# 1530-70 BALLAD ANALYSIS

Lyrics:
Hierusalem, my happie home,
when shall I come to thee ?
When shall my sorrowes haue an end ?
thy ioyes when shall I see ?
[2]
_ O happie harbour of the saintes,
O sweete and pleasant soyle,
In thee noe sorrow may be founde,
noe greefe, noe care, noe toyle.
[3]
In thee noe sickenesse may be seene,
noe hurt, noe ache, noe sore :
There is noe death nor vglie devill,
there is life for euermore.
Noe dampishe mist is scene in thee,
noe could nor darksome night ;
There everie soule shines as the sunne,
there god himselfe giues light.
[si
There lust and lukar cannot dwell,
there envie beares noe sway ;
There is noe hunger, heate, nor coulde,
but pleasure everie way.
Hierusalem, Hierusalem,
god grant I once may see
Thy endlesse ioyes, and of the same
partaker aye to bee.
[7]
Thy wales are made of precious stones ;
thy bulwarkes, diamondes square ;
Thy gates are of right Orient pearle,
exceedinge riche and rare.

[8]
Thy terrettes and thy Pinacles
with Carbuncles doe shine ;
Thy verie streetes are paued with gould,
surpassinge cleare and fine.
[9]
Thy houses are of Ivorie,
thy windoes Cristale cleare ;
Thy tyles are mad[e] of beaten gould,
O god, that I were there !
[10]
Within thy gates nothinge doeth come
that is not passinge cleane ;
Noe spider's web, noe durt, noe dust,
noe filthe may there be seene.
Ay my sweete home, hierusaleme,
would god I were in thee ;
Would god my woes were at an end,
thy ioyes that I might see !
[12]
Thy saintes are crown'd with glorie great,
they see god face to face ;
They triumph still, they still reioyce,
most happie is their case.
[13]
Wee that are heere in banishment
continuallie doe mourne ;
We sighe and sobbe, we weepe and weale,
perpetually we groane.

Our sweete is mixt with bitter gaule,
our pleasure is but paine, .
Our ioyes scarce last the lookeing on,
our sorrowes still remaine ;
But there they liue in such delight,
such pleasure, and such play,
As that to them a thousand yeares
doth seeme as yeaster-day.
[16]
Thy Viniardes and thy Orchardes are
most beutifull and faire,
Full furnished with trees and fruites,
most wonderfull and rare.
[17]
Thy gardens and thy gallant walkes
continually are greene ;
There gro[w]es such sweete and pleasant flowers
as noe where eles are seene.
There is nector and Ambrosia made,
there is muske and Civette sweete ;
There manie a faire and daintie drugge
are troden vnder feete.
[19]
There Cinomon, there sugar, gro[w]es ;
there narde and balme abound.
What tounge can tell or hart conceiue
the ioyes that there are found ?
[Thy happy Saints (Jerusalem)
doe bathe in endlesse blisse :
None but those blessed soules can tell
how great thy glory is.]
[20]
Quyt through the streetes with siluer sound
the flood of life doe flowe ;
Vpon whose bankes, on everie syde,
the wood of life doth growe.
[21]
There trees for euermore beare fruite,
and evermore doe springe ;
There euermore the Angels sit,
and evermore doe singe.
[22]
There David standes, with harpe in hand,
as maister of the Queere.
Tenne thousand times that man were blest
that might this musique heare.
Our Ladie singes magnificat,
with tune surpassinge sweete,
And all the virginns beare their partes,
sitinge aboue her feete.
[24]
Te Deum doth sa[i]nt Ambrose singe,
saint Augustine dothe the like ;
Ould Simeon and Zacharie
haue not their songes to seeke.
There Magdalene hath left her mone,
and cheerefullie doth singe,
With blessed saintes whose harmonie
in everie streete doth ringe.
[26]
Hierusalem, my happie home,
would god I were in thee ;
Would god my woes were at an end,
thy ioyes that I might see !


Lyrics:
My thirstie soule desyres her drought
at heavenlie fountains to refresh ;
My prisoned mynd would faine be out
of chaines and fetters of the flesh.
The vnder songe.
Ikerusalem, thy ioyes devine
noe ioyes may be compar'd to them ;
Noe people blessed soe as thine,
noe Cittie like hierusalem.
She looketh vp vnto her state
from whence she downe by sinne did slyde,
She mournes the more the good she lost,
for present ill she doeth abyde.
She longes, from roughe and dangerous seas,
to harbour in the hauen of blisse,
Where safelie ancoreth at her ease
and shore of sweete contentment is.
From bannishment she more and more
desyres to see her countrie deare ;
She sittes and sendes her sighes before ;
her ioyes and treasures all be there.

[3]
From Babilon she would retorne
vnto her home and towne of peace,
Hierusalem where ioyes abound,
continnue still, and never cease.
There blusteringe winter never blowes,
nor summer's parchinge heate doth harme.
It never freeses there nor snowes ;
the weather euer temperate warme.
The trees doe blossom, bud, and beare,
the birdes doe ever chirpinge singe,
The fruit is mellow all the yeare,
they haue an euerlastinge springe ;
The pleasant gardens ever keepe
their hearbes and flowers, fresh and greene ;
All sortes of pleasant, daintie fruites
at all times there are to be seene.
[s]
The lillie white, the ruddie rose,
the crimsone and carnation flowers,
Be wattered there with honie dewes
and heavenlie droppes of goulden showers.
Pome-grannat (prince of fruit), the peach,
the daintie date, and pleasant figge,
The almond, muscadell, and grape,
exceedinge good and wonderous bigge ;
[6]
The lemmond, Orange, medler, Quince,
the apricocke, and Indie spice,
The Cherrie, warden, plumbe, and peare,
more sortes then were in Paradice,
The fruite more eisome, toothsome, farre
then that which grew on Adames tree ;
With whose delightes assailed were,
and both suppressed, Eaue and hee.
[7]
The swellinge, Odoriferous balme
most sweetely there doth sweate and droppej
The fruitfull and victorious palme
layes out her mountie loftie tooppe ;
The river wine most pleasant flowes,
more pleasant then the honie combe,
Vpon whose bankes the sugar growes,
enclos'd in reedes of Cinomond.
[8]
The wales of Jasper stone be built,
most rich and faire that ever was ;
The streetes and houses paued and guilt
with gould more cleare then Christall glasse.
Her gates in equall distance bee,
and eac[h]e a glisteringe margerite,
Which commers-in farre of[f] may see,
a gladsome and a glorious sight.
[9]
Her inward Chambers of Delight
be decte with pearle and precious stone ;
The Doares and posternes all be white,
of wrought and burnisht Ivorie bone,
Her sunne doth never eclips nor cloud,
her moone doth never there wax wanne ;
The lambe with lighte hath her endowde,
whose glorie pen cannot explane.
Soe manie in a companie
as loue in likelinesse doth thinke.
The Starrs, in brightnesse, they doe passe ;
in swiftnesse, arrowes frome a bo[w]e ;
In strength and feircenesse, steele and brasse ;
in lightnesse, fire ; in whitenesse, snowe.
Their cloathinge is more softe then silke,
with guirdles guirt of beaten gould ;
They in their handes (more white then milke),
of Palme triumphant, branches hould ;
Their faces, shininge like the sunne,
shoote out their gladsome, glorious beames ;
The feild is fought, the battell woone,
their heades be crown'd with diademes.
Rewarde, as merit, different is ;
distinct, their Joy and happinesse ;
But each, in Joy of others' blis,
doth as his owne the same possesse :
Soe each in glorie doth abounde,
and all their glories doe excell ;
But where as all to each redownd,
whoe canne th' exceedinge glorie tell ?
[13]
Triumphant marters, you may heare
recount their dangers, which doe cease.
And noble Citicens ever weare
their happie gownes of ioy and peace.
[10] 4 in . . . thinke : in likenes doth them linke 
There learned clarkes, with sharpened wittes,
their maker's wonderous workes doe tell.
The Judges graue on benc[h]e doe sitte,
to Judge the tribes of Israeli.
[HI
The glorious courtiers ever there
attend on person of their kinge,
With Angells, ioyned in a Queere,
melodious himmes of praises singe.
The virginne chast, in lillie white,
the marteres clad in scarlet red,
The holie fathers which did write,
weare Lawrell garelandes on their heads.
[15]
Each Confesser a goulden crowne,
adorn'd with pearle and precious stone,
Th' apostles (pearles in renowne)
like princes sit in regall throne ;
Queene mother, virgine Iminent,
then saintes and Angels more devine,
Like sunne amids the firmament,
aboue the planetes all doth shine.
[16]
The King, that heavenlie pallace rules,
dothe beare vpon his goulden sheild
A crosse in signe of triumph, gules
erected in a vardiant feild.
His glorie saith as doeth behooue
him in his manhood for to take,
Whose godhead earth, and heauen aboue,
and all that dwell therein did make.
[17]
Lyke frendes, all partners as in blis
with Christ their lord and maister deare ;
Lyke spouses, they the brydgroome kis,
whoe feasteth them with heauenlie cheere :
With tree of life and manna sweete,
which, tasted, doth such pleasure bringe
As non[e] to Judge thereof be meete
but such as banquet with the kinge.
[18]
With Cherubims their winges they mooue
and mount in contemplation highe ;
With Seraphims the[y] burne in loue,
the beames of glorie be soe nighe.
The virgin's Children deare they bee,
her louinge sonne for to imbrace,
And Jesus his brethren, for to see
his heavenlie father's glorious face.
[19]
O sweete aspecte, vision of peace,
happie regard, and heauenlie sight !
O en[d]les ioy without surcease,
perpetuall day which hath noe night !
O well and wale, fountaine of life,
ofspringe of everlastinge blis,
Eternall sunne, resplendant light,
and eminent cause of all that is !
[20]
Riuer of pleasure, sea of delight,
garden of glorie ever greene !
O glorious glasse and mirror bright,
wherein all truth is euer scene !
O princlie palace, royall court,
monarchall seate, imperiall throne,
Where kinge of kinges and soueraigne lord
for ever ruleth all alone,
; [21]
Where all the glorious saintes doe see
the secretes of the deitie,
The godhead and, in persons three,
the super-blessed trinitie :
The depth of wisdome most profounde,'
all puisant, high sublimitie,
The breadth of loue, without all bound,
in endlesse longe eternitie.
[22]
The heauie earth belowe by kynd
aboue ascendes the mountinge fier,
Be this the Center of my mynd
and loftie speare of her desyre !
The Chased deare doe take the soyle,
the tyred hart the thicke and wood ;
Be this the comfort of my toyle,
my refuge, hope, and soueraigne good.
[23]
The marchant cutes the seas for gaine,
the soldier serues for his renowne,
The tilman plowes the ground for graine,
be this my ioy and lastinge crowne !
The falkener seekes to see a flight,
the hunter beates to see his gamme,
Longe thou, my soule, to see that sight,
and labor to enioy the same.
Noe houre without some one delight
which he endevours to attaine,
Seeke thou, my soule, both day and night
this one, which euer shall remaine :
This one containes all pleasure true ;
all other pleasures are but vaine,
Bid thou the rest, my soule, adew,
and seeke alone this one to gaine.
[25]
Goe count the grasse vpon the ground,
or sandes that be vpon the shoare,
And when you haue the number found,
the ioyes thereof be manie more.
More thousand, thousand yeares they last
and lodge within the happie minde,
And when soe manie yeares be past,
yet more and more bee still behind.
[26]
Far more they be then we can weene,
they doe our Judgment much excell ;
Noe eare hath hard nor eie hath seene,
noe pen can wryte, noe tounge can tell.
An Angell's tonge cannot recyte
the endlesse ioyes of heauenlie blis,
Which, beinge whollie infinite,
behond all speach and wrytinge is.
We can imagine but a shade,
it never entred into thought
What ioy he is enioyn'd that made
all ioy, and them that ioy, of nought.
My soule cannot the ioyes contayne,
let her, lord, enter into them,
For euer with thee to remayne,
within thy towne hierusalem.


Title:
God doth blesse this realme for the receyving of straungers being persecuted for the gospell, although some do repine therat.

Tags:
Topical, Religious, Confessional, Political, Common Weal, Other

Lyrics:
If England will take heede,
as cause ther is indeede,
Then let them lo[o]k about,
and wede abuses out.
For if they range, the state will change
from weale to wo, no doubt.
It is not as some deeme,
which by their carping seme
Pore straungers to invay,
as all the matter laye
That they be here to make thinges deare
and banishe wealth away.
Theise men, as may apeare,
came never yet so neare
The scripture to discerne ;
wherin we ought to learne
With those to beare that strangers are
their stomakes are to[o] sterne.
It semes well by their hast
in tyme of turmoyles past,
Ye lovde your ease and slepe
with house and landes to keepe ;
Else would not you pore strangers now
dispise, that succor seeke.
If they had bene exilde,
as others were turmoylde,
And so had learnde to knowe
what kindenesse suche did showe,
As straungers are to straungers were
suche blastes they would not blowe.
We would as well as theise
that god and prince may please,
This englishe yle to guyde
and for the same provyde ;
As it may gaine a wealthfull raign
with all good thinges besyde.
And eke we wishe also
that suche as come and goe
From forraine realmes about
may well be syfted out :
If sound they be, and hither fle,
to voyde the romishe route.
And suche as be not found
sincerely bent and sound,
But make it their pretence
and have their secrete sence,
For game to fyshe, to theise we wishe
let them be banished hence.
Howbeit suche straungers poore,
as we have bene to fore,
That fle the bloudy trayne,
where popishe tirantes raygne,
Let vs no wise such gestes despise,
but well them entertayne.
Thou shalt not be the worse,
o england, if thou nourse
Theise exiles come of late
(What so theise papistes prate ?),
Who, to retaine their cbrist, are faine
to chose this banisht state.
But god with good successe
in mercy shall the[e] blesse ;
And make thy fruites abound,
thy cattell, and thy ground,
And corne by heape shall force a cheap,
if thou in fayth be sound.
And eke if thou repent
thy synne and tyme mispent,
And lyve as god doth will
in his apointed still,
Then god, in love, that raignes above
shall the[e] defend from ill.
As for our noble Quene
in trouble she hath bene
For truth, and therfore nowe
poore straungers doth alowe
A quyet state, thoughe brablers prat,
they wot not why nor howe.


Title:
The sinner, dispisinge the world and all earthly vanities, reposeth his whole confidence in his beloved Saviour, Jesus Christe

Lyrics:
Jesus, my louing spouse,
eternall veritie,
Perfect guide of my soule,
way to eternitie,
Strengthen me with thy grace,
from thee He never flee,
Let them all say what they will,
Jesu, come thou to me.
Poore men seeke after wealth ;
blind men seeke libertie ;
Crazed corpes cry for health ;
all seeke prosperietie ;
I seeke nothinge but Christ,
he alone pleaseth mee ;
Let them all say what they will,
Jesu, come thou to mee.
Some wearie out themselues
in waies of vanitie ;
Some foliowe painted flees
in feeldes of miserie ;
Some, in the mouthes of men,
place their felicitie ;
Such tryfles I contemne,
Jesus, for loue of thee.

Feruent loue longeth sore
his ladies face to see ;
Discarded courtiers seeke
in princes' grace to be ;
Noe want nor wooe I feele,
whitest I doe inioy thee.
Let them all say what they will,
Jesu, come thou to mee.
Some passe through surginge seas,
in daylie jeopardie ;
Hazardinge life and limme,
to bee inricht thereby ;

In toyle at home, therefore,
I, by possessinge thee,
Haue all they haue and more.
Jesu, come tbou to mee.

What can this wretched world
(repleat with miserie)
Yeald to delight my soule
(made for eternitie ) ?
All is vaine, all is fraile,
all that compar'd to thee,
All earthlie thinges doe faile.
Jesus, come thou to mee.

All that hart can conceiue,
eares can heare, eies can see,
All and more I posses,
sweete Jesus Christ, by thee ;
Heauen and earth all therein
life and lime thou giuest mee ;
Haue I not then cause to singe,
Jesu, come thou to mee ?

If pleasure mooue my mynde,
power, or nobillitie,
All this in thee I fynd,
strenght and agillitie,
Wisdome, wit, bewtie, wealth,
peace, and all sanc[ti]tie,
Perfecte health of my soule.
Jesu, come thou to mee.
Though the world tempt me sore,
though the flesh trouble me,
Tho the devill would devoure,
my refuge is to thee ;
Though heaven and earth doe faile,
tho all perplexed bee,
Thou art and euer shall
my cheefest comfort bee.

Thou art my sauiour sweete,
foode and delight to mee,
A medicine most sweete
to eich infirmitie ;
To my tast, honnie sweete ;
to my eare, melodic ;
Perfecte guyde to my feete ;
to my hart, Jubelie.
Not my will, sauiour myne,
but thine performed bee.
All thinges I count as dunge,
Jesu, for loue of thee.
Pleasure, pompe, all delight,
that I may blessed bee,
I doe abandon quyte,
Jesu, for loue of thee.

If I faile for thy sake
in seas of miserie,
Noe account thereof I make,
soe thou abyde with me.
Thou alone hast my hart
in all extremitie,
From thee lie never part,
Jesu come thou to mee.

Hauinge thee, tho I dye,
I Hue most ioyfullie ;
Wantinge thee, thoe I Hue,
such life is death to me ;
Thou art my blisse, my ioy,
my soules felicitie,
Cheefe succour in annoy,
Jesu, come thou to me.
For thee my soule was made,
nought eles contenteth mee ;
All earthlie pleasures fade,
thou Huest eternallie ;
Strengthen mee with thy grace
that I may warthie bee,
In heauen to see thy face.
JesU come thou to mee.


Title:
Verbum caro factum est et gavitauit in nobis, Quodcunque ab os dictum est, credite mando nobis

Lyrics:
A word once said, Adam was made,
(the truth I say to you),
And of his rib a woman's seede
but whoe cann tell me how ?
A maiden pure, nothinge more sure
(the truth I say to you),
Did beare a Child, she vndefield,
but who can tell mee how ?
[3]
This Child he wrought woonders full ofte
(the truth I say to you) :
The lame did walke, the dumbe did talke,
but whoe cann tell mee how ?
In wildernesse vpon the grasse
(the truth I say to you) ;
Fiue loaues of bread fiue thousand fed
but whoe cann tell me how ?
[5]
This Child hath made in forme of bread
(the truth I say to you),
His bodie and blood to be our foode
but whoe can tell me how ?
[6]
This Childe did dye vpon a tree
(the truth I say to you),
And buried then did ryse againe
but whoe can tell me how ?
[7]
The ston[e] vnroul'd, the cloathes vnfould
(the truth I say to you),
He, whole and sound, rose from the ground
but whoe cann tell mee how ?
[8]
Like gardiner he did appeare
(the truth I say to you),
To magdalene with spade in hand
but whoe cann tell me how ?
[9]
Vnto Emaus the scripture sais
(the truth I say to you),
With Cleofhas he yeede, in Palmer's weede,
but whoe cann tell me bow ?
[10]
Then after all in cloased hal[l]e
(the truth I say to you),
His appostles there saw him appeare
but whoe cann tell me how ?
He made an end and did assend
(the truth 1 say to you)
To his farther aboue, whoe did him loue,-
but whoe cann tell me how ?
[12]
Beleeue all this or eles, doubtlesse
(the truth I say to you),
Hence shall you goe to sorrow and woe,
and I shall tell you how.
[13]
At the last day this Child shall say
(the truth I say to you),

[Ye]a cursed, goe to endlesse wooe."
Now haue I tould you how.


Title:
I loue him, I loue him, the truth for to say, I purpose to loue him, wh[o]e euer sais nay

Lyrics:
Whoe is my loue ? I shall you tell :
Even he that made both hea[ven] and hell,
And dyed for me on goodfryday.
I purpose to loue him whoeuer sals nay.
M
My loue hath made this world of nought,
All thinges therein by him was wrought,
The sunne and moone, the sooth to say.
I purpose to loue him whoe ever sais nay.
[3]
He made the sea, alsoe the sand,
The grasse to gro[w]e vpon the land,
The fish, the foule, the sooth to say.
 purpose to loue him whoe ever sais nay.
He hath me made to his likenesse,
Neither in bone not yet in flesh,
But in soule, the sooth to say.
7 purpose to loue, &c.
[5]
He doth my bodie cloath and feede,
It lackes nothinge that it doth neede,
Meate ney drinke, the soth to say.
 purpose to loue, i$c.
[6]
He hath set about my soule
Mercie and grace, to keepe out all
My ghostlie enemyes night and day.
 purpose to, &c.
[7]
Three foes I haue which would me quell,
The world, the flesh, the devill of hell,
But all three stroakes my loue doth stay.
I purpose,
[8]
He hath bought my loue full deare,
His hart was cloven with a speare,
To dye for me he tooke the paine.
Alacke, I will loue him, an[d] loue him aga[in].
[9]
I haue not lou'd him as I should ;
But what of that ? I will be bould
To aske him mercie night and day
And still for to loue him whoe[ver] sais na[y].


Title:
A pleasant ballad of the iust man Jobe shewing his patience in extremitie

Lyrics:
Walking alone not long agone,
I heard one weale and weep.
"Alas," he said,
"I am now laid
in sorrowes strong and deepe."
To heare him cry, I did apply,
and priuilie aboade ;
There did I find, in secret mind,
the rust and patient Jobe.
His woofull paine did me constraine
by foarce to waile and mone ;
God did him proue how he did loue
his liueing lord alone.
In heauinesse he did expresse
these words, with bitter tears :
"Alas, poore man ! wretched I am,
in care my life out-weares.

" This mortall life is but a strife
and battell mightie and stronge ;
My yeares, also, doe wast and goe
and not continue longe.
The time wherin I did begine
to mooue and stir my breath,
Would god I had to earth beene made
and turned vnto death !
" Then should not I in miserie
beene wrapped as I am ;
The time and day well curse I may
when into this world I cam[e].
For my faults past I am out cast,
and of all men abhorde ;
O that I might once stand in sight
to reason with my lord !

" Then should I know why he did show
this extreame crueltie
Vpon such flesh that is but nesh,
and borne is for to dye.
From top to toe I feele such wooe
that sorrow is my meate ;
Put to exile with botch and byle
the dunghill is my seate.
 
" My kinsfolke walke, and by me talke,
much wonderinge at my faule ;
They count my state vnfortunate,
and thus forsake me all.
My children fiue that were aliue,
they be all cleane distroy'd ;
The like plague fell on my cattell,
and all that I inioy'd.

" Should I for them my god blaspheme,
and his good giftes dispise ?
That will I not, but take my lot,
giuing his name the praise.
They were not mine but for a time,
I know well it is soe ;
God gaue them me, why should not he
againe take them meiroe ?

When he thus had said, full still I staid
his end for to behould.
There did I see his felicitie
encreasing maniefould.
I know well then that patient men
should not suffer in vaine,
But should be sure t' haue great pleasure
rewarded for their paine.


Lyrics:
To passe the place where pleasure is,
it ought to please our fantasie ;
If that the pleasure be amis
and to godes word plaine contrarie ;
or eles we sinne, we sinne,
and hell we winne,
great paine there-in,
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, alone.
The Hues that we long liued haue
in wantonnesse and iolitie,
Although the[y] seeme and show full braue,
yet is their end plaine miserie.
Let vs therefore, therefore,
now sinne noe more,
but learne this lore :
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, [alone].
[3]
And say we then, with Salomon,
that bewtie is but vanitie,
Yet they that feare the lord alone
shall sure enioy felicitie.
For this may wee, may we,
perceiue and see
most true to be :
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, alone.

Our perfett trust and confidence
must fixed be on Christ onelie,
Serueinge our lord with pure pretence,
and shunning all hipocrisie,
which might vs draw, vs draw,
from godes true law,
marke well this saw :
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, alone.
[5]
If godes true word, by preaching plaine,
might anie wise vs certiefie,
We should not, then, soe blind remaine,
but should imbrace the verietie ;
for why ? the word, the word,
of god our lord
doth well record,
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, alone.
[6]
Our faithfull frendes, the pastors pure,
doe giue vs councell, certainlie,
From wickednesse, for to be sure,
to leaue our fooleish fantasie,
which is the springe, the spring,
that doth vs bring
to eich ill thing :
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, alone.
[7]
What wisdome haue our wicked wittes
to worke all thinges vntowardlie ;
What reason restes in such fond fittes
to cause things chance so frowardlie ?
Therefore betime, betime,
leaue we our crime
and learne this rime :
all remedie gone
except in Christ alone, alone.


Lyrics:
I might haue liued merelie
If I had sinned never ;
But now, forsooth and verelie,
condemp'd I am for ever,
Except I turne right towardlie
to god with hart and glee,
And leaue my sinninge frowardlie,
and true repentant bee !

I haue beene alwais necligent
to doe the best I canne,
My sinnes they are most evident
both vnto god and man ;
And if my sinning wickedlie
doe happen to my thrall,
Then let me know assuredlie,
I might haue with all.

For where my god of gentlenes
doth offer loue soe kind,
Loe I that in my stubburnnesse
fulfill my sinfull mynd,
His grace and eake his godlines,
his mercie kept in store,
But onelie for my frowardnes
were myne for euermore.

I offered once a reminent
to god of godlie life,
But yet alas ! incontinent
I fell to sinne and strife ;
Which makes me thinke most suerlie,
construinge in my braines,
My god I serue not puerlie,
I looke for other gainefs].

But though that I most wickedlie
my lord god haue offended,
Yet doe I hope most stidfastlie
my faultes shall be amended ;
And heere repenting puerlie
my former necligence,
I know my lord god suerlie
will pardon my offence.

So Sathan shall not higgle me
for all his craftie wiles,
But I will stretch and struggle me
for to withstand his guiles ;
And will display his dubbleing
by help of god most highest,
And be free from his troubleing
through faith and hope in Christ.


Lyrics:
The thoughtes of man doe daylie change,
as fancie growes within their brestes ;
For now their nature is soe strange,
a few can finde where frenshippe restes.
The hautie hart soe plentie growes
That everie weede doth seeme a rose.
The stidfast faith that frendes professe
is fled a-way, and little vs'd.
Whoe hath soe sure a frend possest
by whome he never was abus'd ?
But where thou findst a frend indeed,
A score there be faile at neede.
A frend in wordes, where deedes be dead,
is like a well that water wantes ;
And he that with faire wordes is fead,
doth looke for fruites of withered plantes.
But there as wordes and deedes agree,
Accept that frend, and credit mee.

The barren tree doth blossomes beare
as well as those that good fruites yeald ;
And boughes and branches beene soe faire,
as any tree within the feild :
As simply lookes the subtill man
As he that of noe falshood can.
[5]
[The fairest way that I can find,
Is first to try, and then to trust ;
So shal affections not be blind :
For proof will soon spy out the just :
And tryal knows who means deceit,
And bids us be-ware of their bait.
 
[6]
Without good proof be not too bold,
If thou my counsel list to take :
In painting words there is no hold,
They be but leaves that wind do shake :
But where that words and deeds agree,
Accept that friend, and credit me.


Lyrics:
The noble peere, while he liued here
The worthie duke of Buckingham
Whoe florisht in king edwardes raigne, 
The fourth king of that name.

Which did in seruice keepe a man
Of a meane and low degree
Which f a child he had brought vp
From base to dignitie

HE gaue him landes and liuinge good
Of which he was noe heire
And maried him to a galant Dame
As rich as she was faire

But out alas it came to passe
And soe the strife beganne
The maister he constrained was
To seeke succour at the man

[5]
King Richard the third he got the sword,
forswore himselfe t' bee king ;
Murdered two princes in their beddes,
the which much strife did bringe.
[6]
This noble Duke when he saw that,
that vile and wicked deed,
Against this Tyrant rais'd an hoast
of armed men with speede.
. But when the king that he heard tell,
a mightie hoast he sent
Against the Duke of Buckingham,
his purpose to prevent.
[8]
When the Duke his souldiers they h[e]ard tell,
feare pearst their hartes eich on[e] ;
That all his souldiers fled by night
and left this worthie Duke alone.
[9]
Then in extreame neede he tooke his steede,
and poasted night and day ;
Vnto his owne man Banister,
these wordes to him did say :
" O Banister, sweete Banister,
pittie thou my cause," quoth hee ;
" And hyde me from my cruell foes,
which thus pursueth mee."
" O you are welcome, my maister deere,
you are hartelie welcome heere ;
And like a frend I will you keepe,
although it cost me deere."
[12]
His velvet sute then he put of[f],
his chaine of gould likewise ;
An ould letherne coate he put vpon,
and all to blinde the people's eise.
Sayinge,
"Banister, O Banister,
O Banister, be true !"
"Christ his curse then light on me and myne,
if ever I be false to you."
An ould felt hat he put on his head.
Ould letherne slopes also ; A hedginge bill vpon his necke,
and soe to the woodes did goe.
[15]
This worthie Duke went to the woodes,
as did not him beseeme,
And soe in sorrow spent his dais,
as he some drudge had beene.
[And there he liued long vnknowen,
and still vnknowne might bee,
Till Banister for hope of gaine
betray'd him ludaslye.]
[16]
A proclamation there was made,
whosoeuer then could bringe
Newes of the Duke of Buckingham
vnto Richard the kinge,
[17]
A thousand pound should be his fee,
of gould and money bright,
And be preferred by his grace
and made a worthie knight.
[18]
When Banister that he h[e]ard tell,
he to the Court did hye ;
And he betraid his maister deere
for luker of that fee.
[19]
King Richard then he sent in hast
a mightie hoast with arrowes good,
And for to take this worthie Duke,
as he was wanderinge in the wood.
[20]
And when the Duke that he saw that,
he wronge his handes with wooe.
" O false Banister" quoth he, "
why hast thou serued thy maister soe ?
[21]
" O Banister, false Banister,
woe worth thy fained hart !
Thou hast betraid thy maister deere,
and play'd a treator's part !
"
[22]
The noble Duke to London was brought,
in his great feare and dread,
And straight in prison he was cast
and Judg'd to loase his head.
[23]
Then Banister went to the court,
hopeinge these gifts to haue ;
And straight in prisson he was cast,
and hard his life to saue.
Noe frend he found in his distresse,
nor yet noe frend at neede ;
But euerie man reviled him
for his most hatefull wicked deed.
His eldest sonne starke mad did runne ;
his daughter drouned was
Within a shallow runninge streame,
which did all danger passe.
Accordinge to his owne desyre,
godes curse did on him fale ;
That all his wealth consumed quyte,
and soe was wasted all.
[27]
Yonge Banister liu'd longe in shame,
but at the length did dye ;
And soe our lord he shew'd his wrath
for his father's villanye.
[28]
Good lord, preserue our noble kinge,
and send him longe proceede ;
And god send euerie distressed man
a better frend at need


Title:
A songe betwene the Quenes maiestie and Englande

Tags:
Political, Love, Religious, Confessional, Historical, other

Lyrics:
E Come ouer the born Bessy come ouer the born bessy
Sweet bessy come ouer to me
And I shall the takeand my dere lady make
Before all other that euer I see

B My thinke I hear a voiceat whom I do reioyce
and answer now I shall
Tel me I saywhat art thou that biddes me com away
and so earnestly doost me call

E  I am thy louer fairehath chose the to mine heir
and my name is mery Englande
Therefore come awayand make no more delaye
Swete bessie giue me thy hande.

B  Here is my handmy dere louer Englande
I am thine both with mind and hart
For euer to endurethou maiest be sure
Untill death vs two depart.

E  Lady this long spacehaue I loued thy grace
more then I durste well saye
Hoping at the lastwhen all stormes were past
For to see this ioyfull daye.

B  Yet my louer Englandye sahll understand
how fortune on me did lowre
I was tombled and tostfrom pilller to post
and prisoner in the Towre.

E  Dere Lady we do knowhow that tiruantes not a fewe
went about for to seke thy bloude
An contrarie to rightthey did what they might
That now have two faces in one hood.

B  Then was I caried to Wodstock& kept close vnder lock
That no man mighte with me speake
And against all reasonthey accused me of treaso[n]
and ticably[.] thei did me threate.

E Oh my louer fairemy dearlinge and mine heire
Full sore for the I did lament
But no man durst speakbut thei wuld him threat
and quickly make him repent.

B  Then was I deliuerd their handsbut was faine to put in bands
and good suerties for my forth comminge
Not from my house to departenor no where els to sterte
as though I had ben away cunninge.

E  Why dere Lady I trowthose mad men did not knowe
That ye were daughter vnto Kinge Hary
And a princesse of birthone of the noblest on earth
and sister vnto Quene Mary.

B  yes yet I must forgeueal such as do liue
if they wil hereafter amend
And for those that are goneGod forgeue them euery one
and his mercy on them extend.

E  yes my louer deretell me now here
For what cause had ye this punishmente
For the co[m]mons did not knownor no ma[n] wuld the shew
The chief cause of your imprisonment

B   No nor thei the[m] selfye would haue decaid my welth
But only by powre and abusion
Thei culd not detect mebut that theidid suspect me
That I was not of their religion

E  Oh cruell tirauntes and also monstrous giauntes
That woulde suche as were blossome deuour
But the lorde of his mihgtdefended the in right
And shortened their arme and powre.

B yet my louer deremarke me well here
Though thei were men of the deuill
The scripture plainly saithal thei that be of faith
must nedes do good against euill.

E Oh swete virgin purelonge may ye endure
To reigne ouer vs in this lande
For your workes do accordye are the handmaid of the lord
For he hath blessed you with his ha[n]d

B My swete realm be obedientto gods holy co[m]maundement
and my procedinges embrace
And for that that is abusedshalbe better vsed
and that within shorte space.

E Dere lady and QueneI trust it shalbe sene
ye shall reigne quietly without strife
And if any traiters there beof any kind or degre
I pray God send them short life.

B I trust al faithful herteswil play true subiects parts
Knowing me their Quene & true heir by right
And that much the ratherfor the loue of my father
That worthy prince King Henrie theight.

E Therefore let vs prayto God both night and day
Continually and neuer to sease
That he wil preserue your graceto reigne ouer vs long space
In tranquilitie welth and peace
		Both
All honor laud & praise, be to the lord god alwaies
who hath all princes hartes in his handes
that by his powre & mighthe may give the[m] a right
For the welth of all christen landes.


Title:
the Abuse of ye blessed sacrame[n]t of the aultare

Format:
unknown - only extant in the pamphlet confuting the original

Lyrics:
What meaneth this gyse, I woulde faine here 
Straunge sightes in my eies, there do apere• 
Defended wyth lies, boeth farre and nere 
Greate ruth it is,

Ise men honour, Both breade and wyne 
For christ our sauiour, which he left for a sign 
To the beleuer, Of hys death deuyne 
Lorde amende thys

Wonderful syghtes, I coulde declare 
I loked in the pixte Dome gods I sawe there 
Made of the priests, Which sinners are 
Liuinge amyse.

From sinners seperate, Gods son is, saith Paul 
Hygher then heauen seate, Aboue ye powers al 
How wt sinful hand make, His body then you shall 
Syr prists tell me thys

Thou sayest by thy coninge that ye makest him 
Who hath made of nothing Both ye & thi kyn 
Heauen earth and al thynge, conteined ther in 
What lye is thys

Thou wylt say with spede, It is not our acte 
The worde in this ded, taketh effecte 
Wyth the I Prosede, that thus dooste obiecte 
Answere me to this.

What word hast ye n ddy, Wherwith Christ 
Of bread his body, As ye dost crake (did make 
Wyth all thy studye, An answere ake 
And tell me this.

Hoc est corpus Meum, you bryng 
Wher wyth ye clocke vs, Under your wyng 
But for your purpose, It serueth nothynge 
Who seyth not thys?

To be the worde, Naimely of giuing 
Which christ our Lord, Spake to his beleue ing 
Disciples at borde, as they were sitting 
Their faith to encrease

He is but a beast, knowyng ryght nought 
Which saith that hoc est, Are wordes to make ought 
Thys is manyfest, In a wyse mans thought 
Wher knowledge is.

If I say to the, This is my head 
It must so be, Before I so sayde 
Or els with a lye, I haue the fed 

Wel then to say lo, Thys is my body 
Hath not made it so, Thou seyst wt smal studie 
Wherfore shortely go, Make other wordes redi 
These wyl do no seruice.

What if in scripiure. Were wrytten one lyne 
Wherwith our sauiour, Thy god and myne 
Into thys nature, Dyd tourne bread and wine 
Couldest thou do thys?

Thou hast the word, wherwyth god wrought 
Man beast fish burd, And all of nought 
Canst thou good bloud, Therwith makeought 
That vnmade is.

Yf wt that scripture. Thou canst not make 
The least creature, How wylt thou take 
On thy weake nature, Of bread to create 
The Lorde of blysse.

Hauinge no word, of consecracion 
Wherof the Lord, hath mad relacion 
Thou teachest abrode thine owne inuencion 
Which is amise

For Christ hath sayd Thou canst not shape 
One heare of thy heade, whyte ether blacke. 
How canst thou of bread, Then gods sonne make whyche in heauen is.

A better mynde. The Lorde graunt the 
That thou mayst fynd, hys verite 
which maketh the blind, In soule to se 
what hys will is.

God graunt the, the• part, O Paule to playe 
I meane to conuert, From the Rom she way 
And with a meke herte, Gods truth to obaye 
Who graunt the this.

Lord graunt that our head, king Edward ye sixt 
May bury that dead God which is pi te 
And get in his stead, thy supper not mixte 
Wi h abuse popishe.

That we may espie In that signe and token 
Wyth spirituall eie, Thy body broken 
And thy bloud plentious y Shed as is spoken 
To bringe vs to blesse.


Title:
A newe Balade made of Thomas Crumwel , called , Trolle on Away

Lyrics:
Trolle on away, trolle on awaye 
Syng heaue and howe rombelowe trolle on awaye. 

