamde, what workes may be so pure,
What vertuous thing, may fl[...]r[...]sh so, that fautles may endure:
What things be past, or yet to come, that freely may reioyce,
Or who can say he is so iust, he feares not sc[...]aundero[...]s to is voyce.
This Sclaunderous peales, doth [...]yng so loud, he soundes in euery eare,
Whose craft can fayn such plesaunt tunes as truth wer present theare.
But it is falshed, fraught with fraude, and syngs a no[...]e to hye,
Though that he bring, some plesaunt p[...]ynts· for to maintayn a lye.
The s[...]mple wy[...]s, at soone [...]egylde, through sclaunders sweete deccay[...]
But those that knowes, such rishing ho[...]es, sh[...]l sone perce[...]ue the bayt.
Unto whose ca[...]es, and iudgements [...]e, I [...]oo commende my workes.
To saue me from, the Serpents styng[...] [...] [...]orkes.
With healpe of truthe, I hope to [...]ee the v[...]n[...]m[...] o[...] this [...].
Orels I trust, in his owne turne, to cast him [...]t the [...]cast.
Although he wher, his teeth at me, and strugs me [...]th his tong[...],
Yet with the iust, I am content, to learne to [...]ff[...]e wrong.
Synce Princes peares, & kyngs themselues, their Actes & godly layes,
Are sclan[...]dred oft, through [...]uyl tonges, and blamed without cawes.
Looke what is doone, and truly ment, to put things in good stay,
Are wres[...]ed, &c crue[...]ted oft, by euyll tonges I say.
The Preachers voyce· which thre[...]neth wrath, the synfull to reduse·
Doth purchase ha[...]e, for tellyng truth: lo, this is mans abuse.
The chylde doth blame, the byrchen rod, whose strypes may not desparde,
Bicause his wyts· vnto his welth, hath very small regarde.
The wycked sort whose vice is knowne, by these which writes their lyues,
Can not abyde, to heare their fauts, but styll against theym stryues.
The horse, can not abyde the whyp, bicause it mends his pace,
Thus eche thing hates, his punishment, we see before our face,
Therfore I blame, this man the lesse, which sclaundreth me so mouch,
And casteth venome· lyke the Tode, bicause his faults I touch:
What cause in me. what hate in him, what mattier hath he sought,
Within this Dauy Dicars Dreame, which for the best [...]as wrought.
Unto the good it is not yll, nor hurtfull vnto none.
[...] vnto those, that lo[...]es the lyght, it is no stumblyng stone.
But those that stands, to watch a tyme, the innocent to spyll,
May wrest the truth, cleane out of frame, & turne good thyngs to yll.
Out or the sweete· and fayrest floure the spydre poyson takes,
And yet the B[...]e, doth feede theron, and therwith hony makes.
The Caterpiller, sp[...]ls the fruit· which God made for man[...] foode,
The fly likewyse, wher he doth blow, doth styl more harm[...] than good.
Thus may you see, as men doo take, the things wheron they looke,
Ther may it turne, to good or bad, as they applye the booke.
But euery man, to his owne worke, an honest meanyng hath,
Orels those hasty, sclaunders tonges, might do good men moch s[...]ath.
He feeles moch ease, that suff[...] can, all thyngs as they doo hap,
Who makes a pyt, for other men, may fall in his owne trap
who flynges a stone at euery dogge, which barketh in the strete,
Shall neuer haue, a iust reuenge, nor haue a pacient sprete.
Therfore I suffre, al your wordes, which is myne enemy knowne,
I could you serue, with [...]aunting tearmes, & feede you with your owne
But I mynde not, to chocke your tale, before the worst be tolde,
Then may I haue· fre[...]choyce and leaue, to shew you wher you scolde.
Good syr if I, shulde you salute, as you saluted me,
Then shuld I call you. Dauy too, and so perchaunce you be.
Ye multiply, fyue names of one, a progeny you make,
As your defent, dyd come from thence, wherof you lately spake.
Though such as you, haue nycknamed me, in gest and halfe in scorne,
Churchyard I am· in Shrew[...]sbury towne, thei say wher I was borne
You put your name, to others workes, the weaklings to begilde.
Me thinke you are, somwhat to younge, to father such a childe.
The truth therof, is ecth to know, a blynde man may discus,
Ye are in nombre, mo then one, ye saye, bee good to vs.
You say, I did not answere you: I could no mattier fynde,
Nor yet can see, excepte I shulde, at folly wast my wynde.
The greatest shame, and most reproch, that any man may haue,
Is for to write, or scolde with fooles, whose nature is to raue,
Synce raising ryms, ore co[...]s your wits, talke on & babble styll,
I not entende, about such chats, my pen nor speche to spyll.
I neither fume, nor chaunge my moode, at ought that you haue sayde.
The world may iudge, your railyng tong, full like a beast hath brayd.
Iud where you say, you can poynt out, by lyne and leuell both,
Of all the, whens, of Dycats dreame, you say you knowe the troth.
It is a wilfull ignoraunce, to hyde, I knowe full well,
I faute, agaynst Iuppiters seate, or agaynst his counsell·
You shew your selfe, not Iuppiters frende, it you can truly proue,
A [...]au[...]e [...]n me, and doth it hyde, for feare or yet for loue.
As for my work[...], and thankles paynes, in this and such like case,
I shall be [...]edy to defende, when you shall hide your face.
Thinke you I teare, what you can do, my grounde is iust and true.
On e[...]ry word. which I dyd speake, I force not what ye brue.
[...]yll all your [...] is [...], and dish [...] chone,
wren they be[...]ul, and [...] ore, I will cast you a bone.
[...], though tha[...] yo[...] twits be fyne,
I can [...], you out of squar, how your leuell and lyne:
I wyll not answere worde for wor[...], to your reiondre yet,
Because I fynde no matter their, [...]or yet no poynt of wyt,
But brabling blasts, and fra[...]tike fyte, and chyding in the ayre,
why doo you fr[...]t thus with your self, fye man do not dispayre:
Though that your wyts, be troubled sore, if you in Bedlem weare,
I thinke you shuld be right wel kept, if you be trended theare:
yf you were scourged once a day, and fed with some warme meate,
You wolde come to your self againe, after this rage of heate.
This may be said without offence, it that your wyts you had,
you wolde not lye nor raile on me, nor fate as you wer mad,
But as it is a true prouerbe: the threatned man lyues long,
your words can neither hang nor draw, I feare not your yll tong.
The world is such it doth contempne, all those that vertue haue,
An euell tong hath no respect, whose name he doth deproue.
what is the cause of mortall fo[...]d, whiche dothe in trendes aryse,
But comenly these sclaunder tonges, which styll delyts in lyes:
who maketh war, who soweth strife, who bringeth Realmes to ruine:
But plenty, pride and euell tonges, whose voyce is nere in tune,
The roote and braunche and cheefest grounde, of mischeefs all and some,
Is euyll tongues, whose sugred words, hath wyse men ouercome,
The proofe wherof you put in vse, your words ye f[...]ame and set,
To excepe into some noble hertes, a credit for to get.
The eatyng worme within the nut, the sweetest curnell secke,
so doo you drawe where gayne is got, and there you loke full meeke.
But vnder those fayre angels lokes, is hyd a deuelish mynde,
I durst lay odds who trust you long, full false he shall you finde.
Now to returne vnto the cause, which made you first to write,
you shew your selfe to be a foole, to answer me in spite,
The first and last that I haue seene, of all your nipping geare,
Is not well worth when [...] cheape, the paring of a yeare.
your sodayn stormes and thundre claps, your boasts and braggs so loude.
Hath doone no harme thogh Robyn Hoo[...], spake with you in a cloud
Go learne againe of litell Ihon, to shute in Robyn Hoods bow[...],
Or Dicars dreame shalbe [...]hit, and all his, whens, I trowe,
This heare I leaue, I lyst not wr[...], to answer wher you [...]ayle:
He is vnwise that stri[...]es with fooles, wher words can not preuayle,


Title:
[Here beginneth a] good lesson for yonge men [Fragment]

Lyrics:
Myne owne dere chylde, I rede and counseyle the 
Whyle thou hast youth, & strength at thy wyll 
All synne and vyce, that thou refuse and flee 
Thy precyous tyme, beware that thou do not spyll 
It renneth away, it standeth neuer styll 
Therfore beware, and fie from all outrage 
There dyeth mo yonge, than lyueth to great age. 

 [...] [...]y[...]e hast spent 
for euery worde and dede, that thou hast done 
Thou mayst not scape, from thy iust Iugement 
Therfore do so, that thou nede not to repent 
That thyne enemyes, saye not to the chekmate 
when thou shalt passe, and mete them in the gate, 

 Let the drede of god, now be thy brydell 
And puruey for the tyme, that lasteth aye 
From vertuous occupacyon, be not ydell 
But get the ghostly rychesse, that thou may 
The fygure of this worlde, goeth fast away 
He is ryche, that hath heuenly rychesse 
All worldly myrth, shall ende in heuynesse. 

 whyle thou arte yonge, be meke and seruyable 
Vnto thy souereygnes, vse thou gentyll speche 
It is a thynge in youth, ryght commendable 
To be more glad to lerne, than for to teche 
Tyll thou mayst to more knowlege a reche 
He that wyll teache, or he any good can 
Ie wyll be longe, or he proue a wyse man. 

Fle from pryde, for that wyll haue a fall 
For god resysteth, proude men euermore 
Beware of enuy, it is better as gall 
Fle from wrath, or it wyll greue the sore 
Kepe no malyce, within thyne herte in store 
These wycked rotes, be as a dethes darte 
My chylde set wysely, kepynge to thy herte. 

[...] 
Fle ryottous companyewhere so euer thou go 
It is great shame, a man to take excesse 
For commonly a beest wyll not do so 
Fle from slouth, it is a pleasaunt foo 
A dilygent man wynneth, for body and soule 
Where as a slouthfull man, may chaunce lose all 

Fle the fylthy synne of lecherye 
For it is that, that god doth greatly hate 
Beware thou speke, no wordes of rybaudrye 
For all that here, therof some harme shall take 
For auery worde, acounte thou must nede make 
Thy tonge wyll shewe, playnly what thou arte 
A fylthy tonge, declareth a fylthy herte 

Laboure truely, for to susteyne thy nede 
To kepe thy body, from all indygence 
Couet the blysse of heuynfor thy mete 
Couet contrycyon, for all thyne offence 
Couet clene herte, and clene conscyence 
Couet heuenly rychesse, that lasteth aye 
whiche no thefe can stele, nor bere away. 