Bothe man and chylde is glad to here tell 
Of that false traytoure Thomas Crumwel 
Nowe that he is set to spell 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

When fortune loky'd the in thy face 
Thou haddyst fayre tyme but thou lackydyst grace 
Thy cofers with golde thou fyllydst a pace, 

 Synge trolle on awaye. 

Both plate and chalys came to thy fyst 
Thou lockyst them vp where no man wyst 
Tyll in the Kynges treasoure suche thinges were myst 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

Both crust and crumme came thorowe thy hands 
Thy marchaundyse sayled ouer the sands 
Therefore nowe thou art layde fast in bandes 

  Synge trolle on awaye. 

Fyrst when Kynge Henry God saue his Grace 
Perceyued myschefe kyndle in thy face 
Then it was tyme to purchase the a place. 
Synge trolle on awaye. 
Hys Grace was euer of gentyll nature 
Mouyd with petye and made the hys seruyture 
But thou as a wretche suche things dyd procure. 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

Thou dyd not remembre false heretyke 
 One God, one fayth, and one Kynge catholyke 
For thou hast bene so longe a scysmatyke 

  Syng trolle on awaye. 

Thou woldyst not learne to knowe these thre. 
But euer was full of iniquite 
Wherefore all this lande hathe ben troubled with the 

 Synge trolle on awaye. 
 All they that were of the newe trycke 
Agaynst the churche thou baddest them stycke  Wherfore nowe thou haste touchyd the quycke. 

Synge trolle on awaye. 
Bothe sacramentes and sacramentalles 
 Thou woldest not suffre within thy walles 
Nor let vs praye for chrysten soules. 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

Of what generacyon thou were no tonge can tell 
Whyther of Chayme or Syschemell 
Or else sente vs from the deuyll of hell 
 Synge trolle on awaye. 
Thou woldest neuer to vertue applye 
 But couetyd euer to clymme to hye 
 And nowe haste thou trodden thy shoo awrye 
  Synge trolle on awaye. 

Who so euer dyd winne thou wolde not lose 
Wherfore al Englande doth hate the as I suppose 
Bycause thou wast false to the redolent rose 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

Thou myghtest haue learned thy cloth to flocke 
Upon thy gresy fullers stocke 
Wherefore lay downe thy heade vpon this blocke 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

Yet saue that soule that God hath bought 
And for thy carcas care thou nought. 
Let it suffre payne as hit hath wrought. 

Synge trolle on awaye. 

God saue Kyng Henry with all his power 
And Prynce Edwarde that goodly flowre. 
With all hys Lordes of great honoure. 

  Synge trolle on awaye, syng trolle on awaye . 
Heyue and how rombelowe trolle on awaye .


Title:
A balade agaynst malycyous Sclaunderers.

Location of Printer:
Lombard St near to the Stocks Market at the sign of the merrmaid

Lyrics:
Heue and how rumbelow thou arte to blame
Trolle into the right way agayne for shame

Trolle into the waytrolle in and retrolle
Small charyte and lesse wytte is in thy nolle
Thus for to rayle vpon a christen soule
Wherefore men thynke the worthy blame
Trolle into the way agayne for shame.

Thou makest a trollyng hyther and thyther
Somtyme thou trollest thou canst not tell whyther
But if all thy trollynges were gathered togyther
Thy trollynge myght trym the and tourne the to blame
Wherfore trolle thou nowe into the way for shame

Although to lord Crumwell a traytour was
yet dare I saye that the kynge of his grace
Hath forgyven him that gret trespas
To rayle than on dead menthou arte to blame
Trolle now into the way agayne for shame.

In that he the law hath offended
By the lawe he is iustly condempned
This mortall lyfefull godly he ended
Wherfore to rayle thusthou art to blame
Trolle into the way agayne for shame.

For all his offences in euery thyng
He asked of god mervy and grace of the kynge
And of all the wyde worldfor his tra[n]sgressyng
Thou nor no man can say nay to the same
Trolle into the way than agayne for shame

Thou takest his treason for thy subtyll defence
Which nowe is departed and gone from hence
But men spye the pricke of all thy pretence
Thy owne sayenges folowyng declare the same
Trolle into the wayfor fere or for shame

Thou sayest he was with the church to quycke
Favouryng none but of the new trycke
But now thou spurnest agaynst the prycke
And thou of forcemust confesse the same
Trolle into the way agayne for shame

For bisshops haue now as they haue had
If preestes wold complaynethey were to mad
Wherfore thou apperest to be a popyshe lad
For vsyng thy poperythou arte to blame
Trolle into the way agayne for shame.

For here thou vpholdest both monkes and fryers
Nunnes and noughty packesand lewed lowly lyers
The bysshop of Romewith all his rotten squyers
To buylde such a church thou art moche to blame
Trolle now into the way agayne for shame.

May not men thynke now in the meane ceason
That thou hast deserued by ryght and by season
As moch as he hath done for clokynge thy treason
For he was a traytourand thou arte the same
Trolle away papystgod gyue the shame.

The sacrament of the aulterthat is most hyest
Crumwell beleued it to be the very body of Chriest
Wherfore in thy writingon him thou lyest
For the kynge & his counsell wyll wytnesse the same
Trolle into the wayethan agayne for shame

Although that he of byrth were but bace
yet was he set up of the kynges noble grace
Wherby it appereth that thou woldest deface
The kynges royall powerdispysyng the same
Trolle away traytourgod gyue the shame.

Is it thy facyon thus craftely to saye
Let vs for the kyngeand his lordes praye
And than at the lastto trolle them awaye
With heue and how rumbelowthy wordes be the same
Both written and printedto thy great shame

Hast thou no man elsthou dronken soll
But the kynge and his noblesaway for to troll
It were ynough for to cost the thy poll
Both thyne and all otherthat wold do the same
Trolle awaye traytouregod gyue the shame

A prety wyse printer belyke us he was
Which of his printyngso lytell doth pas
To print such pylde poetryas this same was
Lyke makerlyke printertwo trolles of the game
A payre of good papystesye be payne of shame.

God send all traytours their hole desartes
God send small ioyeto all popysshe hartes
And euyll hap to as many as do take their partes
God send their purpose neuer to frame
But trolle them away with sorow and shame.
I pray god thou be not fownde one of those
That peruarteth the peopleas I suppose
From redyng of gods wordethat goodly rose
Where the counsell commaundeth to occupy the same
And they that wold otherwysegod send them shame.


Title:
A lytell treatyse agaynst Sedicyous persons.

Lyrics:
To trolle awaye or trolle inlet not trolle spare
If trolle truly trolletrolle nedeth not to care.

Of late I perusedtwo purposes seuerall
In their kyndes clerkely handeledthe truth for to tell
Trolle awaye and Trolle inmen do them call
Treatyng vpon materconcernyng the late Crumwel[l]
The one vtterly myndyngthe other to repell
Trolle away (the trouth is) muche touched to the quycke
And Trolle in (somwhat galled) began for to kycke.

yet Trolle away tolde trouthit can not be denied
Declaryng the offencewherin Crumwell offended
Trolle in beyng troubledwhen he it espyed
With trollynges to couer itfull subtelly contended
Some trollers there beI wolde were amended
For who that craftely couerethany others offence
Of lykelyhodein his owne hertehath the same pretence.

Truly to trolleit is no maner of shame
And trollyng vntrueis not to be mayntayned
As euery thyng isso to gyue it propre name
Amonges all true honest menshulde not be disdayned
The scripture so techeth vsit can not be fayned
Agaynst scripture who stryuethhe is none other lyke
Than a traytoure to his prince and to god an heretyke

I entende not to trolleto take any parte
Diuisyon to encreace it nedeth nothyng
But sorowfully syghyngI trolle in my harte
With my selfe in myndemany tymes reuoluyng
How god to vshath ordayned the most noble kyng
Who vniformly to knyt vshath traueyled full sore
yet many trifelyng trollerscare lytell therfore.

But as trollers troubelous and full of enuy
At the lawes of godand of our good kyng
In their trollynges do trustyet that their olde heresy
All good ordrys set a parteshall florisshe and sprynge
Their prechersno less comforte in their sermons do brynge
Euen lately exhortyng themauoyding all drede
And persecution not regardyngthroughly to procede.

With many wordes more troublousthan now I wyll reherce
Not doubtyng at allbut at length the shal be knowen
Suche trollyng trecherousmy herte doth sore perce
Consyderyng howe sedicyouslyamonges vs they be sowen
Of late I well trustedthey had ben ouer blowen

But now I well parceyuethat neither fauour nor smarte
From the body can expellthat is rooted in the harte.

A trewe trollyng hertwolde be loth to pretende
Any purpose to mayntayneagaynst god or his kyng
The confessyon of an heretykethat lately dyd offende
And amonges otherssuffred for his deseruyng
Secretly they embraceas a most precyous thyng
And yet playnly wyll I proueby good lawe and reason
Contayned therinboth heresy and treason.

In any wyse impryntedthey wyll not it shall be
The daungers therof in them selues mystrustynge
Wherfore euery man may well perceyue and se
What hertes they do beare to god and our good kynge
Every of them secretly must haue it in wrytynge
But Chryst sayeth verely there is nothynge conceled
But at length shalbe knowenand openly reueled

Who against them trolletha Papyst they him name
They have no other thingthemselues for to defende
I wolde that all Papysteshad an open shame
And that all heretykesthemselues wold amende
Than shuld we haue no causefurther to contende
But vniformly to lyue the one with the other
And ioyfully to enhabytas brother with brother

Such shuld be our trollyngesChrist vs so teacheth
Commaunding euer peaceamong vs for to be
Untruly he trolleththat otherwyse preacheth
Styreng to any sedicionmalyce or enuye
Where banisshed is discordeand raygneth all charite
That realme in god restethand god is in it
Being charite himselfeas sayth the holy writ.

Than towardes that charitetrolle we on a pace
Auauncyng our selueswith all conuenyent spede
Amore acceptable pilgrimagesurely neuer was
For which god gaue to manany meryte or mede
Our labour or gret burdenlet us nothing drede
Nor regarding the wylfulnesof our body or fleshe
For at the iorneyes endeChrist wyll vs refresshe.


And then as true trollerstogither let vs remayne
Parfecltly fast knytin one peacevnyte and loue
With glory vnto godeuermore glad and fayne
Our noble Prince truly to serueas doth vs behoue
 
And all others to tendreas duty doth vs moue
Usyng styll amonge vs the selfe same loue and concorde
Which is to vs commaundedby Christ the eternall lorde.

And nowe in that loue let vs all with one voyce pray
For the preseruacion of henry our most noble kyng
And Katheren our Quene that they togither may
Prosperously contynue to their hertes desyring
And Edward our Prince that most angelyke thing
That they all together may longe lyue and rest
And after with him to raygne qui in celis est.

	God saue the Kyng,

To Trole away or Trolle inlet not Trolle spare
If Trolletruly TrolleTrolle nedeth not to care


Title:
A brefe apologye or Answere to a certen craftye cloynar, or 
popyshe parasyte, called Thomas 
smythe.

Lyrics:
Beholde the diceytfull penne of the scrybe, hath set
forthe lyes. Hieremie.8.

Ser,though ye be a smythe
And beate vppon the stythe
ye cum nat to the pythe
Nor haue not yet wherwythe

your spyryt is verye drye
The scripturs to applye
ye rather them denye
Than ther trewthe fortyfye

Vvbat measur ye obserue
In poesye proterue
Axe of ladye mynerue
And she wyll saye ye swerue

Full flatterynglye ye foyne
ye clatter and ye cloyne
ye mangye matters ioyne
And all to catch the coyne

ye cobble and ye clowght
To vpholde the romyshe rowght
But ye maye haue the gowght
Ere ye brynge that abowght

ye maynteyne sodomytes
with other hypocrytes
And playe the parasytes
To see trewe israelytes
 
Agaynst a strawe ye stumble
And at a blocke ye fumble
Ye fare lyke hym that tumble
For nought ye do but bumble.

Soche one ye areywys
As popyshe prestes may blys
For wher all treason ys
Ye fynde nothynge amys.

Your hate ye can not hyde
Nor yet your popyshe pryde
God wyll for hys prouyde
Whan ye shall stande asyde

Whyls you suppresse the ryght
Here wanderynge in the nyght
Ye thynke God hath no syght
Which is the very lyght

The lorde wyll once out spewe
Soche hypocrytes vntrewe
As byddeth hys worde adewe
Pylde poperye to renewe.

For cursed isthat hart
And worthye to haue smart
Whych wyll with them take part
That scripture doth peruart

Thomas Smyth
To trolle awaye or trolle inlet not trolle spare
If trolle truly trolletrolle nedeth not to care.

An answere.
Trolle in hath trolled trewlye,where trolle away trolled amys
Yf ye wyll trolle with trollars,trolle trewlyar after thys
Full lyke a trobulous trollar,ye trolle a tryfelynge trace
Trolle nomore with the scripturs,except ye haue better grace
 

Thomas smythe.
A lytell treatyse agaynst sedicious persones.

Oflate I perusedtwo purposes seuerall
In thee kyndes craftlye handledthe treuth for to tell
Trolle awayeand trolle in,menne do them call
Treatyng vpon matterconcernynge the late Cromwell
The one vtterlye myndyngethe other to repell
Trolle away (the treuthe is)moche touched to the quycke
 
 
And Trolle in (somwhat galled) began for to kycke.
An answere to the bolsterar of sedicion.

In your perusinge,yeseme very parciall
Trolle awaye iudgynge,oftreuth to haue the trycke
Concernynge Cromwell,trolle in nothyng at all
Butfor hystrollynge,to be an heretycke
Trollynge betwixt them, ye are a iuge to quycke
The worse to allowe, the better to condempne
Soche vntrewe trollars,all veryte contempne.

When Crist was alyue, soche tryfelinge trollars trolled
Callynge hym traytour, and heretycke also
Whome for ther trollynge,the pharysees extolled
As yet to thys daye,ther trewe successours do
Dyd not soche trollars,agaynst the apostles go?
Whatther rewarde is,we nede not for to tell
Trollynges trouthe troblynge,trolleth euermore to hell.
Thomas smythe.
Yet trolle away tolde trouthyt can not be denied
Declaryng the offenceswherin Cromwell offended
Trolle in beynge troubledwhan he yt espyed
With trollynges to couer it,subtyllye contended
Some trollars there beI wolde were amended
For who that craftelye colourethany others offence
Of lykelyhode in hys owne harthath the same pretence.
An answere.
Trolle awaye ded lye,in manye thynges he tolde
Though the lorde Cromwell,hath dyed for hys offence
So sone as trolle in,soche trollynges ded beholde
He shewed hym of it,with moche more grace and scyence

 
Betwyne them yetrolle,without indifference
Your verdyt it nought,your iugement is wurse
Soche vntrewe trollars,are vnderneth goddes curse

No wreche so wycked, but some wyll take hys part
None so vnlerned, but some shall hym vpholde
As menne se profyght,so trolle they in ther hart
Some that hath knowledge,are neyther hote nor colde
And verye asse heades, auctoryte maketh bolde
He that with the fote,so cruell partes wyll playe
The head wyll not spare,he once out of the waye.
Thomas smythe.
Trewlye to trolle,it is no maner of shame
Andtrollynge vntreweis nat to be mayntayned
As euery thynge isso to geue it propre name
Amonges all trewe honest men shuld nat be dysdayned
The scripture so teacheth vsit can not be fayned
Agaynst scripture who stryuethhe is non other lyke
Than a traytoure to hys prynceand to God an heretyke
An answere.
If trewlye to trolle,stande with moche honeste
And trollynge vntrewe,requyreth rebuke and shame
I gretlye maruele,whyls you a trollar be
That in your trolynge,ye wyll trewe trollars blame
And for your purpose,trolle scripturs out offrame
Soche trecherous trollars, I thynke to be no lesse
Than those lewde persons,whome ye do here expresse

your scripture ye trolle,from Esaye the fyft
Ther spoken for them,that doth goddes worde blaspheme
But ye can make it,to serue an other dryft
Than God that tyme shewed, or Esaye coude esteme
Soche trollynge of trouthe,cause yet some men to deme
The bysshop of Rome,the chefe head of the churche
Scripturs so trolled,lyke mysterye cann wurche.
Thomas smythe.
I intende not to trolle,to rake any part
Diuision to increace, it nedeth nothyng
But sorowfully syghyngI trolle in my hart
With my self in myndemanye tymes reuoluynge
How God to vs hath ordaynedthe most noble Kynge

 
Who vniformelye to knyt vshath trauayled full sore
yet many tryfelynge trollarscare lyttele therfore.
An answere.
A blackemore wyll change,the colour of hys skynne
As sone as hys craft,an hypocryte shall hyde
Ye trolle with no part,dyuysion to begynne
And yet the people,from Crist ye wold deuyde
Some trollars lament,the fallynge of ther pryde
Christen Kyngeshauynge,soche trollars at ther hand
Are in worse takynge,than they do vnderstande

Vvho maketh dyuision?whe is the peace breakar?
Nat Iudas but Christ,yet Iudas doth betraye
Paule worketh sedicion,and is no treason speakar
ye do the myschefe,and yet ye make no fraye
The same foxe that lurketh,the same foxe take the praye
Ohtrollynge gnato,ye thynke ye be not seaue
Yetby your trollynges,perceyue men what ye meane.
Thomas smyth.
But as trollars trobelous and full of enuye
At the lawes of God,and of our good kynge
In ther trollynges do trust,that their olde heresye
All good orders set a parteshall florysshe and sprynge
Ther prechars no lesse comfort in ther sermons do brynge
Euen latelye exhortyng them,auoydinge all drede
And,persecucion not regardyngthroughlye to procede.
An answere.
Here is a pretence,to turne stones into breade
And a suggestion,to cast our selues downe bacwarde
Vpon the mountayne,for golde ye trolle vs leade 

Lawes with good order,ye wolde vs regarde
And yettreweprechars,ye mynde nat to be harde
Falsefables ye forge,to darken with ther name
Trollynge in soche trashe,as wyll be to your shame

The scrybe on hys skyrtes,doth goddes commaundementes set
The deuyll resembleth,the massenger of lyght
Who destroyeth lawes?who doth good order let?
But those pharysees,that chysten peple spyght
Sendynge soche prophetes,as the daye changeto the nyght 

All them that abhorre,ther olde pylde poperye
For the worde of God,they accuse of heresye.
Thomas smythe.
Wyth manye wordes more troblousthan now I wyl reherce
Not doubtynge at allbut at length the shall be knowne
Soche trollynge trecherousmy hart doth sore perce
Consyderynge how sedycyouslyeamonge vs they be sowne
Of late I well trusted,they hath bene ouerblowne
But now I wyll parceyuethat neyther fauer nor smarte
From the bodye can expellthat is roted in the hart.
An answere.
More wolde ye trolle out,yfye coude more reherce
Ye shall do nomore,than God shall you permyt
Whychtrolleth forthtyrauntes,bothterryble and ferce
Hys flocke to correct,whan they trolle out of wyt
Amonge soche trollars,ye are a trollar fyt
And I can ye thanke,ye do full well your kynde
Trollynge now soche hate,as laye longe in your mynde.

All ys sedicyon,that please not popyshe hartes
All insurreccyon,whan menne from you declyne
Of your sort manye,hath trolled trayterous partes
And yet agaynstthem,notrollynges ye dyffyne
One relygyous zele,doth you and them combyne
All heretyckes frelye,ye maye touche in your spyght
But nonesoche as dyed,for holyechurches ryche.
Thomas smythe.
A trewe trollynge hartwold be lothe to pretende
Anye purpose to mayntayneagaynst God or hys kynge
The confessyon of an heretyckthat latelye ded offende
And amonges otherssuffred for hys deseruynge
Sesecrettelye they embraceas a most precyous thynge
And yet playnelye wyll I proueby good lawe and reason
Contayned therinbothe heresye and treason.
An answere.
A trewe trollynge hart,dwelleth not wythin your bosome
For all the colours that you shewe outwardelye
In the confessyon,whych came an heretycke frome
Ys moche lesse treason,and moche lesse heresye
Than in the trollynges,of your hypocresye
Whyls you shall contende,wyth reason and with lawe 
 
Your trolled scripturs,proue youa dottynge dawe.

The heretycke that dyed,as all the peple harde
In the fayth of Churst, mekelye departed hence
Praynge for our kynge,and our worthye prince Edwarde
Longe dayes to endure,inther prehemynence
In hys confession,I fynde none othe offence.
But as Christ doth saye,soch slayghtes are in the sectes
As wolde in maner,deceyue the verye electes.
Thomassmythe.
In any wyse impryntedthey wyll nat yt shall be
The daungers therofinthemselues mystrustynge
Wherfor euerye mannemaye well perceyue and se
What hartes they do beareto God and our good kynge
Everye ofthem secretlyemust haue yt in wrytynge
But Christ sayth verelyether is nothynge conceled
But at length shall be knowenand openlye reueled.
An answere.
It is imprynted,wherfore by lawe and reason
Proue I can ryght well,that ye alyar be
Verye hote ye are,in iugynge menne of treason
The hydden secretes,of all mennes hartes yese
Asye iuge yeare,by holy saint Paules decre
Soche tauntynge trollars,are tetrici thrasones
And in ther trollynges,full noughtye nebulones

A scripture ye trolle,as dyd the deuyll in desert
To serue your purpose,trollynge the pythe asyde
Hydde secretes sayth Crist,shall now be clere and apert
Meanynge soche scripturs,as the pharysees ded hyde
With ther tradicions,hypocresye and pryde
Thus Christ declareth it,in the.xij.chapter of Luke
Falsetrollynge oftextes,wyll turne ye to rebuke.
Thomas smythe.
Who agaynst them trolletha papyst they hym name
They haue none other thyng,themselues for to defrende
I wolde that all papysteshad an open shame
And that all heretyckesthemselues wolde a mende
Than shuld we haue no causefurther to contende
But vniformely to lyuethe one with the other
And ioyfullye to inhabiteas brother wyth brother. 
. 
An answere.
We call them papistes, that maintayne papistrye
Both hauynge ther frutes,and scripture for vs to laye
If all soche papystes, schuld haue shame openlye
I thynke ye coude not, befarre out of the waye
As Iudas wyth Christ,with heretyckes here ye playe
No brother is he,that goddes wurde doth nat furder
Except he be Cain,whych doth pore Abel murder.

Styll ye trolle scripturs,but nothynge in ther kynde
Couetinge full sore,to haue a fleshelye concorde
Beliall and Christ,wer neuer of one mynde
Dauid commended,a vnitie in the Lorde
Which with your peltrye wylleth vs not to accorde
For lyght with darkenes,schall neuer well agre
Nor popyshe falsehede,with Christis veryte.
Thomas smythe.
Soche schuld be our trollyngesChrist vs so tracheth
Commandinge euer peaceamonge vs for to be
Untrewlye he trolleththat otherwyse preacheth
Sturrynge to anye sedicyon,malyce or enmyte
Where bannyshed ys dyscordeand raygneth all charyte
That realme in God restethand God ys in yt
Beinge charyte him selfas sayth the holye wryt.
An answere.
Christ neuer trolled,soche peace as ye wolde haue
Neyther in Mathew, in Luke, nor yet in Iohan
Thowgh in your trollynges, the armoure ye do on
Nat Barrabas but Christ,accusynge of sedicyon
To the worlde dayth Christ, I sende no peace but the sworde
By the which ysment,the rygour of goddes worde.

ye trolle forth your textes,commixtynge perles with draffe
For Christ sayd in dede,they shuld be troden of swyne
Non est pax impijs, your charyte ys but chaffe
Though ye crye pax pax,as Esaye doth dyffne
ye speke of charyte,and drawe by an other lyne
Christ sayd,that with you , we shuld haue trybulacyon
And in him alone,our peace and consolacyon. 

Thomas smythe.
Than towardes that charytetrolle we on apace
Auauncynge our selueswith all conuenyent spede
A more acceptable pilgrymagesurelye neuer was
For whych God gaue to man,anye meryte or mede
Our labour or great burdenlet us nothyng drede
Nor regarde the wylfulnesof our bodye or fleshe
For at the iournayes endeChrist wyll vs refreshe.
An answere.
If ye trolleto Christ,as ye mynde nothynge lesse
With the pharise,ye maye not your self auaunce 

For mede or merrye,as ye do here expresse
For non can deserue,the heuyns in herytaunce
But here men maye se,your trollynge ignoraunce
The frutes of our flesche,ye wyll vs not to regarde
So trollynge vs Christ,full lyke a wanton stewarde.

Than trolle ye scripture,that Christ wyll you refreshe
At your iournayes ende,for your gret labour,and peyne
Christ ther taketh the lawe,for the burden of our fleshe
Easynge our conscyence,of mennys tradicyons pleyne
But in your trollynge,ye haue an other veyne
In your cottacyon,for the aleuynt of Mathewe
ye trollethe fystent,to be knowne a trollar trewe.
Thomas smythe.
[A]nd then as trewe trollarstogyther let vs remayne
Perfyghtlye fast knytin one peacevnyte and loue
Wyth glory vnto Godeuermore gladde and fayne
Our noble prince trewlyeto serue as doth vs behoue
And all others to tendreas dewty doth vs moue
Usynge styll amonge vs the self same loue and concorde
Whych ys to vs commaundedby Christ the eternall Lorde.
An answere.
Thys trollynge wer good,yfye coude folowe yt
And nomore couete,to haue them ouerblowne
That fauer godde s trewthe, as they suppose most fyt
Of Christen peple,in thys lyfe to beknowne
Reportynge by soche,sedycyon to be sowne
ye neyther trolle peace, nor a christen amyte
But declare yourself,an ympe ofinyquyte. 

We must loue in Christ,yf we loue christentye
For loue out of Christ,is but a paganes loue
In goddes worde therfore,let vs loue to hys glorye
And obeye our kynge,as christen menne behoue
With mekenes of hart,and no sedicion moue
And than shall we trolle,in peaceable vnyte
As God vs wylleth,by hys heuenlye veryte.
Thomas smythe.
And now in that louelet vs all with one voyce praye
For the preseruacyon of Henry our moste noble kynge
And Kateryne our quenethat they togyther maye
Prosperouslye contynewto ther hartes desyrynge
And Edwarde our prynce,that moste angelyke thynge
That they all togythermaye longe lyue and rest
And after with hym to raygne, qui in celis est. 	Amen
An answere
Nat onely with voyce,as dyd the hypocrytes
But whan ye shall praye,praye from the very hart
Expressynge the fayth,of christen Isrealytes
And trolle with your prynce,no fyckle flatterynge part
Least after thys lyfe,ye trolle to eternall smart
Better is a strype,of hym which is a frynde
 
Than a kysse of hym,that beareth a wycked mynde.

In fayth and in spyryt,let vs of God requyre
Our Kynge,Quene,and Prynce,to lyue here prosperouslye
Not as you do trolle, vnto ther hartes desyre
But vnto goddes mynde,and of hys name the glorye
Thus trolleth saynt Paule,with Abacuch and Hieremye
Lorde graunt them longe lyfe,to thy swete wyll and pleasure
Thy flocke rewlynge here,which isthy most deare treasure
			AMEN

	God saue the kynge.
And hys ofsprynge,
	Amen 


Thomas smythe.
To trolle awaye or trolle inlet not trolle spare
Yftrolle trewlye trolletrolle nedeth not to care
An answere.
Betwixt hys trolle and trolle,yf trolle no better trolle
Trolle maye trolle with trollars,that trollethe gossyppes bolle
Yftrolle wyll trolle with trollars,let trolle trolle veryte
Or elstrolle with yll trollars,wyll trolle dyshoneste
Where trolle hath trolled vntrewly,let trolle trolle back agayn
For trollinge with yll trollars, trolleth many one to payne
Thomas smythe.
Composed by Thomas Smythseruaunt to the kynges 
Royall magesteAnd clarke of the Quenes graces 
[c]ounsell(though most vnworthye)
		An answere.
The Pharise in dede
Hys phylacterye sprede.
Hysskyrtes he doth dylate
To fournyshe hys estate
The scrybe set forth hys hemme
With perle and with gemme

With many tytles proude
T[h]e pore trouthe to our croude
[H]e paynteth hym selfe with penne
[F]or to be seane of menne
Here mayster smythe must be
To the kynges hygh mageste

A seruaunt scant so symple
As reynarde vnder a wymple
A clerke, a lerned manne
Which worldlye cauteles canne
Yea, clerke of the Quenes counsell
And persecuteth the Gospell

Yet is he moste vnworthye 

And that he speketh trewlye
Thys worke he hath composed 

[Wh]erinhe hath not glosed
By colours of hyposresye
By falsehede nor by vayne glorye

Nomore than reynarde foxe
Or fryre with hys boxe
It is good by saint Ione
That prestes haue soche a wone
As canne so clerkelye wryte
and poetelye indyte

Whych wyll not from them wauer
and is in so great fauer
Beynge the kynges seruaunt
So wyttye and so pregnaunt
He that shall with hym scole
Wyll fynde hym so small fole.

None heretycke now shall rowte
Nor dare put forth hys snowte
But wyll plucke in hys hormes
as doth new ale in cornes
The gospellarsnow wyll shrynke
and not be able to wynke

The knaues shall no more checke
Nor agaynst vs popystes becke
With hym they dare not dallye
Forfeare of Putiphars vallye
or elsfor Daniels deane
But now synge in a meane.

Nowe may we tythes home trolle
and care but for the bolle
We maye let the gospell goo
For he is our mortall foo
We are fortunate thys tyde
To have smythe on our syde.

Our kyngdome wolde els fall
 


Title:
A treatyse declarynge the despyte of a secrete sedycyous person/that dareth not shewe hym selfe.

Location of Printer:
Pater noster Row at the sign of our lady pitie

Lyrics:
His doyngs amo[n]ge trewe menshuld not be had in place
That feareth to tell his name& shameth to shewe his face.

Why I thus do wryteis greatlye to be mused
But before I departeIt shall appere more playne
Besechynge all honest men to haue me excused
Thoughe (as no lasse bounden) I do seme very fayne
By veryte to vanquiysshe malyuole dysdayne
Force me so forcethand wylleth me to wryte
Truely for the truths sake and nothynge for despyte

And now briefly to my purposethe effecte is thys
Of late I wrote two lybellesnot thynkynge to offende
But perceyuynge amonge vs thynges to be amys
Styll styrrynge and procurynge vs lewdly to contend
Of suche indecent ordreI desyred the ende
For the whych cause onelyI toke on me to wryte
Truely for the trueths sakeand nothynge for despyte

But nowe I well perceaueI rubbed some on the gall
Whiche causeth them to grunteand ernestly to grone
Wel, [be as be maye) I can not do with all
It wyll not from the flesshethat is rooted in the bone
For my true maenyngesome shewe theym selfe full prone
By sclaunder to deface mewithall theyr power and myght
Nothynge for the trueths sakebut all for mad despyte

They name me a papysteand sayeI do not loue
None other but Papystesand men of popysshe mynde
The trewe tryall wherofI referre to God aboue
And consequently to otherswhat they can proue & fynde
O man malycyousthat woldest so fayne blynde
The good intentes of otherswhich truely do and wryte
Labourynge theyr destruccionthrough serpe[n]tyne despyte

If iustely you can proueas you declare in wrytynge
That I loue none, but papistes, tha[n] may you wel may[n]tain
Me to be a traytourboth to Godand our good Kynge
To the iuste tryall of the whicheI woll dryue you playne
For you it is to lateto call in your wordes agayne
Though as a lurky[n]g lorrelyour name you woll not write
Bothe you shalbe knowenand your deuelysshe despyte

If you haue knowenany such treason to be in me
Then you in your dewtyehaue bene very neglygent
The parte of euery true herttowardes his Kynge shuld be
what he knoweth agai[n]st his gracefurthw[ith] to make euyde[n]t
 
Who conceleth others treasonas a traytour doth consent
Wherfore this your doyingmay appereto each ma[n]s syght
Nothynge for the truethes sakebut all for lewde despyte

You declare furthermorethat lately I rebelled
Agaynst the Kynges maiestyeand his councell all
For the whiche sclaunderI am greatly compelled
Before the hygher powersthis matter for to call
As surely I woll dodoubte you it not at all
At shose handes I woll askebut iustyce and ryght
Specyally for the truethes sake& nothynge for despyte.

Yet Catho[lic?] y[e] wysedoth teach me& byddeth me not to care
So as my lyfe be honestlet the wycked say theyr mynde
We can not forbyd me[n]s spechewherfore let the[m] not spare
Nature in euery thyngewoll shewe her proper kynde
Whiche to be proued trueis easy ynough to fynde
In thatthat you haue donesparynge not to wryte
Nothyng for the truthes sakebut all for mad despyte

Thatwherew[ith] you be greuedis allways forth co[m]myng
My name playnely theruntoI woll it not denye
And I redy to be punysshedfor suche my doynge
If I haue so deseruedand can be founde cause why
Wherfore you be moche to blameso to rayle and crye
Openly detractynge meagaynst all lawe and ryght
As I amI woll be knowenso shalbe your despyte

I could say some what more, but I mynde not to co[n]te[n]de
As the tree by her fruytesis always chyefely knowen
So I doubte notby your workesbefore this mater ende
you shalbe well perceaued& what blastes you haue blowe[n] 
And what kyndes of sedeeuery other man hath sowen
Wherfore I do aduyse yoube sure you stande vpryght
I doubte not to ouerthrowe youin your owne despyte.

your boke doth ope[n] maternot mete I shold here touche
But within shorte tymeit shall shewe it selfe more playne
Your doynges well declarehow in herte you styll grouche
And agaynst who[m], because you can not youre wyll obtayne
your malice doth so blynd you& byddeth you not refrayne
But throughly to procedeblusteryng with force & myght
Forgettynge cleane your dewtyeand all for mad despyte

And now to concludeO dauyd holy prophet & Kynge
Unto god omnipotentemoste hyghe and eternall
In Psalmyst here with thewyll I crye and synge
Judge thou me (O Lorde) that arte iudge ouer all
Discerne thou my causeand let me to the call
To be rydde fro[m] the wyckedwhich labour day & nyght
Thy veryte to vanquysshe by deceytefull despyte 

And as thou arte Lorde of lordes & kynge of kynges
Preserue our noble kyngeour moost precyous treasure
With Katherine our Quene, & grau[n]t [that] theyr procedynges
In longe lyfe may prosperevnto thy wyll and pleasure
And to Edwarde our Pryncethat moste redolent floure
Infuse in theym thy graceand helpe we maye be quyte
Of these sectes sedycyousso swellynge in despyte
			God saue the Kynge
His doynges among trew menshuld not be had in place
That feareth to tell his name & shameth to shewe his face


Title:
A Paumflet compyled by G. C.
To master Smyth and Wyllyam G. 
Prayenge them both, for the loue of our Lorde, 
To growe at last to an honest accorde.

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

Lyrics:
THe fynest wyt that is alyue 
Cannot deuyse by tunge nor pen 
The spytefull malyce to descryue 
That reygneth now i dyuerse men 
We maye perceyue by them that stryue 
For castynge out a carde of ten 
That charyte is set at nought 
So reygneth malyce in mannes thought. 

Whych thynge doth force me thus to wryte 
Concernynge the vncharyte 
Of two that nowe with hatefull spyte 
Do blame eche other openly 
To none of bothe I owe despyte 
Ner this is none Apology 
For nether parte: but stryfe to stent 
Is grounde of all myne argument. 

The stryfe I speake of, is betwyxt 
One master Smyth & Wyllyam G. 
Theyr wrytynges are confusely myxt 
With bytynge wordes, and vylany 
In eche of them, a wyll is fyxt 
To maynteyne styll his vanyte 
Which hath a very feble grounde 
Wherwith his enemy to confounde. 

All this began, fyrst by a knaue 
I wote not who, that wrote a trolle 
Wherin he dyd but rage and raue 
He knewe full lytle of saynt Poule 
Which wrytte the loue that men shuld haue 
And for one dyd thys trolle controlle 
Lo master Smyth a boke hath pende 
This tryflynge troller to defende. 

Some saye, it was for flatterye 
And some do saye, it was for mede 
For to aduaunce him selfe therby 
Such men (they saye) do soonest spede 
That least can skyll of modesty 
But what he meant, therby in dede 
If I shall iudge, as I do take it 
Naught but malyce, made him make it. 

For thorow out his raylyng booke 
Of charyte no worde is spoken 
Tyll all his malyce purpose tooke 
For malyce, forthwith wylbe wroken 
And whoso lyst therin to looke 
Maye iudge him well, by his owne token 
A raylynge knaue, for to defende 
Is, in no wyse man to commende. 

If master Smyth had marked well 
The purpose of that foolyshe dawe 
Which trolde vpon the Lorde Crumwell 
Wyth ragged ryme, not worth a strawe 
He myght haue founde that wretch rebell 
Both ageynst God, and all good lawe 
And not haue blamed Wyllyam G. 
For blamynge his vncharyte. 

But when W. G. dyd fele the prycke 
So threattyng and malycious 
I wonder not though he dyd kycke 
For why, it was too sclaunderous 
And for the kycke, was somwhat quycke 
Lo, he agayne as enuyous 
A testy aunswere strayte dyd wryte 
With checke for checke, & spyte for spyte. 

But of this stryfe, the chefe effect 
That maynteyned is so knappyshly 
Is rysen by the great suspect 
Of popyshnes and heresye 
One sayth the other is infecte 
With such a spyce of knauery 
I wyll not iudge, which it shulde be 
But bothe theyr wrytynges are to se. 

These sortes are both to dyscommende 
In any man, where they be founde 
For papistes do nought els pretende 
But Christes glorye to confounde 
And Heretykes, God them amende 
Haue but a very feble grounde 
If that they preache, that is forbod 
Or dyffer from the worde of God. 

For heresye is nothynge elles 
But swaruyng from the true belefe 
As holy wrytte expresly telles 
And he is worse then any thefe 
That thereagaynst in ought rebelles 
Or he that seketh his relefe 
Of false goddes, and not of Christ 
Is no les then an Antechrist. 

But he that hathe a popyshe harte 
And wyll not vnto Christ be wonne 
He seekyth not, but to subuert 
All that the kynge hathe well begonne 
No reason maye hys wyll conuert 
But he wyll do, as he hathe done 
Wyth tothe and nayle, for to vpholde 
Hys blynde belefe, and errors olde. 

I wryte not thys, meanyng therbye 
That master Smyth is of that sorte 
Ner I iudge not that willyam G. 
Is soche as Smyth dothe hym reporte 
But wryte my mynde wyth charyte 
The partyes bothe for to exhorte 
That he that fyndes hym in the cryme 
May fyrst recante, hys raylynge ryme. 

But thys is for to dyscommende 
In master Smyth aboue althynge 
That he so rashlye wolde defende 
A braynles buz, in hys wrytynge 
And afterwarde styll forth contende 
Wyth malyce, and wyth threatenyng 
Agaynst that poore man wylliam G. 
Farre from all godlye charyte. 

Wrestyng the scriptures as hym lyst 
For his owne purpose out of frame 
But he that stryfe doth so resyst 
That perfect worde, he doth defame 
Wherin our helth doth whole consyst 
For that is it, the very same 
That teacheth vs the loue and drede 
To God and to the Kynge our hede. 

Perchaunce [that] Smyth wyll take it yll 
That I iudge him so openly 
No force for that, it shall not skyll 
For he is knowen suffyciently 
But I protest, that in my wyll 
I meane nothynge malycyously 
But yet men must, for all his heate 
Repute him hotte, that see him sweate. 

Lykewyse the other dyd offende 
Wyth wrytyng so impacientlye 
For that is no waye to amende 
An harte that cankers inwardly 
But he his cause, shulde styll defende 
Wyth mekenes and wyth charyte 
And not wyth malyce nor despyght 
But suffer mekely wronge and ryght 

Euyn as the Gospell dothe vs teache 
Whych is oure chefe profession 
For Paule hym selfe dyd alwaye preache 
That, for the chefe confession 
Of christen heartes, to make them stretche 
Theyr fayth vnto Christs passyon 
The only entry into healthe 
All other entryes are but stealth. 

Lo, thus I fynde them both to blame 
Wyshynge to eche with all myne heart 
An honest mendement, wythout shame 
And praye to Christ that he conuert 
Oure iudgementes all into such frame 
That they and we, in euery parte 
Wythouten grudge, debate or grefe 
Maye fyrmly stande in one belefe. 

Whych teacheth vs to loue and dread 
Hym that hathe power vnder God 
I mean the kynge that is our head 
That here in earth doth beare the rod 
Of true iustyce in Chrystes steade• 
By precyse wordes we be forbod 
Hym to wythstande, or to wythsaye 
In euery cause we must obaye. 

For whome, as for our only guyde 
Oure greatest helpe and chefest staye 
That daylye doth for vs prouyde 
To saue vs sounde wythout decaye 
In warre and peace on euery syde 
Wyth one accorde let vs all praye 
To sende hys grace, vs here amonge 
Honour, encrease, good lyfe and longe. 


God saue the Kynge.


Title:
A new yeres gift, intituled, a christal glas for all estates to looke in wherein they may plainly see the iust rewarde, for unsaciate and abhominable couetousnesse

Lyrics:
ACcordyng to my custom, daily I did muse,
Vpon Gods holy worde, which for euer shall endure,
I thought it the best exercise that any man could vse,
Daily to be frequented in the Scripture,
The .xii. of Luke I beheld a place both plaine and pure,
Geuing generall warning in saying these wordes to vs,
Beware of Couetousnesse, saith Christ Iesus.

It first confounded Adam being then in Paradice,
Coueting to be as God, and so began to slide,
He presumed to haue knowledge, and also to be wise,
Not contented with his state, nor therin did abide,
His coueting (Alas) set him cleane beside,
Regarding Sathans wordes which coueted his transgre|ssion
Couetously he presumed, to be his own confusion,

The roote of all euill it is, as witnesseth the Scripture,
An odious and secret mischeif, as any man can sow,
For what Blossom or bud, thinke ye that can prosper,
Or what Flower or Fruite, did euer man se grow,
But a roote it must haue first, this full wel we know,
Beware therfore of it, for this I do confesse,
The originall of all sin, must needes be couetousnesse,

Of all sin couetousenesse, first poluted Adam,
Linked with infidelitie, Pride, and disobedience,
Which pestiferous sin, dwelleth almost in euery man,
For lacke of grace, constancy, and good intelligence,
So we like Adams children, forgetting our obedience,
Seking our destruction, without cause or reward,
Like Achab, and Iezabell, coueting Nabothes vineyard.

Thus couetousnesse slew Naboth against all right,
The nature of it is such, it neuer was founde good,
Wo be to the couetousnesse thou wofull wight,
That without all mercy, so canst thirst for bloud,
Thou broughtest the generall Deluge at Noes Flud,
And Gehezie by couetousnes, if ye herken to this songe,
Became a foule Lipper, euen all his life longe.

King Dauid by couetousnesse deceyued was,
And by concupiscence the story doth testify,
In coueting the onely wife of Vrias,
Greatly offended Gods deuine maiesty,
But reproued by Nathan, wept and cried bitterly,
Serche now the scripture, and do what you can,
For nothing is founde worse, then a couetous man.

He that delighteth in couetousnes, hath his soule to sell,
Thus saith Sirach, to such as they are,
Christ by Iustice must condempne such to hell,
As maketh Marchandice of any such ware,
The couetous man doth alwaies both scrape and spare,
Still to satisfie, but his greedie desire,
Which at last shall bring him to vnquenchable fier.

In gathering therfore of Riches, be not to bolde,
For with assurance they are but as dunge,
For when many sinnes are waren olde,
Then Couetousnesse will seeme most yonge,
This my Pen vttereth in steede of my tunge,
The children of the couetous beyng stoute and braue,
Daily wisheth in their harts, to se there fathers graue.

Locke not in thy breast this sinfull couetousnes,
Foster it not vp, for any flattering fees:
Beware and be not nurce to such wickednes,
Least thou be founde as a Droane amonge Bees,
Not esteemed in common wealth, but as rotten trees,
Worthy to be brent where euer that thou dwell,
According to Gods prouidence, fier brandes in Hell,

Herod the kinge coueted to [...]lea the onely Lorde,
Resisting thereby his only saluation,
As too manie there be that hateth Gods worde,
And shall therefore receiue dampnation,
The second of Mathewe maketh declaracion,
How Herode coueted a kingdom not permanent,
And therfore slew many a yonge Innocent.

Some coueteth to bie both house and lande,
But hospitalitee they will none keepe,
For Couetousnesse taketh cruell thinges in hande,
Deuouring the poore as the Wolfe doth the sheepe,
In securitie of sinne, they are rockt fast a sleape,
Night and day caringe for thinges that be vaine,
But wotteth not who shalbe lorde of al his trauel & paine

Sainct Barnards Chariot they will ride in,
Wherin let them continew and dwell:
Which named is Securitie of vice and sin,
Leading them poast to the Deuill of Hell,
For such myzers haue their soules to sell,
Foure wheeles it hath to carie on the same,
Of all which foure I will shew you the name.

The first whéele is called Gredie desire,
Ingratitude, and contempt of God for other twaine,
And forgetfulnesse of Death, therto they require,
Which foure wheeles do continew and remaine,
To the Charet of Auarice which is led certaine,
By three strong horses which runneth forth the race,
Named, past shame, past repentaunce, and past grace.

To this Chariot, a carelesse Carter they must haue,
Whose name is called Neuer contente,
His whip in his hande, like a cruell slaue:
With two stringes called wilful paine, & restlesse torment
These are ordeyned for euerlasting punishment,
To belong to this Chariot, for their negligence,
To carie away couetous persons from good mens presence

This Chariot of Auarice with his horses so fell,
Daily is set a worke to to in many a place:
But whether goeth this Chariot I pray you now tell,
Some thinke to Sathan to be resident in place,
Caried away by violence from all mercy and grace,
To follow the generacion of vngodly store,
Neuer to haue mercy nor se light any more,

Seing couetousnesse doth rob vs of mercie and grace,
B[...]ing the roote of all sinne and wickednesse,
Let vs remember whilst we haue space,
Calling to god to be our righteousnesse,
To ayde and succour vs, in all distresse,
And now to couet his euerlasting presence,
With him to raigne for euer when we depart hence,

What is the cause of both sacralige and Simony,
I will now declare and manifestly expresse,
And shew the iniciation of detestable vsery,
Now being compelled the truth to confesse,
The origenall of both is very couetousnesse,
Likewise of Bankeroutes and Informers as I here tell,
Couetousnesse lately inuented by Sathans counsell,

quod VV. Fering.

  FINIS.


Lyrics:
Seeke wisdome cheefly to obteine,
delight not much in worldlie gaine,
For riches bringes men's soules in thrall,
but wisdome suffereth none to fale.
Much better is the wise man poore
then welthie churles with all their store.
Wast[e] thou noe more then thou hast got;
if thou dost want, yet borrowe not;
Thoughe coyne be sweete when thou dost borrowe,
yet wilt thou pay it home with sorrowe.
Better it were thy bodie pyne,
then borrowed goodes should make thee fine.

Doe not aquynt thy selfe with stelth,
thou knowest it bringes a shameifull death,
Though it at first haue pleasant tast,
yet it is bitter at the last.
Better thou were thy mouth withdrawe,
then such vnsavorie meate to gnawe.

If thou haue smale to keepe thy state,
doe not dispaire of this thy fate;
But giue god thankes for that thou hast,
and of thy little make noe wast.
For better is little with quyet life
then store of gould with wooe and strife.
If thou doest find a frend at neede,
him to requyte see thou make speede;
Of all thinges this remember still,
be not vnthankefull for good will.
For better is one frend in thy scant
then thousandes when thou hast noe want.

An honest conscience is a treasure;
in drinke be sure thou keepe a measure;
To dice and Gardes make thou noe hast;
of all thinges see thou keepe thee chast.
For lust makes purse and bodies bare,
and throwes the soule downe to dispaire.

In youth remember to take paine,
be sure thou spend noe time in vaine;
Remember time will not come backe,
when time requeeres, then, be not slacke.
For losse of goodes may greeue thee sore,
but losse of time will greeue thee more.

Search not in other men too neare,
first see that thou thy selfe bee cleare;
For he that seekes an other's spite,
in others' harmes oft takes delight.
Whoe soe ioyes to see his neightbour's thrall
is soonest like him selfe to fale


Lyrics:
Ould Tobie calde his lovinge sonne
and eike that faire and loulie bryde ;
Quoth hee,
" my will, Iwis, we are
to recompence this carefull guyde."
Younge Tobie said,
" my father deere,"
with Joyfull moode and merry glee,
"Nothinge of woorth wee haue, I feare,
To recompence his loue to mee.

" He brought me foarthe and backe agayne,
both safe and sounde, as you haue scene ;
He kept me that I was not slayne,
or now at home I had not beene.

" Hee causde Gabella pay the debte,
and droue the spiritt frome my wife.
A happie Day when I hime mete,
or eles the fishe had had my life !

" Your selfe was blind and coulde not see,
which caused sorrow to vs all ;
By him, the brightnesse of the skye
you doe behould, which is not smale.

" Wee were in want and verie poore,
now riche as cressus at this tyde ;
Then render thankes to him therefore,
and giue him halfe we haue besyde."

They cal'd the angell then apart,
and humblie offered halfe the[y] had.
He thanked them with all his hart.
"Praise god," he said,
" and eike be gladde ;

" Our lord this favour hath you donne
for prayer good, with holie fast,
And good almes-deedes which non[e] should shunne,
noe gould doth Equall them at last.

" The truth I doe intende to tell,
and eake my counsell to vnfould :
Thy workes of mercie helpe thee well,
from Deathe and sinne they doe thee hould.

" When thou in prayer did daylie sitte,
and tricklinge teares runne downe thy face ;
When thou at dinner eate noe bitt,
then was I ever still in place.
" When thou tooke vp the corpse of those
which lay for want of buriall ;
When thou would such good deedes inclose,
for thee I did both cry and call.

" When thou did breake thy sleepe by night
to doe such deedes of Charitie,
I offered vp thy prayers aright
to god in Throwne of Maiestie ;

" Whoe hath rewarded all thy deedes
and sent me to doe all I haue.
The man is blest which soe proceedes,
and hath a care his soule to saue.

I am the Angell of our lord,
Raphaell am I called by name,
One of the seven which accorde
to stand and waite from whence I came."

The[y] were amazed at his speeche,
and grou[e]linge fell vpon the ground.
But then affrighted, with his speach
they Joyfull rose, out of their s[w]oound.

With wordes of praise the Angell bright
assended hath the Airie skyes.
In prayer and Joy they spent the night,
and pra[i]s'd our lord in humble wise.

To god be honour, laude and prayse;
To angelles eake be reverend due
God mend the error of our dayse 
And holie customes soone renue


Lyrics:
From sluggishe sleepe and slumber,
good Christians, all aryse.
For Christ his sake, I pray you,
lift vp your drowsie eies.
The night of shame and sorrow
is partinge cleane away,
God giue you all good morrowe,
and send you happie day.

 The King of glorie greeteth you,
desyreinge you to come
Vnto the mariage banquet
of his beloued sonne.
Then shake of[f] shame and sorrowe,
put on your best array,
God giue you all good morrowe,
'and send you happie day.
From all the rage of wickednesse
looke that you strip you quite ;
In garmentes of true godlinesse
see that your selues be decte.
Shake of[f] all shame and sorrowe
which doth your soules distroy,
God giue you all good morrowe,
and send you happie day.

And ryse not to revenge thee
of any trespas past ;
Thou knowest not of a certaintie
how longe thy life will last.
Seeke not thy neightbour's sorrow
in any kind of way,
God giue you all good morrow,
and send you bappie day.

Forgiue thy brother irendlie,
for Christ doth will thee soe ;

And let not spyte and envie
within thy stomoke growe,
Least god shoote foarth his arrowe
thy malice to distroy,
God giue you all good morrow,
and send you happie day.

Seeke not, by fraude and falshood,
for to procure thy gaine ;
But beare in thy rememberance
all earthlie thinges are vaine ;
For he which searcheth norrowlie
thy secretes will beray,
God giue you all good morrowe,
and send you happie day.

In whoredome, pryde, and drunkennesse,
doe not thy pleasure traine ;
Wish not thy neightbour's hinderance,
nor blemish his good name ;
And never take thy sorrowe
for losses gone away,
God giue you all good morrow,
and send you happie day.

Vnto the poore and needye
stretch forth thy helping hand,
And thow shalt be most happye,
and blessed, in thy lande.
From him that fayne would borow
turne not thy face awaye ;

Be thankefull to thy maker
eich day, vpon thy knee,
For all his gratious benefites
he hath bestoed on thee ;
And let thy greatest sorrowe
be for thy sinnes, I say,
God glue you all good morrow,
and send you happie day.

And, beinge thus attyred,
you may in peace proceede
Vnto the heauenlie table
of Christ our lord indeede ;
Where neither shame nor sorrowe
shall you in ought anoy,
God glue you all good morrowe,
and send you happie day.

Then looke your lampes be readie,
and that with oyle of store,
To waite vpon the bryd-groome
euen at his Chamber doore ;
Where neither shame nor sorrowe
shall you in ought annoy,
God giue you all good morrow,
and send you happie day.
Then shall you rest in blessednesse
which never shall haue end,
Inioyinge Christ his presence,
our sweete and sureest frend ;

Where nether shame nor sorrow
shall you in ought annoy,
God giue you all good morrow,
and send you happie day.

Thus with my bell and lantorne,
I bid you all farewell ;
And keepe in your rememberance
the soundinge of my bell,
Least that with sinne and sorrowe,
you doe your selues distroy,
God giue you all good morrow,
and send you happie toy.

Lord, saue our gratious soueraigne,
yea, James our king, by name,
That long vnto our comfort
he may both rule and raigne.
His foes with shame and sorrow,
o lord, doe thou distroy :
And thus, with my good morrowe,
god send you a happie day


Title:
A warning vnto repentance and of christes coming vnto Judgement

Lyrics:
What meanes this carelesse world to vance
in course of carelesse race,
And will no warning voyce regard,
but raunge in carelesse case ?
Licentious dealing beares the sway,
and all delightes the same ;
Noe feare of hell nor Judgement great
can aught their wildnesse tame.
Althoughe the throne prepared be
wheron the Judge most hie
Shall sit to aske and call accompt,
in glorious maiesty,
Yea, thoughe the heavenly powers above
already glowe with fyre,
The world will not reclaymed be
nor leave their lewd desyre.
Though blast of trumpe be eke at hand,
when heaven and earth shall teare,
Yet, loe, they will not warned be,
so far they are from feare.
All ceasoned care is throwne asyde ;
the people, carelesse nowe,
Go forth in vayne and carnall race,
to carnall lyfe they bowe.
[7]
The threates of god they nought regard ;
his Judgementes nothing move,
Nor cbristes appearaunce in the skies
they nought desyer or love.
[8]
But rather wishe, and wishe againe,
that he would byde for aye ;
And that ther wer no heaven nor hell
nor yet noe Judgement day.
But, loe, the Judge will not be stayed
that comes in flaming skyes,
But cause the trumpe so shrill to sound
that quicke and dead must rise,
[10]
To make accompte before his throne
and make a reckening plaine :
Yea, all estates and sortes of men
not one may thence remayn.
The emperores, with mighty kinges,
must stand before the barre,
Before thie greate and fearfull Judge,
to make or all to marre.
[12]
For why ? accompte they render must
of that their highe degree ;
And howe their talentes vsed have.
They shall enquired be
[13]
If they in feare of god have walked
amidst their worldly might,
And if they have his honor vaunst,
as them became aright.
Yea, princes, then, with dukes and lordes,
with all that honor beare,
Before that Judge must yeeld accompt,
thoughe most with trembling feare.
Yea, bishoppes, to[o], and those that take
the cure of soule in hand,
A reconing streight must yeld when they
at barre of Judgement stand.
[i6J
If they not nowe the gospell teache,
and so their soldes defend,
From gredy guttes (devouring wolves),
repent they shall at end.
[17]
Then meane and basest sorte of men
may not exempted be,
But nedes perforce to Judgement come,
both hie and lowe degree.
[18]
Yea, man and woman, old and yong,
must perforce ther appeare
To yeld accompte, and shortely nowe,
the tyme aprocheth neere.
[19]
For why ? the signes expired are,
the tokens sure are past,
And onely nowe remaines behinde
of trompe the fearfull blast,
To call vs vp to this accompt,
this sessions greate proclaime ;
let vs, therfore, the life reiect
that hath bene to[o] to[o] vaine.
[21]
Let vs, I say, with hasty spede
our carelesse lyfe of[f] shake ;
Let love and dread of Judgement day
from vaine delightes vs wake.
Yea, let vs all with virgins wise
our oyle in lampes have prest,
To enter when the bridegrom comes
to that immortall rest.
O graunt vs grace, thou blessed god,
that we may so have power,
And that our hartes so longinge wishe
for christ, our saviour ;
With whome the faithfull and elect
shall raign in blisse alwaies,
To whome, with his deare father and
the holy ghost, be praise.


Lyrics:
DEATH [i]
Come on, good fellowe, make an end,
for you and I must talke ;
You may noe longer soiourne here,
but hence you must goe walke.
YOUTH [2]
What wofull wordes, alas,
be theise that I do heare ?
Alas, and shall I now forthewith
forsake my lyfe so deare ?
DEATH [3]
Come on, come on, and lynger not,
ye tryfle but the tyme ;
Ye make to[o] muche of that, Iwis,
which is but dirt and slyme.
YOUTH [4]
O cursed death, what dost thou mean,
so cruell for to be,
To him that neuer thought the[e] harm
nor once offended the[e] ?
[5]
O death, behold ; I am but younge
and of a pleasaunt age :
Take thou some old and croked wight,
and spare me in thy rage.
I [6]
Behold, my lymmes be lyvely now,
my mynd and courage strong,
And by the verdit of all men
lyke to continew long ;
[7]
My bewty like the rose so red,
my heare like glistring gold ;
And canst thou now of pity then
transforme me into molde ?
[8]
O gentle death, be not extreme ;
thy mercy heare I craue ;
It is not for thyne honor nowe
to fetche me to my grave :
[9]
But rather let me lyve a while,
till youth consumed be,
When crooked age doth me opres,
then welcome death to me.
DEATH [10]
O fo[o]lishe man, what dost thou meane
to strive against the streame ?
Nothing there is that can the[e] nowe
out of my handes redeame.
Thy time is past, thy daies are gone,
thy race is fully runne ;
Thou must of force nowe make an end,
as thou hadst onse begunne.
[12]
O foole, why dost thou beag and boast
of theise thy youthfull dayes ?
Which passeth fast and fadeth swifte,
as flowers freshe decayes.
Both youth and age to me be one
I care not whome I stryke :
The child, the man, the father old,
doe I reward alyke.
The proudest of them all, Iwis,
can not escape my darte :
The lady fayre, the lazer fowlle,
shall both posses a parte.
Thou art not nowe the first, I say,
that I haue eared vppe ;
Ne yet shalt be the last, pardy, %
that drincketh of my cuppe ;
For he that doth vs now behold,
perusing this our talke,
He knoweth not yet how sone, god wot,
with thee and me to walke !
[17]
Dispatche, therfore, and make an end,
for ne[e]des you must obey ;
And as thou earnest into this world,
so shalt thou nowe away.
YOUTH [18]
And must I passe out of this world
in-dede, and shall I soe ?
May noe man me restrayn a while,
but ne[e]des nowe must I goe ?
[19]
Why, then, farewell my lyfe and landes,
adiew my pleasures all !
Loe dredfull deth doth vs departe,
and me away doth call.
[20]
My chearfull dayes be worne a-way,
my pleasaunt tyme is past,
My youthfull yeares are spent and gone,
my lyfe it may not last ;
[21]
And I (for lacke of lyfe and breath)
whose like hath not bene sene,
Shall straight consumed be to dust,
as I had never bene.
[22] 
But thoughe I yeld as now to thee,
when nothing me can save,
Yet I am sure that I shall lyve
when thou thy death shalt haue


Title:
Deth with houreglasse in the one hand and speare in the other threatneth all estates

Lyrics:
Loe heare I vaunce, with speare and shield,
To watche my pray, to spoyle, to kill;
By day, by night, on sea, one land,
Noe tyme I stay; but toyling still,
My force I try, to worcke the will
Of ruling Joue : with deathfull dint,
Eache hart I reave, though hard as flint.
My shape is dread of wor[l]dly wightes;
My piercing darte, abhored sore;
Which them devides from vayne delightes,
From glaring pompe possest before,
From scepter, croune, and earthly glore :
With Pallas, throne, yea reign and power,
I them bereave at 'pointed howre.
No king so sure nor keyser founde
But I remove from ruling seate;
No wight but when he heres my sound
Must yeld perforce, thoughe force be great.
Sith lord of lyfe as man did sweate,
With trickling droppes of watry bloud,
Who dare resist, be he never so good ?
Thoughe thou, a king, thy selfe enclose
In Iron, in brasse, in stone, in stele,
Which may defend thee from suche foes
As thou on earth their force might fele,
Yet I, not rulde by fortune's whele,
But stay'd on god at tourne of glasse,
Will sparce thy stele, thy stone, thy brasse.
One godes decre dependes my power;
And serve I do at 'pointed will :
If he commaund and lot myne houre,
Then forth I fare to spoile and kill;
If he restraine, then rest I still
(As momme, and eke as cheyned, too),
Not able ought gaine him to doe.
And thoughe in hand I vaunce this speare,
Whose dint is death and wound to grave,
Yet loe this glasse againe I beare,
To shewe that I noe fredome have
For hate to strike, for love to save,
Till mighty Joue apoint the houre;
And then I want no will nor power.
Defer noe tyme, therfore, I say,
Ye sonnes of men, your selves prepare;
For hence, perforce, ye must away :
No keyser, kyng, nor Quene, I spare;
But when their times fulfilled are,
I strike them doune, whome none may save,
But dust to dust I fling in grave.
Yeld, therfore; yeld, thou Cresus crounde,
For glasse is out, hence must thou wend :
Though pompe, thoughe welth do large abound,
Yet can not life from death defend.
Doune, Cresus, doune; for fatall end,
By ruling will, hath thronne my speare
Ha, sturdy wight, now lyest thou there !
Sith Cresus now is doune in dust,
And could not shunne this mortall hour,
Who may to wealth or worship trust ?
He wanted neyther pomp nor power :
Thus death in fyne will all devoure.
Then note the swiftness e of this glasse;
For tyme decreed, thou canst not passe.
A kyng is now a clod of claye,
His breathlesse corse must hence to grave
Report shall good or ill display,
If well be done, he well shall have.
But thus no graunt they got that crave
Of me, but doune with Cresus kyng,
With vnresisted force, I slyng.
For sith that he, this princely wight,
Could not resist my dint of speare,
Whoe else may thincke to have suche might
That cause he hath not like to feare ?
Prepare your selves, therfore, prepare :
The glasse is swift and runnes out fast,
Then earth to earth must needes be cast.
He shrouded lyes in lynnen shete
That lately was clothed in Pall;
His croune bereft and throwen at fete,
With scepter, mace, he rulde withall,
In pieces wroong; his carcase thrall
To crowling woormes, to feed their fill :
atche, therfore, watche, I warn you still.
For eache may thus perceyve and se
That naught can force of death withstand;
For I depend on Jouis decree,
And forth will walke with glasse in hand
To slay, to spoile, by sea and land;
Prepare yourselves, therfore, I say,
Ye knowe noe tyme, no houre, nor day.


Lyrics:
I am that champion, greate of power,
one barbed horse, with coulor pale,
Which all that lyve will onse devoure
and thrust in grave with forced bale.
Against me naught thou canst prevayle,
what so thou art, the reason why,
All men that lyve are borne to dye.
Yeeld, princes; yeld, ye men of might;
resign to me your rule and croune;
Or, if you will presume to fight,
do on, you lordes that grimly frowne,
Your steely cotes, you of renowne.
Come breake a staffe with me who dare :
No kyng except, no prince I feare.
Not Nemrod, with his sturdy lookes,
could me repulse; but forcibly
(As standes in first of Moyses bookes),
amiddes his pryde and tyranny,
Doune, doune, he fell confusedly,
and (nilling-wise) thus catching, fall;
By wofull force became my thrall.
The spoyling Sampson, prince of strength,
thoughe noble actes by force he wrought,
Was forcibly enforst at length
his force to yeld, which holp him nought;
But doune I flang him, yea, and brought
to mouth of grave his vanquisht strength.
Thus none may dure but yeld at length.
To speake of noble conqueroures,
as Alexander (warlike wight),
Caesar, with Romaine emperours,
whose fame one earth remayneth bright;
They all at beck obeyed my might,
and groveling fell, resigning croune
To me, their lord, that threw them downe.
Wher is that Hector, croune of Troye,
whose wing'd renoune no tyme can staye ?
Wher is, o Jewe, thy boasting Joy ?
thy Dauyd he but past my way,
With yong Josias swete, I say :
theise all ar now in dusty plight.
Then yeld, perforce, your force and might.
Now come, contend with me who list;
for doune they must, who euer they be;
Theise namde, you see, could not resist
my force, but captives now they be.
Looke, therfore, lo[o]k alwayes for me;
for when thy glasse is full runne out,
I come with speare, be out of doubt.


Title:
A pretie dittie and a pithie intituled O mortall man

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

Lyrics:
O mortall man, behold and see,
This world is but a vanetie.
Who shall profoundly way and scan
the vnassured state of man
Shall well perceue by reson, then,
that ther is no stabilitie.
All is subiect to vanety,
[all is subiect to vanety].
[2] :
For what estate is there thinke ye,
throughly content with his degre,
Whereby we may right plainly see :
That in this vale of miserie,
remaineth nought but vanitie.
The great men wish ye meane estate,
mean men again their state do hate,
Olde men thinke children fortunate :
A boy a man would faynest be,
thus wandereth man in vanitie.

The country man doth daily swel,
with great desire in court to dwell,
The Courtier thinkes him nothing well :
Till he from Court in country be,
he wandreth so in vanitie.
[5]
The sea doth tosse ye marchants brains,
to wish a farme & leue those pains,
The Farmer gapeth at marchants gaines :
Thus no man can contented be,
he wandreth so in vanitie.
[6]
If thow be kinge or emperoure,
prince, ether lord of might or powre,
Thy poore subiectes do not devoure ;
beware of pride and Crueltye,
Lose not thy fame for vanetie,
lose not thy fame, &c.
[7]
If thow be set to do Justice,
reward vertue and punish vice ;
Oppresse no man, I thee advice ;
abuse not thine aut[h]oritye
To vex poore men for vanetye,
to vex poor men, &c.

If thow haue landes or goodes great store,
consider then thy charge is more,
Sith that thow must accompt therfore ;
they are not thine but lent to thee,
And yet they are but vanetie,
and yet they are, &c.
And if thow forten to be poore
so that thow go from dore to dore,
Humblie giue thankes to god therfore,
and thinke in thine adversetie,
This world is but a vanetie,
this world is but, &c.
[10]
Yf thow of youth haue oversight,
refraine thy will with all thy might ;
For wicked will doth worke his spight.
Let them at no tyme idle bee,
For that encreseth vanetie,
for that encreseth, &c.
If to seme others thow be bent,
serue with goodwill, and be content
To do thy lordes commandement.
Serue trew and eeke painfully,
Do not delight in vanetie,
do not delight, &c.
[12]
But if thow haue men's soules in cure,
thy charge is great, I thee assure ;
In wordes and deedes thow must be pure,
all vertue must abound in thee.
Thow must eschew all vanetie,
thow must eschew, &c.
[13]
[Then since ye do perseve right clere,
That all is vayne as doth apeere
Lerne to bestow while thow art heere,
Your wyt, your powre, your landes, your fees ;
Lerne to bestow thes vanitees.]
Yf thou be stronge and faire of face,
sikenes or age doth both deface ;
Then be not prowed in any case ;
for how can ther more follye be,
Then to be prowed in vanetie,
then to be proued, &c.
[15]
Now, finally, be not infectt
with worldly care, but haue respect
How god rewardes his trew elect
with most perfect felicitie,
Voide of all worldly vanetie,
voide of all worldly, &c.
[16]
Now let vs pray to god aboue
that he voutsaffe our harts to moue,
Each one another for to loue
and flye from all inyquitie ;
So shall we 'voide all vanetie,
so shall we 'voide all vanetie.


Title:
A Dialogue betwene Christe and the pore oppressed synner

Lyrics:
Alas, how long shall I bewaile
my wofull case to the[e] ?
O lord, how long shall teares complaine,
and yet refused be ?
Alas, my Christ, hath mercy end
that scepter vsde to beare ?
Hath grace forgot his wonted trade,
hath pity closde her eare ?
[2] CHRIST
Poore synfull soule that dost bewaile
thy dolefull case to me,
Thoughe long the[e] seme thy sute delay'd,
I yet refuse not the[e].
No, mercy hath not end for ay,
but ruling scepter beares ;
Nor grace forgot his wonted trade
nor pity closde her eares.
[3] SYNNER
Why, then, what workes this cause of griefe,
thine absence still to have ?
And so to want that swetest ioye
that most my soule doth crave ?
Thoughe, dearest christ, confes I do
my soule vnworthy muche,
To fele indede possessing-wise
thy swetest treasures suche.
[4] CHRIST
O mourning soule, thoughe cause of myne
absence bringes indeede griefe,
It is not the[e] to speale of Joye
that I thus-wise proceede ;
But that, by feeling thus this want,
thou mightst be forst to cry,
And therwith, eke, to know thy selfe,
and sue for grace on hye.


Title:
How every vice crepeth in vn[der] the name and shew of a vertue

Tags:
Moral Political, Social criticism, Common Weal

Lyrics:
Ther is noe man so lewde of lyfe,
so fond in fylthy talke,
That doth not still perswade him selfe
in perfect path to walke.
The covetous carle whose hart and hand
doth lust and reache for coyne,
He thinckes it is a glory great
his bages and heapes to Joyne.
And Bacchus' knightes whose grapy bowe
do budde with in their braine,
They thincke it is good fellow-shippe
in ryot to remayne.
The lusty laddes whose lecherous lust
their wanton ladyes fele,
Do thincke with goddesse for to spinne
and with a god to reele.
Tushe, tushe, whoe would not take," say they, " dame nature for his guyde ?
And we from nature's wanton will,
we know, do never slyde;
We shewe our selves wee dwarfes to be
in doing suche a dede,
But manly mates to fyght in field
when England shall haue nede.
w " We store the realme with basterd borne,
to help our natyve soyle;
Whose strength, since parentes were so strong,
must nedes put foes to foyle."
The Clyent thinckes he geues noe more
then larges do requyre;
The lawyer thinckes he takes noe more
then clyentes would desyre.
So both agre to swymme in synne
or lurcke in hell, they care not;
So both their willes be brought to passe,
for wyly wayes they spare not.
The proude doe thincke it comlynesse
to vaunt in Jolly Jagges,
And compteth other garmentes all
to be but rotten ragges.
The ha[i]rbrain'd heades esteme the stoute
but cowherdes in the fyeld,
And therfore thincke it manlynesse
at noe man's sute to yeld :
The lyver by extorcyon,
whose wealth is others' woe,
Hath reasons sound, or else he lyes,
his foes to ouerthrowe.
" The losse to ritche is small," saith he,
"their gaynes were greate of late;
The poore that begge devoute men's almes,
it kepeth in their state :
The myser feeles noe hurt by stealth,
for he doth robbe him selfe,
And gathereth goodes, but wantes the vse
of all his gotten pelfe.
" The ryotous man which to the dyce
his father's landes doth send,
I helpe to throwe a losing chaunce
to bring him to his end."
Excesse in meate is Friendlynesse,
so names do vs beguyld;
Carouse is made a harty draught,
to pynche the pottes a while.
And fylthy woordes are mery iestes
to sporte the gestes with all;
And knavyshe dedes are youthfull toyes,
which still in youthe doe fall;
Create hose be comely for the legge,
and makes one semely cladde;
Frenche cappes are nowe the fashion,
and therfore must be had;
Pincke pumpes are good to let in wynde,
and must in heate be worne;
Cut elbowes are as coole as they,
and cannot be forborne;
In sommer bumbast makes a brest,
wher lately ther was none,
In wynter bumbast kepes from cold,
when harvest heate is gone.
And gaskins now are worne for ease,
to stretche both leg and arme;
Eache one hath now a dagger gotte
to save himselfe from harme; A handsome hatte is not without
a tassell hanging downe,
And custome byddes vs now to weare
a felt with loftye croune.
In mockes there is a certaine grace
which youthfull youthes doe vse,
And will somtymes, for want of foes,
their freindes therwith abuse.
Now should'ring vp of symple soules
is sign bf courage bold;
Now hoary heares ar in contempt,
their age is doting old.
Nowe dauncing shewes hir good effectes,
to hyde her lewde conceiptes,
And Joyfull lymmes will daunce a dumpe
to worcke some depe deceiptes.
Her nymble trickes, her capers cross,
do well become our feete,
And toes that earst did come behinde
againe before must mete.
Nowe fencinge must be vsde and had,
our foes to ouer throwe
With sleightes and feates of reaching armes
to strike a quarter blowe,
I would theise fetches were the worst
that england nowe doth breede.
But all the world can scarse, I feare,
our rage and fury feede.
Our natyve soyle cannot aforde
suche meates as may content,
But shippes must seke for spanisbe spice
till all our goodes be spent.
God make vs thanckefull for his giftes,
which he so freely doth bestowe,
Least other do obtaine our wealth,
which will them selves more thankfull shew.


Lyrics:
What way is best for man to chuse,
what path to lyve in rest ?
What trade of lyfe can man invent
to chose or lyke for best ?
Ther is not one amongst them all,
so pleasant to the ey[e],
Which hath not thousand thoughtes and cares
to ban the pleasures bye.
Abroad the cutlers rule the roast,
with frayes in every streate ;
And daggers drawen, with pearcing pointes,
in tender fleshe doe mete.
I thincke since first the world was made
and fleshe was framed out,
Suche losse of lyves was never yet
in countreys round about.
Suche searching out for turkye blades,
of highe and lofty pryce,
Doth make the cutler now-a-dayes
alofte in wealth to rise.
The daggers now be all of steele,
to flashe and cracke the croune,
With hikes and pommelles pounced out
to beate their neighbores downe.
The buckelers, made of beastly home,
which furious hand doth graspe,
In soke must lye before they fight
their enmyes' sword to claspe.
And theise be all the goodly sightes
which we in stretes can fynde :
At home the griefes of carking cares
do pinche our wearyed mynde.
[5]
Somtymes we feare the losse of house
by servauntes' retchlesse hede ;
Somtymes we spend vp all our gaynes,
our houshold folkes to feede :
The countrey all is full of cares ;
and plowes must play their parte,
If hoped harvest we will have
to glad our heavy hart.
[6]
The sease be full of ragged rockes
and sands to sincke thy shippe ;
Whose billowes, beating on thy barcke,
doth make it mount and skippe.
If thou abounde in worldly wealth
and bagges be stuffed vppe,
For feare of sworde or flashing flames,
thou canst not dyne or suppe.
[7]
Againe, if want do pynche thy purse
when naught in chestes be left,
Then wilt thou wishe thy bones in grave,
and lyfe, with purse, bereft.
If thou be lynckt in maryage knotte,
whoe can expresse thy care ?
And if thou have noe wyfe at all,
full simply thou shalt fare.
[8]
To fynde thy sonnes, which thou hast gotte,
will ask great paine and cost ;
And then thou semest left alone
when all thy sonnes be lost.
If youthfull yeares do the[e] beseke
with bewtyes rytche aray,
Then fancyes fond will rage in head,
for youth must have his swaye.
[9]
If crooked age have dryed thy lymmes
and sucked vp thy sappe,
Then hoary heares for[e]shew that death
will bring his fatall happe.
What then is left for man to wishe,
thus borne and nurst in griefe ?
What comfort shall he seke on earth,
to fynde him some reliefe I
[10]
The best is, eyther not be borne
by mother's pensyve payne ;
Or, after death, from whence he came
straight-wayes to tourne againe.