The .x. commaundementes, 
loke ye thou kepe & holde 
with all thy power, vnto thy lyues ende 
Delyte in them, more then in syluer or golde 
Loue all creatures, be it foo or frende 
None is so euyl, but that he may amende 
And mekely loke, vpon thy selfe with all 
None is so iust, but that he may fall 

[...] 
It is a vertue, that is ryght excellent 
Though thou somtyme, for trouth do suffre wronge 
Thou shalte neuer be shamed, though thou be shent 
To please god, set all thy hole entent 
Fle great othes and lyes, for they be euyll 
For all lyers, be the chyldren of the deuyll 

 Haue stedfast fayth
 with parfyte reuerence 
Vnto the holy sacramentes all 
The specyall remedy, for thyne offence 
To ryse agayne by, whan that thou doest fall 
Ordeyned of god, therfore moost specyall 
Very contrycyon, with confessyon true 
To scape the payne, [that for the synne is dewe. 

But where the serpent, lurketh in theyr herte 
They saye that confessyon, is ryght nought 
He is so lothe, from them to departe 
They saye it is yuough, god knoweth our thought 
we shall befafe, Christ hath so dere vs bought 
But who so dothe, confessyon dispyse 
The sacrament of the aultre, setteth at lytell pryse. 

Fastynge and prayer, my chylde se that thou vse 
To exclude synne, with all thy hole entent 
Holy brede, and holy water, do thou not refuse 
In takyng of them, be thou ryght reuerent 
Thynke they were ordeyned, for a good entent 
A specyall vertue, shalt thou fynde therin 
Agaynst wycked spyrytes, and venyall synne. 

[...]


Lyrics:
O Dere Lady Elysabeth, which art our right and vertous Quene
God hath endued the wt mercy & fayth, as by thy workes it may be sene
Wherefore good Quene I counsayle thee, Lady Lady.
For to beware of the spiritualtie most dere Lady.

Haue you not rede of your progenitours, which was before you many a yere
How they endured many sharpe showers, as by the cronicles it doth appere
And many of them came to euell hap, lady lady,
And all was through the forked cap most dere Lady.

Haue you nat rede of Wyllyam Rufus the second kyng hereof that name
How he was slayne moste maruelous, all through the curssed seede of caine.
Tyrell kyllede hym with an arrowe, Lady lady
Yet som men sayed he shot at a sparow moste dere Lady.

Haue you not rede of good Kyng Iohn, how by them he was vndone
The Bishop of Canterbury ye wicked man, accused him to the court of Rome
They enterdyted his lande as the cronicle sayeth, Lady Lady.
A monke poysoned him to his death, moste dere Lady.


Haue you not rede of the second Richard, who was the black princes sonne
How they handled him full hard, and famished him til lyfe was donne
In Powles they made him a funerall Lady Lady,
To blinde the peoples eyes withall, mooste dere Lady.

Haue you not rede of the sixt Henry which was a good and a simple man
The Cardinall of Wynchester truly, made him lose, that hys father wanne
The good Protector his vncle dere, Lady Lady,
The priestes kept war with him a longe yere moste dere Lady.

Then came your father, King Henry ye .viii. which was a prince of victory
And he deposed them all straight, when he had spyed their Idolatry
If this be trewe as trewe it was, Lady, Lady,
God graunt your grace may do no lesse most dere Lady.

Then came your brother king Edward, which was a good & vertuo{us} child
And to gods word he had regarde, but the wicked priestes hath hym begilde
And raysed vp trentalles in euery place, Lady Lady,
And some of them preached agaynst his grace most dere Lady,

Then came your syster quene Mary, & for fiue yeres that she did rayne,
All that was done Edward and Hary, her wicked priestes made it but vaine
They brought in agayne the Romyshe lore, Lady Lady,
Whiche was banished longe before, moste dere Lady.

Then God sent vs your noble grace, as in dede it was highe tyme
Whiche dothe all popery cleane deface, and set vs forth Gods trewe deuine
For whome we are all bound to praye Lady Lady,
Longe life to raigne bothe night and day, moste dere Ladye


Title:
A Ruful complaynt of the publyke weale to Englande

Lyrics:
Publyke weale speaketh
Ah moste noble realme of Engla[n]d 
Thy state I sore lamente
now knowi[n]g how thou dost sta[n]d
It makes my hart dolente

Thou hast ben the worthyest lande
that euer godhath wrought]
Thou art not so I understande
Into myserye arte thou brought

The cronacles of thedoth saye
Whych knew the in thy youthe
That of thy welth thou dost decaye
and hath of the moche ruthe

In thy first ageit was not so
Thy force then was well knowen
For thy stronge arme gaue suche a bloo
To the worlde thy fayme was blowen

Now be thy people wythouten harte 
to se the in thys case
Beynge so weake to take thy parte
Straungersto come alas

Let me sewhat is the cause
That thou art in thys dystresse
was euer realmehad better lawes 
Or people in more Quietenes

Haste not thouthe godlyest kynge
That eyer ruled publycke weale
the worthiest governour in euery thynge
And the most mercyfullyst counsayle

Is not goddes worde devulgated
And in all partes now knowen
That al peoplemay be learned
To lyue and know theyr owne

That therby loue and amytye
May dwell in euery place
Justyce peace and equytie
Shulde all mens hart embrace

Why then art thou altered
And fallen from thyne estate
Declare me howe thou art decayed 
And brought vnto thys rate.

England aunswereth.
Alas I am so sore oppreste
Vvyth sorowe griefe and payne
That wythout teares can be expreste
the wronge whych I sustayne
Vvhat natural wold not wepe
To se my carefull state
My people they be turned to slepe
And my townes the be desolate

My groundes they be imparked
Corne feldes for beastes foode
Poore by the rycheare so pynched
that of my groundthey take no good.

For al thatis lyttle ynoughe
For onely the ryche mans nead
To make pastureaway wyth ploughe
That they may cattle fead

And commens of auncient tyme
They make Generall landes
and close it inwyth dyche and lyne
That poore men wringe theyr handes

Hauyng not to feade hys kowe
His horse nether his shepe
Nor no groundto reare hys sowe
Or other cattell vpon to kepe

Thus the multitude be decayed
The stronge deuoure the weake
The poore beynge thys dysmayed
Dare not for theyr own speake

My welth is turnedto wretchednes
Plenteth is pynched to spare
My strength is turned to weakenes
My syryes be voyde and bare.

My townes and castels in Ruyne
My feldes enclosed they be
the plowes now they sowe so thynne
that ruth it is for to see

The ryche casteth out theyr nette
and taketh all that comes
The neady walke in the strete
and begge about for cromes.

Such officesas heretofore
apparteynedto the yomans ryght
Be taken awaye they get nomore
and geuen to Lorde or knyght

Marchauntesthey become lordes
and Lordes vsethmarchaundyse
A lorde a sheppardnothyng accordes
Or a graysyer that is new gyse

Ryche men lyue by vserye
Craftes men by dysceate
And vyttelers by subtil[t]ye
Poore mens goodes to get

Vvhat thyng is itthat can fall
But it commeth vnto theyr handes
They be so greadythey katch vp all
whether it be house or landes

And all my other comodities
as leatherwolleand leade
Tallowtynand clothes
Be from the commons fleade

And caryed into straunge landes
Other regyons for to enryche
So that my people haue Idle handes
and for neade fall in the dyche.

For euery man seaketh his owne
and for others doth not care
That he may lyue in welth alone
Yea though other be neuer so bare

Thus is the multytude
Of theyr lyuynges destytute
and so decayeth my fortytude
whych made my enemyes mewte

Although goddes word be exhybyt
Abrode in all my lande 
Yet fewe or none applye therwytte
Gods wyll to vnderstande

But followeth theyr olde entent
and serache vp all they can
Pluckynge from the innocent
To make theym a ryche man

Thus pouertie is vsed god wote
that petye it is to beholde
They byte on hym lyke the knate
Tyll he be naked for colde

Now haue I tolde thethe cause why
That my welth is so sore worne
That yf ther befound no remedy
They shall rew itnot yet borne.

Two fautes escaped by the printer, where ye rede 
slepe, rede shepe, & where ye rede general, rede seueral

Publycke weale answereth
Vvold it not makeany hart breake
Thys to here of Englandes fall
Some good ma[n]for the commons speake
That ryche men marre not all.

God save Edward our kyng
And his counsellers worthye
and send theym graceto help thys thinge
For the weale of the communaltye


Title:
A lamentation of the death of the moost victorious Prynce Henry the eyght late kynge of thys noble royalme of Englande

Tags:
Political,  Religious, Confessional, Epitaph, Other

Lyrics:
IF the riuer Phison and Euphrates,
With Tigris and Gehon wer in my hed,
wt weping Pliades, yet shuld I lack teres
Worthely to bewaile our king that is ded.
Not his mysfortune, for he (wythout dred)
Is there, whence he would not come to be here
Though al our lamenting might turne him to chere.

But we, whom he loued, as the hed his members,
As parentes theyr chyldren defending vs aye:
Cannot haue such abondaunce of teares,
As may suffice, the truth for to saye,
The lest part of our losse tustly to bewraye,
Such is the losse that a publycke weale hath,
When theyr kyng is taken from them by death.

The chylde, without father or mother may be,
And yet not defaute though it be but young.
But a publyke weale dyd we neuer se:
That without a kyng myght continewe long.
For alwayse the multitude wilbe headstrong,
And hath no lesse nede of a gouernoure,
Then the greate shyp hath of a nauclere.

Consider therfore what great losse England
Hath, by the death of Henry hyr kyng.
In whose myghtie hande no enemyes myghte stand,
So long as he was in this worlde liuyng.
Yea, the Lorde prospered hym in al thyng.
Though diuers dyd hym, diuersly assayle:
Yet could ther none be able to preuayle

His marcial prowes and ciuile policie,
His sage wysedome and most politicke wit:
Brought suche thynges to passe so easelye,
That men would scarsly haue beleued, it
Had bene possible such knottes to vnknyt,
Without great disturbance daunger and perell.
Yet could his wysedome vndo them full well.