Title:
It is not god but we our selves seke the euersion of our own countrey

Tags:
Religious, Social Criticism, Political, Moral

Lyrics:
The lord that guydes the golden globe
hath not his heavenly army sent
To lay our cityes in the dust,
nor yet at them their batt'ry bent;
For Pallas, in our stately tower,
doth stand with speare and shaken shield,
And myghty mars hath got the walks
to beate them downe, that will not yeld.
But we our selves, lyke wretched wightes,
doe seke to vndermyne the towne;
A civill discord hath begonne
to make our walles come tumbling downe.
By wicked thought of divelyshe hart,
we still provoke our god to yre;
By carelesse lyfe, we him procure
to wast our walles with flaming fyre.
For they whose hungre is for gold
and thirst for silver's shining gaine,
They breake the lawes, forsweare the faith,
as though ther wer no punishing payne.
Some seke by force of bloudy blade
a trade of lyving to beginne;
Some seke, by open tirranny,
the princely seate and lyfe to winne.
So that noe marvaile now it is,
though simple soules take sword in hand,
And griefe constraines their yerning hartes
to ayd and help their native land.
Some spoile abrode, and bring it home,
not caring how they winne their welth,
And leave their countrey sicke in woe,
dispairing quyte of happy health.
No shiftes be left for getting goodes;
and loke, wher force will not prevayle,
Ther sleightes and pievyshe pollicyes
shall geue the onset and assayle.
They bring Astrea in contempt,
and iustice can them never fray,
Her power, her might, her maiesty,
her anger doth them not dismay.
Yet she beholdes their wicked woorckes,
and will reward when tyme shall serve :
Eache one shall then receive reward
as he by woorckes doth well deserve;
Thoughe god to stay his heavy hand
from powring out his plagues beneath,
Yet trust the sworde shall once be drawen,
which lyeth nowe so depe in sheath.
Thoughe he be close within his cloudes,
and semes to mortall men to slepe,
Yet doth he seke, with mighty arme,
his glory still on earth to kepe.
The longer leave that he doth geue
our naught, and synfull lyves, to mend,
The greater plagues one careles men
his armed arme shall surely send.
And, therfore, do thou not thy selfe
with faire and flattering wordes beguild,
The money is not alwayes lost,
whose payment is differd a while.
Ye Britaines, borne of Brutus' bloud,
leave off, therfore, to walcke at will,
That all your woordes and deedes may be
to reason's lore attentive still.
Then god will blesse this litle He
with corne and grasse, in plenteous store,
Then peace, as it hath well begonne,
so shall it flourishe more and more.
God save our Quene Elysabeth
and ayd her alwaies at her nede,
That earth may bring her hartes desyre,
and heavenly foode her soule may fede.
God graunt full long her noble grace
with vs in England, to remayne,
And graunt her in the world to come
with thee and all the sainctes to raign;
Wher angelles sing suche heavenly songes,
with their most swetly-sounding voyce,
Where all the cherfull cherubins
with Joyfull hart and mouth reioise.


Title:
A generall discourse vpon Covetousnesse.

Lyrics:
The covetous carle, when gredy eyes
the glittering gold doth blynde,
Noe place so safe, noe tyme so sure,
that doth not feare his mynde.
At table tyme, when meate and drincke
before his eyes doth stand,
And Gesse declare the wondrous workes
that chaunce in straungest land ;
Suche meate and drincke he doth not wey,
they can him not content ;
For all the ioyes of mery mates
his mynde will not relent,
"
Alas," he sayth,
"
that blustring prince
which one the windes doth reign,
Hath sent his impes amongst the floudes
to teare my shippe in twayne ;
[3] 
" Else Neptune, with his forcked mace,
hath stroke the swelling wave,
Whose fomyng force with violence
my barcke in sonder clave.
And thoughe the godes should be my freindes
till wyndes and waves were past,
Yet sandes wold sincke my shaken shippe,
and make it sticke full fast.
w " Or ragged rockes would strike her syde[s],
till they did cleave in sonder ;
And gaping gulfes would get alofte,
till all my goodes were vnder."
And thus he feares his goodes abroad
and doubtes their safe retourne ;
At home he feares Vulcamis force,
his buildinges brave to burne.
[5]
So that he is vnto him selfe
the cause of all his care ;
Whilest he in hope of Nestor's yeares,
from spending still doth spare.
He hath enoughe, yet wanteth all
that he with payne hath gotte,
For who will thincke a man to have
the thing he vseth not ?
[6]
Who will believe him satisfyed
that still doth thirst for drincke ?
Who thinckes that ground is wet enoughe
wher raine doth quickely syncke ?
What man will deme his cofers full
with gripes of gotten gold,
If that his chestes and cofers yet
a greater somme would hould ?
[7]
Soe whoe can well accompt him rytche
that gapeth still for gayne ?
Althoughe his bagges lye strouting full,
and so in chest remayne.
Yea, lo[o]ke, the more he hath of goodes,
the more he wantes of fill ;
Muche lyke the dropsye drye desease
that craveth water still.

[8]
He is good to none, yet to himselfe
he is the worst of all :
His goodes do never profyt one
till death on him befall ;
And then most lyke the wrouting sowe,
which never bringeth good
Till meate be of her body made
by letting of her bloud,
So he that in his lyfe was naught,
by leaving good behinde,
Hath raked vp for ryotus sonnes
their lyfe a while to fynde.
And, lo[o]ke, as he with car[e]full cloulthe
did scrape his goodes together,
So they will send them out agayne
at euery tyde and weather.
[10]
Some is on bancketes brave bestowed
in grocers' sugred shoppes ;
Some hanges in neate and statly house,
with brave and golden knoppes ;
Some Bacchus doth devoure in cuppes,
and drincketh all away :
Yea, freindes carousing to and froe
bringes heapes vnto decay.

When Venus shewes her darlinges deare,
which earst in chambers lay,
And do them selves in whoorishe weedes
before their eyes display :
One comes with wanton lute in hand,
in hope of lucky chaunce ;
Another leades about the house
some new disguysed daunce ;
The third hath fyngers redy lymde,
whilest youthes do tourne aboute,
To catche their purses in her clawes
and steale the money out ;
The fowerth, the 5th, and all the rest
of all the lecherous trayne
Doth bid them eyther geve their goodes,
or else they shalbe slayne.
[13]
This is the end of goodes ill gott :
they wilbe lewdely spent,
And as they safely came to hand,
so swiftly are they sent.
Beware therfore, ye mysers all,
and learne to vse your owne,
That they may still enioye the fruictes
which first the sedes have sowne.
Who could abyde to play the asse
with dainties one his backe,
Yet he him selfe to feed one thornes
for needy hunger's lacke ?
Then vse thy gold both thou and thyne
in honest state to fynde,
For sparing fathers oftentymes
leave spending sonnes behinde.
[I5]
Thou thinck'st by hoording vp of heapes
thou shalt be ritcher still :
Nay, nay, thou art more pore, indede,
when chestes thou sek'st to fyll ;
For whoe is ritche ? even he that doth
content him with his store ;
And whoe is pore ? even he that sekes
to gather more and more.
[16]
The vnthrifte wilbe quickely pore
when tyme shall geue him leave ;
And thou thy selfe vnwittingly
of substaunce dost bereave :
Then spend thy goodes among thy freindes,
whilest lyfe doth lycense lend,
And let thy sonnes know how to gett
before they knowe to spend.


Title:
A Joyfull consolacon wher Christ is lyvely felt

Lyrics:
Wher pensive heartes relieved are
with dewes of grace,
And peace succeedes turmoyling care
and takes his place,
Ther ioyfull Joy the hart doth fede
That comfortes swete therout precede,
And they reioyce, with thankfull voice,
their happy case.
Wher christ is felt in lyvely wise
by fayth sincere,
And that they doe with inward eyes
behold him cleare,
O ther the soule, with Joy repleate,
Doth crave no better drincke or meate,
But wisheth she may enioy for aye
that lyfe most deare.
 Wher christ embraceth in armes of love
the synfull soule,
And eke in heavenly booke above
his name enrowle,
When fayth, perswaded, feles it sure,
What turmoyles then may grefe procure ?
Suche ioye, by grace, triumphes in place,
and rappes the soule.
Wher sence of christ is surely had,
as sainctes possesse,
And wher the hart, with grefe sor[e] clad,
hath swete redresse,
Oh ther they feele the blisfull gaine
Of pleasure, tourn'd from pinching paine,
And are, therby, enforst to crye
with thanckefullnesse.
Wher sinfull soule persuasion hath,
when she doth crave
Of freedome from deserved wrath
and grace to have,
Ther dolefull sighes departe their way,
And Joyfull hymnes their ioy display;
Yea, god hath praise, whpe grauntes alwayes suche
soules to save.
Therfore, thoughe we, o blessed lord,
corrupted be,
And merite still to be abhor'd,
oh wretches we !
Extend thy love, extend thy grace,
In armes of mercy vs embrace,
For christe we pray that laude we may,
both him and thee.


Title:
A Thanckesgeving for one from perill of death restored to former health.

Lyrics:
Should my pore hart, o dearest lord,
thy goodnesse greate from minde reiect,
Sith thou in mercy hast restorde
my health, whiche long thou didst correct ?
O lord, should I vnmyndefull be
of theise, thy giftes, bestowed on me ?
I 'knowledge, lord, protesting-wise,
that health of our precedes from thee,
Therfore, with lifted hart and eyes,
I beg'd thy grace to comfort me;
So now thou hast thus cured me,
should I not, therfore, thanckefull be ?

Not that I haue suche cause to love
this life, alas, with greate delight,
But rather long for lyfe above
with angelles swete to gaine thy sight.
But sith thy will is suche to me,
lord, let me, therfore, thanckefull be.
Let me thy grace in mynd retaine,
yea, all thy mercies old and newe,
That thanckefull so I may remaine,
and fruictes of love therout ensue.
Sith thou hast done so muche for me,
let me againe yeld thanckes to thee.

Let me the course of lyfe direct
thy blessed name to laude and praise,
And, lord, vouchesafe me to protect
with grace of thine in all my wayes;
That then I may, for love to me,
breake out againe in love to thee.

And while thou shalt this life maintaine,
thoughe feble fayth oft stag'ring reele,
Graunt, lord, or else the rest were vaine,
that thy swete mercyes I may fele;
Which are most deare, o christe, to me.
Then shall I alwaies thanckfull be.


Title:
The grieved synner acknowledgeth his sinne, and craveth pardon for the same

Lyrics:
Deare christe, my pore and pensive brest
I wailing lift to thee;
Thy chering face, swete lord, let rest,
and tourne thy grace to me
That have, alas, offended sore,
Oh, wo is hart of myne therfore !
My thoughtes disperst in strugling-wise,
now here, now ther, they raunge,
By greedy sight of wand'ring eyes,
alas, to[o] woondrous straunge,
Oh that I might from strayeing cease,
And thee possesse, my Joye and peace.
O that thou wouldest, displeased lord,
thy mercy large extend,
Thoughe I deserve to be abhor'd,
that dayly so offend.
O swetest christe, retourne thy face,
And me relyeve with lokes of grace.
My wretched sinne I now confesse,
as rightfull cause I have;
And pardon, lord, with swete redresse
in fearfull wise I crave.
With quaking feare my body chilles,
And wofull teares doune trikling trilles.
Let theise thee move (o mercy, thou !)
that mercy hast in store,
To geve and graunt thy mercy nowe
to me that synned haue sore.
Thy face convert, or loe ! I dye,
And let me, lord, obtaine mercye.

Then aulters I shall make and raise,
suche as thou dost requyre,
And offer sacrifice of prayse,
with ever-burning fyre.
Yea, never then my lippes shall stay,
But thy ritche grace, swete christ, display.


Title:
A prayer of one being afflicted with sinne


Title:
The guilty conscience, acknowledging her sinne, craveth pardon for the same, apealing from Justice vnto mercye

Lyrics:
Judge me not, lord, in wrathfull Ire,
ne yet reiect me vtterly,
But way my ruthfull hartes desyer
that pantes, alas, dispairingly;
For feare of thy displeasure greate,
O lord, in mercy me entreate.
My wretched synne, as david cryes,
lyke mountaine huge, alas and woe,
Before my face, in lothsome wise,
remaynes, and me amaseth so
That feare (o wretche) oppresth me still.
But, lord, let mercy rule thy will.
Loke not one my deformed synne,
nor to[o] precisely viewe my case,
For from corrupted hart within
what fruictes corrupt in me have place !
I dye for feare (o Justice, thou),
Extend, therefore, thy mercy nowe.

And enter not thy Judgement throne
to Judge by Justice' scales, alas !
Am I so right (what, I alone ?)
that thou shouldst bring it thus to passe ?
Sith that all flesh quailes in thy sight,
How should I, then, be Just and right ?

To mercies sentence, therfore, lord,
I now appealle; o mercy graunt,
That I may feele thy swete accord,
and boldly, then, bid Sathan vaunt;
Who now turmoyles me in dispaire,
And drounes my soule in dreadfull care.

Sith blame I do, in earnest wise,
my wretched heart, offending so,
And sith to thee I tourne myne eyes,
in this distresse to cure my woe,
Thy grace and mercy, lord, extend,
My ruthfull plight so to amend.

And let me tast thy goodnes swete,
which cruell synne hath reft me long,
Then shall my soule be made full mete
to spread ihy praise in cherfull song.
Grant this, therfore, o father good,
I thee beseche for Christ his blood.


Title:
The wretchednesse of man's estate vntill redresse and comfort come from Christe

Lyrics:
What cause ther is, alas, to waile
the wretched wofull state,
Wherin we (sowsing) plunged lye
in wretched, wofull rate;
Whose heart cannot conceive at full,
whose eyes not clearly se,
That wayes the state where in we were,
and vewes what now we be.

By synne bereft, and spoyled quyte,
of noble treasures all,
Which nature had, in noble wise,
before that ruthfull fall.
In-stead of which (o cursed chaunge !)
corrupcon is infusde,
And vices reign for giftes devine,
thus Satban vs abusde.
Among them all (for many be),
as Judgement shewes it cleare,
The frosen, flynty hartes of ours,
me thinkes, do straunge appeare.
Corrupcon added hath to them
suche steely hardnesse nowe,
That naught can bring at all remorse,
nor ought suffise to bowe;
Or pierce theise rockes, these stony flintes,
at least to make them softe,
But heavenly showers alone may help
by their distilling ofte.

Yet meanes are made, and pointed, too,
by him that heavenly is,
For earthly men to put in proufe;
and chefe of those are this :
To read, to thincke, to muse and way,
of cbriste the bytter payne,
His passion, panges, and tormentes large,
to view them all againe.
And therwith, eke, to beare the cause
of all this griefe in mynde,
For vs that damned were by synne
that we release may fynde.
This, this should melt the frosen hart,
this same should pierce the flintes,
And bring vs ioye and make our mouthes
with prayses not to stint


Title:
How happy and assured they are, in all stormes, that firmly depend vpon god.

Lyrics:
In rage of storme and tempestes all,
which syn or Sathan vp doth raise
To beate thee doune, to make thee fall,
pore soule, for ayd in theise assayes,
Flee to thy heavenly father's will
That situs betwene the cherubbes still.
Comfort thy selfe in all distresse,
sith god supreamely scepture beares;
Who can and will give swete redresse,
and cleane dispatche all cause of teares.
Oh, therfore, stay vpon his will
Who sittes betwene the Cherubbes still.

What thoughe we feele our weakenes so
that ofte we slippe (oh wretches we !);
From god and christe why should we goe,
sith fleshe from sinne cannot be fre ?
Nay, runne, pore soule, vnto his will
That sitts betwene the cherubbes still.

Confesse thy faulte, and pardon crave;
appeale to grace in constant wise,
And so be sure thy sute to have;
and then sho[u]te forth, with ioyfull cryes :
" My god, with lyfe praise thee I will,
That sittes betwene the cherubbes still."

This done, let synne and Sathan rage;
yea, thoughe they breake them selves with spite;
With all that fowle and vgly rage
nought can they doe but take their flight,
And in noe wise resist his will
That sittes betwene the cherubbes still.

Oh, happy soule, that canst believe
and stay thy selfe one him therfore,
Thoughe grawing synne cease not to greve,
yet happy thou for evermore;
Sith sure thou art of his good will
That sittes betwene the cherubbes still.

then with Davyd take thy rest,
slepe thou with Peter quietly.
Repose thy head on that swete brest
wher happy John was wont to lye.
Yea, stay one god thy father's will
Who sittes betwene the cherubbes still.

And while one earth thou shalt remaine
till thou to heaven assumpted be,
For love love god and christ againe,
let hart, let tongue, let lyfe agre,
To spread his mercy and good will,
To whome be praise and honor still.


Title:
The faithfull desyre, according to god's will, to make exchange of earth for heaven, and therfor wish the coming of christ

Lyrics:
Till Christe our lorde retourne
to throne his sainctes in blesse,
We must content our selves
with griefe and pensivenesse.
For earth wheron we byde,
this world wherin we dwell,
Wilbe noe heaven nor resting place,
as wofull chaunges tell.

Nought here, alas, so sure
but melting vades awaye :
Our gaine is griefe, our life is losse,
all which my hart dismay.

For meerly vaine, alas,
theise thinges on earth we try;
What then, should those that heaven desire
on earth turmoyling lye ?
But shriking clamours send
from pore distresfull hart,
That christ from heaven will come with spede
to end this earthly smart;
That then the carfull toyle,
of those that banisht be
By earth from heaven may throughly cease,
and they from griefe set free;

That wofull plaintes may end,
which worldly happes procure;
That sinne may cease and saintes possesse
those ioyes that aye endure;

That thine redemed deare,
with bloud to thee most swete,
May thee enioye in heavenly reign,
thoughe they, alas, vnmete.

O ryeve the heavens in twaine,
breake out throughe toppes of skye,
Let Angell sound his trumpe with spede,
oh shewe thy selfe on hye !

With armes bespread embrace
thy saintes that then apere,
And let them yeld eternall praise
to thee, their lord most deare.


Title:
The synner, being ashamed of his synne, dareth hardly crave release for the same.

Lyrics:
Alas, for shame, how dare I sue
to thee, my god, for grace ?
How dare I (wretche) present my selfe,
how dare I shew my face ?
That so polluted am with synne,
that so offended have
My dearest god, in heaped-wise,
how dare I pardon crave ?

How dare I lyft my synfull hart
and synfull eyes to thee ?
wretche, howe dare I thus presume ?
alas, for shame I flee.

I dare not, lord, my god, my christ 
Why, man, what hast thou done,
That thus oppressing feare and shame
from me should cause thee runne ?

Ah, luring synne with tysing speache
hath caught my soule in snare,
As oft before, yet could I not,
vnhappy man, beware

To shunne her cruell, bayted hooke,
her lure did so provoke,
Whose pleasures while I thought to tast,
I caught her deadly stroke;

That wounded hath my wofull soule,
yea, pierst my synfull heart,
And reft me of my swetest ioye,
with plunge of deadly smart.

And yet I dare not seke redresse,
I dare not sue for ayde;
So shame and feare doth hold me back,
and kepe my hart dismayed.

Howbeyt, except his grace I crave,
and, sueng, seke redresse,
The wound of synne is suche, that dye
I must, in this distresse.

And, therfore, payne and perill both,
encount'ring feare and shame,
Have vanquisht both, and forst me (loe !)
to beg in christ his name.

Now, therfore, lord, and father deare,
my often synnes forgeve,
And cure my Justly pinched soule,
let mercy it relyeve.

With depest hart-rote sighes, I crave
that grace of thine in thee
May cleane remytt and pardon, lord,
this synne of myne in me.

And that I may, in feeling-wise,
so feele thy swetest grace,
That ioyfull hart may thankfull be
while lyfe in me hath place.


Lyrics:
Though otheres have their syght at will,


Title:
A proper Song, Intituled: Fain wold I have a pretie thing to giue vnto my Ladie

Lyrics:
Fayne wold I haue a pretye thinge
to geue vnto my ladye.
I meane no hurt, I meane no harme,
but as pretye a thinge as may be.
Twentye lourneyes wold I make,
and twentye ways goo hye me,
To geue adventures for her sake,
to sett some matter by me.
Some do longe for pretye knackes,
and some for strange devises ;
God send me that my ladye lakes,
I care not what the p[r]ice is.
Some go here, and some go there,
where gapings be not geason ;
And I goo wandringe euer where,
and styll come owt of season.
[I walke the towne, and tread the streete,
in euery corner seeking :
The pretie thinge I cannot meete,
that's for my Ladies liking.
The mercers pull me goynge by,
the sylke wyffes say,
" what lake you ?"
" A thinge that you haue not," say I, "
you folyshe fooles, go packe you."
Yt is not all the gold in cheape,
nor all the golden treasure,
Nor twentye busshels in a heape
can do my ladye pleasure.
[The Grauers of the golden showes,
with luelles do beset me.
The Shemsters in the shoppes that sowes,
they do nothing but let me.
For weare yt in the wytte of man
by anye meanes to make hit,
I wold for mony by hit than,
and say,
"faire ladye, take hit."
But, ladye, what a lucke is this
that my good wyllynge myssethe,
To find what preatye thinge hyt is
that my good ladye wysshethe.


Lyrics:
All you that with good ale doe hould,
Draw neere, I say, both young and ould,
and listen to my tale ;
And you shall heare how in what wether
A sort of Souldiers met together
for to devour good alle.

It chanc'd of late, in smale braynshire,
One maister good-ale did appeare
out of a lether canne ;
He held the countrie for his owne,
Where he by strength had overthrowne
manie a proper manne.
[3]
It fell about the wbitsontyde,
The Countrie rose on everie syde
on him to make a ryot ;
They mustered all at one ale-stake
With stronge good-ale a feilde to make,
which did them sore disquiet.

Thither came a full heuge hoast
With pompe, with prid[e], with bragge, and boast,
against good-ale the[y] goe ;
But if a while you will giue eare
Their names in order you shall heare
out of the Christ crosse-rowe.
[5]
Now Christ his crosse be my good speede
That I may shew that doughtie deede
by good-ale doone that day !
There was never fought with speare and sheild
Such a battell as he held,
I dare be bould to say.
[6]
Adam, Austine, and Adrian,
The first stout skirmiche they beganne
with Polax in their hand.
But good-ale arest them with his mase,
And brought them soone in such a case,
much care they had to stande.
[7]
33 Benet, Brandon, Barnard, Beede,
With Blase and Bryan, made great speede
with their bo[w]es readie bent ;
But good-all smote them on the heades
That they were caried home on sleades,
sore mained home they went.

[8]
C Clement and Crabbe came cracking in,
And swore they would lay on the skinne
all that durst carpe one worde ;
But good-ale troubled soe their braine
That they to looke their bedes were faine,
all nigh vnder the board.
[9]
D David, Denis, Dicke, and Daniell
Came rydeing in vpon a paniell,
for saddles non[e] they had ;
But good-ale seru'd on them a writ
That on their mares the[y] could not sit
nor speake, they were soe madde.
[10]
Edmunde, Elvish, and sir Elis
Provided harnes for their bellies,
their backes were bare, god wot !
They linde their salletes soe with barme,
And couch'd vnder the stayers warme
for feare of the gunshotte.
Jf Francis and Fabian fought full sore,
The space of halfe an houre and more,
thinkinge to winne the flagge ;
But good-ale gaue them such a bloe
That they their best frendes could not knowe
nor scarce their heades to wagge.

[12]
Gawine and Guy, George and Gyles,
Came leapinge in on merrie styles,
and rushinge on they runne.
They fought lyke hardie men and bould,
Till noe man wist whither they would
nor yet from whence they come.
[13]
Henrie was hardie and soe was bugh,
And cryed,
"a new feild, a new,
in spite of th' villaines nose "

But good-ale with his good Blacke boule
Soe beate them both about the noule
that the[y] bepist their hose.
[I4]
lainkin, lerome, lonas and lude,
With lames and lefferey, did conclude
they would not bee opprest.
But good-ale troubled soe their pates
That all night vnder the towne gates
they tooke their naturall rest.
[15]
& Kidwallader stoode and beheld
How good-ale troubled all the feild,
he was of such a might ;
He tooke soe longe his fellowes' parte
Till he fell drunken vnder th' carte,
and there he lay all night.
[16]
3t Lawrence^ Lewis^ and long Leonard,
Kept them selues in the middleward
lyke warlike men and tawlle ;
But good-ale arest them to the peace
That all the night they did not cease
to sleepe vnder the wale.
[17]
Michaell, Matthew and Morison
All that night full fast had runne
with good-ale for to meete ;
But good-ale paid them soe their hyre
That they lay tumblinge in the mire
and swearing in the streete.
[18]
Nicolas came in with his browne bill,
And swore, and stared that he would kill
all that durst him abyde ;
But good-ale shew'd him such a game
That all his limmes were taken lame,
he could neither goe nor ryde.
[19]
Oliver though he were [ould]
Came in most like a Champion bould
in a pair of blew sockes ;
But as he pressed to the boule
Good-ale full sore did pearse his noule
with all his hoarie lockes.
[20]
 3 Peter, Patricke, and prateing Peers
Held out the stirre lyke valiant Sqyres,
with everie man a tunne ;
Lyke hardie fellowes then they say
That they would carrie good-ale away,
but then the sport beganne.
[21]
Quarters of malt came in apase
To strengthen good-ale in that case,
that all these men were faine,
First, to lay their cloathes to pledge
And, after, creepe vnder a hedge
to saue themselues from raine.
[22]
Richard, Reinold, Rowland, and Raufe
In great anger beganne to chaufe,
like franticke boares did fome ;
But good-ale taried them aright,
And fought with them such a might
that they came speechles home.
Simkin, Sabastion, and Steven
With all the world they made cleane even
before they went to battaile ;
But yet, as holie as they went,
Good-ale them home full naked sent
without either corne or cattell.
[24]
C Thomas saw this soe feirse a fray,
How good-ale bare the name away
all that longe afternoone ;
He thought [to] haue fled and fought noe more,
But good-ale tooke him prisoner thore
he had no legges to runne.
[25]
The whole hoast beinge soe neere distroyde,
Walter and William would not abyde,
but thought t' haue stol'ne away ;
But good-ale got of them a sight
And lodged them as frendes al night
besydes a cocke of hay.
[26]
Xpofur made a rufull mone
When he saw all his fellowes gone,
he waxed wonderous sad ;
For why ? he would noe more strife make,
He offered to the good ale-stake
even all that ever he had.
All you that now be present heere
Thinke on this frey in smale brainshire,
and note it in your braine ;
Keepe you from thence if you be wyse
And with good ale be not too nyce,
least it put you to paine.
[28]

This merrie Jest thus did I wryte,
Meaning noe man hurt nor noe man spite,
but onelie to declare
The loathsome life and beastlie waies
Daylie vsed in these our daies
by those that drunkards are.


Title:
A dolfull daunce and song of death 
Intituled the  shakeing of the sheetes

Lyrics:
Canne you dance the shakinge of the sheetes,
a daunce that everie man must dooe
can you trime it up with daintie sweetes,
and euerie thinge that longs there too
make readie then your winding sheete,
And see how you canne besturre your feete
For death is the man that all must meete

Bringe away the Beggar and the king,
and everie man in his degree,
bring away both ould and youngest thinge			
come all to death, and follow me
the courtier with his loftie lookes
the lawier with his learned bookes
and the banker with his beating-hookes.

Merchantes that make your mart in France
in Italie and all about
know you not that you and I must daunce
with both our heeles wrapt in a clout
what mean you to make your houses gay
and I must take the tenant away
and digge for your sakes the clods of clay
 
Thinke on the solempe Syses last
how sodenlie in Oxfordshire
I came and made the Judges agast
and Iustises that did appeare
and took both bell and Baram away
and manie a worthie man that day
and all their bodies brought to clay

Thinke you I dare not come to scooles
where all the cunninge clerkes be most
take not I away both wise and fooles
and am I not in every coast
assure y[our] selves noe creature can
make Death afraid of any man
or know my comminge where or when

Where be they that make their leases stronge
and ioyne about them land to land
doo you make acount to live soo longe
to have the world come to your hand
Noo foolish nowell for all thy pence
this nigh thy soul must sure goe hence
then whoe shall toole for thy defence
 
And you that leane on your ladies lappes			
and lay your heades upon her knee
doo you think to play with bewties pappes
and not to come and daunce with me
Noe faith fair laddes, and ladies all
Ile make you come whe I doo call
and find you a pipe to dance withal

Pryd must have a prettie sheete I see
for proply he learnes to daunce
come away my wanton wench to me
as gallantlie as your eye doth glance
And all good fellowes that swase[.] and slash
in reds, and yellows of rebel dash
I warrant you neede not be soe rash

For I cane quicklie cool you all
how hot or stout so euer you be
Both high and low, both great & small
I nought doe feare your highe degree
the ladie fair the beldam ould
the champion stout, the souldier bould
must all with me to earthlie mould

Take time therefore while it is lent	
prepare your selves with me to daunce
forget mee not, your lives lament
I come oft times by soden chance
be readie therefore watch and pray
that when my minstrell pypes his play,
you may to heauen daunce readie way


Lyrics:
Geue place you Ladies and begone: Boast not yourselues at all
For heere at hande approacheth one: Whose face will staine you all
The vertue of her liuelie lookes: excells the precious flone
I wishe to haue non other bookes: to read, or loke vpon

In each of her two cristall eies: smyleth a naked boye
it would you all in hart suffife: to see that lambe of ioy
I thinke nature hath lost the mould: where she her shape did take
or elles I doubt, if nature could: so fair a creature make

She may be verie well compard: vnto the Phenix kind
whose like was never seene or heard: that any man can finde
In life she is Diana chast: in troth Penelope
In word, and eike in deede stidfast: what will you more we say

If all the world were sought soe far: who could finde such a wight
her bewtie twinkleth like a starre: within a frostie night
her roseall couller comes, & goes: with such a comelie grace
more ruddier to then doth the rofe: within her liuelie face

At Bacchus feast non shall her meete: ne at noe wanton play
nor gazinge in an open streete: nor gaddinge as a stray
The modest mirth that she doth vse: is mixt with shamefastnes
all vice she dothe wholy refuse: and hateth Idlenesse

O lord it is a world to see: how vertue can repaire
and decke her selfe with honestie: whome nature made soe faire
trulie she dothe soe far exceede: our women now adaies
as dothe the gilliflower the weede: & more a thousande waies

How might I doe to get a graffe: of that vnspotted tree
for all the rest are plaine but chaffe: which seeme good corne to be
This gift alone I shall her giue: when death doth what he can
her honest fame shall euer liue: within the mouth of man. 


Lyrics:
My mynd to mee a kingdome is 
Such perfect ioy therein I finde
that it exceedes all other blis
that worlde affordes or groes by kynd
though much I want that most men havue
yet still my mynd forbidds to craue

Noe princelie pompe, noe wealth, noe store
noe foarce to winne the victorie
noe wylie wit to salve a sore
noe shape to feede a lovinge eye
to none of these I yeelde as thrall
for why my mynd doth proue for all

I see that pleantie surfeth oft
and hastie climbers soonest fale
I see that those which are a loft
mishappe doth threaten most of all
they get with toyle and keepe with feare
such cares my mynd could never beare

Content I liue, which is my stay
I wish noe more than may suffice
I seeke to beare noe hautie sway
looke what I want my minde supplies
that doo I triumph like a kinge
content with that my mynde doth bringe

Some saue too much yet still doo craue 
I little saue yet seeke noe more
They are but poore though much they haue
And I am rich with little store
They poore, I rich, they begge, I giue
They lacke, I leaue, they pyne, I liue.

I laugh not at an others losse
I grudg not at an others gaine
noe worldlie toyes my mynd canne tosse
my state at one doth still remaine
I feare noe foe, I force noe frends
I loathe not life, nor dread noe end

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust
their wisdome by the rage of will
Their treasure is their onelie trust
and cloaked craft their sconce of still
But all the pleasure that I finde
is to maintain a quyet mynde

My wealth is health and perfit ease
a conscience cleare my cheefe defence
I nether seeke by brybes to please
nor by desert to breede offence
Thus doo I liue, thus would I dye
Would all did see as well as I


Title:
A dittie most excelent for euerie man to

Tune:
John Come Kiss Me Now or The Rich Merchant Man

Standardised Tune:
John come Kiss Me Now or The Rich Merchant Man

Lyrics:
Who loueth to liue in peace: & marketh euerie change,


Title:
England repenting encouraged against all the adversaries thorogh

Lyrics:
No whit dismay thy selfe thou litle yle 
though rage of blustring tempest raged be
he lyves in heaven that plaging the erwhile,
for iust offence againe will comfort the:
alone make him thy refuge & thy stay,
repent thy syn & pardon firmely crave,
& he (even he will force thy foes away,
aske safe defence, o realme) & thou shalt have
his mighty hand from heaven o england thou
he shall out stretche with hot consuming power
to foyle thy foes (o trust him countrey now,
whose only beek can tourne thy swete to soure
that bravely thus triumphe in hope of gaine
& forcibly their pointe force […]
He pleasures not in warlik wight at all
no, not in barbed house he hath delight:
before his face the sturdy steedes doune fall
& hideous gyants fouced take their flight.
wher his vnfensed host & army [..]
prevaile with only trust in his defence
o countrey myne repent thy former syn,
o Englishe race no more thy god encen…
detest yea pray thou mayst detest indede
yea so detest that then therwith refuse),
the sinfull fruite that springes of sinfull sede
suche grevouse syn alas no longer vse
as thou comitted hayt to greve thy god
& so provoke his sword instead of rodde
And they if thou this wise in hart repent
producing worthy fruyctes there in tyme
if thou in faythfull mynd be firmly bent
to banishe syche corrupt & synfull crymes
& vertues fruites in place therof retaine
that god therby may have his worthy praise
then feare no foes the lord shall them restrain
& then protest with myghty hand alwayes
yea heavenly spirites & angelles great in power
shall gard thee safe & safety thee procure
that then shalt voyde the grievouse storme & shower
wherof to feele thy dogged foes ar sure 
if firmely thou repose in him thy trust;
in him (I say) whose word alone is iust.
[..] thee not o englyshe ile with feare,
for why? if mighty Jove by vs do stand,
then more we be then all our enmyes are.
thoughe bravely now they furnishe sea & land
his only breaches (o countrey men) & friendes
or this full stately routes have ouerthrowne
whose noble artes as his recordes in myndes
they are not his, his word hath made them known
it wholly restes that he our parte may take
& fearfull flagges against our foes display
which sure he will if we our synne forsake,
& yeld our selves to tread his pointed way
which if in mercy we of him obtaine:
Senacharibs devise shall be but vayne,
If thou believe thy god & him obey,
though syn alas of thine displease him sore
his promise sure that hast confirmed I say
in Moyses boke therfore thoughe pressed sore
with fearfull brute & rumours spread thou be,
of wrathfull foes that wishe thy fame to spoile
dismay the nought for Moyes speakes to the
as mouth of god thy joes shalt haue the foyle,
thine enmies with their force against the rayse,
the lord shall make them fall before thy face
one way they come but shall fle many waies
lyke men amased when we man doth thou chace
the lord can teare from them their hart away
repose therfore in him thy trust & staye.
Indede we must confes & iustly to
that iust desertes of oures do god provoke:
to deale with vs as foes desire to do
but lord sith thou thy selfe hast geven vs strok
with scourge of thine which mekely cause vs take
let not the sworde of suche our soule devoure
whose tygres hart no piteous cryes can slake
if they subiect our angst to cruell power.
we grevedly bewaile offences past,
we earnestly poure out our teares to the:
(our ruling god) we pray with grones we fast,
& we protest suche people thine to be.
as will no more forsake the this we vowe
o lord can mercy thine forsak vs nowe?
We will no more (thy grace assisting lord)
for mercyes large of thine vnthanckfull be:
we will no more containne thy swetest word,
no yet prophane thy house with Idolles we,
we will no more polute our life with synne,
we will no more obscure thy clerest name:
we will no more reteine dispite within,
to those that thou commaund our vice to blame.
we will no more on fleshly arme depend,
no yet forcast vpon our selves will stay:
1576
thoughe vse the same to their apointed end
yea clean we will refuse our wonted way
loe this (by grace of thine) to the we vowe
o mercy god canst thou forsake us nowe:
He answers no by: by mouth of prophetes plaine
if I pronounce (sayth he) a hand to noye:
& add to amplify the same againe,
or kyngdome doune to throw or cleane destroy
if kingdome, land, or mancon this repent
against the which I have pronounst the same
& tourne from wicked wayes, with purpose bent
it selfe suche wise persistingly to frame:
lo them I will not bring the wrathfull day
which prophet mine or I by them did threat
o England thou vpon this promise stays,
which shalbe true though world & Sathan freat,
& which (if thou repent) pertaines to the:
wherin god bindes him then to set the fre.
But then beware o countrey myne beware
dissemble not with god but truth entend:
not only say but do him duly feare,
let smoking sighes in prayer to him ascend
apoint the lord thy stronge defence & rock
as Davyd did in all his greate distress
he is thy god, be thou his faythfull flock
whose arme compassing the shall then redres
thy feare: expelling cause of feare likwise
for land & seas at his apointment are;
& creatures all to let that suche devise
as wishe they wast: o therfore banishe feare
& constantly depend vpon his power:
that bridles suche as would his churche devoure
And this denies the not o England thou
thy lawfull meanes to vse them lawfully
what? thinckes thou english hartes ar molten now?
or want we wisdome, force, or pollicy?
or have we not a prince of Henryes race
whose purpose is the church to foster still
or what hath god withdrawen from us his grace
because the Romaine wolfe so have it will?
or love we not our countrey now at hart
that manfully (like men) in countreys cause,
we should encountere them that wold subvert
the same to sent our fredome, life, & laws
have popyshe Romaines shed all englysh bloud:
that nowe remaines to worcke their cuntry good:
May may not all nor all for which thou sought
for english bloud is left, & english hartes
which (whatsoever english foes have wrought
for countreys safegard will play english partes
howbeit in wit or force we ought not stay,
we yet in arme of fleshe though strong it be.
but stedfastly in god the lord always,
to fix our trust, what ever we here or se.
& runne to him in all our stormes of griefe,
by ardent prayer & that incessantly
that we on hearth from heaven may have reliefe
yea knit in one let heart & mouth out crye
o lord vouchesafe in mercy vs to kepe:
thou are our god & we thy pasture shepe.