What blindnes? What errour? What supersticion?
What sturdy Idolles? And what blasphemye?
What fond disgysynges and false religion?
What diuilysh doctrine, and Romyshe papry?
Hath he extincted in this his country?
And in howe short tyme did he these thynges finysh:
And all theyr contraries fyrmely stablysh?

What liuinges for studentes hath he appointed:
In Cambridge and Oxford, aye to indure?
Besides the great number of Coleges buylded:
Abrode in the country to mayntayne litterature.
And that each coast of preachers myght be sure.
Such care he toke the truth for to auaunce
And quit to abolyshe all ygnoraunce.

He dyd not forget the impotent creatures,
But for them also prouision he made,
Estemyng them no lesse then gostly treasures,
Of whose relyfe studentes should be glad.
And therfore among them he caused to be had.
In euery of theyr colleges a place seuerall,
Wyth all thynges nedefull to releue theym withall.

But to what purpose is it to reherse.
The manifold benifites receiued:
Syth halfe of them worthely to expresse,
If I thought my selfe able I were disceiued.
But seyng great plentie of them are perceyued,
Let vs praye dayly (as our dutye is)
That he at the last day may ryse to blys.

And as we haue liued to him in subiection,
For the tyme of his reigne, so let vs do nowe:
To noble Kyng Edward in succession,
Desiryng our Lorde God his youth so to bowe,
That he may accomplyshe his fathers vowe,
In settyng abrode the truth more and more
Commaundyng all men therby to set store.

And you that erst haue ben stubbourne and stiffe,
Resistyng goddes truth, relent, be not blynd
Styll, but imbrace ye your goostly relyffe:
For thereunto reason doth you bynd,
Sith you that should go before are so far behynd,
Go forward lustely, and be not slacke.
Setting your hand to the plough loke no more back,

Set contencion a part, as a thyng vayne,
That you may imbrace concord and vnitie.
Let charite your affeccions restrayne,
And as we by nation and religion be
But one body, so let vs nowe studye
To be of one mynde, and not to dissent,
Then doutles we shall haue no cause to repent.

Let vs, shewe charite eache one to other,
For that is the badge of Christes elect:
Who wylleth vs to be as brother and brother,
And all our study hyther to dyrect.
That we may lyue worthy the chrystian sect,
Declaryng with workes what fayth we professe,
And that we detest all wyckednes.

So doyng no doubt this realme shal prosper,
No lesse in the dayes of our noble young kyng:
Then it hath done in the dayes of hys father,
Who studied alwayse to set furth that thyng
That myght be to our edefiyng
In christian fayth and true religion,
Abolyshyng all vayne supersticion.

That we maye this doo nowe let vs praye,
To hym that is able to graunt our request:
And all contencion asyde let vs laye,
For concord and vnitie is euer best.
And therby are kyngdomes alwayes increst,
Weake thinges made strong, & strong thinges main tained.
Enuye expelled, and frendship retained.

For noble Kyng Edward praye we also.
And for the nobles each in hys degree,
That they may aye condissent herevnto,
And for the prelates of the Clargye,
That they may also study an vnitie.
Than all that is a mysse God wyll amende,
To whom be all honour world without ende.


Title:
Here beginneth a song of the Lordes Supper

Lyrics:
O God who is worthy thy great loue to expresse
Which ye [...] on vs hast showid or wt word it inlarg
For when Sathan, wt sin was like vs to oppresse
Thou sendyst thinown begotten son vs to discarg
Through his godli life & or the end of his viage
He ordeyned a sygne, for oure weke soules moost holsom
Wherby we shulde thynk on the loue of his personage
And remember his deathe, vntyll the tyme he comme.

Gyue attentyue eares, I hartely you desyre
To hea[...]e thinges profytable, leest profyt scape by
Therfore diligently to harken I you requyre
Ye wyll call it profyt, I dare well veryfy
To be inflamed with Christes loue, as with fyer heuenly[...]
For with goddes grace, I wyll tell you the holesom
Of Christes supper, assigned very necessary
For vs to remember the Lordes death tyll he com.

 Dyuers vertuous namynges, hath this holy signe
Callyd the Lordes supper, in the pistle of saynt Paule
Agayn a Communion, Christes churche to conioyne
In charytie by a supper vniuersall
And thankes geuyng to God, for his benefyttes all
And a wyll of synnes forgyuenes, to deaf and dom
And by this text, do thus me to your mynde to call
I remembraunce of the Lordes death, vntyll he com.


Title:
The practice practised by the Pope and his prelates which they haue vsed synce they came to their estates.

Lyrics:
ALas alas, what shall I now doo:
My kyngdome is lyke, no longer to stande:
These Englysh men, wyll me vndoo:
And dryue me quyte out of their lande,
I may to them, holde vp my hande,
And say a due, my frendes all,
But specially, my preestes of Ball,

Yet at the fyrst, whan that I harde,
How that my Pylgrimages, were put downe,
And that my pardones, they dyd not regarde,
Nor cared not for my triple crowne,
All this, lytle minished my renowne:
Hopyng to haue it vp agayne all,
By the craftye conueyaunce, of my preestes of Ball.

And as for Scala celi, my Masse,
with idle holydayes in the yere,
For the losse of them, I dyd not passe,
Bycause they were, but sclender gere,
I haue men lyeng. euery where:
That can make them new agayne all,
By the wycked counsell, of my preestes of Ball.

And than agayne, for my Peter pence,
The which came yerely to my purse.
They haue lytle bated my expence,
Nor made my cofers, lytle the worse,
And though they doo not regarde my curse,
Nor yet my blessyng, amongest them all,
yet this wyll be recouered, by my preestes of Ball.

And as for all my Abbayes and Selles,
with Charter houses and Monesteries,
That were thrust downe. with hallowed welles,
Therein to wasshe, for feare of feryes,
All this, my kyngdome lytle weryes,
Not doubtyng to haue it vp agayne all,
By the wycked counsell, of my preestes of Ball.

My fat headed Monkes, wt my .iiii. orders of Friers
My stoute Channons, and wympeled Nonnes,
which were dryuen out, as sellers and byers,
All this with other, in agayne commes,
For I haue store ynough, in other kyngdommes,
And also in Englande, when so euer I call,
As knoweth full well, my preestes of Ball.

And as for the name of Supreme heade:
For that, I doo not greatly care:
So longe, as by my lawes they are leade:
Let them dyspyse me, and not spare,
All thys can not make, me worse to fare.
Hopyng to haue yt, vp agayne all,
By the deuyse, of my preestes of Ball.

But I maye my self, bothe curse and ban:
And teare my clothes, for very madnes:
That when I was, with euery man,
Regarded much, in ernest sadnes:
Then vsed I, suche open badnes:
That the people, fled from me all:
Sauyng, my louyng preestes of Ball.

I had no measure, in sellynge of my wares:
But made them paye, I cared not what,
Which was the begynnyng, of all my cares:
But now to repent, it is to late,
I vsed such a geynfull common rate,
That the people, fled from me all,
Sauyng, my louyng preestes of Ball.

Also my Byshops, I trow they were mad,
That when they saw the Abbayes put downe,
And that the Kyng, their treasure had,
All thys, mynisshed lyttell their renowne,
But one, as with his shauen crowne,
Toke counsell, with hys fellowes all.
Insurrection to make, by my preestes of Ball

And when they sawe, their euell chaunce:
How in that, they were ouer come:
Then sent they one, vnto the Kynge of Fraunce,
To carry hym worde, they were vndon,
Desyryng hym, with all and some:
That he wold helpe. hys subiectes all:
To set vp agayne, the preestes of Ball.

And then an other, into Scotland was sente:
That they, on the other syde shuld be doyng:
So that, their subtyll intente,
Must go forwarde, in euery thyng,
Continuall warres, they dyd brynge:
Whiche was to stoppe, Goddes truthe with all:
By the customed practice, of my preestes of Ball:

And when these men, were set on worke.
Hauynge mynde of nothyng but battayle:
Then dyd my men, together lurke,
Thynkyng, on their purpose to preuayle:
Deuysyng a beaste, with .vi. heades and a tayle,
Desyryng the Kynge, with his counsell all,
To lycence my beastes, the preestes of Ball.

And when that lycence, then was graunted.
They begane to bragge, in euery place:
And the new gospellers, by them were taunted:
Thynkyng ther by, the truthe to defase:
Alas there ys an heuy case.
For downe I must, with my baggage all:
Sparyng not me, nor my preestes of Ball.

Styll dothe the Kyng, contynew in warre:
And hath almost spent, the ryches of the Abbayes:
Thys gere, I feare me, wyll vs cleane marre:
Gatheryng of money, my power decayes:
Colleges, and Chaunteries, in theyr ryche arayes:
They are lyke now, to go downe all:
And thus decayes, my preestes of Ball.

And when the ryches, of them ys wasted,
Then, haue at the Byshops landes:
And Cathedrall churches, shalbe tasted:
The which, full gorgyously now standes:
I maye lament, and wrynge my handes:
Geuyng vp the soule titles all:
And take my leaue, of my preestes of Ball.

By thys my darlynges, shall be made so poore:
That they shall not be able, to doo me good:
But shall go begge, from dore to dore:
With sad countenance, and carefull mood:
To chafe, frette, or to be wood:
It wyll not helpe, nothynge at all.
But farewell, my noynted preestes of Ball.

Farewell mattens, with tunable notes:
Farewell euensong, done at nyght.
Farewell Diriges, with trentall grotes:
Farewell Idolles, now put to flyght:
Farewell, my great god of myght:
Farewell ones agyne, my god of all:
Farewell good nyght, my preestes of Ball.

Farewell Pax, Pascalls, and Palmes:
Farewell Alter, Asshes: and Aue maries:
Farewel Portuous, Pystelles and Psalmes:
Farewell Anteme of Alys: and Annes:
Farewell commendations, and also mortuaries:
Farewell my copes, and vestimentes all.
Farewell my shauen preestes of Ball.

A dew my holybread, in howsell stede.
Adew my holly water, for veniall synnes:
Adew my crepyng, to the crosse at nede.
Adew my belles, with all their gynnes.
Adew cusshyons, knelynges, and crouchynges:
Adew my sensores, and cruets all.
Adew my full trust, in the preestes of Ball.