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

Lyrics:
Winter could into summer hoate
well changed now may bee 
For thinges as strange doe come to passe,
as wee may plainlie see 
England, priestes which honour'd hath
soe manie hundred yeares,
Doth hange them vp as Traytors now,
which causeth manie teares.
She doeth condemne her elders all,
as all the world besyde,
Religion ould, which long hath beene
in landes both farre and wyde.
A gospell new she hath found out,
a bird of Caluin's broode,
Abandoninge all memorie
of Christ his holie roode.
Abstinence is Papistrie,
as this new error saith 
Fastinge, praier, and all good workes
avoyde; for onelie faith
Doth bringe vs all to heauen straight,
a doctrine verie strange,
Which causeth men at libertie
of vice and sinne to range.
From Angelles, honour taken is 
from saintes, all worshippe dewe 
The mother of our liuinge god
(a thing most strang yet true)
Compared is by manie a Jacke
vnto a safron bagge,
To a thinge of nought, to a paltrie patch,
and to our vicar's hagge 
Vnitie is cleane exilde;
for preachers doe agree,
As doe our clockes when they strike noone
now one, now two, now three;
But all together never Jumpe
when as our elders all
Of faith and doctrine did accorde
in poyntes both great and smale.
Noe restitution they teache
pill, robbe, pole, rape, and steale.
Thine ownlie faith cleane freeth all,
amendes doth nought prevaile.
Noe vow obseru'd, noe promise kept,
flesh frydales now afoarde;
Which of our elders, as great sinne
and vice, was much abhorde.
Fastinge did enrich the Relme,
feastinge the same distroyes;
Single life helpt poore men's needes,
wiufde life church weale annoyes;
Raysinge of rentes pi[c]kes poore men's purse;
divorcem[en]tes doe devyde
The husband from his wedded wife,
whom god him selfe hath tyde.
Obedience to magistrates
this gospell nought esteemes;
For that their lawes in conscience
to bind it noe way deemes.
Concupiscence is counted sinne
which non[e] at all can shunne;
Therefore in vaine they doe resist,
for neede int' vice they runne.
Contrition a trashe is cal'd,
confession scofte and scorn'd;
And soe is satisfaction,
purgatorie paines forlorn'd;
Which causeth feare of sinne to flee,
where sole faith doth suffice
To amend all that is amisse,
but non[e] thinkes soe that's wise,
They deeme them selues predestinantes,
yet reprobates indeede;
Free will they will not haue; good workes
with them are voyd of neede;
Which poyntes of doctrine doe destroy
eich common-wealth and land,
Religion ould in order due
makes Kingdoms longe to stand.
Their fruites doe prooue their gospell false,
their Hues most lewd are seene;
For sinne and all Iniquetie,
the like hath never beene;
Noe feare of god, noe dread of manne,
of Prince, nor yet of lawes;
Almes-deedes, as all devotion,
esteemed are as strawes.
Wherefore I hould him verie wise
which doth their gospell flee,
And cleaue vnto religion ould,
and therein Hue and dye,
As all his elders ever did
whoe afraid were to offend;
Which feare god grant vs all, and then
our daies wee well shall end.


Title:
A godly song in commendation of m[aste]r John Bradford who wasw burned for the sincere preaching of gods worde

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

Lyrics:
Lament we may both night & day
for this our brother deare
Bradford a man both Iust and right
ther are but few his peare
For gods true servant he was knowen
In each city and towne
his word amongst them he hath sowen
till it was trodden downe
Ther was noe man could him aproache
neyther in word nor dede:
but that he lyved as he did teache
in feare of god & dreade.
Since that the time he did professe
gods holy word most true:
noe ritches substaunce more or lesse
could tourne his hart anewe.
From gods true word he would not slyde
though it was to his paine:
but in the truth he did abyde,
all men might knowe it plaine
The wicked men they did him take
& promise him much store:
to cause him this his god for sake
& preach the truth no more.
But he for all that they could say,
would not his god dysplease:
but trusted at the judgement day, 
his joy would they encrease.
And when they punished him therfore
full well he did it take:
he thought no paines could be to sore,
to suffer for christs sake.
Alas the people did lament,
when that they did here tell:
that he in smythfield should be brent
no more with vs to dwell.
His preaching was both true & good
his countenaunce meke & mylde:
alas the sheding of his bloud
pleasd neyther man nor childe.
Save only they which had the lawe
at that time in their hand
which still desire more in to drawe
& catche them in their band
O wicked men of litle grace,
Was ever the lyke sene:
so many men in short space
to dust consinned cleane.
How many of you papistes all 
would not with spede retourne:
from your doctrine papisticall,
if that you should or burne.
And when you would not give him love
his mynde forth for to breake
all men of god will him beleve
thoughe litle he did speake.
In going to the burning fyre
he talked all the way:
the people then he did desyre
for him that they would pray.
And when he came vnto the place
Wher as they he should dye:
full meeke the fyre he dyd embrace
& sayd welcome to me.
A servaunt true of god I say
which him that fyre did burne:
because on gods word he did stay
not willing to retourne
But quietly wer both content
their death to tak truly:
which made the peoples harts to rent
their deathfull pangs to see.


Title:
An exhortac[i]on to them that are loth to dye

Lyrics:
As he doth more reioice that hath
the winde & tyde at will:
to bring him souer to his porte
from feare of neptunes ill.
Then he that sayled with breathlesse blaste
in come so of calmest tyde
wherby his barke to hoped haven
doth softe & slowly slyde
So he that swy[mm]aids in wordly seas
wher pill is age & forme:
hath greater cause to thanck that […]
when he comes soner home
Then he whose lothsome lingring lyfe
is tost in depe distresse
whose shaken ship & beaten barcke
by death must have redresse
Reioyce therfore then wofull wight
Set upe thy hasped gate:
let death come in with deadly darte,
to worke thy fynall fate
Thou lyvest to dye, thou dyest to lyve,
which lyfe shall alwayes last:
& pleasures comes of heavenly ioyes
when earthly griefes are past:
Whoe would not chaunge his bras for gold
& dros silver for drosse gayne:
whoe would not prese to paradise
by ioyes to end his payne:
What sely poore man would not lyve,
in glory if he might?
who would not chaunge th[os]e nightly shades
to chose the somer lyght?
Such glittering gold in paradise
suche glory thou shalt fynde:
suche christall beames of shinyng sune
to light thy darkest mynde.
From whence do all these sorrowes come
why art thou then afrayde?
what griefe in joye what woe in mirth
[wh]at so thy hart dismayd?
Wh[..] so doth love this wretched lyfe
[…] […]eth shall to dye:
to [….] th[…] syttes on blissfull throne
he feares to soned to hye:
The v[..]oms doth not wine his price,
before he ringe his rute:
[…] shall not be crouned […] vntil
[…] we passe this wordly space.
Perchuance thy youthfull yeares on earth
thou wouldest in pleasures spend:
perchaunce thy wealth thou wouldst bestore,
which fortunre doth thee send:
Perchaunce from friendes thou wouldst not goe,
which loved the so deare
perchaunce thout fyndest greate delight
in ritcher costly cheare:
Perchuance thy bewty semes to brave,
& forme to fyne in sight:
to yeld thy Body to the dust,
by dew deserved right
Ah flatter not thy worldly mynde,
with vayne & fond conceiptes:
they are that subtill sathane shifte,
& divelyshe depe desceiptes.
What thoughe thou be but yong in yeares
thy youth is somer blest:
thoughe rytche thy ritches are not suche
as in the skyes doth rest.
What friendes with sainctes may be comparde
whose love doth last for ay:
when fayned friendes from tyme to tyme
do chaunge from day to day.
Vayne are thy dainty dishes all
& more then man doth nede:
with Manna seke thy hungry soule
& ghostly foode to feede.
W[h]y not thy faire & glistring fare,
Which from the dust did ryse:
but seke to shyne in angelles state, 
in most tryvmphant wyse.
And never feare or flye from death
which nedes must come to passe:
& kepeth on his fatall course,
as first apointed wa[n]e
The stayeth not at princes feate,
as fearefull of his face
but doth by dint of dolefull darte,
cut of his princely ware
The rytche cannot his fatall hand,
with wordly bribes corrupte:
the poore with cryes & pyteous plainte,
cannot her interrupte.
The forceth not of furyes force,
thoughe hand & hart do mete:
to make the stoutest in the world,
lye groveling at her fete.
But all do feele her heavy hand, 
by strength of boystrous blowe:
the highe the low, the ritche, the pore,
her might doth overthrowe.
And therfore feare that thing no more,
which noe man yet could shunne:
but had his death apointed him,
before his lyfe begonne.


Lyrics:
Let no man put his trust in that 
which will so sone decay:
For slippry wealth will not remaine
pleasure will weare away.
For when that we have lost our lyfe,
& lye under a stone:
What are we then we are but earth
then is our pleasure gone.
No man can tell what god almight, 
of every wight doth caste:
noe man can say to day I lyve, 
till morne my lyfe shall last.
For when thou shalt before the judge, 
stand to receive thy dome:
what sentence christ doth then pronounce,
that must of the become.
Then shall not noble stocke & bloud, 
redeme the out of thrall:
nor sugred talke with eloquence, 
?once help the ought at all.
Nor yet thy life vprightly led, 
can help thee out of hell:
for whoe decendeth downe so depe, 
must ther abyde & dwell.
Diana could not thense delyver, 
chaste Hypolytus:
nor Theseus could not call to lyfe 
his freinde Perythous.
But Christe thy Sauiour can,
if in him thou hast beleved:
delyver thou from death and hell
& all thinges which the grieved.


Title:
A discripc[i]on of the wickednesse of this world

Lyrics:
Whoe loues to lyve in peace, 
& marketh euery chaunge:
shall here suche newes from tyme to tyme
as seme right wondrous strange.
Suche fraude in freindly lokes, 
such frendship all for gayne
Such cloked wrath in hatefull brestes, 
whiche worldly men retayne.
Such fayned flattring fayth, 
amongst both highe & lowe: 
Suche greate deceipte such subtill wittes
the pore to overthrowe.
Suche spyte in sugred tongues, 
suche malyce full of pride:
Suche open wrong, such greate vntruthe, 
which cannot go vnspyed.
Suche restlesse state for roumes, 
whiche bringeth men to care:
Suche slyding downe from slippy seates, 
yet can we not beware.
Suche barcking at the good, 
suche bolstringe of the ill
Suche threatning of the wrath of god, 
suche vice embraced still.
Suche striving for the best, 
suche clyming to estate: 
Suche greate dissembling every where,
suche loue all mixt with hate.
Suche traines to trappe the just, 
suche prowling faultes to pike:
Suche cruell wordes for fpeakyng truth, 
whoe ever hard the lyke.
Suche trifles told for trothe, 
suche crediting of lyes:
Suche silence kept when foles do speke, 
suche laughing at the wise.
Suche plenty made so scarce, 
suche crieng for redresse:
Suche feared signes of our decay, 
which tongue dares not expresse.
Suche chaunges lightly markte, 
suche troubles still appears:
which never were before this tyme, 
noe not this thoufand yeares.
Suche bribing for the purse;
which ever gapes for more:
Suche hourding vp of worldly wealthe, 
suche keping mucke in store.
Suche folly found in age, 
suche wilfullnesse in youth,
Suche sondry sortes amongst greate clarkes,
& few that speake the truthe.
Suche crafte in clouke of symplenes,
& suche vnstedfast wayes:
was never sene within mens hartes, 
as is found now a dayes.
The cause & ground of this, 
is our vnquyet mynde:
which thinkes to take those goods away,
which we must leave behinde.
Why do men seke to get 
which they cannot possesse:
or breke their slepes with carefull thoughtes 
& all for wretchednesse.
Thoughe one amongst a skore, 
have wealth & ease a while:
A thousand want which toyleth sore,
& travaile many a myle.
And some although they slepe, 
yet wealth falles in their lappe:
thus some be ritche & some be pore,
as fortune geves the happe.
Wherfore I hold him wyse 
which thinckes him selfe at ease:
& is content in symple state,
both god & man to please.
For they that lyve lyke godes, 
& honoured are to day:
within short tyme their glory falles, 
as flowers do vade away.
Vncertaine is their lyves,
on whom this world will frowne,
for thoughe they syt above the starres 
a storme may strike them downe.
In wealth whoe feares noe falle,
may slyde from joye full sone:
ther is nothing so sure one earth, 
but chaungeth as the mone.
What pleasure hath the ritche, 
or ease more then the pore:
althoughe he have a plesaunt house, 
his trouble is the more.
Ofte tymes they bowe & speake him fayre,
which seke to shed his bloud:
his children with him ofte in earth,
& all to have his good.
Muche coveting of worldly goodes, 
doth nought but dull the spirite:
& some men chaunce to taste the sower,
that gropeth for the swete.
The ritche ofte tymes is dedly hated,
of those that eate his bread:
with fawning speache & flattring tales, 
his eares are dayly fed.
In fine I se & knowe by profe 
the ritche have many foes:
he slepeth best & careth least, 
that little hath to lose.
As tyme requyreth nowe, 
whoe would avoide muche stryfe:
weare better lyve in meane estate, 
then lead a princes lyfe.
To passe those troublesome tymes,
I se but litle choise:
but help to waile with those that wepe 
& laughe when they reioyse.
For as we se to day, 
our brother brought in care.
to morrow may we have suche chaunce 
to fall with him in snare.
Of this we may be sure, 
whoe thinckes to syt most fast:
shall sonest fall lyke withered leaves
which cannot abide a blast.
Thoughe that the floud be greate, 
the ebbe as low doth runne:
when every man hath played his parte, 
our pagent shalbe done.
Who trustes this wretched world 
I hold him worse then mad:
heare is not one that fereth god 
the best is all to bad.
For those that seme as sainctes, 
are devilles in their dedes :
thoughe that the world bringes forth some floures,
its wondrous full of wedes.
I se noe p[re]sent helpe, 
from mischiefe to prevaile:
but fle the seas of worldly cares,
or beare a quiet sayle.
For whoe so medleth leaste, 
Shall save him selfe from smart:
whoe stirres an oare in every boate, 
shall play a folishe parte.


Title:
The repentaunt synner in adv[er]sity
Prayeth vnto god for mercy

Lyrics:
Vnto the lyvinge lorde, 
for pardon doe I pray
from whome I graunt even from my youth
I have runne still astray.
And other lyves ther none
my death shall well declare:
one whom I ought to call for grace, 
as faulty folckes do fare.
But the (o lorde) alone
I have offended soe:
that this small scourge is muche to scant, 
for myne offence I knowe:
I came without retourne
the way the world lyed best:
& what I ought most to regarde,
that I respected least.
The throughe wherin I thrust
hath throwen me in suche case:
that (lord) my soule is sore beset,
without thy greater grace.
My guilt[es] are growen so greate, 
my power doth so appayre:
that with greate force they argue ofte, 
& mercy muche dispayre.
But then with fayth I flee,
to thy p[re]pared store:
where lyeth help for every harte,
& salve for every sore.
My lost tyme to lament,
my vayne wayes to bewaile:
no day, no night, noe place, no houre,
noe moment shall I fayle.
My soule noe tyme shall cease,
with am assured fayth:
to knocke, to call, to crave, to crye,
to the for help which sayetes.
Knocke & it shalbe heard,
but aske & geven it is:
& all that lyke to kepe this course,
of mercy shall not mis.
For when I call to mynde,
howe the one wandring shepe:
did bring more joy with his retourne, 
then all the flocke did kepe.
It yeldes full hope & trust,
my strayes & wandring ghost:
shalbe received & held more deare,
then those were never lost.
O lord my hope behold
& for my helpe make haste:
to pardon me for passed race,
that careless I have waste.
And but the day draweth neare,
that death must pay the debt:
for love of lyfe wich thou has lent,
& tyme of payment set.
From this sharp shower me shield,
which threatned is at hand:
wherby thou shalt greate power declare,
& I the storme with stand.
Not my will lorde, but thyne,
fulfilde be in eache case:
to whose greate will & mighty power,
all powers shalbe onse geve place.
My fayeth, my trust, hy hope,
my god & eke my guyde.
stretche for the thy hand to save this soule,
what so the body byde.
Refuse not to receyve,
that thou so deare hast bought:
for but by the alone I knowe,
all safety in vayne is sought.
I knowe & knowledge eke,
albe it very late
that thou it is I ought to love,
& dread in eache estate.
And with repentaunt heart,
do laude the lord one hye:
that haste so gently set me streight
that earst walcked so awry. 
Now graunt me grace my god,
to stand thine strong in spirite:
& let the world then walke suche wayes,
as to the world semes mete.


Lyrics:
Of all the heauenly gyftes, 
that mortall men commend:
what trusty treasure in this world,
can countervail a Friend.
Our health is sone decayed,
good[es] casuall, light, & vayne:
broke haue we sene the force of power, 
& honour suffer stayne.
The golden estate of emperoures,
full sone done weare away:
& other percious thing[es] doe fade,
freinshippe will never decay.
In bodyes lust man doth, 
resemble but base brute :
true vertue getes & kepes a frend, 
good guyde of our pursuyte.
Whose harty zeal with oures, accords, 
in every case:
noe terme of tyme, noe space of place, 
noe storme can it deface.
When fickle fortune fayles, 
this knotte endureth still:
thy kinne out of their kinde may swarve, 
when freinds owe the good will.
What sweeter may befall,
than one for the to fynde:
vpon whose brest thou maiest repofe 
the secreates of thy mynde.
Hee wayleth at thy woe, 
his tears with thine be shed:
with thee doth hee all ioyes enioye:
so leefe a lyfe is led:
Behold thy freind, & of thy selfe 
the patterne mayest thou see:
one soue, a wonder may it seme, 
in bodyes twaine to be.
In absence, present, ritche in want, 
in sickenesse also found:
yea, after death alyve mayst thou,
by thine true freind be founde.
Eache house, eache toune, eache realme 
by stedfast love dothe stand :
where foule debate breedes bitter bale, 
in eache diuided land.
O Frendship flower, of flowers : 
o lyvely spirite of lyfe:
o sacred bond of blisfull peace, 
the stalworth staunche of strife.
Scipio with Lelius 
didest thou conionie in care:
at home in warres for weale & woe, 
with equall fayth to fare:
Gesippus eke with Tyte, 
Damon with Pythias 
Eurialus and Nysus gave
Virgil first cause to symg 
of Pila[i]des doe many rymes, 
and of Orestes ringe.
And with Mynetus sonne Achill, 
by thee combynned was.
downe Theseus went to hell, 
Pyrith his freind to fynde:
o that the wyves in these our dayes, 
were to their mates so kynde.
Cicero, the freindly man,
to Atticus, his friend:
Of frendship wrote suche couples nowe, 
doth lot but seldom lend.
Recount thy race now runne,
how few shalt thou there se,
of whome to saye this same is he, 
that never fayled me.
Soe rare a jewell then,
must nedes] be holden deare:
& as thou wilt esteem thy selfe, 
so take thy chosen feare.
The tyrant in dispaire, 
noe lacke of gold bewayles
but out I am vndone (saith he) 
for all my frendship fayles.
Wherfore sithe nothing is 
more joyfull for our kynde
next wisdome, thus that teacheth vs, 
love we the freindly minde.


Lyrics:
Who so doth wisely wey
the profite & the price:
of thinges wherin delight
is worthy to aryse.
Shall finde no iewell is
so rich and yet so rare,
That with the freindly hart
in valew may compare.
What other wealth to man
by fortune may befall
But fortunes changed cheare 
may reave a man of all.
A frend noe wracke of wealth, 
noe cruell caufe of woe
can force his frendly fayeth 
vnfreindly for to goe.
If fortune freindly fawne, 
& lend thee wealthy store,
Thy freindes conioyned Ioy 
doth make thy ioye the more.
If frowardly the frown 
& drive thee to dystresse :
His ayde releues thy ruthe, 
and makes thy sorroe lesse.
Thus fortunes pleasant fruyctes 
by freindes encreased be,
The bitter sharp & sowre 
by freindes alayde to thee.
That when thou doest reioyce, 
then doubled is thy Ioye
& eke in cause of care,
the lesse is thy anoye.
Alofte if thou do lyve, 
as one appointed here,
A stately part on stage 
of worldly slate to beare :
Thy freinde as onely free 
from fraud will thee advise,
To rest within the rule
of mene as do the wife.
He seketh to foresee 
the perill of thy fall.
he findeth out thy faultes 
& warnes the of them all.
The, not thy lucke he loveth,
what euer be thy case,
he is thy faithfull freind 
& thee he doth embrase.
If churlishe cheare of chaunce
haue thrown the into thrall,
& that thy nede aske ayde
for to relieve thy fall
In him thou secret trust 
assured art to fynde,
& succour not to seke, 
before thou doe it mynde.
Thus is thy freinde to the
the comfort of thy payne.
The stayer of thy slate, 
the doubler of thy gaine.
In wealth & woe thy frende, 
an other self to the.
Such man to man a god,
the prouerb sayth to be.
As wealth will bring thee freindes 
in lowring woe to proue,
So woe shall yeld thee frendes
in laughing wealth to loue.
With wisedome chuse thy frend, 
with vertue him retayne:
let vertue be the grounde, 
so shall it not be vayne.


Lyrics:
Vayne is the fleting wealth,
whervpon the world stayes:
syth stalking tyme by privy stelth
encrecheth one our dayes.
And age which crepeth fast,
to taunte us with her wounde:
will tourne eache blisse into a blast
which lasteth but a stounde.
Of youth the lusty flower
which sometymes stode in price
shall vanishe quyte within an houre,
as fyre consumes the yce.
Wher is become the wight,
for whose sake Troye toune
withstode the greekes till ten yeres fight
had rased their walles downe.
did not the woormes consume,
ther body to the dust?
did dreadfull death forbeare his fumes
for bewty, pride, or lust?


Title:
The greved sinner ep[er]pos
tulateth w[i[th him selfe
p[er]swading to refourmation

Lyrics:
Ah wofull caitife clad with care,
why doth thou not compaine:
& crave at mercies swete reliefe,
to cure thy restlesse payne:
Why doth thou not with sighes bewaile,
thy fowle deformed synne:
o wrtched soulde what doth thou ayle,
to plunge thy selfe therin?
Why dost thou still vnbrideled wise,
they rauging will ensue?
why dosst thou raging enterprise,
the thing thou shouldest eschewe.
Why doth thou not, o wretched man,
thy makers voyce regard?
whose judgement some destroy thou say,
& yield but iust reward.
Why dost thou not in mynde recorde,
the ritche & endlesse love:
of mighty god, of christe thy lord,
thy hart can nothing move?
For shame thy craving will forbere,
for shame restraine thy lust:
to flicering fancy yield noe care,
in whome ther is noe trust.
For shame thy makers voice obey
for shame his will ensue,
& walcke thou forthe in vpright
lest all to late thou rue (way
Thy thoughtes enspirest in stragling wye,
& ranging here and there:
retrane in tyme with wandring eyes,
& force them to forbeare
That so thou maiest in course procede
of godes aproving will.
& lastly reign with christ indede,
on heavenly syon hill.


Title:
One being at the point of death 
defyeth the world

Lyrics:
I passe not for this world, 
I count it meerly vayne
but rather wishe a thousand fold
with christe my lyfe to raigne
Choise golden mountaines here
are nought but donge & drosse:
I have them not - I crave them not,
their want I count no losse
But chryst in armes of fayte
to claspe & grace to gayne:
I wishe to have, for those I crave
in hart of myne to raign
For world thoughe smiling wise,
she cast her lokes to lure:
I have noe cause to love her I
I knowe she is vnsure:
Therfore not fayning nowe
but even from moaning plaine:
her best delightes &b she her selfe,
I count them meerly vayne.
And she with all she hath,
so finally nowe p[re]vaile:
that mynding these that love her is
I muse what thing they ayle
For if that Civce she,
with nectar boll in hand:
had not by witching rest their fence
this wise they would not stand
With gazing still in face
till foolishe fancy wise:
& hart be caught in trap w[i]th her
whome it should most despise.
Therfore myne eyes from earth
to heaven I will convert:
& ther repose in joyfull wyse
my whole enflamed hart.
Wher christ myne onely joy,
I shall obtaine in sight:
away entising world therfore
in heaven is my delight.


Title:
Against the enemyes of the true church entende  {****] the
destrucio[n] therof.

Lyrics:
Confound thy foes o mighty god,
with justice sword in hand:
stretche forth thine hand shew forth thy powr
their furious rage with stand,
Their hornes on high exalted are,
that purpose to assaile:
thy sion hill with rasing cryes
let them not lord prevaile
And thoughe consulting they conspire
against thy turtle dove:
prevent their practise (ruling jove)
their vaunting bragges remove.
Shall those that proudly dare refuse,
thy christe their king to be:
triumphe at will? o, lord dispatche
we are thy people we:
preserve vs then that we may still
depending trust in the


Lyrics:
I
Crist crvcifyd!
For thy woundes wide
Vs commens guyde!
Which pilgrames be,
Thrughe godes grace
For to purchache
Olde welth and peax
Of the spiritualitie.

II
Gret godes fame
Doite Church proclame
Now to be lame
And fast in boundes,
Robbyd, spoled and shorne
From catell and corne,
And clene furth borne
Of housez and lands

III
Whiche thynges is clere
Agaynst godes lere
As doith appere
In detronomio,
Godes law boke
Open and loke
As moysez spoke,
Decimo nono.

IV
Ther may be founde:
The lyuing grounde
May not lay dowyn
Sesare not kyng, 
Which olde fathers
And the right heires,
For ther welfares,
At theyr ending

 
V
Gaif to releif, 
Whome for amice greve
Both day and even
And can no wirke;
Yet this thay may, 
Both night and day
Rusorte and pray
Vnto godes kyrke.

VI
Thus interlie
Peax and petie
Luf and mercie
For to purchache
For mannys mysdeyd,
And wrongfull crede
Most fer myslede
Throght lack of grace.

VII
Suche foly is fallen 
And wise out blawen
That grace is gone
And all goodness.
Then no marvell
Thoght it thus befell, 
Commons to mell
To make redresse.

VIII
Right well myndyng
The foresayng
And prophesying 
Of Esayas
That prynces shuld
Remeve fixt molde
Which fathers colde 
To sounde compas.

 
IX
Bot on thing, Kynges,
Esayas saynges
Like rayn down brynges
Godes woful yre,
Harrying the subiect
Ther dewtis to forgett
And pryncez let 
Of suche disyre.

X
Alacke! Alacke!
For the church sake
Pore commons wake
And no marvell!
For clere it is
The decay of this
How the pore shall mys
No tong can tell.

XI
For there they hade
Boith ale and breyde
At tyme of nede, 
And succer grete
In alle distresse
And hevynes
And wel intrete
[this verse is only seven lines long in the manuscript]

XII
In troubil and care,
Where that we were
In maner all bere
Of our substance,
We found good bate
At churche men gate,
Withoute checkmate
Or varyaunce

XIII
God that right all
Redresse now shall,
And that is thrall
Agayn make fre,
By this viage
And pylgramage
Of yong and sage
In this countre,

XIV
Whome god graunt grace!
And for this space
Of this ther trase
Sende theyn good spede,
With welth, helth and spede,
Of synnys releys
And joy endleys,
When they be deyd.

XV
Church men for euer
So you remember,
Boith first and latter, 
In your memento
These pilgramez poore,
That take such cure
To stabilisshe sure,
Whych dyd vndoo

XVI
Crim, crame, and riche
With the thre ell and the liche
As sum men teache.
God theym amend!
And that Aske may,
Without delay,
Here make a stay
And well to end!
 
 


Title:
The Louer being wounded with his Ladies beautie, requireth mercy

Lyrics:
The liuely sparkes of those two eyes,
My wounded heart hath set on fire :
And since I can no way deuise,
To stay the rage of my desire :
with sighes and trembling teares I craue
My deare, on me some pitty haue,
In viewing thee, I tooke such ioy,
As one that sought his quiet rest :
Vntill I felt the feathered boy,
Ay flickering in my captiue breast :
Since that time loe, in deep dispaire,
All voyd of ioy, my time I weare.
The wofull prisoner Palemon,
And Troylus, eke King Pryamus,
Constrain'd by loue did neuer mone,
As I (my deare) for the haue done,
Let pitie then requite my paines
My life and death in thee remaines.
If constant loue may reape his hire,
And faith vnfained may purchase,
Great hope I haue to my desire,
Your gentle heart will grant me grace,
Till then (my deare) in few words plaine
In pensiue thoughts I shall remaine.


Title:
A Nosegaie alwaies
sweet, for Louers to sendfor Tokens, of
lone, at Newyeres tide, orfor fairings,
as they in their minds shall be disposed to write.


Title:
L. Gibsons Tantara, isoherin Danea fwelcommeth home
her Lord Diophon from the war.

Lyrics:
YOu Lordings, cast off your weedes of wo
me thinks I heare
A trumpet shril which plain doth show
my Lord is neare :
Tantara tara tantara,
this trumpet glads our hearts,
Therefore to welcome home your King,
you Lordings plaie your parts,
Tantara tara tantara, &c.
Harke harke, me thinkes I heare again,
this trumpets voice,
He is at hand this is certaine,
wherefore reioice.
Tantara tara tantara, &c.
This trumpet still doth say,
With trumpets blast, all dangers past,
doth shew in Marshall ray.
[Tantara tara tantara, &c.]
A ioifull sight my hearts delight,
my Diophon deere :
Thy comely grace, I do embrace,
with ioiful cheere :
Tantara tara tantara,
what pleasant sound is this,
Which brought to me with victorie,
my ioy and onely blisse.
Tantara tara tantara, &c.
Diophon.
My Queene and wife, my ioy and life
in whom I minde :
In euery part, the trustiest hart,
that man can finde.
Tantara tara tantara,
me thinks I heare your praise,
Your vertues race in euerie place,
which trumpet so doth raise.
Tantara tara tantara, &c.
Now welcome home to Siria soile,
from battered field :
That valiantly thy foes did foile,
with speare and shield :
Tantara tara tantara,
me thinks I heare it still,
Thy sounding praise, abroad to raise,
with trump that is nust shrill,
Tantara tara tantara, &c.
If honour and fame, O noble Dame,
such deeds do aske :
Then Diophon here to purchase fame,
hath done this taske :
Tantara tara tantara,
returnd he is againe,
To leade his life, with thee his wife,
in ioie without disdaine.
Tantara tara tantara, &c.


Title:
A proper new Song made by a Studient in
Cambridge,

Lyrics:
I Which was once a happie wight,
and hie in Fortunes grace :
And which did spend my golden prime,
in running pleasures race, Am now enforst of late,
contrariwise to mourne,
Since fortune ioies, into annoies,
my former state to turne.
The toiling oxe, the horse, the asse,
haue time to take their rest,
Yea all things else which Nature wrought,
sometimes haue ioies in brest :
Saue onelie I and such
which vexed are with paine :
For still in teares, my life it weares,
and so I must remaine.
How oft haue I in folded armes,
enioied my delight,
How oft haue I excuses made,
of her to haue a sight ?
But now to fortunes wil,
I caused am to bow.
And for to reape a hugie heape,
which youthful yeares did sow.
Wherefore all ye which do as yet,
remaine and bide behind :
Whose eies dame beauties blazing beams,
as yet did neuer blind.
Example let me be,
to you and other more :
Whose heauie hart, hath felt the smart,
subdued by Cupids lore.
Take heed of gazing ouer much,
on Damsels faire vnknowne :
For oftentimes the Snake doth lie,
with roses ouergrowde :
And vnder fairest flowers,
do noisome Adders lurke :
Of whom take heed, I thee areed :
least that thy cares they worke.
What though that she doth smile on thee,
perchance shee doth not loue :
And though she smack thee once or twice,
she thinks thee so to prooue,
And when that thou dost thinke,
she loueth none but thee :
She hath in store, perhaps some more,
which so deceiued be,
Trust not therefore the outward shew
beware in anie case :
For good conditions do not lie,
where is a pleasant face :
But if it be thy chaunce,
a louer true to haue :
Be sure of this, thou shalt not misse,
ech thing that thou wilt craue.
And when as thou (good Reader) shalt
peruse this scrole of mine :
Let this a warning be to thee,
and saie a friend of thine,
Did write thee this of loue,
and of a zealous mind :
Because that he sufficiently,
hath tried the female kind.
 Here Cambridge now I bid farewell,
adue to Students all :
Adue vnto the Colledges,
and vnto Gunuil Hall :
And you my fellowes once,
pray vnto loue that I
May haue releef, for this my grief,
and speedie remedie.
And that he shield you euerichone,
from Beauties luring looks :
Whose baite hath brought me to my baine,
and caught me from my Books :
Wherefore, for you, my praier shall be,
to send you better grace,
That modestie with honestie,
may guide your youthfull race.
Finis quod Thomas Richardson, sometime Student in Cambridge.


Title:
The scoffe of a Ladle, as pretie as may be,
to a yong man that went a wooing;
He went stil about her, and yet he went without her,
because he was so long a dooing.

Lyrics:
Attend thee, go play thee,
Sweet loue I am busie :
my silk and twist is not yet spun 
My Ladie will blame me,
If that she send for me,
and find my worke to be vndun :
How then ?
How shall I be set me ?
To say loue did let me ?
Fie no, it will not fit me,
It were no scuse for me.
[It were no scuse for me.]
If loue were attained,
My ioies were vnfained,
my seame and silke wil take no hold :
Oft haue I beene warned,
By others proofe learned :
hote wanton loue soone waxeth cold,
Go now :
I say go pack thee,
Or my needle shal prick thee :
Go seeke out Dame Idle :
More fit for thy bridle,
More fit for thy bridle.
Wei worthie of blaming,
For thy long detaining,
all vaine it is thatthou hast done :
Best now to be wandring,
Go vaunt of thy winning,
and tell thy Dame what thou hast won :
Say this :
Then say as I bade thee :
That the little dogge Fancie,
Lies chaste without moouing,
And needeth no threatning,
For feare of wel beating.
For feare of wel beating.
The boy is gone lurking,
Good Ladies be working,
dispatch a while that we had done,
The tide will not tarrie,
All times it doth varie,
The day doth passe, I see the Sun,
[ ? One line omitted by the Printer.]
The frost bites faire flowers,
Lets worke at due howres,
Haste, haste, and be merie,
Till our needles be werie.
Till our needles be werie,
Now Ladies be merie,
Because you are werie :
leaue worke I say, and get you home,
Your businesse is slacking,
Your loueris packing :
your answer hath cut off his comb.
How then ?
The fault was in him sir,
He wooed it so trim sir,
Alas poor seelie fellow,
Make much of thy pillow.
Make much of thy pillow.
Finis.


Title:
An answer as pretie to the scof of his Lady,
by the yongman that came a wooing,
Wherein he doth flout her.
Being glad he went without her9
Misliking both her and her dooing.

Lyrics:
Alas Loue, why chafe ye ?
Why fret ye, why fume ye ?
To me it seemeth verie strange, 
Me thinks ye misuse me,
soone to refuse me,
vnlesse you hope of better change :
Wei, wel 
Wei now, I perceiue ye,
You are mindful to leaue me :
Now sure it doth grieue me :
That I am vnworthie :
That I am vnworthie.
I mean not to let ye, nor I can not forget ye,
it wil not so out of my minde :
My loue is not daintie, I see you haue plenty
that set so little by your friend.
Goe too spin on now I pray you, I list not to stay,
I will goe play me :
I am vnfit for you, &c.
Leaue off to flout now, and prick on your clout now
you are a daintie Dame indeed,
And thogh of your taunting, I may make my vaunting
as bad or worse than I shal speed :
Sweet heart, though now you forsake it.
I trust you will take it:
and sure I spak e it, so fine as you make it, &c
Now wil I be trudging, without anie grudging
I am content to giue you ground :
Good reson doth bind me, to leue you behind me,
for you are better lost than found :
Go play, go seeke out Dame pleasure :
You are a trim treasure,
Wise women be daintie,
Of fooles there be plentie, &c.
If I might aduise ye, few words shuld suffice ye
and yet you shold bestow them wel :
Maids must be manerly, not ful of scurility,
wherein I see you do excel,
Farewel good Nicibicetur,
God send you a sweeter,
A lustie lim lifter, you are a trim shifter, &c.


Title:
Dame Beauties replie to the Louer late at
libertie : and now complaineth himselfe
to be her captiue, Intituled : Where is
the life that late I led.

Lyrics:
The life that erst thou ledst my friend,
was pleasant to thine eies 
But now the losse of libertie,
thou seemest to despise.
Where then thou ioiedst thy will,
now thou doest grudge in heart 
Then thou no paine nor grief didst feele,
but now thou pinest in smart.
What mooued thee vnto loue,
expresse and tell the same 
Saue fancie thine, that heapt thy paine,
thy follie learne to blame.
For when thou freedome didst enioie,
thou gauest thy selfe to ease,
And letst self-will the ruling beare,
thy fancie fond to please 
Then stealing Cupid came,
with bow and golden dart 
He struck the stroke, at pleasure he
that now doth paine thy hart 
Blame not the Gods of loue,
But blame thy self thou maist 
For freedome was disdaind of thee,
and bondage more thou waiest.
Who list, thou saist. To Hue at rest,
and freedome to possesse 
The sight of gorgeous Dames must shun,
least loue do them distresse 
Thou blamest Cupidoes craft,
who strikes in stealing sort 
And sets thee midst the princely Dames,
of Beauties famous fort 
And meaning wel thou saiest,
as one not bent to loue,
Then Cupid he constrains thee yeeld,
as thou thy self canst prooue.
Faire Ladies lookes in libertie,
enlarged not thy paine 
Ne yet the sight of gorgeous Dames,
could cause thee thus complaine.
It was thy self indeed,
that causd thy pining woe,
Thy wanton wil, and idle minde,
causd Cupid strike the blow 
Blame not his craft, nor vs
That Beauties darlings be,
Accuse thy selfe to seeke thy care,
thy fancie did agree.
There is none thou saist, that can
more truly iudge the case 
Than thou that hast the wound receiu'de,
by sight of Ladies face.
Her beautie thee bewitcht,
thy minde that erst was free
Her corps so comely framd, thou safest,
did force thee to agree 
Thou gauest thy self it seemes,
her bondman to abide,
Before that her good willingnesse,
of thee were knowen and tride.
What Judgement canst thou giue 
how dost thou plead thy case 
It was not she that did thee wound,
although thou seest her face 
Ne could her beautie so,
inchaunt or vex thy sprites,
Ne feature hers so comely framde,
could weaken to thy wits.
But that thou mightest haue showne
the cause to her indeede,
Who spares to speak, thy self dost know,
doth faile of grace to speede.
By this thou saiest, thou soughtst ye means
of torments that you beare,
By this thou wouldest men take heede,
and learne of loue to feare 
For taking holde thou telst,
to flie it is too late,
And no where canst thou shrowd thy self,
but Care must be thy mate.
Though loue do pleasure seeme,
yet plagues none such there are :
Therefore all louers now thou willst,
of liking to beware,
Thy self hath sought the meane and way,
and none but thou alone 
Of all the grief and care you beare,
as plainely it is showne 
Then why should men take heed,
thy counsell is vnfit 
Thou sparedst to speak, and faildst to speed,
thy will had banisht wit.
And now thou blamest loue,
and Ladies faire and free 
And better lost than found my frind,
your cowards heart we see.
Finis.


Title:
A new Courtly. Sonet, of the Lady Green
sleeues.

Lyrics:
Greensleeues was all my ioy,
Greensleeues was my delight:
Greensleeues was my hart of gold,
And who but Ladie Greensleeues.
ALas my loue, ye do me wrong,
to cast me off discurteously :
And I haue loued you so long.
Delighting in your companie.
Greensleeues was all my ioy,
Greensleeues was my delight :
Greensleeues was my heart of gold,
And who but Ladie Greensleeues.
I haue been readie at your hand,
to grant what euer you would craue.
I haue both waged life and land,
your loue and good will for to haue.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
I bought thee kerchers to thy head,
that were wrought fine and gallantly :
I kept thee both at boord and bed,
Which cost my purse wel fauouredly,
Greensleeues was al my ioie, &c.
I bought thee peticotes of the best,
the cloth so fine as fine might be :
I gaue thee iewels for thy chest,
and all this cost I spent on thee.
Greensleeues was all my ioie, &c.
Thy smock of silk, both faire and white,
with gold embrodered gorgeously :
Thy peticote of Sendall right :
and thus I bought thee gladly.
Greensleeues was all my ioie, &c.
Thy girdle of gold so red,
with pearles bedecked sumptuously :
The like no other lasses had,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me,
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
Thy purse and eke thy gay guilt kniues,
thy pincase gallant to the eie :
No better wore the Burgesse wiues,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
Thy crimson stockings all of silk,
with golde all wrought aboue the knee,
Thy pumps as white as was the milk,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
Thy gown was of the grossie green,
thy sleeues of Satten hanging by :
Which made thee be our haruest Queen,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Thy garters fringed with the golde,
And siluer aglets hanging by,
Which made thee blithe for to beholde,
And yet thou wouldst not lone me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
My gayest gelding I thee gaue,
To ride where euer liked thee,
No Ladie euer was so braue,
And yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did euer wait on thee :
Al this was gallant to be seen,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c
 They set thee vp, they took thee downe,
they serued thee with humilitie,
Thy foote might not once touch the ground,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
 For euerie morning when thou rose,
I sent thee dainties orderly :
To cheare thy stomack from all woes,
and yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing.
But stil thou hadst it readily :
Thy musicke still to play and sing,
And yet thou wouldst not loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
And who did pay for all this geare,
that thou didst spend when pleased thee ?
Euen I that am reiected here,
and thou disdainst to loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
Wei, I wil pray to God on hie,
that thou my constancie maist see :
And that yet once before I die,
thou wilt vouchsafe to loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, c.
Greensleeues now farewel adue
God I pray to prosper thee :
For I am stil thy louer true,
come once againe and loue me.
Greensleeues was all my ioy, &c.
Finis.


Title:
A proper sonet, wherin the Louer dolefully sheweth
his grief to his Iady. And requireth pity.

Lyrics:
AS one without refuge,
For life doth pleade with panting breath
And rufully the ludge,
Beholds (whose doome grants life or death,)
So fare I now my onelie Loue,
Whom I tender as Turtle Doue,
Whose tender looks (O ioly ioy)
Shall win me sure your louing boy :
Faire lookes, sweet Dame,
Or else (alas) I take my bane :
Nice talke, coying,
Wil bring me sure to my ending,
Too little is my skil,
By pen (I saie) my loue to paint,
And when that my good will,
My tong wold shew, my heart doth faint :
Sith both the meanes do faile therefore,
My loue for to expresse with lore :
The torments of my inward smart.
You may well gesse within your hart:
Wherefore, sweet wench,
Some louing words, this heat to quench
Fine smiles, smirke lookes,
And then I neede no other lookes,
Your gleams hath gript the hart,
alas within my captiue breast :
O how I feele the smart,
And how I find my griefe increast :
My fancie is so fixt on you,
That none away the same can do :
My deer vnlesse you it remooue :
Without redresse I die for loue,
Lament with me,
Ye Muses nine, where euer be,
My life I loth,
My loies are gone, I tel you troth,
All Musicks solemne sound,
Of song, or else of instrument :
Me thinks they do resound,
With doleful tunes, me to lament,
And in my sleep vnsound, alas,
Me thinks such dreadful things to passe :
that out I crie in midst of dreames,
Wherwith my tears run down as streams,
O Lord, think I,
She is not here that should be by :
What chance is this,
That I embrace that froward is ?
The Lions noble minde,
His raging mood (you know) oft staies,
When beasts do yeeld by kinde,
On them (forsooth) he neuer praies :
Then sithence that I am your thrall,
To ease my smart on you I call.
A bloudie conquest is your part,
To kill so kind a louing heart :
Alas remorce,
Or presently I die perforce :
God grant pitie,
Within your breast now planted be.
As nature hath you deckt,
with worthie gifts aboue the rest,
So to your praise most great,
Let pitie dwell within your brest,
That I may saie with heart and wil,
Lo, this is she that might me kil :
For why ? In hand she held the knife,
And yet (forsooth) she saued my life.
Hey-ho, darling :
With lustie loue, now let vs sing,
Plaie on, Minstrel,
My Ladie is mine onelie girle.


Title:
The Historic of Diana and Acteon [unfinished]

Lyrics:
Dlana and her darlings deare,
Walkt once as you shall heare :
Through woods and waters cleare,
themselues to play :
The leaues were gay and green,
And pleasant to be seen :
They went the trees between,
in coole aray,
So long, that at the last they found a place,
of waters full cleare :
So pure and faire a Bath neuer was
found many a yeare.
There shee went faire and gent,
Her to sport, as was her wonted sort :
In such desirous sort :
Thus goeth the report :
Diana dainteously began her selfe therein to bathe
And her body for to laue,
So curious and braue.
As they in water stood,
Bathing their liuelie blood :
Acteon in the wood,
chaunst to come by:
And vewed their bodies bare,
Maruailing what they weare,
And stil deuoid of care,
on them cast his eie :
But when the Nymphs had perceiued him,
aloud then they cried,
Enclosed her, and thought to hide her skin,
which he had spied :
But too true I tell you,
She scene was,
For in height she did passe,
Ech Dame of her race.
Harke then Acteons case :
When Diana did perceue, where Acteon did stand,
She took bowe in her hand,
And to shoot she began.
As she began to shoot, Acteon ran about,
To hide he thought no boote,
his sights were dim :
And as he thought to scape,
Changed was Acteons shape,
Such was vnluckie fate,
yeelded to him :
For Diana brought it thus to passe,
and plaied her part,
So that poore Acteon changed was
to a hugie Hart,
And did beare, naught but haire :
In this change,
Which is as true as strange,
And thus did he range,
Abroad


Title:
[Fragment of ballad to the tune of King Solomon]

Lyrics:
So that his sorrowes importunate,
Had ended his life incontinent,
Had not Lady Venus grace, Lady Lady,
Pitied her poore seruants case,
My deer Ladie.
For when she saw the torments strong,
Wherewith the Knight was sore opprest,
Which he God knowes had suffered long,
Al through this Ladies mercilesse,
Of their desires she made exchange,
Ladie, Ladie.
And wrought a myracle most strange,
My deer Ladie.
So that this Ladie faithfully,
Did loue this Knight aboue all other :
And he vnto the contrarie,
Did hate her then aboue all measure,
And pitifull she did complaine : ladie, ladie.
Requiring fauour, and might not obtaine.
My deer ladie.
But when she saw, that in no case,
She might vnto his loue attaine :
And that she could not finde some grace,
To ease her long enduring paine,
And yat his hart wold not remoue, Lady, ladie
Without all cure [s]he died for loue,
My deer, [ladie.]
Besides these matters maruelous,
One other thing I wil you tell :
Of one whose name was Narcissusy A man whose beautie doth excel.
Of natures gifts he had no misse, Lady, lady
He had ye whole of beauties blisse,
My deere. [ladie.]
So that out of manie a far Countrey,
I reade of manie a woman faire,
Did come this Narcissus to see,
Who perished when they came there,
Through his default I say in fine, lady, lady
Who vnto loue would not incline.
My deer.[ladie.]
Whose disobedience vnto loue,
When vnto Venus it did appeare.
How that his hart would not remoue,
She punisht him as you shal heare :
A thing most strange forsooth it was,
Ladie, Ladie.
Now harken how it came to passe,
My deer [ladie.]
For when he went vpon a daie,
With other mo in strange disguise,
Himself forsooth he did aray
In womans attire of a new deuise,
And ouer a bridge as he did go, Ladie, ladie.
In the water he sawe his own shadow,
My [deer ladie.]
Which when he did perceiue and see,
A Ladie faire he saith it seemeth :
Forgat himself that it was he,
And iudgde that it was Dianaes Nymph,
Who in the waters in such fashion, Lady, la[dy]
Did vse themselues for recreation,
My deer, [ladie.]
And through the beautie of whose looks,
Taken he was with such fond desire,
That after manie humble sutes,
Incontinent he did aspire.
Vnto her grace him to refer, Ladie, Ladie
Trusting yat mercie was in her,
My deer, &c.
With armes displaid he took his race,
And leapt into the riuer there,
And thought his Ladie to imbrace,
Being of himselfe, deuoid of feare,
And there was drownd without redresse, Ladie, Ladie.
His crueltie rewarded was,
with such follie.
Loe, hereby you may perceiue,
How Venus can, and if she please,
Her disobedient Subiects grieue,
And make them drinke their owne disease,
Wherfore rebel not I you wish, Lady, lady.
Least that your chaunce be worse than this,
if worse may be.
Finis.


Title:
The Louer complaineth the losse of his Ladie

Lyrics:
Heart, what makes thee thus to be,
in extreame heauinesse ?
If care do cause all thy distresse,
Why seekest thou not some redresse,
to ease thy carefulnesse ?
Hath Cupid stroke in Venerie,
Thy wofull corps in ieoperdie :
right wel then may I sob and crie,
Til that my Mistresse deer, my faith may trie
Why would I cloake from her presence,
My loue and faithfull diligence ?
And cowardly thus to die.
And cowardly thus to die.
No no, I wil shew my woe,
in this calamitie.
To her whom Nature shapte so free :
With all Dianaes chastitie,
or Venus rare beautie :
Then shall I brace felicitie,
And Hue in all prosperitie.
then leaue off this woe, let teares go,
thou shalt embrace thy Ladie deer with ioy.
In these thy armes so louingly,
As Paris did faire Helenie.
By force of blinded boy.
By force of blinded boy.
 If Venus would grant vnto me,
such happinesse :
As she did vnto Troylus,
By help of his friend Pandarus,
To Cressids loue who worse,
Than all the women certainly :
That euer liued naturally.
Whose slight falsed faith, the storie saith,
Did breed by plagues, her great and sore distresse,
For she became so leprosie,
That she did die in penurie :
Because she did transgresse.
Because she did transgresse.
If she, I saie, wil me regard,
in this my ieoperdie,
I wil shew her fidelitie,
And eke declare her curtesie,
to Louers far and nie :
O heart how happie shouldst thou be,
When my Ladie doth smile on me :
Whose milde merie cheare,
Wei driue away feare,
Cleane from my brest, and set ioy in ye place
when I shall kisse so tenderly :
Her fingers small and slenderly,
which doth my heart solace, &c.
Therefore ye amorous imps who burne
so stil in Cupids fire,
Let this the force of my retire
Example be to your desire,
That so to loue aspire :
For I did make deniance,
And set her at defiance :
Which made me full wo, it chanced so,
Because I look at my mistresse so coy :
Therefore, when she is merily
Disposed, look you curteously :
Receiue her for your ioy.
Receiue her for your ioy.
Finis.


Title:
The Louer compareth some subtile Sutcrs
to the Hunter.

Lyrics:
When as the Hunter goeth out,
with hounds in brace.
The Hart to hunt, and set about,
with wilie trace,
He doth it more to see and view,
Her wilinesse (I tell you true.)
Her trips and skips, now here, now there,
With squats and flats, which hath no pere.
More than to win or get the game
to be are away :
He is not greedie of the same,
(thus Hunters saie :
So some men hunt by hote desire,
To Venus Dames, and do require
With fauor to haue her, or els they wil die,
they loue her, and prooue her, and wot ye why ?
Forsooth to see her subtilnesse, and wily way.
When they (God knows) mean nothing lesse
than they do say :
For when they see they may her win,
They leaue then where they did begin.
They prate and make the matter nice,
And leaue her in fooles paradice.
Wherefore of such (good Ladie now)
wisely beware,
Least flinging fancies in their brow,
do breed you care :
And at the first giue them the checke,
Least they at last giue you the geek,
And scornfully disdaine ye then,
In faith there are such kind of men.
But I am none of those indeed,
beleeue me now :
I am your man if you me need,
I make a vow :
To serue you without doublenesse :
With feruent heart my owne mistresse,
Demaund me, commaund me,
what please ye, and whan,
I wil be stil readie, as I am true man


Title:
A Sonet of a Loner in the praise of his lady.

Tune:
Calen o Custure me: sung at euerie lines end.


Title:
A proper Sonet, Intituled, Maid, wil you
marrle.

Lyrics:
MAid, wil you marie ? I pray sir tarie,
I am not disposed to wed a :
For he yat shal haue me, wil neuer deny me
he shal haue my maidenhed a.
Why then you wil not wed me ?
No sure sir I haue sped me,
You must go seeke some other wight,
That better may your heart delight.
For I am sped I tell you true,
beleue me it greues me, I may not haue you,
To wed you and bed you as a woman shold be
For if I could, be sure I would,
consent to your desire :
I would not doubt, to bring about
ech thing you would require :
But promise now is made,
Which cannot be staide :
It is a womans honestie,
To keep her promise faithfully.
And so I do meane til death to do,
Consider and gather, that this is true :
Choose it, and vse it, the honester you.
But if you seek, for to misleeke,
with this that I haue done :
Or else disdaine, that I so plaine
this talke with you haue begone :
Farewell I wil not let you,
He fisheth well that gets you,
And sure I thinke your other friend,
Wil prooue a Cuckold in the end :
But he wil take heed if he be wise,
To watch you and catch you, with Argus eies,
Besetting and letting your wonted guise.
Although the Cat doth winke a while,
yet sure she is not blinde :
It is the waie for to beguile,
the Mice that run behind :
And if she see them running,
Then straightway she is coming:
Vpon their head she claps her foote,
To striue with her it is no boote.
The seelie poore Mice dare neuer play,
She catcheth and snatcheth them euery day,
Yet whip they, and skip they, when she is away,
If And if perhaps they fall in trap,
to death then must they yeeld :
They were better then, to haue kept their den
than straie abroad the field :
But they that will be ranging,
Shall soone repent their changing:
And so shall you ere it be long,
Wherefore remember well my song :
And do not snuffe though I be plaine,
But cherily, merily, take the same.
For huffing and snuffing deserueth blame.
For where you say you must obay,
the promise you haue made,
So sure as I wil neuer flie,
from that I haue said :
Therefore to them I leaue you,
Which gladly wil receiue you :
You must go choose some other mate,
According to your own estate.
For I do meane to Hue in rest,
Go seek you, and leek you an other guest,
And choose him, and vse him, as you like best.
l Iudge and finde, how God doth minde,
to furnish, to furnish
his heauenly throne aboue,
With virgins pure, this am I sure,
without misse, without misse :
with other Saints he doth loue :
It is allowed as you may reade,
And eke auowed by Paul indeede,
Virginitie is accepted,
a thing high in Gods sight :
Though marriage is selected,
a thing to be most right :
yet must I praise Virginitie,
For I would faine a Virgin be.
You Virgins pure, your seines assure,
and credite, and credite :
great ioy you shall possesse,
Which I (God knows) cannot disclose,
nor spreade it, nor spreade it,
ne yet by pen expresse.
Nor halfe the ioies that you shall finde,
I can not iudge for you assignde :
When hence your ghost shall yeelded be,
into the throne of blisse :
In chaste and pure Virginitie,
for thought or deed ywisse :
Wher you shal raign, with God on hie
For euermore eternally.
And when doubtlesse, you shal possesse,
with lesus, with lesus,
these ioies celestiall.
Then Ladie Fame, wil blaze your name,
amongst vs, amongst vs,
which then on earth raigne shal.
She wil resound in euerie coast,
By trumpet sound, and wil you boast ?
So that although you do depart
This mortall life so vaine :
Your chastitie in euerie heart,
by memorie shall remaine.
But hard it is, I saie no more,
To finde an hundreth in a score.
Finis.


Lyrics:
l Iudge and finde, how God doth minde,
to furnish, to furnish
his heauenly throne aboue,
With virgins pure, this am I sure,
without misse, without misse :
with other Saints he doth loue :
It is allowed as you may reade,
And eke auowed by Paul indeede,
Virginitie is accepted,
a thing high in Gods sight :
Though marriage is selected,
a thing to be most right :
yet must I praise Virginitie,
For I would faine a Virgin be.
You Virgins pure, your seines assure,
and credite, and credite :
great ioy you shall possesse,
Which I (God knows) cannot disclose,
nor spreade it, nor spreade it,
ne yet by pen expresse.
Nor halfe the ioies that you shall finde,
I can not iudge for you assignde :
When hence your ghost shall yeelded be,
into the throne of blisse :
In chaste and pure Virginitie,
for thought or deed ywisse :
Wher you shal raign, with God on hie
For euermore eternally.
I584J Sonets and Histories, to sundrie neiv Times. 37
H And when doubtlesse, you shal possesse,
with lesus, with lesus,
these ioies celestiall.
Then Ladie Fame, wil blaze your name,
amongst vs, amongst vs,
which then on earth raigne shal.
She wil resound in euerie coast,
By trumpet sound, and wil you boast ?
So that although you do depart
This mortall life so vaine :
Your chastitie in euerie heart,
by memorie shall remaine.
But hard it is, I saie no more,
To finde an hundreth in a score.
Finis.


Title:
A warning for Wooers, that they be not
ouer hastie, nor deceiued with womens
beautie,

Lyrics:
YE louing wormes come learne of me
The plagues to leaue that linked be :
The grudge, the grief, the gret anoy,
The fickle faith, the fading ioy :
in time, take heed,
In fruitlesse soile sow not thy seed :
buie not, with cost,
the thing that yeelds but labour lost.
If Cupids dart do chance to light,
So that affection dimmes thy sight,
Then raise vp reason by and by,
With skill thy heart to fortifie
Where is a breach,
Oft times too late doth come the Leach :
Sparks are put out,
when fornace flames do rage about.
Thine owne delay must win the field,
When lust doth leade thy heart to yeeld :
When steed is stolne, who makes al last,
May go on foot for al his haste :
In time shut gate,
For had I wist, doth come too late,
Fast bind, fast find,
Repentance alwaies commeth behind.
If The Syrens times [times] oft time beguiles,
So doth the teares of Crocodiles :
But who so learnes Vlysses lore,
May passe the seas, and win the shore.
Stop eares, stand fast,
Through Cupids trips, thou shalt him cast :
Flie baits, shun hookes,
Be thou not snarde with louely lookes.
Where Venus hath the maisterie,
There loue hath lost her libertie :
where loue doth win the victorie,
The fort is sackt with crueltie.
First look, then leap,
In suretie so your shinnes you keepe :
The snake doth sting,
That lurking lieth with hissing.
Where Cupids fort hath made a waie,
There graue aduise doth beare no swaie,
Where Loue doth raigne and rule the roste,
There reason is exilde the coast :
Like all, loue none, except ye vse discretion,
First try, then trust, be not deceiued with sinful lust,
Marke Priams sonne, his fond deuise
When Venus did obtaine the price :
For Pallas skil and lunoes strength,
He chose that bred his bane at length.
Choose wit, leaue wil, let Helen be with Paris stil :
Amis goeth al, vvher fancie forceth fooles to fall.
Where was there found a happier wight,
Than Troylus was til loue did light ?
What was the end of Romeus.
Did he not die like Piramus
who baths in blis ? Let him be mindful of Iphis
who seeks to plese, may ridden be like Hercules.
I lothe to tel the peeuish brawles,
And fond delights of Cupids thrawles,
Like momish mates of Midas mood,
They gape to get that doth no good :
Now down, now vp, as tapsters vse to tosse ye Cup
One breedeth ioy, another breeds as great anoy
Some loue for wealth, and some for hue,
And none of both these loues are true.
For when the Mil hath lost hir sailes,
Then must the Miller lose his vailes :
Of grasse commeth hay,
And flowers faire wil soon decay :
Of ripe commeth rotten,
In age al beautie is forgotten.
Some loueth too hie, and some too lowe,
And of them both great griefs do grow,
And some do loue the common sort :
And common folke vse common sport.
Looke not too hie,
Least that a chip fall in thine eie :
But hie or lowe,
Ye may be sure she is a shrow.
But sirs, I vse to tell no tales,
Ech fish that swims doth not beare scales,
In euerie hedge I finde not thornes :
Nor euerie beast doth carrie homes :
I saie not so,
That euerie woman causeth wo :
That were too broad,
Who loueth not venom must shun the tode.
Who vseth still the truth to tel,
May blamed be though he saie wel :
Say Crowe is white, and snowe is blacke,
Lay not the fault on womans backe,
Thousands were good,
But few scapte drowning in Noes flood :
Most are wel bent,
I must say so, least I be shent.
Finis.


Lyrics:
MY fancie did I fixe,
in faithful forme and frame :
n hope ther shuld no blustring blast
haue power to moue the same.
And as the Gods do know,
and world can witnesse beare :
I neuer serued other Saint,
nor I doll other where.
But one, and that was she,
whom I in heart did shrine :
And make account that pretious pearle,
and iewel rich was mine.
No toile, nor labour great,
could wearie me herein :
For stil I had a lasons heart,
the golden fleece to win.
And sure my sute was hearde,
I spent no time in vaine :
A grant of friendship at her hand,
I got to quite my paine
With solemne vowe and othe.
Was knit the True-loue knot,
And friendly did we treat of loue,
as place and time we got.
If Now would we send our sighes,
as far as they might go,
Now would we worke with open signes,
to blaze our inward wo.
If Now rings and tokens too,
renude our friendship stil,
And ech deuice that could be wrought,
exprest our plaine goodwill,
True meaning went withall,
it cannot be denide :
Performance of the promise past,
was hopte for of ech side :
And lookt for out of hand :
such vowes did we two make,
As God himself had present been,
record thereof to take.
And for my part I sweare,
by all the Gods aboue,
I neuer thought of other friend,
nor sought for other loue.
The same consent in her,
I saw ful oft appeare,
If eies could see, or head could iudge,
or eare had power to heare.
Yet loe wordes are but winde,
an other new come guest,
Hath won her fauour (as I feare)
as fancies rise in brest.
Her friend that wel deserues,
is out of countenaunce quite,
She makes the game to see me shoot,
while others hit the white.
He may wel beat the bush,
as manie thousands doo :
And misse the birds, and haply loose
his part of feathers too.
He hops without the ring,
yet daunceth on the trace,
When some come after soft and faire,
a heauie hobling pace.
In these vnconstant daies,
such troth these women haue :
As wauering as the aspen leaf
they are, so God me saue.
IT For no deserts of men
are wei[ghe]d, what ere they be :
For in a mood their minds are led
with new delights we see.
The guiltlesse goeth to wrack,
the gorgeous peacocks gay :
They do esteem vpon no cause,
and turne their friends away.
I blame not al for one,
some flowers grow by the weeds,
Some are as sure as lock and key,
and iust of words and deeds.
And yet of one I waile,
of one I crie and plaine :
And for her sake shall neuer none,
so nip my heart againe :
If for offence or fault,
I had been floong at heele :
The lesse had been my bitter smart,
and gnawing greefe I feele.
But being once reteind,
a friend by her consent :
And after that to be disdaind,
when best good will I ment,
I take it nothing well,
for if my power could show,
With Larum bel and open crie,
the world should throughly know


Lyrics:
Though wisdom wold I shold refrain,
My heaped cares here to vnfold :
Good Ladies yet my inward paine,
So pricketh me I haue no holde :
But that I must my griefe bewray,
Bedewed in teares with doleful tunes,
That you may heare, and after say,
Loe, this is she whom loue consumes.
My grief doth grow by my desire.
To fancie him that stormes my woe :
He naught regards my flaming fire,
Alas why doth he serue me so?
Whose fained teares I did beleeue,
And wept to heare his wailing voice,
But now, alas, too soon I preeue
Al men are false, there is no choice.
Had euer woman such reward,
At anie time for her goodwill ?
Had euer woman hap so hard,
So cruelly for loue to spill ?
What paps (alas) did giue him food,
That thus vnkindly workes my wo ?
What beast is of so cruell moode,
to hate the hart that loues him so?
Like as the simple Turtle true,
In mourning groanes I spend the day :
My daily cares night dooth renew,
To thinke how he did me betray :
And when my weary limmes wold rest,
My sleepe vnsound hath dreadfull dreams,
Thus greeuous greefes my hart doth wrest
That stil mine eies run down like streams :
And yet, full oft it dooth me good,
To haunt the place where he hath beene,
To kisse the ground whereon he stoode,
When he (alas) my loue did win.
To kisse the Bed wheron we laye ?
Now may I thinke vnto my paine,
O blisfull place full oft I say :
Render to me my loue againe,
But all is lost that may not be,
Another dooth possesse my right :
His cruell hart, disdaineth me,
New loue hath put the olde, to flight:
He loues to see my watered eyes,
and laughes to see how I do pine :
No words can well my woes comprise,
alas what griefe is like to mine ?
II You comly Dam[e]s, beware by me,
To rue sweete words of fickle trust :
For I may well example be,
How filed talke oft prooues vniust
But sith deceipt haps to my pay,
Good Ladyes helpe my dolefull tunes,
That you may here and after say :
Loe this is she whom loue consumes.


Title:
A proper sonet, Intituled: I smile to see how
you deuise.

Lyrics:
I Smile to see how you deuise,
new masking nets my eies to bleare :
your self you cannot so disguise :
But as you are, you must appeare.
Your priuie winkes at boord I see,
And how you set your rouing mind :
your selfe you cannot hide from me,
Although I wincke, I am not blind.
The secret sighs and fained cheare,
That oft doth paine thy carefull brest :
To me right plainly doth appeare,
I see in whom thy hart doth rest.
And though thou makest a fained vow,
That loue no more thy heart should nip,
yet think I know as well as thou,
The fickle helm doth guide the ship.
The Salamander in the fire,
By course of kinde doth bathe his limmes :
The floting Fish taketh his desire,
In running streams whereas he swimmes.
So thou in change dost take delight,
Ful wel I know thy slipperie kinde :
In vaine thou seemst to dim my sight,
Thy rowling eies bewraieth thy minde.
I see him smile that doth possesse
Thy loue which once I honoured most :
If he be wise, he may well gesse,
Thy loue soon won, wil soon be lost.
And sith thou canst no man intice,
That he should stil loue thee alone :
Thy beautie now hath lost her price,
I see thy sauorie scent is gone.
Therefore leaue off thy wonted plaie,
But, as thou art, thou wilt appeare,
Ynlesse thou canst deuise a waie,
To dark the Sun that shines so cleare.
And keep thy friend that thou hast won,
In trueth to him thy loue supplie,
Least he at length as I haue done,
Take off thy Belles and let thee flie.


Title:
A Sonet of two faithfull Loners, exhorting
one another to be constant.

Lyrics:
The famous Prince of Macedon,
Those wars increst his worthy name
Triumphed not so, when he had won
By conquest great, immortall fame,
As I reioice, reioice,
For thee, my choice, with heart and voice,
Since thou art mine,
Whom, long to loue, the Gods assigne.
The secret flames of this my loue,
The stars had wrought ere I was borne,
Whose sugred force my hart doth moue,
And eke my will so sure hath sworne.
That Fortunes lore, no more,
though I therefore, -did life abhor[r]e :
Shall neuer make,
Forgetful dewes my heat to slake.
If that I false my faith to thee,
Or seeke to chaunge for any newe :
If thoughts appeare so ill in me,
If thou thy life shall iustly rew.
Such kinde of woe, of woe :
As friende or foe, might to me showe :
Betide me than,
Or wurse, if it may hap to man.
Then let vs ioy in this our loue :
In spite of Fortunes wrath, my deere :
Twoo willes in one, as dooth behooue,
One loue in both, let still appeare :
And I will be, will be,
Piramus to thee, my owne Thisbie,
So thou againe,
My constant louer shalt remaine.


Title:
A proper new Dity: Intit uled Fie vpon Loue
and al his lawes.

Lyrics:
SVch bitter fruict thy loue doth yeelde,
Such broken sleepes, such hope vnsure,
Thy call so oft hath me beguilde.
That I vnneth can well indure :
But crie (alas) as I haue cause,
Fie vpon Loue and all his Lawes.
Like Piramus, I sigh and grone, 
Whom Stonie wals, keept from his loue,
And as the wofull Palemon,
A thousand stormes, for thee I prooue,
Yet thou a cruell Tigers whelpe,
All slaiest the hart, whom thou maist help.
A craggie Rocke, thy Cradle, was,
And Tigers milke sure was thy foode,
Vvherby Dame Nature broought to passe,
That like the Nurse should be thy moode :
Wild and vnkinde, cruell and fell,
to rent the hart that loues thee well.
The Crocadile with fained teares,
The Fisher not so oft beguiles :
As thou hast luld my simple eares,
To here sweet words full fraught with wiles,
that I may say, as I do prooue, 
Wo worth the time, I gan to loue.
Sith thou hast vowd to worke my wrack
And hast no will my wealth to way :
Farewell vnkinde, I will keepe backe,
Such toyes as may my helth decay :
and still will cry as I haue cause.
Fie vpon Loue and all his lawes.


Title:
The lamentation of a 'woman being wrongfully
defamed.

Lyrics:
YOu Ladies falsly deemd,
of anie fault or crime :
Command your pensiue harts to help
this dolefull tune of mine :
For spitefull men there are,
that faults would fain espie :
Alas, what heart would heare their talke,
but willingly would die.
I waile oft times in woe,
and curse mine houre of birth,
Such slanderous pangs do me oppresse,
when others ioy in mirth :
Belike it was ordaind to be my destinie.
Alas what heart would heare their talk, &c.
A thousand good women,
haue guiltlesse been accusde :
For verie spite, although that they,
their bodies neuer abusde :
the godly Susanna accusde was falsly
alas &c.
The poisoned Pancalier,
ful falsly did accuse
The good Dutchesse of Sauoy,
because she did refuse.
To grant vnto his loue,
that was so vngodlie.
Alas what, &c.
Such false dissembling men,
stoong with Alectos dart :
Must needs haue place to spit their spite,
vpon some guiltiesse hart :
Therefore, I must he pleasde,
that they triumph on me,
Alas, &c.
II Therefore, Lord, I thee pray,
the like death downe to send,
Vpon these false suspected men,
or else their minds t'amend :
As thou hast done tofore,
vnto these persons three.
Alas what, &c.


Title:
A proper Song, Intituled: Fain wold I haue a pretie thing to giue vnto my Ladie.

Lyrics:
Fain would I haue a pretie thing,
to giue vnto my Ladie :
I name no thing, nor I meane no thing,
But as pretie a thing as may bee.
TWentie iorneyes would I make,
and twentie waies would hie me,
To make aduenture for her sake,
to set some matter by me :
But I would faine haue a pretie thing, &c,
I name nothing, nor I meane nothing, c.
Some do long for pretie knackes,
and some for straunge deuices :
God send me that my Ladie lackes,
I care not what the price is,
thus faine, &c
Some goe here, and some goe there,
wheare gases be not geason ;
And I goe gaping euery where,
but still come out of season.
Yet faine &c.
I walke the towne, and tread the streete
in euery corner seeking :
The pretie thinge I cannot meete,
that’s for my Ladies liking.
Faine, &c
The Mercers pull me going by,
the Silkie wiues say, what lacke ye ?
The thing you haue not, then say I,
ye foolish fooles, go packe ye.
But fain &c.
It is not all the Silke in Cheape,
nor all the golden treasure :
Nor twentie Bushels on a heape
can do my Ladie pleasure.
But faine, &e.
The Grauers of the golden showes,
with luelles do beset me.
The Shemsters in the shoppes that sowes
they do nothing but let me ;
But faine, &c.
But were it in the wit of man
by any meanes to make it,
I could for Money buy it than,
and say, faire Lady, take it.
Thus, fain, &c
O Lady, what a lucke is this :
that my good willing misseth :
To finde what pretie thing it is,
That my good Lady wisheth.
Thus fain wold I haue had this preti thing
to giue vnto my Ladie :
I said no harme, nor I ment no harme,
but as pretie a thing as may be.


Title:
proper wooing Song, intituled : Maide
will ye lone me : ye or no ?

Tune:
The Merchaunt's Daughter Went Over the Field

Lyrics:
Mayde will ye loue me yea or no ?
Tell me the trothe, and let me goe.
It can be no lesse then a sinfull deed,
trust me truly,
To linger a Louer that lookes to speeds
in due time dtiely.
You Maids that thinke your selu[e]s as fine,
As Venus and all the Muses nine :
The Father himselfe, when he first made man
Trust me truly :
Made you for his help when the world began
in due time duely.
Then sith Gods wil was euen so.
Why should you disdaine you Louer tho ?
But rather with a willing heart,
Loue him truly ?
For in so doing, you do but your, part,
Let reason rule ye.
Consider (sweet) what sighs and sobbes,
Do nip my heart with cruell throbbes,
And al (my deer) for the loue of you,
Trust me truly :
But I hope that you wil some mercie show,
In due time duelv.
If that you do my case well way,
And shew some signe whereby I may
Haue some good hope of your good grace,
Trust me truly :
I count my selfe in a blessed case,
Let reason rule ye.
And for my part, whilst I do Hue,
To loue you most faithfully, my hand I giue.
Forsaking all other, for your sweet sake,
Trust me truly :
In token whereof, my troth I betake,
to your selfe most duely.
And though for this time we must depart,
yet keep you this ring tru[e] token of my hart,
Til time do serue, we meet againe,
Let reason rule ye.
When an answer of comfort, I trust to obtain,
In due time duly.
Now must I depart with sighing teares,
With sobbing heart and burning eares :
Pale in the face, and faint as I may,
trust me truly :
But I hope our next meeting, a ioyfull day,
in due time duly.


Title:
The painefull plight of a Louer oppressed
unth the beautifulI looks of his Lady.