Commende me to my seuen sacramentes.
But specyally, to my good derlyng Whyte cote,
And shewe to hym, that my good intentes.
The christians, nothyng regarde or note:
Goddes worde, a mongest them is so hote.
That downe I must, with my baggage all,
Sparing not me, nor my preestes of Ball.

And as for the .vi. Gardiners Gospelles.
They are euen sodeynly, now decayed.
And also my .vi. Articles.
Thys maketh me in dede, to be afrayde,
I haue but small trust, in fresh ayde.
For surely my ceremonies: wyll go downe all.
That out alas, my preestes of Ball.

Thus with euell wyll, I take my flyght.
Departyng a waye, with wofull chere.
Neuermore in England, to come in syght:
How saye Lawyers, to thys gere:
I wys I helped you, this menny yere,
With kepynge the people in blindnes all,
But we trust no more to the preestes of Ball.

Leaue of your byndynge of heauy burdens,
Upon mens shouldres, to oppresse them downe:
Leste you and I, lyke idle lurdens,
Go labor about, from towne to towne,
I saye trust no more, to my shauen crowne,
But minister truly, amongest you all,
And haue no more truste in the preestes of Ball.

Now maysters, you that dyd here:
The pitifull complaynt, of my [H] song.
Wolde very gladly, see it appere:
Thynkynge the tyme, to be very longe:
Thys prossesse of myne, wyll not prolonge.
For the breath of God, wyll downe with all:
Shortely not to see, a preeste of Ball.

God saue the Kyng, hys noble grace,
And send hym to spye, the subtiltie of the bysshoppes
And that he may in any case,
Once thrust downe, these forked toppes:
For as long as the pye, in ye Kyngs chambre hoppes,
The silly sheepe, and lambes all,
Are lyke to be deuoured, with the preestes of Ball.

Doo not thynke here, that I discommende,
Any of the sacramentes, that Christ dyd institute:
For I dyd neuer so pretende,
My mynde was, nothyng but to confute,
The abuses of thynges, therein to dispute,
Which I wolde were taken away ingenerall,
No more to be mainteyned, by the preestes of Ball


Lyrics:
The God aboue, for man's delight,
Hath heere ordaynde euery thing,
Sonne, Moone, and Sterres, shinyng so bright,
with all kinde fruites that here doth spring,
And Flowrs that are so flourishyng.
Amonges all which that I beholde,
As to my minde best contentyng,
I doo commende the Marigolde.
In Veare first springeth the Violet ;
The Primerose, then, also doth spred ;
The Couslip sweete abroade doth get ;
The Daisye gaye sheweth forth her hed
The Medowes greene, so garnished,
Most goodly, truly, to beholde ;
For which God is to be Praised.
Yet I commende the Marigolde.
The Rose that chearfully doth showe
At Midsomer, her course hath shee ;
The Lilye white after doth growe ;
The Columbine then see may yee ;
The Jofiflowre in fresh degree,
with sundrie mo then can be tolde :
Though they neuer so pleasaunt bee,
Yet I commende the Marigolde.

Though these which here are mencioned
Bee delectable to the iye,
By whom sweete smelles are ministred,
The sense of man to satisfye,
Yet each as serueth his fantasye ;
wherfore to say I wyll be bolde,
And to aduoide all flaterye,
I doo commende the Marigolde.
[5]
All these but for a time doth serue,
Soone come, soone gone, so doth they fare,
At feruent heates and stormes thei sterue,
Fadyng away, their staulkes left bare.
Of that I praise, thus say I dare,
Shee sheweth glad cheare in heate and colde,
Moche profityng to hertes in care,
Such is this floure, the Marigolde.
[6]
This Marigolde Floure, marke it well,
with Sonne dooth open, and also shut ;
which (in a meanyng) to vs doth tell
To Christ, God's Sonne, our willes to put,
And by his woorde to set our futte,
Stiffly to stande, as Champions bolde,
From the truthe to stagger nor stutte,
For which I praise the Marigolde.
[7]
To Marie, our Queene, that Floure so sweete,
This Marigolde I doo apply,
For that the Name doth serue so meete
And properlee, in cache partie ;
For her enduryng paciently
The stormes of such as list to scolde
At her dooynges, with cause why,
Loth to see spring this Marigolde.
.
Shee may be calde Marigolde well,
Of Marie (chiefe), Christes mother deere,
That as in heauen shee doth excell,
And Golde in earth, to haue no peere :
So (certainly) shee shineth cleere,
In Grace and honour double folde,
The like was neuer earst seene heere,
Suche is this floure, the Marigolde.
Her education well is knowne,
From her first age how it hath wrought ;
In singler Vertue shee hath growne,
And seruyng God, as she well ought ;
For which he had her in his thought,
And shewed her Graces many folde,
In her estate to see her brought,
Though some dyd spite this Marigolde.
[10]
Yf she (in faith) had erred a-misse,
which God, most sure, doth vnderstande,
wolde hee haue doone, as proued is,
Her Enmies so to bring to hande ?
No, be ye sure, I make a bande,
For seruying him he needes so wolde
Make her to Reigne ouer Englande,
So loueth hee this Marigolde.
Her conuersacion, note who list,
It is more heauenly then terraine,
For which God doth her Actes assist ;
All meekenesse doth in her remaine.
All is her care, how to ordayne
To haue God's Glorie here extolde ;
Of Poore and Riche, shee is most fayne.
Christ saue, therfore, this Marigolde.
[12]
Sith so it is, God loueth her,
And shee, His Grace, as doth appeare ;
Ye may be bolde as to referre
All doubtfulnesse to her most cleare,
That, as her owne, in like maneare
She wilth your welthes, both yong & olde,
Obey her, then, as your Queene deare,
And say : Christ saue this Marigolde.
[13]
Christ saue her in her High Estate,
Therin (in rest) long to endure ;
Christ so all wronges heere mitigate
That all may be to his pleasure :
The high, the lowe, in due measure,
As membres true with her to holde,
So cache to be thother's treasure,
In cherishyng the Marigolde.
Be thou (O God) so good as thus
Thy Perfect Fayth to see take place ;
Thy Peace thou plant here among vs,
That Errour may go hide his face.
So to concorde vs in eache case,
As in thy Courte it is enrol de,
wee all (as one) to loue her Grace,
That is our Queene, this Marigolde


Title:
an AVE MARIA in Commendation of
An Ave Maria in Commendation of our most Vertuous Queene

Lyrics:
HAILE
Haile Quene of Englad, of most worthy fame
For vertue, for wisdome, for mercy & grace ;
Most firme in the fath, Defence of the same,
Christ saue her and keepe her in euery place.

Marie, the mirrour of mercifulnesse,
God of his goodnesse hath lent to this lande ;
Our iewell, our ioye, our ludeth, doutlesse,
The great Holofernes of hell to withstande.

FULL
Full well I may liken and boldly compare
Her highnesse to Hester, that vertuous Quene ;
The enuious Hamon to kyll is her care,
And all wicked workers to wede them out clene.

OF
Of sectes and of schysmes a riddaunce to make,
Of horrible errours and heresies all ;
She carckes & cares & great trauell dooth take,
That vertue may flourish and vice haue a fall.

 GRACE
Grace and all goodnesse doth garnish her Grace
with mercifull meeknesse, on euery syde,
And pitifull Prudence, in rennyng her race,
Her highnesse in honor most godly dooth guyde.

OUR
Our life is a warfare, the worlde is the fielde :
Her highnes her army hath alwayes at hande ;
For Hope is her helmet, Faith is her shielde,
And Loue is her brestplate, her foes to withstad.

LORDE
Lorde, for thy mercy, vouchsafe to defende
Her Grace from all griefes, and dredfull distresse ;
whom thou hast vouchsafed, so frendly, to sende
Our maners to mende, our deedes to redresse.

 Is
Is not this Ilande of duty most bounde
To pray for her highnesse most prosperous state ?
By whom all our enmies be cast to the grounde,
Exilyng all errour, all strife, and debate.

WITH
With wisdome, her wisdome, most witty & wise,
Most wisely dooth welde vs, in wele and in wo ;
In rest to rule vs, this dooth she deuise,
In grace and in goodnesse, with vertue also.

THEE
Thee humbly we honour, most mercifull Lorde,
Besechyng thy goodnesse to graut vs thy grace,
That we in faith as one may accorde,
All vices exiled, may vertue imbrace.

BLESSED
Blessed be lesu, and praise we his Name,
who of his mere mercy hath lent to this lande
So Catholike Capitaynes, to gouerne the same,
And freely the foes of Faith to withstande.

 ART
Art thou not a-shamed, thou caitif vnkynde,
To whisper, to whimper, with traitourous tene 
to matter, to mourmure* with mischeuous mynd
Aflinst thy so louyng and gracious * Queue ?

THOU
Thou wishest and woldest* But til is in vayne
(God dooth abhorre) ; to thinke in thy harte
Or speake in secrete of them that doo raigne ;
the birdes wyll bewrai thee : to prai is thy parte,

AMONG
Amo[n]g al the scriptures wher hast thou but sene
the murmurers punishte, & neuer had their wyll
Agaynst their heade ; our Soureigne Queene,
Whose Grace I pray God preserue from all yll
 
WOMEN
Women and widowes with maidens & wiues
Of this blessed woman example may take,
ln womanly wisdonxe to leade well their liues,
All Englande is blessed for this womans sake

AND
And for that there is suche godly behauiour,
S[p?]ecially tendryng Gods worthy name :
He, through his power and Princely fauour,
Hath […] her foes to their great shame.

[….]e, thertone, our Lorde God
And Marie our Maistresse, our merciful Quene ;
For vnto this lande our Lorde, for her love,
Hath of his mercy most mercifull bene,

 Is
Is not her highnesse most worthy of prayse,
And England moch holden her grace to cSmend
By who it hath pleased our Lord many wayse
His bountefull blessyng on vs for to sende.

THE
The plentifull pitie, the faith, and the grace,
The meruailous mekenes and mercy, also,
And other the vertues that shine in her face,
Doo saue vs her subiectes in weale and in wo.

FRUYTE
Fruyte of her body God graunte vs to see,
This-Royalme to rule in peace and in rest ;
That louyng, as she is, to vs maye be,
who woulde vs all, as our hertes can thinke best.

OF
Of this may the good be bolde as to say
She woulde God's glory to flourish and spryng,
And her true subiectes to walke in one way,
In vnitie of faith all vs for to bryng.

THY
Thy gracious goodnes to God, therfore,
we humbly beseche her grace to preserue ;
And thy holy Churche in state to restore,
As daily desireth our princely Mynerue.

WOMBE
Wombe that she beareth by God be it blest,
From dauger of childing whe God he shal sende
Neuer by enemyes to see her supprest,
But, as his chosen, to haue heere her ende.

IESUS
lesus most gentle, graunte this request,
Our Noble Queene with thy grace to encrease
In health and honour, as pleaseth thee best,
That long ouer vs she may reigne in peace.


Lyrics:
Nowe singe, now springe, oure care is exil'd, Oure vertuous Quene is quickned with child. Nowe englande is happie, and happie in dede,
That god of his goodnes doth prospir here sede ;
Therfore, let vs praie, it was neuer more nede,
God prosper her highnes, god send her good sped.
[2]
Howe I manie good people were longe in dispaire
That this letel england shold lacke a right heire ;
But nowe the swet marigold springeth soo fayre
That England triumpheth without anie care.
[3]
Howe manie greate thraldomes in englan[d]e were seene
Before that her highnes was pwblyshed quene :
The bewtye of englade was banyshed clene,
with wringing & wrongynge, & sorowes between.
And yet synce her highnes was planted in peace,
* Her subiectes wer dubtful of her highnes' increse ;
But nowe the recofort their murmour doth cease,
They haue their owne wyshynge, their woes doo releasse,
[5]
I And suche as enuied the matche and the make,
And in their procedinges stoode styffe as a stake,
Are now reconciled, their malis dothe slake,
And all men are wilinge theyr partes for to take.
[6]
Our doutes be dyssolued, our fansies contented,
The manage is ioyfull that many lamented ;
And suche as enuied, like foles haue repented
The Errours & Terrours that they have inueted.
[7]
But God dothe worke more wonders then this,
For he is the Auther and Father of blysse :
He is the defender, his workinge it is,
And where he dothe fauoure, they fare not amys.
[8]
Therfore let vs praye to the father of myght
To prospre her highnes and shelde her in ryghte ;
Wyth ioye to deliuer, that when she is lighte
Both she & her people maie Ioye without flight.
God prossper her highnes in euery thinge,
Her noble spouse, our fortunate kynge,
And that noble blossome that is plated to spring.
Amen, swete lesus, we hartelye singe.
[10]
Blysse, thou swete lesus, our comforters three,
Oure Kynge, our Quene, our Prince that shalbe ;
That they three as one, or one as all three,
Maye gouerne thy people to the plesure of the.


Title:
Epitaphe vpon the Death of the Excellent and our late vertuous Quene, Marie, deceased, augmented by the first author

Lyrics:
Vayne is the blisse, & brittle is the glasse, of worldly


Title:
An Exclamatio vpo the erronious and fantasticall sprite of heresy, troublig the vnitie of the Church, deceaui[n]g the simple Christia[n], with her vnperfect, vnprofitable & vayn wordes.

Lyrics:
O Heresy, with frenesy,
disobedience and pride,
Hast lead man's mind, with fancies blind,
headlong runnyng farre [and] wyde,
From the path way to Christ, I saye,
o fonde, folish, vayne guyde !
Brought many one to perdicion,
to play a desperate parte,
Made deuition in eche Region ;
a false traitour thou arte
To God aboue, the knotte of loue
to Christ Church to subuert.
[3]
The Sacramentes, our regimentes
of health, .vii. giftes of grace,
when we doo fall through synne, to call
for them, our great solace ;
A remedie, for eche degree,
God's fouour to pourchace.

 Babtisme is one, Confirmation,
with trew Penaunce certayne ;
wedlocke to endure, Presthod most pure,
Christ body to remayne ;
At our last ende suche grace God sende,
Extreme Unction to attayne.
[5]
By which all we membres knitte be
to Christ, our most chiefe head,
In vnitie through his Bodie,
which dyde for quicke and dead ;
Christ's Church, likewise, doth Sacrifice
the same, in fourme of bread.
[6]
Very flesh and blood, our daily food,
in vs to byde and dwell,
Bi who we moue, Hue euer through loue,
in vertew to excell.
The other dead be not in this bodie,
shall perish, and burne in hell.
[7]
O infidell, darest thou rebell
against Christes humane body ?
Thymage to graue, pictures to haue,
thou calst ydolatry,
The laye man's booke, theron to looke,
to folow their lyues by.
[8]
God doth forbed ydoles in dede ;
for ydolatry playne
Doth signify thynges made therby,
not hauyng life certayne ;
which represent a false entent,
that worke of man is vayne.
[9]
The ymage of ma is God's worke tha,
praise him in his sayntes daily :
Their ymage to make for vertew sake,
no good man can denye,
His sayntes liuyng (for vs praiyng),
to haue their memory.
[10]
If whose fame imortall dye neuer shall :
the lust man lyues for euer,
where the vniust is scatred like dust,
consumed with the wether ;
whose mortall fame dyeth with shame,
no mention of him neuer.
O Traitour vntrue to Christ lesu,
his ymage to deface,
To set at nought hym that the bought,
thou arte cleane voide of grace ;
whose remebrauce thou ought taduauce,
with his sayntes in eche place.
H" whose life & dayes in penauce alwayes
dyd byde Religiously,
In praier by night, w[i]the world to fight,
and wunne the victory.
Their vow thei kepte bi the flesh, ne slept,
most chaste Virgens dyd dye.
[13]
Thou counterfaite, O foule disceate,
a false fayth to entende,
To breake thy vowe for thy lust nowe,
death needes must be thy ende :
Dew execution to thy confusion,
Christ churche for to defende.
[14]
 whose vnitie, by antiquitie,
vniuersall is knowne ;
Continewed, from Rome the hed,
by trew succession ;
By Counsels tride, the truthe out spide
of God's sprite longe agone.
[15]
 O heresy, thou walkest a-wrye,
abrode to gadde or raunge ;
Kike false brethren, deceaue children,
this Churche nowe for to chaunge :
Her praier by night to banish quight,
with new imientions straunge.
[16]
 To breake, also, thy first faith, to[o],
through wilfull impietie ;
For thy debate excomunicate
from Christ spousesse holy.
Thou canst not accord with spouse & lord
that liuest in aduoutry.
[17]
Runyng retchlesse from thy spousesse,
Christ Churche, most Chatholike,
whose company God kepes, truly,
to banish the heretike ;
Her errours all, schismatical,
out of this churche to strike.
Fro her ne swerue, lest thou do sterue
with childer reprobate,
whose parentes be iniquitie,
gotte by the sprite debate,
Thulauful spouses, whose workes, doutles,
as hypocrites God doth hate.
[19]
H Repent & tourne, your Hues refourme,
Come to Christes Church most trew,
.
with humilitie reconsilde to be
to the mother of vertew,
which night and day serues God alway,
whose faith her childre ensew ;
And doo endure, in one pasture,
of one folde styll together,
Both all and some, lest the wolfe come,
them for to disceuer
From our Pastour, which doth succour,
keepe, and defende vs euer.


Title:
A godly and vertuous songe or Ballade, made by the constant member of Christe, John Carelesse, being in prison in the kinges benche for professing his word; whoe, ending his dayes therin, was throwen out and buryed most Ignominiously vpon a donghill

Tune:
John Careless aka Some Men for Soddaine Joys do weep

Tags:
Topical or Historical, Religious, Confessional, Moral, other

Lyrics:
Some men for sodayne joye do wepe,
and some in sorrowe synge ;
When as they are in daunger depe,
to put away mournyng.

Betwene them both will I begyn,
being in joye and payne ;
With sighing to lament my synne,
and yet reioyce againe.

My synfull lyfe doth still encrease,
my sorrowes are the more ;
From wickednesse I cannot cease,
woe is my heart therfore.
Sometyme when I thincke to doe well,
and serve god night and day ;
My wicked nature doth rebell,
and leadeth me astray,
As bond and captive vnto synne,
which grieveth me full sore ;
This misery doe I lyve in,
woe is my heart therfore.

Indede, sometymes I doe repent
and pardon doe obtayne ;
But yet, alas ! incontinent,
I fall to synne againe.

My corrupt nature is so ill,
offending more and more ;
That I displease my lord god still,
woe is my hart therfore.

Woe is my hart, woe is my mynde,
woe is my soule and spirit ;
That to my god I am vnkynde,
in whome I should delight.
His love alwayes I should regard,
which towardes me was pure ;

With synne and vice I him reward,
oh most vnkynde creature !

The beast, the bird, the fishe, the foule,
their maker doe obey ;
But I which am a lyving soule,
am farre more worse then they.
For they, according to their kynde,
doe serve god nyght and day ;
But I, alas, with hart and mynde,
offend him many wayes.
Thus doe I sore complayne of synne,
and with king David wepe ;
For I doe feele, my hart with-in,
the wrath of god full depe.

To heaven myne eyes I dare not lyft,
against it I haue trespast ;
And in the earth I fynde no shift
nor succor that may last.
What shall I doe ? shall I dispayre,
and from my saviour slyde ?
Noe, god forbid, ther is noe feare,
syth Christ hath for me dyed.
God became man, and for vs men
he dyed and rose againe ;
His mercy greate we may se[e], then,
for ever doth remayne.

Therfore, my synnes I will confesse
to god and mourning make ;
He will forgeue the same, doubtlesse,
for his sonne Christ his sake.

If synne in me god should respecte,
then doe I knowe full well,
His justice would me sone reiect
doune to the pit of hell.

His glorious eyes could not abyde
my fowlle and fylthy smoke ;
Wherwith I am one euery syde,
couered as with a cloke.
But christ in me doth he behold,
in whome he doth so delight,
That myne offences manyfold,
he doth release them quyte ;
Reputing me amonge the iust,
forgeving all my synne ;
Therfore, my faythfull hope and trust
shall ever be in hym.
O lord, encrease true fayth in me,
thy good spirit to me geue ;
That by the fayth I haue in the[e],
I may both love and lyve
In true obedience to thy will,
and thanckefullnes of heart ;
And with thy grace so guyde me still,.
that I never depart
From thy true word and testament,,
all the dayes of my lyfe ;
Nor from thy churche most innocent
thine owne true spouse and wife.
[But from that filthy whore of Rome
Lord kepe me euermore ;
As gratiously thou hast yet done,
Thankes be to thee therfore.
And sith thou haste of thy goodnes
Forgeuen me all my sinne,
Stregth me thy truth for to cofffesse,
And boldly die therin.