Lyrics:
WHen as thy eies, ye wretched spies
did breed my cause of care :
And sisters three did full agree,
my fatall threed to spare.
Then let these words ingrauen be,
on toomb whereas I lie,
That here lies one whom spiteful loue,
hath caused for to die.
Sometimes I spend the night to end,
in dolors and in woe :
Somtime againe vnto my pain,
my chiefest ioy doth grow.
When as in minde, thy shape I finde,
as fancie doth me tell :
Whome now I knowe, as proofe doth show
I loued thee ouer wel.
How oft within my wreathed arme,
desired I to folde :
Thy Christall corps, of whom I ioyed,
more dearer than of golde.
But now disdaine, dooth breede my paine,
and thou canst not denie :
But that I loued thee ouer well :
that caused me die.
[The hound that serues his Maisters will,
in raunging here and there,
The moyling Horse, that labours still,
his burthen great to beare :
In lew of paine, receiues againe,
of him which did him owe :
As Natures heast, wiles most and least
them thankefull for to showe.
The Lyon and the Tyger fierce,
as Nature doth them binde :
For loue, like loue repay againe :
in Stories we doo finde :
Those beasts and birds both wild and tame,
of frendships lore can tell :
But thy reply, willes me to die,
that loued thee ouer well.
Therfore, my deare and Darling faire,
ensample take by those,
Which equally with loue againe,
their louing mindes dispose :
And giue him glee, whose death we s[ee]
approcheth very nie:
Without he gaine, to ease his paine,
which loued thee hartely.
Then shall th[e]y say that see the same,
where euer that they goe :
And wish for ay, as for thy pay,
all Nestors yeares to know :
And I no lesse then all the rest,
should wish thee health for aye :
Because thou hast heard my request,
and saued me from


Title:
A sorrowfull Sonet, made by M. George Mannington, at Cambridge Castle

Lyrics:
I Waile in wo, I plunge in pain,
with sorowing sobs, I do complain,
With wallowing waues I wish to die,
I languish sore whereas I lie,
In feare I faint in hope I holde,
With ruthe I runne, I was too bolde :
As lucklesse lot assigned me,
in dangerous dale of destinie :
Hope bids me smile, Feare bids me weep,
My seelie soule thus Care doth keep.
Yea too too late I do repent,
the youthful yeares that I haue spent,
The retch lesse race of carelesse kinde,
which hath betwitcht my woful minde.
Such is the chaunce, such is the state,
Of those that trust too much to fate.
No bragging boast of gentle blood,
What so he be, can do thee good :
No wit, no strength, nor beauties hue,
No friendly sute can death eschue.
The dismall day hath had his wil,
And iustice seekes my life to spill :
Reuengement craues by rigorous law,
Whereof I little stood in awe :
The dolefull doom to end my life,
Bedect with care and worldlie strife :
And frowning iudge hath giuen his doome.
O gentle death thou art welcome :
The losse of life, I do not feare,
Then welcome death, the end of care.
O prisoners poore, in dungeon deep,
Which passe the night in slumbring sleep :
Wei may you rue your youthful race.
And now lament your cursed cace.
Content your selfe with your estate,
Impute no shame to fickle fate :
With wrong attempts, increase no wealth,
Regard the state of prosperous health :
And think on me, when I am dead :
Whom such delights haue lewdly led.
My friend and parents, where euer you be
Full little do you thinke on me :
My mother milde, and dame so deer :
Thy louing childe, is fettred heer :
Would God I had, I wish too late,
Been bred and borne of meaner estate :
Or else, would God my rechlesse eare,
Had been obedient for to heare,
Your sage aduice and counsel true :
But in the Lord parents adue.
You valiant hearts of youthfull train,
Which heard my heauie heart complain :
A good example take by me,
Which runne the race where euer you be :
trust not too much to bilbow blade,
nor yet to fortunes fickle trade.
Hoist not your sailes no more in winde,
Least that some rocke, you chaunce to finde,
or else be driuen to Lybia land,
whereas the Barque may sinck in sand.
You students all that present be,
To view my fatall destinie,
would God I could requite your pain,
wherein you labour, although in vain,
if mightie God would think it good,
to spare my life and vitall blood,
For this your profered curtesie,
I would remaine most stedfastly,
Your seruant true in deed and word,
But welcome death as please the Lord.
Yea welcome death, the end of woe,
And farewell life, my fatall foe :
Yea welcome death, the end of strife,
Adue the care of mortall life,
For though this life doth fleet away,
In heauen I hope to Hue for ay :
A place of ioy and perfect rest,
Which Christ hath purchaste for the best :
Til that we meet in heauen most hiest :
Adue, farewell in lesu Christ.


Title:
A proper Sonety of an vnkinde Damsell, to
to herfaithful Louer.

Lyrics:
THe ofter that I view and see,
That plesant face and faire beautie,
whereto my heart is bound :
The neer my Mistresse is to me,
My health is farthest off I see :
and fresher is my wound :
Like as the flame doth quench by fire,
or streams consume by raigne,
So doth the sight that I desire,
appease my grief and paine :
Like a flie that doth hie,
and haste into the fire :
So in brief, findes her grief,
that thought to sport aspire.
When first I saw those Christal streams,
I little thought on beauties beams :
sweet venom to haue found,
But wilful wil did prick me foorth,
Perforce to take my grief in woorth,
that causd my mortall wound :
And Cupid blind compeld me so,
my fruitlesse hope to hide :
Wherein remaind my bitter wo :
thus stil he did me guide ?
Then his dart, to my hart,
he slung with cruell fist :
Whose poison fel, I know right wel,
no louer may resist.
Thus vainly stil, I frame my sute,
Of ill sowen seeds, such is the frute,
experience doth it show :
The fault is hers the pain is mine,
And thus my sentence I define,
I hapned on a shrow :
And now beware, ye yongmen all,
Example take by mee :
Least beauties bait in Cupids thrall,
do catch you priuily :
So stay you, I pray you,
and marke you my great wrong,
Forsaken, not taken,
thus end I now my song.


Title:
The Louer complaineth the absence of
his Ladie, wishethfor death.

Lyrics:
SIth spitefull spite hath spide her time,
my wished ioies to end :
And drowping dread hath driuen me now
from my new chosen friend :
I can but waile the want,
of this my former ioie :
Sith spiteful force hath sought so long,
my blisse for to annoie.
But though it be our chance
asunder for to be,
My heart in pawne til we do meet,
Shal stil remaine with thee :
And then we shall renue,
our sugred pleasures past :
And ioue that loue, that seekes no change,
whilst life in vs do last.
Perhaps my absence may,
or else some other let:
By choice of change, cause thee my deer,
our former loue forget :
And thou renounce the oth,
which erst thou vowdst to me :
My deerest blood in recompence,
thou sure shouldst shortly see.
A thousand sighs to send to thee I wil not let,
Ne to bewaile the losse of thee, I neuer will forget
But still suppose I see,
the same before my face :
And louingly between my armes,
thy corps I do embrace.
Thus feed I fancie stil,
for lacke of greater ioy :
With such like thoughts, which daily doth,
my wofull heart annoy ;
thus stil in hope I line,
my wished ioies to haue :
And in dispaire oft time I wish,
my feeble Corps in graue.
This is the life I leade, til I thee see again
And so wil do, til dreadful death,
do seek to ease my paine,
whom rather I do wish, by force to end in wo,
than for to Hue in happie state,
thy loue for to forgo.
And thus farewell my deer,
with whom my heart shall rest,
Remember him that this did write,
sith he doth loue thee best :
And wil til greedie death,
my daies do shorten now :
Farewel my dear, loe here my faith
and troth to thee I vow.
Finis.


Title:
The Louer compareth him self to tlie pain
ful Falconer.

Lyrics:
The soaring hawk from fist that flies,
her Falconer doth constraine :
Sometime to range the ground vnknown,
to find her out againe :
And if by sight or sound of bell,
his falcon he may see :
Wo ho he cries, with cheerful voice,
the gladdest man is he.
By Lure then in finest sort,
he seekes to bring her in :
But if that she, ful gorged be,
he can not so her win :
Although her becks and bending eies,
she manie proffers makes :
Wo ho ho he cries, awaie she flies,
and so her leaue she takes.
This wofull man with wearie limmes,
runnes wandring round about :
At length by noise of chattering Pies,
his hawke againe found out
His heart was glad his eies had seen,
his falcon swift of flight :
Wo ho ho he cries, she emptie gorgde,
vpon his Lure doth light.
How glad was then the falconer there,
no pen nor tongue can tel :
He swam in blisse that lately felt
like paines of cruel hel.
His hand somtime vpon her train,
somtime vpon her brest :
Wo ho ho he cries with chearfull voice,
his heart was now at rest.
My deer likewise, beholde thy loue,
what paines he doth indure :
And now at length let pitie moue,
to stoup vnto his Lure.
A hood of silk, and siluer belles,
new gifts I promise thee :
Wo ho ho, I crie, I come then saie,
make me as glad as hee.
FINIS.


Title:
The complaint of a sinner, vexed with paine, desyring the ioye, that euer shall remayne

Printed by:
Alexander Lacy for Richard Applow [aka  Applay?]

Location of Printer:
Pater Noster Row hard by the Castle Tavern

Lyrics:
The God of loue, that sits aboue,
Doth know vs, Doth know vs,
How sinfull that we bee:
Sent his word, the two edged sword
To shew vs, To shew vs,
Our sin and iniquitie.
That euery vice may vanquished be,
Oh Lord arise for thy mercye
Doe this our God and bynd vs,
For euer and euer thine owne:
The truth wyl always fynd vs,
By the seedes that we haue sowne.
The truth wyl tel if we wold lye,
The touchstone doth y^[…] tree wel trye.

 And as we haue a soule to saue,
Vprightly, Vprightly,
Though troubled stil with sin:
We shuld not take, that did vs make,
So lightly, So lightly,
This worldly wealth to win.
But if we wyl the Lord prouoke
We may loke for his heauy stroke,
As his word hath appointed
The Scripture doth plainely tell:
Yet shal not his holy anointed
Once tast the paynes of Hell.
Now haue I told the […]eoperdy,
But Christ is our iust remedy.

 With woful harts though god for beares
To plague vs, To plague vs,
We ought for to lament:
Thy word always, both night & day
Perswade vs, Perswade vs,
Inwardly for to repent.
And euery one to call for grace
Since the touchstone in euery place,
Doth florish fresh and shyne
That the whole world may see:
And all that wyl be thyne,
Must come with teares to thee.
We wyl not boast our merites Lord,
Since thy deare son made the accord

 We reade of olde, what Prophetes tolde
full truly, Full truly,
And wrote it long a[…]go:
A Mayden myld, shulde beare a child
Full duely, Full duely,
And it proued euen so.
But yet God wot, the Iewes of kynd
Beleued it not, but were styl blynd,
And are vnto this day
Refusyng the Triumphant truth:
That the Prophet Esaye did say
And wrote it to age and youth.
But therto they wold not accord,
But cruelly crucified the Lord.

But let vs now, both bend and bow,
And spede vs, And spede vs,
To follow the true trace:
For he hath sent, his Testament,
To feede vs. To feede vs,
And call vs vnto grace.
Vn worthy now although we bee
Yet ye see how his deare mercye,
To vs be doth […]ll geue
Ano liberall gy[…]tes vs send:
That we might sure beleue
And our le wde liues amend.
Therfore let vs our harts enclyne,
That pearles be not cast vnto swyne

 The flesh (I say) both night & day,
Doth hold vs, Doth hold vs,
From followyng the true trace:
But thy deare son, doth bid vs come,
And bold vs, And bold vs,
To call to thee for grace.
Thus sayeth our sauiour Iesu
Come vnto me, and I wyl ease you·
If ye wyl cal and knocke
That are ouer laden with sin:
Then wyl I open the locke
And be ready to let you in.
For I am he that bought you deare,
Therfore behold, and draw ye neare.


Lyrics:
The god of love,
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me,
How pitiful I deserve,


Title:
A new balade of the worthy seruice of late doen by Maister Strangwige in Fraunce, and of his death


Title:
A warning to England, let London begin: To repent their iniquitie, & flie from their sin

Lyrics:
OH Endland be vigilant, and repent thee with spede,
And marke well the myrours of thy visitation:
Prepare thee to prayer, for it was neuer more neede,
And lang wish for thy lewde life, with great lamentation.

 When God drowned the worlde in the dayes of Noye,
for that sin onely (I saye) which we dayly do frequent:
He sent Noye to preach to them, or he dyd them destroye,
And gaue them sixe score yeares, a space for to repent.

 Zodome and Gomorra also, were sunke in fyre ful hot,
Burnyng all in Brimstone, vntyll they were destroyed:
And yet they were fore warned long· by the prophete Lot,
VVith Repentance vnto them, continually he cryed.

 But that happye citie Niniuie, among all the rest,
They heard Ionas his preachyng when he came thither:
Repentyng straight wayes, and of GOD they were blest,
A goodly myrour to LONDON, yf they wolde consider.

 O London, London, Ierusalem I may thee call,
for whye· thy conuersation agreeth thereto now:
They wolde take no warnyng before the plague did fall,
And at this present day O LONDON, nomore doest thou.

 VVhat tokens haue bene of late, of Gods feareful yre?
The lyke before was neuer seene, in no time (I trowe)
Thy cheef and beautifull Temple was defaced with tyre,
A goodly admonition sure (yf thou couldest it knowe)

 Neither coulde the Pestilence prouoke vs to repent,
Nor cruell warres warne vs that the end is at hand:
No, we mocke at Gods threatnigs lyke beasts impudent,
No doubt, Gods iustice must needes plague the lande.

For we wyll not repent, nor our wicked lyues amend,
But continue styll in wickednes, procuring Gods curse:
VVhat earnest preachers doth the Lorde vs dayly send?
It is but pearles before swyne, for we at wurse & wurse.

 If a man rebuke drunkennes, swearyng or blasphemie,
[...] shall in this wyse be mocked of one iabell or an other:
[...] is good godly man, [...] toe holy for our companie,
[...] ar a precisian I [...] some vnspotted brother.

 Alas, is this your repentance after so long preachyng?
I pray you read the xii. chap. of S. Mathe wes gospell:
Christ saith, of euery idle worde we shal geue a reconyng,
Then sweaters and blasphemers, shal be punished in hell.

Deare christians, consider our state this present yeare,
Both wt war and other plagues, we are round enclosed:
Let vs turne to the Lorde our God wt tremblyng & feare,
With harty thankes geuyng for his great mercies offred.

 Remember the .x. Lepers, in the .xvii. of Luke certaine,
When the Lorde had clensed them of their sore infirmitie:
One poore Samaritane come to Iesus Christ agayne,
To geue him hartie thankes for his great benignitie.

 So let vs geue thanks to God in hart both al & some,
A[...]d repent our former liues, without any longer delay:
[...]word [...]eare lest a greuous plague among vs hastely come,
[...] [...]ithout speedye repentance, looke for it we may.

Bryng forth the frutes of the gospel, I meane a godly life,
Leaue your filty hipocrisie which stinketh in Gods sight
Leaue your abominable pryde, amend both man & wyfe,
Leaue your horrible blasphemie wherein you so delight.

Pray England pray, and London leaue thy wicked trade,
Especiallye Couetousnes, Glotonie, and al fylthy lust:
And remember our merciful God who hath vs all made,
A body that is mor[...]all, and shall turne to dust.

 For our noble queene Elizabeth, let vs al harte[...]
And for her honorable counsell, that God geue th[...]
To maintayne his glorious Gospell both night [...]
To the advancement of Vertue, all wickednes to [...]


Title:
The true fourme and shape of a monsterous chyld, whiche was borne in Stony Stratforde, in North Hampton shire The yeare of our Lord, M.CCCCC.LXV

Location of Printer:
Fleet Street beneath the conduit at the sign of S Evangelist

Lyrics:
YOu that do see this Childe disfigured here,
Two Babes in one, disguised to beholde,
Thinke with yourselues, when such thinges do appere
All is not well, as wise heades may be bolde:
But god that can in secretes shew the signe
Can bringe much more to pas, by poure deuine.

 And we that lyue to see this wonder, howe
The gase is geuen, to make this meruaile great,
Let one by one that this beholdeth nowe,
Be warned as the wonder giues conceate:
To liue to mende the wonderous shape we see,
Contrarie much, in all that ought to bee.

 For as we finde, this figure semeth straunge,
Because it showes, proporsion not in vre,
So bare in minde. How time can choppe and chaunce,
Disguising workes, in willes that be vnsure:
From meane to more, from more to much excesse,
Where Nature willes, desire should be lesse.


Title:
A proper new balad in praise of my Ladie Marques, whose death is bewailed, to the tune of New lusty gallant

Location of Printer:
Fleet Steet beneath the conduit at the sign of St John the Evangelist

Tags:
Epitaph, Other, Religious, Confessional, Moral

Lyrics:
LAdies I thinke you maruell that
I writ no mery report to you,
And what is the cause I court it not
So merye as I was wont to dooe,
Alas I let you vnderstand,
It is no newes for me to show,
The fairest flower of my garland
Was caught from court a great while a goe.

For vnder the roufe of sweete Saint Paull,
There lyeth my Ladie buryed in Claye,
Where I make memory for her soule,
With weepinge eyes once euerye daye,
All other sightes I haue for got,
That euer in court I ioyed to see:
And that is the cause I court it not,
So mery as I was wont to be,

And though that shee be dead and gone,
Whose courting need not to be tolde,
And natures mould of fleshe and bone,
Whose lyke now liues not to be holde,
Me thinkes I see her walke in blacke,
In euery corner where I goe:
To looke if anie bodie do lacke,
A frend to helpe them of theyr woe.

Mee thinkes I see her sorowfull teares,
To princelye state approching nye
Mee thinkes I see her tremblinge feares,
Leste anie her suites shulde hit a wrie,
Mee thinkes she shuld be still in place
A pitifull speaker to a Queene,
Bewailinge every poore mans case,
As many a time the hath ben seene.

Mee thinkes I see her modeste mood
Her comlie clothig plainlie clad,
Her face so sweete her cheere so good,
The courtlie countenance that shee had
But chefe of all mee thinkes I see,
Her vertues dentie daie by daie,
Homblie kneeling one her knee
As her desire was still to praie.

Mee thinkes I cold from morow to night
Do no thing ells verie good will,
But spend the time to speak and writte:
The praise of my good ladies still
Though reason saith now she is dead
To seeke and sarue as good as shee
It will not sinke so in my head
That euer the like in courte will bee.

But sure I am ther liueth yet,
In court a dearer frinde to mee,
Whome I to sarue am so vn fit,
I am sure the like will neuer bee,
For I with all that I can dooe,
Vnworthie most maie seeme to bee
To vndoo the lachet of her shooe,
Yet will I come to courte and see.

Then haue a mongste ye once a gaine,
Faint harts faire Ladies neuer win,
I trust ye will consider my payne,
When any good Venison cometh in,
And gentill Ladies I you praie,
If my absentinge breede to blame,
In my behalfe that ye will saie,
In court is remedie for the same.

quod W. Elderton.

   Finis.


Title:
A proper newe ballad sheweing that philosophers learnynges, are full of good warnynges

Tune:
My Lorde Marques Galyarde: or The firste traces of que passa

Lyrics:
Philosophers learnings, are ful of good warnings,
in memorye yet left, to scoole vs,
So be ther contayned, in Poietries fained
great Documentes, to rate and rule vs,
As well for continuance, of life helth and substance,
whose vanities the world requireth,
As for the derection of life by correction
from lyberties that lust desireth.

Menander being asked what life was, he answered,
a miserie, that neuer ceaseth
Tormenting minds worldly, for goods goton hardly
with contraries as time increaseth,
Wher in is no surance of hope nor in duraunce
but Ieoberdies as fortune sendyth,
Now sicklie now helthie now poorelie now welthy,
with casualties as life contendith.

Of Chilo thus reed we, whose councel most need we
no memorye ought more to moue vs,
Then for to know throwly, our selues & our dewty,
to notifie what doth behoue vs,
And as we seeme faultie, reiecte folyes noughtie
with practesinge all waies to shone them,
So may we triumphing, geue praise to ech good thing,
Recomfortinge that we haue done them:

xcesse that delighteth as Plutarche well writeth
in greedines that life requireth,
In surfeitinge disshes ill workinge ill wishes
suche filthines as fleshe desyrethe,
withdraw, wyth their pleasurs, dame natures dew measures,
whose gouernaunce is so defaced,
What man can dispose them, when lust ouer throws them:
to temperaunce, that should be placed.

Periander of liuinge good counsell once geuinge,
said merilie looke well within thee,
If conscience accuse thee, ill rest will abbuse thee
no libertie hath leaue to win thee,
Kepe concience then clearly, that life may liue chearly
as Socrates doth wiselie will thee,
No corzye shall greeue thee, sound sleepes shall reliue thee
Vnquietnes, can no waye spill thee.

If fortune displease vs, whose wrackes may disease vs,
Let Sophacles his doctrine skoole vs,
Who writes that no suretie, on earth getteth victrye
But pacience in paines to rule vs,
In suche pointes presisely good counsel most wisely,
Exuperate blinde fortunes scourges,
As the Marriner steareth, the Ship when he feareth
The violence of salt Sea sourges.

Ten thousand and ten to, of thease & like men to,
Lyke Documentes haue left behinde them,
Methinks that these pagons, may counsel good Chri|stians,
Sith life hath no suertie, nor longe time of puertie
nor accedence that can preuaile vs,
Let wisdome now win vs, to plant vertue in vs,
With penitence eare life doth faile vs.

quod W. Elderton.

   Finis.


Title:
A ballat intituled Northomberland newes vvherin you maye see what rebelles do vse

Location of Printer:
Paul's churchyard at the Sign of the Lucrece

Tags:
Topical, Confessional, Religion, Political, other

Lyrics:
Come tomblinge downe come tomblinge downe.
That will not yet be trewe to the Crowne.

YOU Northcountrie nodies whie be ye so bragge
To rise and raise honor to Romish renowne
You know ye at Tiborne there standeth a Nagge
For suche as will neuer be trew to the crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

What meane ye to followe the man in the Moone,
With battz bowes and arrowes and billes verye browne.
His shyninge with shame wilbe shadowed so soone,
It will greue him that euer he troubled the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

Thowghe Poperie wrought a greate while a goe,
That Percie prouoked Kinge Harry to frowne.
Yet who wolde haue thought there were any moe,
That wold not yet be trew to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

Our Queene is the daughter of Henry theight,
Who brought euery Alter and Imagerie downe.
He lefte her and tawght her a remedie streight,
For anye that wold not be trew to the Crowne.
Come tombling. &c.

And though you do greete her like Traytours with treason
To whom you owe honour with cappe and knee downe.
I am suer that sainct Peter will saye it is reason,
To rule ye that will not be trew to the Crowne.
Come tombling. &c.

And thoughe you do saye that is matter amis,
Whiche you wold redresse by noble Renowme.
What any waye wurse then Rebellion is,
Of any that will not be true to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

What Strangers can be, more straunger then ye,
That gather together bothe carter and clowne.
And studie to sturre to seeke and to see,
Whiche waie to deuise to trouble the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

Syr Ihon Sborne your morowe Masse Priest,
Saythe to Lobbe looke aboute will ye knele downe?
We will haue a Masse before Iesus Christ,
And that is the waye to trouble the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

The Knightes to theyr knaues saye sticke and be stowt,
Our banners and staues shall bringe vs Renowne.
We haue Nobles and others that be as deuowt,
To helpe vs at this time to trouble the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

The Rebelles come flinginge but what cometh after,
A songe worthe the singinge hey downe a downe downe.
A Tyborne Typpett a roope or a halter,
For anye that will not be trew to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

For thoughe ye spoile Churches and burne vp the Bible,
And worshippe gaie Crosses in euery towne.
Your Idolles you asses are neuer possible,
To saue ye that will not be trew to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

And thoughe ye do carie the banner of force,
And Iolie rounde Robyn vnder your gowne.
You know that sainct George hath a praunsinge horse,
Canne make enie Rebell to stoope to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

The Westmerland Bull must come to the stake,
The Lyon will rore still till he be downe.
Northumberland then will tremble and quake,
For woe that he was so false to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

And Catholiques old that hold with the Pope,
And carie dead Images vppe and downe.
To take better holde they shall haue a Roope,
To teache them once to be trew to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

Let euery Priest that sayethe anye Masse,
Either chuse to take the Crucifixe downe.
Or hange as highe as the Crucifixe was,
Except he will be trew to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

For God is a God of Ielosie suche,
He lokes to haue his holye Renowne.
Or elles he will mislyke verye muche,
To gyue anye one his excellente Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.

God prosper the Quene as I truste that he shall,
And graunt of his mercie with blessed Renowne.
The Northe, and West, countrie, the sowth, east, and all,
The people of Englande maye cleaue to the Crowne.
Come tomblinge.

And I wishe that Good Preachers & other trewe teachers,
Wolde visite the vynearde whose branches be downe.
That all the Northe Countrie yet nosseld in Popeerie,
Might knowe theyr duetie to God and the Crowne.
Come tomblinge. &c.


Title:
A decree vpon the dreame made by Dauy Dicar,
Wyth answer to Camell, whose tau~tes be more quicker.

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

  Contra uerbosos noli contendere uerbis,
  Sermo datur cunctis animii sapiencia paucis,
  Cum recte uiuas ne curas uerba malorum
  Arbitrii nostri non est quid quisque loquatur.


To striue wyth men of many words, refrain I the aduise
It is not geuen to euery man that he shalbe godlye wyse
If thou lyue wel do not regarde what wicked men do say
For why? it lyeth not in vs such wycked tounges to staye,
Thys is it that ye haue read whyche if you lyst to knowe
He wil aswage your sturdi stormes wich you haue reised so
Take this in worth good Reder now expound it to ye best
For I haue sayd to theyr deuyce, now harken to the rest

 The iudgement of the Authour.

Some thyng is a mys and euer shalbe so,
Scripture writeth thys as learned men do knowe.
And some men haue the gyft therof to speake and wryte,
Whych fal yet at a lyfte to frayle and fonde delyte.
It doth behoue vs all so iustly as we canne,
To do ryght well in deede, and eke to wryte it thanne
How be it in hym I iudge much greater faulte there is,
Whych nought can saye nor do, but that whych is a mys.
The best may be amended, and that is very true
The more that haue offended, the more we ought to rue.
If any fal from grace gentelly hym assayle,
Burden hym wyth charity, no rygour can preuayle,
For why, if that the shepherde do wander from the waye,
No maruell if the shepe therafter go astraye
Some men perhappe ther be wyl take me to the wourst
I pray you iudge of me, as I spake it at the furst
For it becommeth yll in wryttyng to contende,
Wythout wytte or skyll to make a raylyng ende
Take me to the best, as one to you vnknowen
Whose worthy wyts I do commend & wold wt you be one.
Not mindyng so assuredly to spende and waste the daye,
To make the people laugh at me, & here I make a staye,


Lyrics:
[…]whyppet you prestes and tourne you
Vice and synne they wyll not rebuke
Nor come to gods worde to warme you

Where do you see more Idelnes vsed
whippet you preestes and tourne you
Then among you preestes whych shuld be refused
And come to gods worde to warme you

 Yet they haue an other prety caste
whippet you prestes, and tourne you
Which they play at the last
Leaue that you preestes I warne you

For than they do holde vp a cup
whippet you prestes, and tourne you
And al the drinke they them selues drynke vp
Leaue that you prestes I warne you

 Moreouer, they teache theyr god to playe
Whyppet you prestes and tourne you
This waye and that waye
Leaue that you prestes I warne you
Now therfore I wyll with it be playne
Whippet you prestes and tourne you
They wyl not stycke to breake their god in twayne
[…]


Title:
A godly ballad declaring by the Scriptures the plagues that haue insued whordome

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

Lyrics:
REfrain of youth thy vain desire.
subdue thy lusts inordinate:
Suppresse ye sparks lest if the fire,
to quenche them it wilbe to late.

Thou knowste not what a poison strong
thou lettest breed within thy brest,
Whiche if thou keep within thee long,
wil cause thee care and muche vnrest.

Though it seem sweet in thy conceit,
beware thou neuer nurish it:
The Fish is by a plesant bait,
constrained to the deadly bit.

Like as the woorm in Affrick bred.
whose sting destroith with venem colde:
Is not so noisome to be fled,
as lust that reigneth vncontrolde.

If reason cannot rule thy wil.
but vice wil reign through appetite:
Then let thy harmes that happen stil,
(through lusts) refrain thy fond delight.

Remember eke that in Noes dayes,
when vice through lust was rifly growne:
The whole world by suche wicked waies,
by rage of Rain was ouerthrowne.

The King of Egipt Pharao,
was he not plagued of God moste iust:
Bothe he and all his house alse,
onely for he gaue place to lust.

So read we of Abimelech,
the mighty King of Gerera:
That God gaue him a greuous check,
for lusting after Saraa.

Lust did destroy the Sodomites,
as is in Scripture manifest:
For lust were slain the Sichamites,
when Sichem Dina had opprest.

Lust did the wits somuche inchaunt.
of Putipher thegipcians wife:
That Iofeph for he would not graunt,
her sute she brought nigh from his life.

Bethsaba naked in bath,
bewitched so King Dauids brain:
That giltles he procured hath,
her husband Vry to be slain.

The cheef among the Israelites,
for noughty lust and eke offence:
Wrought by the meanes of Moabites,
were hanged vp by Gods sentence

For lust Zimry the Israelite,
as witnesseth Gods holy woord:
And Cosby eke the Madianite,
perished bothe through Zimphas swoord,

The Israelites through fleshly lust,
towards their enmies doughters were:
Alluerd by them false Gods to trust,
whiche all their thraldomes caused clere.

Sampson the sonne of Monoa,
that mighty Iudge in Israel:
For lust he had to Dalila,
him self to kil greef did compel.


Title:
A balade of a preist that loste his nose for sayinge of masse as I suppose

Lyrics:
WHo so list beare of a wonderous chaunce
Of late I mette with one did me tell
The craftiest priest in England or Fraunce
Hath lost his nose, and how should he smell
He went to his freinde his mynde to disclose
And as he came home one cut of his nose.

It is a gentleman, a priest he tolde me
To tell you his name I do not much passe
It is olde syr Iohn the vycar of Lee
which rayles at gods boke & reeles at his masse
His cankarde mynde he cannot kepe close
yet he serued him shrewdly that cut of his nose.

His smeller is smitten cleane from his face
yet was there but one as he did saye
Which caught him and pluckt of his nose in that place
A hie man, a lowe man, a foxe, or a graye
Tenne shillinges he saith in his purse be did lose
I thinke he lied therof, but not of his nose

Great serching was sence that smeller to seke
Some for hast left their scabbert at home
Some had gunnes some halberts some forked pikes
some in shyrts of maile like a lusty mome
There was neuer sene before I suppose
Such tossing and tombling for a priestes nose.

Som men yt thought him no harme in ther life
But because they feare God, and do go about
To liue with pure conscience & be without strife
Thei ar bound to the peas now for a priests snoue
But because he can kepe mens horedom so close
Therfore they make such a worke for his nose.

Because his scollers did mock at his masse
He said he wolde make bloud run by their heles
But God hath turned the plage from their arse
And he with his nose did bloudy the stiles
with bloud I hard saye as red as a rose
he dronke well belike before he lost his nose.

What maner of nose was it sir ye sought for
A black nose, a red nose, or one like my fist
To be without nose was the marke of an whore
And now it is the marke of an whorishe priest
And now you are ryd right well of the nose
Why do you make suche a worke for your nose.

Or was your nose somewhat wan or pale
A blewe nose a bottle nose, or was it yellowe
Nos autem haue sene it sometime at the ale
Libera nos salua nos from the swap of ye swalowe
But why did ye vse syr to lye so and glose
was it any meruayle though ye lost your nose.

Some men are liuing to whom he did say
Seing he knew the truth, if euer he sayd masse
He wisht that some membre might be cut away,
Now at his request it is come to passe
Much work he doth make for the lo[.]p he did lose
well, what will ye geue syr for a newe nose.

But what shal we say, yf men do not lye
who cut of the priestes nose it is harde to iudge
But he him self I think did it of enuy
And then to bewite it to them he did grudge
That therby they might ther kingdom vp close
As sometime Sopirus did snap of his nose

For sometime he sayth it was but a mome
And eftsone a talle man this he doth name
But styll he affyrmeth it was but one
which caught him and brought his nose oute of frame
Could one man so do it as you suppose
Except he were willing to haue of his nose.

Remedie is none, but this thinge is true
His snout is snapts of how[...]oeuer it was
I thinke it were best to make him a new
As sone he may do it, as god at his masse
yf he cannot make him a snout, I suppose
he can not make god no more then his nose

Seing the true God is gone from your towne
And god Pean & Baccus doth rule in his stede
with hoysty and soysty ouer shoulder & crowne
yet hath he no more life then a lompe of leade
yf he haue, then charge him that man to disclose
which met you & caught you, & cut of your nose.

But yf you do vse the true god to mocke
And geue his honor to your god in the purse
Loke whom ye blesse, and in blyndnesse rocke
The liuing god will you & your blessinges curse
And at length your falsehed to all men disclose
And then no dout your head wyl folow your nose

Take hede I saye you chaplyns of Balle
Though ye haue fed longe at Iesabels borde
Not longe but helias shall geue you a fall
Repent and returne to the liuinge Lorde
Though ye pricke till bloud runne by your toes
ther wil a worse chance com then lesing your nose

I wyll not pray for you, let them do that liste
For feare God with me should be miscontent
Seyng of purpose the holy ghost you resiste
And if ye haue cleane forgotten to repent
when God shall the secretes of all men disclose
ye shal haue asmuch help as the preist of his nose

But you haue a vauntage syr if you mark all
if a mous catch your god when ye haue made it
Then ye may catche the mouse fast by the walle
For how can you hurt your nose except ye had it
The prouerbe is true in you I suppose
He cannot tell where to turne his nose.


Title:
A ballad reioycinge the sodaine fall, of rebels that thought to deuower vs all

Tags:
Poltical, Religious, Topical, Confessional, other

Lyrics:
REioyce with me ye Christians all,
To God geue laude and prayse:
The Rebels stoute haue now the fall,
Their force and strength decayes.

Which hoped through their Traitrous traine,
Their Prince and natiue soyle:
To put by their deuises vaine,
Vnto a deadly foile.

And with their Armies stoute in Feilde,
Against their Prince did rise:
And thought by force of Speare and sheilde:
to win their enterprise.

It was the Erle of VVestmerland,
that thought him selfe so sure:
By the aide of his Rebellious bande,
his countrie to deuoure.

The Erle eke of Northumberland,
his Traitorous parte did take:
With other Rebels of this Lande,
for Aue Maries sake.

Saying they sought for no debate,
Nor nothing els did meane:
But would this Realme weare in the state,
That it before hath ben.

What is that state I would faine know?
That they would haue againe:
The Popish Masse it is I trowe,
With her abuses vaine.

As by their doings may apeare,
In comming through ech Towne:
The Bibles they did rent and teare,
Like Traytours to the Crowne.

And Traytours vnto god likewise,
By right we may them call:
That do his lawes and worde despise,
Their Country Queene and all.

The lawes that she established,
According to Gods word,
They seeke to haue abolished,
By force of warre and sword.

Forgetting cleane their loyaltie,
That to their Prince they owe:
Their faith and eke fidelitie,
That they to hir should show.

And rather seeke to helpe the Pope,
His honour lost to winne,
In whom they put their faith and hope,
To pardon al their sinne.

That if they should their natiue Land,
Their Queene and God denie:
They should haue pardon at his hand,
For their iniquitie.

Therfore with those that loue the Pope,
They did their strength employ:
And therby steadfastly did hope,
Gods flocke cleane to destroy,

And then set vp within this Land,
In euery Churche and towne:
Their Idols on Roodeloftes to stand,
Like gods of greate renowne.

Their Aulters and tradicions olde,
With painted stocke and stone:
Pardons and Masses to be solde,
With Kerye leyson.

Friers shoulde weare their olde graye Gownes,
And Maides to shrift should com:
then Priestes should singe with shauen Crownes
Dominus Vobiscum

All these and such like vaneties,
Should then beare all the sway:
And gods word through such fantasies,
Should cleane be layd away.

But like as god did them despise,
Which were in Moyses dayes:
That did a calfe of gold deuise,
As god to giue him prayse.

And for the same Idolatry,
In one day with the sword:
Did thre and twenty thousand dye,
That did neglect his worde.

The Children eke of Israell,
In Ezechias time:
He made among their Foes to dwell,
That did Committe that Crime.

But when that Ezechias praied,
To God to helpe his owne:
The Lorde forthwith did send them aide,
Their Foes weare ouerthrowne,

A Hundred Thousande Eightie Fiue,
By Gods Aungelles weare slaine:
And none of them were left aliue,
That toke his name in Vaine,

Senacheris also the Kinge,
Then of the Assirians:
As he his God was honouring,
Was slaine by his two Sonnes.

Like as he did those Rebels still,
Which did his flocke pursewe:
From time to time of his free will,
By force of Warre subdewe.

As Hollifernus and the rest,
He put them still to flight:
That had his little flocke opprest,
In presence of his sighte.

So hath he now these Rebels all,
Through their vngodly trade:
Cast downe into the Pit to fall,
That they for others made.

To whom still daily let vs praye,
Our noble Queene to sende,
A Prosperous Raigne both night and day,
From her foes to defende.

Her and her Counsaile, Realme and all,
During her noble life:
And that Ill hap may them befall,
That seeke for Warre and strife.