That as I haue confessed thec
Before the wicked sort,
thou maiest in thy good time know me,
To my ioy and comfort.
My soule returne vnto thy reste,
Thou art wel satisfied ;
The Lord hath graunted thy request,
And nothyng thee denied.
Praysed be god, the father of might,
praysed be thou, o christ ;
Praysed be thou, o holy spirite,
thre[e] in one god most highest.


Lyrics:
Noe wight in this world that wealth can attaine,
vnles he beleeue that all is but vaine ;
And as it doth come, euen soe let it goe,
as tydes vse their times to ebb and to flowe.
[2] I This muche on the mould that men soe desyre
doth worke them much wooe, and mooue them to ire ;
With greefe it is gott, with, care it is kept,
with sorrow soone lost ; that long hath beene rept,
[3]
And wooe worth the manne that first dolue the mould,
to finde out the myne of siluer and gould ;
For when it lay hid, and to vs vnknowne,
of strife and debate the seede was not sowne.

Then liued men well and held them content
with meate, drinke, and cloath, without anie rent ;
Their houses but poore, to shrowd themselues in,
for Castles and Towers were first to beginne.
Noe Town had his wale ; they feared noe warre
nor enemies hoast to seeke them of farre ;
Soe let they their Hues in quiet and rest,
till hoard beganne hate, from East vnto West ;
And gould for to grow, a lord of great price,
which changed the world from vertue to vice,
And turned all thinges soe farre from their kind
that how it should be is worne out of mynd.
_
[7]
For riches beare now the fame and the brute,
and is onelie the cause of all our pursuit,
Which maketh amongst vs such mischeeff to raigne,
and shall till we seeke the right way againe.
[8]
When mariage was made for vertue and loue,
then was noe divorce, godes knotte to remooue ;
When Judges would suffer noe brybes in their sight
their iudgmentes were true, accordinge to right.
When prelates had not possessions nor rent,
they preached the troth, and truelie they meante ;
When men did not flatter for favour nor meede,
then kinges h[e]ard the troath and how the world
yeede,
[10]
And men vnto honour throwe vertue did ryse ;
but all this is turned cleane contrarie wyse ;
For money makes all, and rules as a god,
which ought not to be, for Christ it forbode ;
And bad that we should take nothinge in hand,
but for our lordes loue and the wealth of the land ;
And wills vs full oft that we should refraine
from wrestinge his will to make our owne gaine.
[12]
For couetous folke, of euerie estate,
as hardlie shall enter with-ine heauen-gate
As through a nedle eie a cammell to creepe ;
why doe these mad men then hoard vp and keepe ?
[13]
Yea, more then may serue themselues to suffice,
as though perfit blisse should that way arise ;
But if they would suffer to sinke in their brest,
what trouble of mynd, what vnquiet rest,
. What mischeefe, what hate, this money doth bringe,
they would not soe toyle for soe vyle a thinge ;
For they that haue much are euer in care
which way for to winne, and how for to spare ;
Their sleepes be vnsound, for feare of a theefe ;
the losse of a little doth worke them much greefe.
In seekinge their lacke, they want what they haue,
and subiect to that which should be their slaue.
[16]
They never doe know, while riches doe raigne,
a frend of effect from him that doth faine ;
For flatterers doe seeke where fortune doth dwell,
and when that she lowreth, they bid them farewell,
[17]
The poore doth him curse, as oft as they want,
in hauinge soe much and make it soe scant ;
Their children, sometime, doe wish them in graue,
that they might posses the riches they haue.
[18]
And that which they winne with trauill and strife,
oft times, as we see, doth cost them their life.
Loe these be the fruites that riches bringe foarth,
with manie other moe which be noe more worthe.
For money is cause of murther and thefte,
of battle, and bloodshed, which would god were left ;
Of ravine, of wronge, of false witnesse-bearinge,
of treason conspired, and eake of forswearinge.
And for to be short, and knit vp the knot,
few mischeefes at all that money makes not ;
But though it be ill, when it is abused,
yet, never-the-less, it may be well vsed.
[21]
Nor I doe not find that men be denyde
for sufficient thinges them selues to prouide,
Accordinge as god hath put them in place,
to haue and to hould, a time and a space,
[22]
Soe it be well wone, and after well spent,
for it is not theirs, but for that intent.
And if they soe doe, then it is good still,
they haue that is meete to vse at their will.
[23]
As Preistes should not take promotions in hand,
to Hue at their ease like lordes of the land,
But onelie to feede godes flocke with the troth,
to preach and to teach, without anie sloth.
[24]
Nor folke should not need great riches to winne,
but gladlie to Hue and for to flee sinne ;
His will for to worke that is their soules health,
and then may they thinke they Hue in great wealth.
[19] i thefte : substituted in MS. for strife.
[25]
For in this vaine world, which now we be in,
is nothinge but miserie, mischeefe, and sinne,
Temtation, vntroth, contention, and strife ;
then let vs not set by soe vile a life.
.
[26]
But lift vp your eies, and looke through your faith,
beholdinge his mercies that manie times saith :
" The iust men shall Hue by their good beleefe,
and shall haue a place, where canne be noe greefe,
[27]
" But gladnes and mirth that non[e] can amend,
vnspeakable ioyes, which never shall end,
with pleasures that passe all that we haue sough[t],
felicities such as cannot be thought."
Which place they shall haue, which his will intends,
with life everlastinge ; and thus my tale endes.


Lyrics:
O blessed god, O sauiour sweete,
O Jesu, looke on mee !
O Christ, my kinge, refuse me not,
though late I come to thee !
I come to thee, confounded quyte,
with sorrowe and with shame,
When I beheld thy bitter woundes,
and knew I did the same.
[3]
I am the wretch that Crowned thee,
I made those woundes soe wyde ;
I nailed thee vnto the crosse,
with speare I pearst thy syde.
W
Thy sydes, thy bellie, eike, I rent
with whip and cruell rod ;
'Twas I that wrought thee all that wooe
forgiue me, my good lord !
[5]
For onelie pryd of Cherubines
how manie thousandes fell
From pleasure to perpetuall paine,
From heauen to hatefull hell.
[6]
More then a thousand thousand times
haue I deseru'd thine Ire ;
Yet doe I (myser) still remaine,
and feele not yet hell-fire.
[7]
Yet doe I still thy favour finde,
yet thou doest keepe me still
Against the foarce of all my foes,
that seeke my soule to spill.
[8]
Yea, more then this, that I might Hue
thou diedst on the roode ;
And to redeeme my soule from hell,
thou speandst thy deerest blood.
[9]
That pretious blood which from thy syde
came gushinge out amayne
Was spent to saue my sinfull soule
from endlesse wooe and paine.
[10]
Alas, my lord most mercifull,
what haue I donne or wrought,
That thou shouldst like soe well of mee ?
What haue I said or thought ?
What didst thou see in mee (vile wretch !)
O god, what didst thou see ?
What mooued thee, o Judge most iust,
to take such ruth on mee ?
O come, Angelles ; come, Archangelles ;
come, saintes and soules divine ;
Come, marters and Confessors eike,
your aide to mee assigne.
[13]
Let mee your helpe, your councell giue,
O tell me how I may
Releeue my lord that loues me soe,
which am but dust and clay.
All worldlie honour now farewell,
all wicked welth adew ;
Pryde and vaine-glorie, packe you hence,,
too longe I served you !
[15]
And now broade-wakeinge I doe see
that it hanges on the Crosse.
Vpon the Crosse, betweene two theues,
starke dead, alacke, hee hanges.
For me, the Child of endlesse Death,
hee felt these bitter panges.
[17]
O that it once were my good chance
to kisse those woundes soe wyde,
O that my hart had once the happe
to harbour in his syde !
[18]
O that I might with Magdalenne
Imbrace his fastened feete,
Or that with good thefe hange by him,
a thinge for me more meete.
I [I9]
. Then would I bouldlie dare to say
that neither racke nor Coard
Nor any tormentes in the world
debarre me from my lord.
I [20]
Then machavell, with all his sleights,
should not once make me mone ;
Noe Turke nor Tyrant, noe, nor divell
should make me leaue my lord.
[21]
Grant blessed god, grant saviour sweete,
grant Jesu, kinge of blisse,
That in thy loue I Hue and dye,
sweet Jesu, grant me this


Lyrics:
Behould our saviour crucifide,
and beare it well in mynd ;
Which will suppresse all sinfull pryde,
and make vs groe more kynd.
O let vs striue to flee from sinne
and righteous courses hould,
And take our crosse and followe hime,
as he hath said we should.
 [2]
The Crucifix as lecture cheefe,
let vs not faile to learne ;
And with the eise of true beleefe
devoutlie it disserne,
How for our sinne and for our sake
a prickeinge crowne of thorne,
Which manie a bloodie hole did make,
his blessed head hath borne.
[3]
. And for our sinne with scourges keene
his tender flesh was rent ;
And for our sinne of Jewes hath beene
with manie a scorne content ;
And for our sinne condemn'd was he,
that once must be our Judge ;
And for our sinne to Caluarie
with his owne Crosse did trudge ;

And for our sinne he was contente
in tormentes there to dye,
His father's Justice to prevente,
for sinne to satisfie.
Hi3 Crowne of thornes may plucke away
our vndeserved pryde,
His mournfull teares will cause vs lay
all wanton mirth asyde.
[5]
In his great thirst the bitter gaule
to drinke they doe him giue,
A doccument vnto vs all
in temperance for to Hue.
His armes out stretched to imbrace
all men, both frende and foe,
May teache vs still to call for grace,
all malice to forgpe.
[6]
Handes, feete, and syde with nayles and launa
through pearced on the roode,
May teache vs true perseueraunce
to the sheedeinge of our bloode.
His Virgin's flesh all full of woundes,
both blacke and blewe to see,
All fleshlie lust in vs confoundes,
teachinge true Chastitie.
[7]
His prayinge for his enemies
a-midste his bitter payne,
Doth teache vs in all iniuries
in meekenesse to remaine.
Veiwe, and reveiwe, and never cease
these lessones for to feade
If thou in virtue will increase,
and prosperously proceede.
[8]
Thinke whoe it is that suffered all
these bitter paynes for thee ;
Our god and lord, the Virgin's Childe,
in his humanitie,
Whose power and potent maiestie
filles heaven, earth, and hell ;
Yet suffered he all this for thee,
and more then tounge can tell.
[9]
For thee vnkynd and base, abiecte,
he suffered all this payne ;
Yet thou, poore wretch, doth still neclect
thyne owne eternall gayne.
O man vnkynd, behould his loue,
behould his bitter smart,
And let his paynes and passions mooue
compassions from thy hart.
[10]
Since Christ from sinne vs to release
hath suffered all this payne,
Why doe we not from sinne then cease,
but still in sinne remaine ?
Let vs hate sinne with all our hartes
that wrought our lord this woe ;
True Christianes all, it is our partes
in earnest to doe soe.
O man vnkynd, forgetfull in
thy loue and sirvice due,
And hast thou still such mynd to sinne,
and yet this mirror vewe ?
In thy temptations doe not say
thou hast noe power to stand,
For Christ his grace shall be thy stay,
sent from his mightie hand.
[12]
The well of grace standes open wyde,
and bounteously doth springe,
Since Lungeus speare first pearst his syde,
that fountaine foarth to bringe ;
Within the holie Sacramentes
throughe Crist his Church doth flowe,
Whereby to verteous complementes
eache Christian soule may growe.
[13]
The Crucifix is now our owne,
behould it well therefore ;
In brason sarpent once fore showne
to heale each deadlie sore.
His Crosse, his Nailes, his crowne of thorne,
his speare, his spunge, his reede,
His bitter gaule and bodie torne,
his lanced woundes that bleede,
His streatched armes vpon the crosse,
and all admonish thee,
In tyme he will repaire thy losse,
if thou repentante bee.
If in this tyme,.throughe worldlie pelfe,
thou lose this libertie,
In time to come accuse thy selfe,
fore-warned thus to bee.
In all affares yet rightlie scanne,
and beare it well away,
What to the soule of sinfull man
the Crucifix doth say :
" For thee, from heavenlie maiestie
I did my selfe Imbase ;
As Erringe shippe, I haue sought thee
in manie a wearie place ;
[16]
"
I thee pursude with hartes desire,
I ranne with faintinge breath ;
Wilt thou vnkinde from me retyre,
and frustrate soe my death ?
My enemies they did not payne
my bodie halfe so sore,
As thy vnkyndnesse doth constraine
my sorrowes tennes more.
[17]

Shall satanus, my deadlie foe,
my labors all defeate,
And with that pearle away to goe
I sought with bloodie sweate ?
O that thy soule I loue soe much,
and was soe deare to mee,
Should in thy handes, I say, of such
a carelesse keeper bee !
[18]
" How deepe a danger was thou in,
inwrapt through Adam's fale,
Whome none but I could freedome winne,
and my hartes blood recalle ;
Which like the Pelicanne I giue,
even everie droppe for thee,
That thou the foode of life might haue,
a[nd] soe regayned bee.
[19]
" How deare a Gemme thy soule, I thought,
then vmbethinke the[e] well,
Which with soe deare a pryce I bought
from Satkan, death, and hell.
Thou maist well thinke there was more losse
then man's tonge can expresse,
Which nailled Christ vnto the Crosse,
this danger to redresse.
[20]
" And wilt thou, then, in franticke moode,
soe smale the same esteeme,
As not regarde my precious bloode
which did ihy soule redeeme ?
O heaven, O earth, astonisht bee,
and stand amazed mute :
This thanklesse sinner thus to see
my precious blood polute.
[21]
"
Though mercie now doe plead ihy case,
expectinge thee a whyle ;
Yet Justice once must needes take place,
and change my former stile ;
Though like a lambe I earst haue borne
my passions all for thee,
Yet lyon-lyke I will retorne
and once revenged bee ;
[22]
" When all men's bodies must aryse,
both from the sea and lande,
And at that day in dreadfull wyse
before my Judgment stande ;
When heaven and earth shall mooued bee
before my fearfull Throne,
Where thou in endlesse shame shall see
thy thankelesse hart made know[n]e."
[23]
O lord, those wordes doe me agri[e]ue,
and thrilleth throughe my hart ;
And on my knees, in humble wyse,
I heere to thee convert.
Heere cut, o lord, and turne away,
with fier of tribulation,
My soules defectes, that at that day
I may 'scape thyne Indignation.
And soe thy bitter passion deere,
which thou for me hast taken,
Let vs on thy right hand appeare,
and not to bee


Lyrics:
When as mankind,- through Adams fale,
to endlesse greefe was led,
God promised the woman's seede
should breake the serpentes head ;
And though four thousand yeares and moe
man was the Chyld of death,
God sent his sonne him to redeeme,
for soe the scripture saith.
Whoe wrought it not with sacrifice
of Ca[l]fe, younge lambe, or kidde,
But by his death vpon the crosse
from thrall he did vs ridde ;
Whose benefittes soe great we may
within our hartes renewe,
The crosse when as before our face
we daylie see and vew.
[3]
This crosse was plaine prefigured
in Exodus, we knowe,
By wood that made the waters sweete,
as St. Sirill doth showe.
To call the crosse the tree of life
damasine doth not let,
Which in the middes of Paradice
god planted and it set.
w
The arke of Noe man for to saue,
great floodes when god them send,
This marke Esekeall speaketh of
his people to defend This our maister's badge that we
must daylie were in feild,
The speare where-with our deadlie foe
wee doe enforce to yeald.
[5] 
Because (St. Austine saith) you are
beset with manie a foe,
With this sine of the crosse still blesse
you daylie where you goe.
St. Hierome willes vs with this signe
our foreheades to be sign'd,
Lest he that Egipt did destroy
in vs should restinge fynd.
[6]
Chrisosdome biddes vs make this signe
daylie vpon our face,
Whereby thou shall the wicked sprites
cleane frome thee driue and chase ; " For how dare they him set vpon,"
saith he,

in rageinge broyle,
When as they see the speare where with
Christ did their kingdome foyle ?

This is the marke by damasine,
as we may plainlie learne,
Panims and Jewes from Christian men
derecteth to disserne.

I doe not blush," St. Austine saith,
"
this holie signe to weare,
Nor seeke to hyde my selfe since on
my forehead I it beare."
[8]
Cbrisosdome alsoe doth vs charge,
and warne both more and lesse,
And teach our Children with this signe,
them daylie for to blesse ;
Before that they this thinge can doe,
the nurse their head must take
Vpon the Infantes yonge, saith he,
that they this crosse still make.
[9]
This Crosse is of such force and might,
as Origin? doth wryte,
That haueinge Christ and crosse in sight
to sinne non[e] hath delight ;
And as a shippe, St. Ambrose saith,
without mast cannot saile,
Lykewise whereas the crosse doth want
that Church forthwith shall quaile.
[10]
Without the crosse noe sacrament
can ministred right be due,
St. Austine, if we credite which,
the same to vs doth shew.
Both prince and subiect, great and smale,
the crosse did on them weare ;
In everie place, Chrisosdome saith,
this signe did then appeare.
Did not god shew to Constantino,
for ayde when he did call,
The crosse, and h[e]ard a voyce that said,
" in this signe winne you shall ?
"
Wherefore he straitlie gaue in charge
eich souldier should it weare,
And on his standard after still
in feild he did it beare.
[12]
What strength it hath by Julian
and power, all men may know,
Whoe, being an apostata,
this signe droue sperites him froe.
When Austen came England for to
convert vnto the faith,
The crosse before him still was borne,
as holie Bede he saith.
I .
[I3]
Yet some will say, to haue the crosse
at all it is not fitt,
Because there-with Idolatrie
the people doe commit.
Thinke they that man whome god hath made
heere ruler of the rest,
In sence and reason nothinge doth
excell the brutishe beast ?
I [I4]
. What hound doth hunt at painted hare,
with coullers wrought full new ?
Or where at painted partridge yet
ever any sparhauke flew ?
If they diserne the quicke from dead,
whom sences onelie scoole,
He that doth Judge farre worse of man
shall proue himselfe a foole.
[15] ;;
Lyke cryme to Athanatius once
the heathen did obiect,
Whoe did their errores confounde in this,
and did plainlie them detect.
You say our godes are made of wood,
which thinge you cannot prooue,
And that yours ours doe farre excell
in starrie skyes that mooue.
[i6J .
Our Crosse consistes of peeces foure,
in sunder if wee it take ;
And from eich other seperate
noe count thereof we make ;
But made in cosse we honour it,
although not with devine,
Whereby you see wee doe not weigh
the substance bvt the signe.
Which signe it selfe hath not such health
vnto mankynd heere brought,
But by the sheedeinge of his blood,
which all thereon hath wrought ;
And when all flesh shall ryse againe,
at the last dreadfull day,
This holie signe will then appeare,
As Ephraim doth say.
[18]
'
A Joy to those that faithfull heere
at everie time are tryde,
A torment to all such as leavue
heere Christ his crosse denyde.
God grant heerein we may reioyce,
lyke as st. Paule doth say,
And learne to beare the crosse of Christ
vpon vs night and day.


Lyrics:
Caluarie mount is my delight,
a place I loue so well,
Calvarie mount, O that I might
deserue on thee to dwell ;
O that I might a pilgrime goe,
that sacred mount to see ;
O that I might some seruice doe,
where Christ died once for me !
O that I had some hole to hyde
my head, on thee to stay ;
To vewe the place where Jesu dyed
to wash my sinns away.
Lyke wordes then would I vtter there
that Peter sometim[e]s did :
"
Lord, well it is that I am heare,
let me still heere a-bide !

[3]
Let me still heere abyde and be
and never to remooue ;
Heere is a place to harbour me,
to ponder on thy loue ;
To ponder, lord, vpon thy paines
that thou for me hast felt,
To wonder at the firvent loue,
where with thy hart did melt.

Loe heere I see thee faintinge goe
with Crosse which thou hast borne,
Imbrude with blood from top to toe,
lyke one that were forlorne ;
Like one forlorne, alacke for greefe !
with torm[en]ts over runne,
And alle, deare lord, to seeke releefe
for that which man hath done.
_ With vile rebukes, with scourges whipt,
most greeuous to behould,
And lapped lyke one naked stript,
as earst he had fore-tould ;
His handes and feete, with nailes full stronge
were fixed to the roode ;
And there he hounge three houers longe,
imbrude with sacred blood ;
[6]
With sacred blood to quench men's wrath
to god for man's decay,
And with a pure and sacred bath
to wash man's sinns a-way.
Caluarie mounte, thus would I muse
if I migh[t] come to thee,
All earthlie thinges I would refuse,
might there my dwelinge bee.
[7]
Might there my dwellinge be, noe foarce
nor feare should me remooue,
To meditate with great remorse
vpon my sauiour's loue.
Noe herode nor herodiane
should cause me thence to flee ;
Noe Polat, Jew nor soldier
should mooue me till I dye,
[8]
Nor all the helpe that they would haue
from Caluin's cu[r]sed crue.
There would I make my tombe and graue,
and never wish for new.
Noe pursiuant I would esteeme,
nor craftie catchpole feare ;
Of gaile nor gailer nothinge deeme,
if I might harboure there.
[9]
Noe rope nor cruell tortour then
should cause my minde to faile ;
Nor lewde deuice of wicked men
should cause my corage quaile,
On racke in tower let me be lead,
let Joynts at large be stretched ;
Let me abyde each cruell braid,
till blood frome vaines be fetched.
[10]
And if they can devise worse waies
to vtter thinges vntrue,
Let them proceede by all assaies
to frame Inventions newe ;
Let all distresse to me befale
to doe my Countrie good ;
And let the thirst of Tyrantes all
be quenched in my blood.
Let me be falslie condemned ;
let Sherife on me take charge ;
With bo[w]es and billes let me be led,
least I escape at large ;
Let me from prison passe away
on hurdle hard to lye,
To Tyburne drawne without delay
in tormentes there to dye.
[12]
Let mee be hang'd and yet, for doubt
least I be dead too soone,
Let there some devillish spirit start out
in hast to cut me downe ;
Let bowells be burnt, let paunch be fryde
in fier or I be dead ;
O London bridg, a poule provide,
thereon to set my head.
[13]
O London, let my quarters stand
vpon thy gates to drye ;
And let them beare the world in hand
I did for treason dye ;
Let cro[w]es and kytes my carkas eate ;
let ravens their portion hau[e],
Least afterwardes my frendes intreate
to lay my corpes in graue.
Sweete Jesu, if it be thy will,
vnto my plaintes attend :
Grant g[r]ace I may continue still
thy seruant to the end ;
Grant, blessed lord, grant, sauiour sweete,
grant, Jesu, kinge of blisse,
That in thy loue I Hue and dye,
sweete Jesu, grant me this.


Lyrics:
Amounte, my soule, from earth awhyle,
sore vp with wings of loue,
To see where S[ain]tes and Angelles dwell
with god in blisse aboue.
Remember thou a stranger art,
a wanderinge pilgrime heere,
A pilgrime heere till thou depart
to S[ain]tes, thy fellowes, there.
. An exile poore, in earth alone,
among professed foes
The world, the devill, the flesh, and non[e]
but such as seeke thy woes.
O spouse of Christ, why doest thou stay
to build thy house on sand ?
The bridgrome comes, the minstrill playes,
the manage is at hand.
[5]
A weddinge garment thou must haue, I say
(I meane a vertuous life),
For other garmentes are not gay
for such a prince's wife.
[6]
Therefore, renounce this eart[h]lie pelfe
a heavenlie race to runne,
Forsake the world, and frame thy selfe
to Hue as S[ain]tes haue donne.
[7]
Passe over ayre aizar skye
and thinges that mortall bee,
Aboue the spheare of heaven to flye,
if thou these ioyes would see.
A Citie there renowned is
for statlie structure rare,
A princlie place, adorn'd with blisse,
for costlie buildinges faire.
Hierusalem the place is cal'd,
most sumtuous to behould ;
The place with precious stones is wal'd,
and streetes are paued with gould.
[10]
The gates with precious pearles are framed,
there rubies doe abound ;
The precious pearles that can be namde
are there in pleantie found.
Amidst the streetes the well of life
with goulden streame doth flowe ;
Vpon whose bankes the tree of life
in statelie sort doth growe ;
Whos[e] pleasant fruites of euerie kind,
delightinge mortall eies,
Hard by whose roote there you shall find
where heauenlie manna lyes.
[13]
The Citie shines with endlesse blisse
and glorie passinge bright,
For god himselfe the Lantorne is
and lampe that giueth light.
[14]
_ The bodie there of everie one
is like to Cristale fine,
And sho[w]es as bright as doth the sunne
when it most cleare doth shine.

There thou shalt see the Gherubins
in glorious state excell,
There Angelles and the Seraphins
and soules of saintes doe dwell.
[16]
There Noe and all the iust doe dwell,
there doe the prophets stand ;
The Patriarkes ould there doe remaine
with Cepters in their hand.
[17]
There marters and apostles Hue,
there sacred virgins stay ;
There they doe waite, there they doe giue
attendance night and day.
_
[18]
Our Ladie there most heauenlie singes,
with sweete melodious voyce ;
The saintes and all Celestiall thinges
for ioy of her reioyce.
Good Magdalene hath lefte her mone,
her sighs and sobes doe cease ;
And since her teares and plaintes are gone,
she Hues in endlesse peace.
There thousand thousand Angells bee
and soules in glorie braue ;
And everie one doth ioy to see
the ioy their fellowes haue. 
[21]
The precious pearle the marchant sought,
with longe and restles toyle,
Is here to vew ; the ground he bought,
in this most happie soyle.
[22]
Tenne thousand tounges cannot expound,
nor Angells' skill indite,
The passinge pleasures there abounde,
and ioyes that doe delight.
[23]
Heere all thy faithfull frendes remaine,
here doe thy parentes dwell,
Here thou in blisse shall meete againe
with them thou louedst soe well.
[24]
j There all thy good progenitors
doe watch and wish for thee,
And thousandes of thine ancestors,
which thou didest never see.
[25]
O speachles ioy to meete our frends
and louinge kinsfolke there ;
And Hue in life that never endes
with them we loued soe deare.
[26]
Noe blisse, noe pleasure there doth want
that man may wish to haue ;
Noe ioy nor braue delight [is] scant,
thou canst devise to craue.
[27]
If wealth or honour thou desyre,
or happie dales to see,
Here nothinge wantes thou wilt require,
for thou a kinge shalt be.
Thy cloathinge shale be all of blisse,
and thou a Cepter beare
And diademe, that better is
then earthlie princes weare.]
If thou desyrest daintie cheere,
or rich or costlie meate,
The bread and drinke of life are there,
and foode that Angells eate.
[30]
In aged yeares if thou request
to liue with faithfull frendes,
With saintes and Angells thou shalt rest
in life that never endes.
.
[3I]
If learning, skill, or wit thou would,
in booke of life that's there,
Most plainlie there thou shalt behould
the thinges thou knowest not heere.
[32]
Or if thou would, by good advice,
the will of god goe doe,
Here is the priest and sacrifice,
the Church and alter, too.
Here god himselfe doth heare our plaintes
and pittieth cristiane cause ;
Here all his frendes and holie saintes
be-hould him face to face.
[34]
Here euerie word and godlie thought,
each greife and great annoy,
And euerie worke in vertue wrought
rewarded is with ioy.
[35]
The widdowes myte here [has] rewarde,
could water wantes not meede,
For god respectes and hath regard
to each good worke and deede.
[36] .

Noe eye hath scene, nor eare hath h[e]arde,
noe creatur ever found,
Nothinge on earth may be compar'd
to ioyes that there abound.
[37] 
The pleasures thou shalt there behould
were not with treasure bought,
For gould nor pearles nor siluer sould,
or thinges that nature wrought.

[38]
Noe value worthie was to buy
the ioyes are heere to see,
Till Christ, the sonne of god, did dye
to purchace them for thee.
[39]
O then what ioyes shall these be deemde,
how great and passing good,
Which with noe price would be redeemde,
but with our sauiour's blood ?
O blisfull ioyes, nothinge there was
in heauen or earth belowe,
But Christ alone to bring to passe
that man such ioyes should knowe.
[41]
St. Paule that did these secretes see
could not their pleasures name ;
Their glorie noe man knowes but hee
that doth enioy the same.
Noe neede is there, noe want of wealth,
no death nor deadlie paine,
Where Christ, the cause of all our health
and heauenlie life, doth raigne.
[43]
There thou shalt rest foarth of the reach
and waies of wicked men,
Blasphemous tounges and filthie speac[h]e
shall not annoy thee then.
[44]
Noe threatinge wordes to prison vile
shall terrific thy mynd,
But Angeles sweete and saintes most mild
will welcome the[e] most kind.
[45]
For noe blasphemers there remaine,
non[e] that in blood delight,
Noe vile adulterer there doth raigne,
noe lewde nor wicked wight ;
[46]
Noe rude nor raillinge heretikes
that new religions make,
Noe temperisinge scismatickes
that Christ and Church for-sake
[47]
Noe persecutinge potentate
doth rule and gouerne there ;
Noe workmaister or pursivant
hath office there to beare.
[48]
There tiburne nothinge hath to doe,
noe rope nor racke is knowne ;
Tormenters all and sathan, too,
are fullie over-throwne.
[49]
There triumph over sinne is wonne,
the devill and death devided,
The kingdome of the iust begunne,
and they in glorie placed.
Concupiscence is rooted out,
temptations all doe cease,
Noe motions of the flesh dare roote
in thy triumphant peace.
[51]
Nothinge that tastes of wickednesse,
nothinge defield with sinne,
Doth harbour there or hath accesse
that place to enter in.
For it was made for purified soules
before the world was made,
Where they possesse both crownes and states
of ioyes that never fade.
[S3]
Then, o my soule, take thou thy winges
and faith of hope and loue,
And soare alofte to vew the thinges
prepar'd for thee aboue.
[54]
O happie day when thou shalt leaue
this flesh those ioyes to see !
What hart can thinke and once conceiue
the ioyes remaine for thee ?
[55]
O mightie god, grant one request
and boone that I shall craue,
O lord, my sute is there to rest
and there my dwellinge haue