Title:
A newe ballade intytuled, Good fellowes must go learne to daunce

Lyrics:
GOod fellowes must go learne to daunce,
the brydeall is full nere a:
There is a brall come out of Fraunce,
the tryxt ye harde this yeare a.
For I must leape and thou must hoppe,
and we must turne all three a:
The fourth must bounce it lyke a toppe,
and so we shall a gree a.
I praye thee Mynstrell make no stoppe,
for we wyll merye be a.

The Brydegrome would giue twentie pounde,
the mariage daye were paste a:
ye knowe whyles louers are vnbounde,
the knotte is slyper faste a.
A better man maye come in place,
and take the Bryde awaye a.
God send our wilkin better grace.
our pretie Tom doth saye a.
God Vycar axe the banes apace,
and haste the mariage daye a.

A bande of belles in Bauderycke wyse,
woulde decke vs in our kynde a:
A shurte after the Moryce guyse,
to flounce it in the wynde a.
A wyffler for to make the waye,
and maye brought in with all a:
Is brauer then the Sunne I saye, 
and passeth round or brall a.
For we wyll tripe so tricke and gaye.
that we wyll passe them all a.

Drawe to dauncinge neyghboures all
good fellowshyppe is best a:
It skylles not yf we take a fall,
in honoringe this feste a. Note in marg: 
The Bryde wyll thanke vs for oure glee,
the worlde wyll vs beholde a:
O where shall all this dauncinge bee,
in Kent or at cotsolde a.
Oure Lorde doth knowe then axe not mee,
and so my tale is tolde a·

ADewe sweete harte, a dewe
Syth we must parte,
To lose the loue of you,
It greues my harte.
Once againe come kysse me
syth I so long must mys thee
Single ...ible letteringe harte shall wyshe thee,
To ease me of my smarte.
And thoughe I nowe do leaue thee,
It wyll I not deceaue thee,
But come againe and wedde thee,
Euen for thy iust desarte.

Syr Launcelotte comes againe syr,
So men do saye:
Tom tosse wyll sayle to Spayne sir,
By Tyborne awaye.
Subtoll sinne wyll haue her.
Thoughe wyttie Watte do craue her,
yet cuttinge clowne shall saue her,
Vnlesse he lose his praye.
And though ye be so wyle ye,
And she do loke so hyle ye:
At length she wyll begyle ye,
And [...]he best ye maye.

[...] so coye sir,
Sh[...] [...] be solde,
W[...]s her ioye sir,
T[...] tolde:
Ra[...] wyll not blade it,
Jack[...]r wyll not swade it,
The Py[...]lbowes are not made it,
Therof ye maye be bolde.
Although ye now haue cought her,
ye wyll repent here after,
For farder ye haue sought her,
Then I haue thought ye would.

  Finis.


Title:
Of the horrible and wofull destruction of, Sodome, and Gomorra

Location of Printer:
sign of the black boy at the middle north door of St Paul's church

Lyrics:
THe Scripture playne doth show and tell,
How Lot in Sodome Towne did dwell
Amongst the Sodomites vile:
He did rebuke their noughty liues,
Both yong and olde, both men & wiues,
Why do you your selues defile?
He often times with watry eyes,
their cause he did lament:
He wept in Hart, in gréeuous wise,
and bad them to repent,
Desiring: and praying,
From sinne they should refrayne,
Least Body, and Soule bée,
In euerlastyng payne.

God doth abhorre that whorish Bed,
Whiche thonsands now therin are led,
and therin styll doth dwell:
They yeld their soules for Sacrifice,
To filthy sinne in diuers wise,
Vnto the paynes of Hell:
You rauenyng née dy men (quoth he)
That Riches haue in stoare,
Geue to the poore I say to thée,
The whiche coms to thy Doore:
To Fatherlesse, and Wydowes too,
To pyttie them take payne,
You Surffetters: and Dronkardes now
From this your Sinne refrayne.

Then all in vayne, Lot preached styll.
They all did folow their selfe wyll,
For that was their desire:
For his counsell good they passed small,
In filthy sinne they wallowed all,
As filthy Swyne in Myre:
Then did the Lorde commaund that Lot,
That he should soone depart:
From amongst the Sodomites so whot,
For they should féele great smart:
The Angell then to hym he saide:
Come Lot and haste awaye:
For tyll the tyme that thou be gone,
Nothynge be done there maye.

The Angell said, looke you not backe,
To sée that wofull sight and wracke,
Whiche on them now shall light:
For you out of the Towne are brought,
And are escaped from their wicked thoughts,
Wherin they do delyght:
Yet Lots wyfe she turnde backe agayne,
As soone as she was gone,
For her offence she turned was,
Into a huge Salt Stone.
Where she doth stande continually.
By Goddes decréed Iudgement:
Because she brake, and did forsake,
Goddes good Commaundement.

The Gates of Heauen, God opened than,
So Fyer and Brymstone from thence came,
And on Sodome downe did rayne:
Gomorra Towne they did excell,
As thicke as Hayle, the Fyre it fell,
And destroyed was euery man:
Both man and Beast were burnd to Mucke,
And Babes in Mothers lap:
And eke the Chyldren that did sucke
On Mothers tender Pap:
With Fier were they burned.
O wofull grieuous sight,
They cryed, and shryked.
To healpe no boote it might.

The Damselles tearetheir costly guyse
Their yelow lockes downe to their eyes,
And their Heare like Siluer Wyer:
Their sownde did reach vnto the Clowdes
With bitter teares they cryed alowde,
All burnynge in the fier:
These Townes like Gold yt shyned so bright
With flamyng fier is consumed:
The mighty God hath destroyed quite,
And brought it to the grounde:
That nought is left the Trueth to say
But stinkynge Pooles and Welles:
Whiche was a place of braue delyghtes,
And eke of pleasant smelles.

Thus were these Towns brought to decay
Both all and som the trouth to say,
sauyng Lots House holde then:
And Lot hymselfe was counted tuff,
Tyll his Doughters tempted hym to lust,
As the Story sheweth playne:
Loe, wanton Girles whiche so doth burne,
In Venus pleasant games.
If that they may content their turnes,
And eake their youthfull flames,
They do desire their Fathers Bed,
The cankred flesh to please:
Alas that ye: so wanton bée,
That you wyll neuer cease.

Thou mightie God that sittest on hie,
O turne our Hartes for thy mercie,
That now amend we may:
O Lorde thou saydst, and it may so be,
The Sodomits should witnes be,
Against vs at the latter day:
O heauy sayng, yf that these men,
Shall sooner mercy craue,
Then we which know Gods sainges, then
What iudgement shall we haue?
O let vs bewayle vs:
Our sinnes doth so abound,
For in short space I feare the Lorde,
In wrath wyll vs confound.

O England thou like Sodome art,
In filthy sinne doth play thy part,
What sinnes are found in thée?
Thou dooest excéede Sodome in sinne,
Thou carest not for Lots preaching:
O these heauy newes wyll be,
Ye be thou sure, and sure agayne:
The stones that lieth in wall,
Because we doo so sore offend,
To God for plagues wyll call,
Therfore let sée, amends to be,
And euery one amende:
Good Lorde I say, graunt this all way,
And thus I make an end.


Title:
[Fragment of The Plucking Down of the Romish Church

Location of Printer:
Little Britain Street without Aldersgate

Lyrics:
[…] church is that […] stone
[…] al filth and stinch doth smel very strong.
The Angel therefore cryeth to old and yong,
Saying: come away from her my people spedely,
Least ye be partakers of the beastes iniquity.

For this is euen she, whych wt her fornication,
Hath made almost all princes commit adultery,
And eke hath made them dronke wt her superstition
Wherby she hath got vp to great authority.
The blood of gods saints, she dranke plentifully.
Therfore as vengeance to you she hath shewed,
Double to her againe let the same be repayed.

Pul down her shop of wares, wherbi she hath got
Al the treasures on earth, and ruled the same,
Both Emperours & Kings this beast spared not,
But placed and displaced, as pleased thys Dame.
Therfore shal God now descry her whole shame,
And eke pul down her shop of marchandise,
With al her marchants, which therby did rise.

Wherfore O ye Marchants of ye Romish Babell,
Weepe, howle, and wyle, for neare is your fall,
The blood of Gods saintes for vengeance crieth fel
And God now in wrath on you poure it shall.
Come away form her therfore Gods people all,
Least ye be partakers of her plagues and euyll
And so in fire & brimston be burnt wt the deuyl.

[…]
Emprors & Kings with many a great kingdom[…].
Entend to destroy vs, and haue no remorce.
Behold here our shop which enriched our purse,
How it to ruine begynneth to fall.
For ye top thei haue broken, & down thei wil haue all.

Our pardons & relickes which was our beginning
Is nought now regarded, and found all but lyes,
Our masses & dirgies which kept vs aloft raining
Are now not beleued, but al folke them despise.
The Lutherans at these did first enterprise,
And at then so pulled, yt the top they haue broken
Of our hie steple, which the same doth betoken

And now ye Hugonites, wt the Beggers together,
With al force they may are pulling at the rest,
Which is our authority, and punishment seuere,
And eke our stout ruling from East vnto West.
Thus al these three at our church before prest,
To shew their great power in pulling it down
Which out out alas, wyll be done to to soone.

Wherfore O romish Babilon, we now the bemone
And also our own selues which liued by thee.
Now wringing our hands, we wepe, sigh & grone
For this our destruction which draweth so nye.
[…]n nations now playnly our falshood do spy,
And our great cruelty they do so detest,
That til we be destroyed they wil not be at rest


Title:
A Balade declaryng how neybourhed loue, and trew dealyng is gone.

Lyrics:
NOw straunge it is, to men of age
the which they se, before their face.
This world to be, in such outrage,
It was neuer sene, in so bad case,
Neibourhed nor loue is none
trew dealyng now is fled & gone
Where shall one fynde, a man to trust,
Alwaye to stande, in tyme of neede.
The most parte now, they are vniust
Fayre in wordes, but false in deede:
Neybourhed. nor loue is none
True dealyng now is fled and gone.
who can flatter, now best shall speede,
who can deceyue, is gaynes well won
Of deceytfull tongues, who can take hede
Many a man, they haue vndone,
Neibourhed, nor loue is none, &c,
The wickednesse, that doth abounde,
More then I can, with tongue expresse,
To see vnfaithfull men are founde,
of frendship there was neuer lesse:
Neiborhed, nor loue is none. &c.
On couetousnesse, most men desyre,
Their neibours house, some doth procure.
And ouer his hed, they wyll it hyre,
Or bye a leace, to make it sure,
Neiborhed, nor loue is none. &c.
To pourchace and bye, for lucre & gaine
Both leace & house, both wood & grounde,
Thei double the rent, to poore mens payne
of landlordes nowe, fewe good are founde
Neiborhed, nor loue is none. &c.
This is vsed now euery where,
And wyll be tyll we haue redresse,
with them I thought, the Lorde dyd fere
Because his worde they doo professe:
neiborhed, nor loue is none. &c.
what neiborhed is this you call,
That one another doth backbite
And daily wyll both skolde and brall,
with slaunderous wordes, in most despite:
neyborhed, nor loue is none. &c.
For matters small, some suffre wronge,
Vpon displeasure, in prison cast,
And there shall lye, without pitie long
tyll that his goodes are spent and wast:
neyborhed nor loue is none. &c,
Thungodly riche, the poore opppresse.
On them few haue compassion,
Their cause is here, remedilesse
without all consolacion:
neyborhed nor loue is none. &c.
 If any membre be hurte in man,
The whole body lamentes therfore:
the poore opprest who cureth than
Or helpes him for to salue his sore:
neiborhed nor loue is none, &c,
The percialnesse that now doth raigne
with some that haue, suche cause in hande
The riche men doth, the poore disdayne
And sekes the meanes, to make them band
neyborhed not loue is none, &c.
Truly to deale one with another,
In these dayes now ar very fewe,
the Sister wyll begyle the brother,
the brother agayne, deceyte wyll shewe
neyborhed nor loue is none. &c.
The father wyll deceyue the chylde,
the chylde the father likewise agayne,
thus one another dothe begylde
By false deceyt, that now doth raigne:
neyborhed nor loue is none. &c.
To speake somwhat of vsurye,
the whiche the Lorde doth daily curse
yet some doo vse it priuely
to fyll their vncontented purse,
neyborhed nor loue is none. &c.
To striue or speake, it is no boote,
In couetousnesse, there is no order
of mischiefe it is the very roote,
All thinges it spoyles, in euery border:
neyborhed nor loue is none. &c,
Our Preachers with gods word doth cry
on couetousmen, that wyll not cesse,
their wordes are herde, with yeres so slye,
their filthy gaynes, they styll encresse:
neybourhed nor loue is none. &c.
How many doth their rentes abate,
or now a dayes, their tenentes ease,
they set their rentes, at a new rate
Both fines and leasses, they daily rease.
Neybourhed nor loue is none. &c.
Couetousnesse hathe now the way
wronge & briberye dothe not refrayne,
In euery cost, pride bereth the sway,
Amonges the whole· now it doth raygne
Neybourhed nor loue is none. &c.
What is the cause, neibourhed is gone,
which here hath reigned many a daye
I heare the poore men make great mone,
And sayth hit is, falne in decaye:
Neibourhed nor loue is none, &c,
True dealyng dare not once appeare
Deceit hath put him out of place,
Euery where both farre and nere,
He raigneth now in most mens face:
Neibourhed nor loue is none. &c.
Graunt oh God, for thy mercyes sake
That neigbourhed, and dealyng trewe
May once agayne, our sprites awake,
That we our lyues may chaunge a new
that neybourhed and loue a lone
may come agayne to euery one.


Title:
A ballad intituled, Prepare ye to the plowe

Location of Bookshop:
adjoining to the south west door of paul's church

Tags:
Religious, Confessional, Political, Topical, other

Lyrics:
The Queene holdes the Plow, to continew good seede.


Location of Printer:
sign of the black boy at the middle north door of paul's church

Lyrics:
STay a while with pacience, my fréends I you pray,
Of the orders of Fooles, somewhat I wyll say:
Fiue and twentie, iust a quarterne is ye know,
Euery Foole in his foolishnes wyll I show.
And as the prouerbe doth show very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 Many Fooles, the carte of sin now a dayes doth draw,
Nowrishyng their sinne against all right and law:
Though that the way to hell be very playne,
Yet lyke a foole I aduise thée to returne agayne.
If thou in foolishnes styll doest dwell,
Thou shalt haue a bable and a bell.

He is a foole that his sinnes can not hate,
Naught young, worse olde, such is his estate:
This olde foole is glad of that name,
Desiryng all men to take parte of the same.
This foole must haue in hand without fayle,
A bable, a bell, or els a Fox tayle.

Of Fooles, yet I fynd an other sorte,
Which are causers of lying, and yll reporte:
And he is a foole both euen and morrow,
That nothyng wyll lend, but all thynges borrow.
And as the prouerbe doth show very playne
A hood for this foole to kepe him from the rayne.

 Of Fooles, yet an other sorte doth come,
Which neuer seketh for to haue wisedome:
Many such fooles, wisedome disdayne,
Yet for their foolishnes they shall suffer payne.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole which to others doth preach and tell,
And yet this foole is ready himself to go vnto hell:
Liue thou vprightly, be cause of no blame,
If thou doo not, the more is thy shame.
And as the prouerbe doth say very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

He is a Foole, and euer be shall,
That others iudgeth, and himself worst of all:
This foole is blynd, frantike, and wood,
Without all reason, iudgeth bad thinges good.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole that wisedome doth eschue,
For no good counsell can bring him to vertue:
This foole which scorneth his neighbour fast,
Shall be scorned iustly himself at the last.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

An other Foole yet, I doe here fynd,
Which can not kepe close the secrets of his mynd:
This is a naturall foole, and vndiscrete,
Which can not hyde his owne counsell and secrete.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, that in youth wyll not prouyde,
In age must he sterue, or in pouertie abyde:
This is a foole, and of the numbe one,
Which in the Sommer can make no prouision.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, that getteth his goods wrongfullye,
For his heires after him, wyll spend it vnthriftelye:
This fooles golde is his God, wrongfullye got,
Why yu foole, thy golde is muk & clay, knowest thou not?
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, whether he be man or wyfe,
Whice styll deliteth in discorde and stryfe:
Such fooles their owne flesh to the bones may gnaw,
That contendeth in matters, scant worth a straw.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

He is a Foole that on message is sent,
And when he is on his way, forgot whether he went:
This féele is worthy of the bable and the bell,
For of all other fooles, he doth excell.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 Yet of Fooles, a whole dozen I haue espyed,
And lead in a stryng, together they are tyed:
These fooles you may know by their fauour,
For lyke the Aspen leafe, with euery wynd they wauer.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for these fooles, to kepe them from the rayne.

He is a Foole, that thinketh it great wonder,
When God stryketh by lightnyng and thunder:
Alas, we dayly without all dread commit
Much cursed vice, for lacke of godly wit.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 All youth, I doo lyken vnto Fooles blynd,
That vnto their Parents are rebels vnkynd:
Thou vnkynd chylde, and foole disobedient,
Remember what goods thy fréends on thée spent.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for these fooles, to kepe them from the rayne.

He is a Foole, that greatly doth flatter and boast,
When he thinks least, he shall tast of the rost:
This foole at last, is cast out of fauour,
For flatteryng pleaseth no wise man of honour.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, and voyd of all prudence,
Which to vayne tales doth geue all his credence:
Therfore remember this both low and hye,
That flatterers speake fayre when they doo lye.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a naturall Foole, and a very daw,
That from doing good, his neighbour doth withdraw:
Such froward fooles, all goodnes they defile,
If their neighbours doe good, then they reuile.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, and greatly vnprouable,
That in all his doings he is vnfortunable:
But in his misfortune he is so blynd,
He neuer considereth no remedy in mynd.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole to kepe him from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, that himself doth applye
Behynd his neighbours backe to sclander with enuye:
Such beastly fooles commonly are well a payd,
Which thinke all is well, that falsely is wayd.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for this foole, to kepe him from the rayne.

 Yet more Fooles there be, which be vncommendable,
That vseth yll manners alway at the table:
Of pleasant nurtour they haue no héede,
But beastly entend as swyne alway to féede.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for these fooles, to kepe them from the rayne.

 Many Fooles there be, in these our dayes,
Which séeme to be wyse, yet folow foolish wayes:
Therfore I haue tolde vnto you very playne,
What foolishnes in these dayes in many doth remayne.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for these fooles, to kepe them from the rayne.

 He is a Foole, that wyll styll desyre
His owne death, to runne in to the fyre:
And he is a foole, that hath no mynd deuoute,
But in the temple styll walketh aboute.
And as the prouerbe doth shew very playne,
A hood for these fooles to kepe them from the rayne.

GOD grant that all Fooles wisedome may learne,
And that they may good from yll alway discerne:
Then no more fooles we may them call,
But wyse men, and wisedome shew they shall.
God grant that on all partes we may now begin
To repent of our follye, and flye from our sin


Lyrics:
COme néere good Christians all,
beholde a Monster rare:
Whose monstrous shape (no doubt) fortels
Gods wrath we should beware.
His wondrous works we ought not iudge,
as toyes and trifles vaine:
Whither it be Childe or brutish Beast,
for warnings they are playne.
As now, this mingled brutish Beast,
Gods creature is we see:
Although as straunge of shape and forme
as possyblie may be.
For if you do way well ech poynt,
his nature and his shape
I feare resembles some of those,
as on the same do gape.
For why most Swinish are our liues,
and monstrous (that is sure:)
Though we resemble simple Shéepe,
or Lambes that be most pure.
But euery Trée it selfe will try,
at last by his owne Fruite:
Though on our Backs we cary Woll,
our conscience is pollute,
Though smilingly with flattering face,
we seeme Gods word to loue:
Contrary wise som hate the same,
as well their déedes did prooue.
Who ment the ruine of our Realme,
as Traytours to our Quéene:
Som white faste Lambs haue sought to do
(nay, monstrous Swine) I weene.
I meane not here at large to showe
offences as they bee:
In whom they raigne, in hie or low,
I name here no degrée.
But generally, I say to all,
repent amend your life:
The gréedy rich, the néedy poore,
yea, yongman, Maide, and Wife.
The Protestant, the Papist eke,
what secte so that ye be,
Gripe your own conscience, learne to do
as God commaundeth ye.
For all are sinners Dauid saith,
Yea, do the best we may,
Vnprofitable seruaunts still we be,
we can it not denay.
Iudge ye therfore how far amisse,
all those their liues do frame:
That outwardly professe Gods truth,
and inward hate the same.
Iudge ye againe that hate your Prince,
and séeke the Realme to spoyle:
What monstrous Swine you proue at length,
for all your couert coyle.
Experience late by Felton false,
and Nortons two I wéene:
Their Treason known were wondred at
as they had Monsters béen.
And surely I can iudge no lesse,
but that they Monsters were:
Quite changed from true subiects shape,
their déedes did so appere.
Then let their déedes example be,
to vs that Subiects are:
For treason ends by shamfull death,
therfore by them beware.
I speake not here of monstrous Pride,
in Man, in Mayde, and Wife:
Nor Whoordom which is daily vsde,
in England ranke and rife.
Of Couetousnesse, what should I say,
or Vsery daily don:
It booteth not to speake therof,
so much therby is wonne.
But if they well do count their Cardes,
how God they do offend:
I wis their swéete ill gotten gaines,
hath sowre and bitter end,
From the which end deliuer vs Lord,
and graunt both hie and low,
To become thy seruaunts iust and true
and then our end we know.
God grant our gracious souerain Quéen
long ouer vs may raigne:
And this life past, with Christ our Lord,
Heauens ioyes she may attaine.


Title:
Ioyfull newes for true subiectes, to God and the Crovvne the rebelles are cooled, their bragges be put dovvne. Come humble ye downe, come humble ye downe, perforce novv submyt ye: to the Queen and the Crovvne

Lyrics:
Ioyfull Newes for true Subiectes, to God and the Crovvne:
The Rebelles are cooled, their Bragges be put dovvne.
Come humble ye downe, come humble ye downe,
Perforce novv submit ye: to the Queen and the Crovvne.

Al true English Subiects both moste and leste,
geue thanks vnto God, with humble knees downe
That it hath pleazde him at our request,
to vanquish the Rebels that troubled the Crowne,
Come humble ye downe, come humble ye downe:
Perforce now submit ye: to the Queen & the Crowne.

The VVestmerlande Bull, and Man in the Moone,
The Beare hath brought their Brauerie downe:
I dare saye for sorowe they are redy to swoone:
That euer they ymagynde to trouble the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe &c.

And Sir Iohn Shorne, as fame doth reporte
is hanged vp so hye that he can not come downe:
Because he thought it so good a sporte,
to playe the Traytor against the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe &c.

And because he should not hange alone,
to honor his priesthoode of holy Renowne:
Sir Iohn Svvingbreeche his fellow, a Rebell well knowen
they say is hanged with hym for troubling ye Crowne
Come humble ye downe.&c.

The rest that are fled, wyll soone be caught
though yet they lye lurking in countrey and towne:
And than they be trusde vp by and by strayght
except the Quenes mercie that weareth the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

But her Maiestie of mercie, is endued with store,
that knewe they full well that nowe are put downe
Els would they not aventerd to rayse this vprore,
Now be they foorthco[m]myng as pleaseth the Crowne
Come humble ye downe.&c.

But that pertayneth no matter of mine,
yet for my good will on me do not frowne,
It must be as pleaseth God to assigne:
The hart of our Quene that weareth the Crowne.
Com humble ye downe.&c.

But thankes bee to God, their spyte is donne,
they haue spyt their Venom both Knyght and Clowne
In deede (I must saye) very fayre haue they sponne
They had better haue kept them true to the Crowne
Come humble ye downe.&c.

No doubt the Deuill had them bewitcht
they lackt Bishop Boner to cuniure him downe:
If he had liued till now his eares would haue icht:
for Ioye to heare how they trouble the Crowne.
Com humble ye downe.&c.

And sure he would haue written in haste
to his holy father of hie Renowne:
for helpe to spoyle consume and waste,
all those that despised his triple Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

And that was the meaning of those that began,
to roote out Christes doctrine suppresse & put downe
They haue mist their purpose, now shift how they can:
god hath preuented them for troubling the Crowne
Com humble ye downe.&c.

If they had preuayled, then had we been wo,
then had ben olde wayling in countrie and Towne
Then should many a woman her husband forgoe,
all longe of the Rebelles that troubled the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

Then had ben many a fatherlesse childe,
that shoulde haue gon begging vp and downe:
Yea, many a chaste damsell should haue ben defilde
By those Popish Priestes that troubled the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

Yea, many a good Preacher should haue lost his lyfe,
many a Lorde and Lady of noble Renowne:
Yea, many an Infant, and many a wyfe,
by those cruell Rebelles that troubled the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

To spoyle Co[m]mon VVEalth it was the next waye,
Example by other Realmes of Renowne:
How Warre and Rebellion bred their decaye,
and all for matters perteynynge the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

But praysed be God they haue not theyr will,
The hurt they ment other, to them doth redowne:
In daunger both life and goods to spill,
These fruicts do they reape for troubling the Crowne
Com humble ye downe &c.

God saue the Queenes Maiestie and confound hir foes,
Els turne their hartes quite vpsidowne:
To become true Subiectes as well as those
that faythfully and truly haue serued the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe.&c.

God graunt euery one after his vocation,
To remember the accompt he must laye downe:
And that we maye all in this Englysh Nation
Be true to God, the Queene and the Crowne.
Come humble ye downe, come humble ye downe,
God graunt Queene Elizabeth longe to weare ye crowne


Title:
A proper new balad of the Bryber Gehesie. Taken out of the fourth booke of Kinges the. v. chapter. To the tune of Kynge Salomon.

Location of Printer:
Fleet Street beneath the conduit at the sign of St John the evangelist

Lyrics:
WAs not the Bryber Gehezie
Rewarded iustly of the Lord,
Which for example verelie,
The holie Scripture doth re|corde
If this be true, as true it was,
Of his rewarde:
Why should not christan men alas,
Than haue regarde.

When that the Prophet Elizae
Had clensed from the Leprosie,
Naaman of Assiria,
Thorow the workes of God on hye:
Then Naaman wolde him constrame
To take rewarde:
But Elizae from that refrainde,
And had regarde.

But Gehezie of falsehed minde,
When Naaman did passe awaie.
Did hie him faste that was behinde,
And vnto Naaman did saie:
Beholde my master hath me sente
For a rewarde,
To Prophetes children he is bente
To haue regarde.

With right good will said Naaman,
Him to rewarde, and did proceede,
And Gehezie conuaide it then
So preuilie in verie deede,
For getting that the Prophete tho,
Of his, rewarde
Could by the sprite of God it knowe,
And haue regarde,

Alas how was thou Gehezie,
Rauished in worldy gaint?
How was thou brought to mizerie,
Of God appointed for thy paine,
And all thy of springe after thee,
For thy rewarde,
The Lorde that hateth Briberie,
Hath his regarde.

Then Gehezie deceitfulie
To fore the Prophet tooke his waie,
Who said to hime, o Gehezie,
Went not my harte with thee I saie,
When Naaman from Charret came,
Thee to rewarde:
And thou hast falselie hid the same,
without regarde.

Gehezie is it now a time
Thy bribes (he said) for to receaue?
Beholde for this thy wicked crime
That leproseie to thee shall cleaue,
The which was vpon Naaman,
For thy rewarde,
And to thy seede thee after than,
To haue regarde.

Incontinent then Gehezie
Departed from his presence so,
As the Texte doth verefie,
A Leper white as is the snowe,
Example to such bribers all,
To haue regarde,
With Geheziè at lengthe they shall
Haue their rewarde,

If they doe not their faultes confesse
Detestinge of their Bryberie,
Else God will spie ther wickednesse
Though they it cloke with Genezie:
And can them paie accordinglie,
The like rewarde,
As he hath done to Iehezie,
O haue regarde.

The Lord he is that same God still
That he was than vndoubtedlie,
Such Gehezies he punish will,
That Bribes receiue so wickedlie,
Though they so preuilie do hide
their false rewarde.
Yet of the Lorde it will be spide,
Who hath regarde.

O Lorde vs guide in all our waies
That we may leade our liues a right
to deale with trueth at all assaies,
Giue vnto vs thy holie sprite:
And that our Queene & her Councell
Maie haue regarde,
In this Lande Bribers to expell
that take rewarde.


Title:
The true description of two monsterous chiildren

Lyrics:
I Read how affrique land was fraught
for their most filthy life,
With monstrous shapes, confuzedly
that therin wer full rife.

But England now pursues their vyle
and detestable path,
Embracyng eke all mischéefs great
that moues Gods mightie wrath.

As these vnnaturall shapes & formes,
thus brought forth in our dayes:
Are tokens true and manifest,
how God by dyuers wayes:

Doth styrre vs to amendment of
our vyle and cankred lyfe:
Which to to much abused is,
in man, in chylde, and wyfe.

We wallow so in filthie sin,
and naught at all regarde:
Nor wyll not feare the threats of God
tyll we for iust rewarde:

Be ouerwhelmd with mischéefs great,
which ready bent for vs
Full long a go decreed wer,
as Scriptures doth discus.

Both tender babes & eke brute beastes,
in shape disfourmed bée:
Full manie wayes he plagues the earth,
(as dayly we may sée)

Thus mightie Ioue, to pearce our harts
these tokens straunge doth send,
To call vs from our filthie lyfe
our wicked wayes t'amend.

And thus by these two children here,
forewarnes both man and wyfe:
How both estates ought to bewayle,
their vile and wretched lyfe.

For sure we all may be agast,
to sée these shapes vnkynd:
And tremblyng feare may pearce our harts
our God to haue in mynd.

For yf we printed in our brest,
these signes and tokens straunge:
Wold make vs from our sinnes to shrike
our liues a new to chaunge.

But some proude boastyng Pharisie,
the parents wyll detect:
And iudge with heapes of vglie vice
their liues to be infect.

No no, but lessons for vs all,
which dayly doe offend:
Yea more perhaps, then hath the fréends,
whom God this birth did lend.

For yf you wyll with single eye,
note well and view the text:
And marke our Sauiours aunswer eke,
that thereto is annext:

Where his disciples asked him,
to know therein his mynd:
Yf greatter wer the parents sinnes,
or his that was borne blynd.

To whom Christ aunswered in a bréef,
that neither hée, nor they:
Deserued had that crooked fate,
although they sin each day.

But to the end Gods glorie great,
and miracles diuine:
Might on the earth apparaunt be,
his workes for to define.

Such lyke examples moued me,
in these forgetfull dayes:
To rue our state that vs a mong,
vice beares such swings and swayes.

Wherein the goodnesse great of God
we way and set so light:
By such examples callyng vs,
from sin both day and night.

Where we doe runne at randon wyde,
our selues flatteryng styll:
And blazyng others faults and crimes,
yet we our selues most yll.

But if we doe consider right,
and in euen balaunce way:
The ruine great of hartie loue,
among vs at this day:

And well behyld with inward eyes,
th'embracyng of these Twinnes:
That God by them vpbraides vs for
our false discemblyng sinnes.

We would with Niniuie repent
our former passed yeares,
Bewaylyng eke our secret sinnes
in sacke cloth and in teares.

Therfore in time amend your state,
and call to God for grace:
Bewayle your former lyfe and sinnes,
while you haue time and space.


Title:
A newe ballade of a louer/ extolling his ladye

Lyrics:
ALas my harte doth boyle, and burne with in my breste: To showe to thée myneonely déere, my sute and sure request. My loue no toung can tell, ne pen can well descrye:
Extend thy Loue for loue againe? Or els for Loue I dye.

 My loue is set so suer,
And fixed on thee so:
That by no meanes I can abstaine,
My faythfull loue to showe,
My wounded harte theirfore:
To thee for helpe doth crye:
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

 Although the Gods were bent,
With greedie mynde to slaye:
My corpes with cruell panges of death,
And lyfe to take awaye.
yet should my faythfull harte,
At no tyme from thee flye:
Show loue therfore for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

 Although the Sun were bent,
To burne me with his beames:
and that mine eyes throw greuos pangs,
Should send forth bloudy streames.
yet would I not for sake,
But styll to thee wolude crye:
To showe me loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though ech sterre were tournd,
Vntyll a fiery darte:
And were all ready bent with payne,
To perce throwe out my harte.
yet coulde I not forsake,
To loue thee faythfullye,
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

 ye though eche foule were formde,
A Serpent fell to be:
My corps to slay wt bloudy wounds,
And to deuower me.
yet would I be thine owne,
To loue full hartelye:
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

ye though the Lyon were,
with gapinge gredye Iawe:
Readye with rygorus raggye teeth,
My fleshe to teare and gnawe,
yet woulde I be thine owne,
To serue most earnestlye:
Extend thy loue, for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

 ye though the fishes all,
That swymes in surginge sease:
should swallowe me wt gredy mouth
yet could thee not apease.
My earnest harte to thee,
To loue entyerlye:
Extend thy loue for loue againe,
Or els for loue I dye.

 ye though the earth would gape,
And swallowe me there in:
And that I should tormentyd be,
In hell with euery fyn.
yet would I be thy owne,
To saue or els to spyll:
Show me therfore lyke loue againe
Or els thou dost me kyll.


Title:
[An exhortation to despise the gifts], whych we receaue by faylynge fortune

Lyrics:
Why doeth the worlde carke and care, for glory that is vayne
Whose welth departeth for euermore, and wyl not come agayne
Whose power so sone is ouerthrowen, and falleth in decaye
As doeth the potte which we se made, of brittell moulde and claye.

Do soner truste the letters wrytten, vpon the meltynge yse
Then flattering chaunce of worldly gyftes, vnconstaunt as the dyse
Whych forgeth vyce in vertues place, moch myschiefe to procure
Who can be certayne here to lyue, one mynute of an houre.

Tell, where is noble Salomon, in wytte whych dyd excell
Or Absalon the beawtyfull, of whom olde storres tell.
Or where is Sampson great and strong, vnable to be wonne
Or Ionathas the pleasauntst man, that raygned vnder the sunne.

Wher is Cesar that mighty Prince, which ruled East and weste
Or Dyues that belly God, whych spent both fyshe and beaste
What is become of Cicero, that could so well declame
Or wher is learned Aristotle that nowe doeth beare the name

Thus noble men & rulers both, thus tyme which passeth away
Thus kinges which had theyr holdes ful strong to kepe them nyght & daye
Thus princes once which were of might, & with great power dyd flo rishe
In the twinkling of an eye, for euermore doth perishe

In howe short space doth slyppe awaye, these worldly pleasures all
Like shadowes or soch vanities, whych sone doth slyde and fall
Seducynge vs from heauenly gyftes, whych doeth for vs remayne
And leade vs to thynges, whych are vngodly vyle and vayne

O meat for wormes, O dewe sone melted, O clotte of bryttle claye
Why doest thou trust styll to possesse, that whych wyl sone decaye
Thou canst not tel what shal become, of the to morowe nexte
Therfore do good by thy lyfe tyme, let none of the be vexte.

For as the leafe whych wyth the wynde, we see dryuen to and fro
So shal thy pryde and gorglous fare, be putte awaye also
Wher is become thy proud carcas, which yu thoughtest freshe and gaye
In scripture lykened to the flower, that springeth in the maye.

Thinke nothinge thyne that thou mayst lose, nor trust to kepe it styll
For that thou hast by worldly chaunce, it fayleth when it wyll
Wherfore to searche immortal thinges, se that thou do deuyse
The man is bleste that can and wyll, these worldly gyftes despyse.


Title:
The Balade which Anne Askewe made and sange whan she was in Newgate

Lyrics:
LYke as the armed knyght
Appoynted to the fielde
With this worlde wyl I fyght
And fayth shalbe my shyelde.
Fayth is that weapon stronge
Whych wyl not fayle at nede
My foes therfore amonge.
Therwyth wyll I procede.
As it is had in strengthe
And force of Christes waye,
It wyll preuayle at lengthe
Though all the deuyls saye naye.
Fayth in the fathers olde
Obtayned ryghtwysnes
Whych make me verye bolde
To feare no worldes dystresse.
I nowe reioce in harte
And hope byd me do so,
For Christ wyll take my part
And ease me of my wo.
Thou sayst lorde, who so knocke
To them wylt thou attende
Vndo therfore the locke
And thy stronge power sende.
More enemyes now I haue
Than heeres vpon my head
Let them not me depraue
But fyght thou in my steade.
On the my care I cast
For all theyr cruell spyght
I set not by theyr hast
For thou art my delyght.
I am not she that lyst
My anker to let fall
For euerye drystynge myst
My shyppe substancyall.
Not oft vse I to wryght
In prose nor yet in tyme
Yet wyll I shewe our syght
That I sawe in my tyme.
I sawe a tyall trone
Where Iustyce shulde haue sytte
But in her stede was one
Of modye cruell wytte.
Absorpt was tyghtwysnesse
As of the ragynge floude
Sathan in hys excesse
Suete vp the gyltelesse bloude.
Then thought I, Iesus lorde
Whan thou shalte iudge vs all
Harde is it to recorde
On these men what wyl fall.
Yet lorde I the desyre
For that they do to me
Let them not tast the hyre
Of theyr inyquyte.
God saue the kynge.


Title:
Of the horyble and woful destruccion of Ierusalem And of the sygnes and tokens that were seene before it was destroied: which distruction was after Christes assension .xlii. yeares.

Location of Printer:
Fleet Street beneath the conduit at the sign of St johnn Evangelist

Lyrics:
AN Emperour Vaspasian
Some tyme in Rome there was,
Through whom much dolors then be gan
Of mortall wars alas,
With in two yeares that he did rayne
He put the Iewes to myckill payne
With fyer and sword both take and slayne,
His power brought so to passe,
His Sone Tytus hauing no dread
His army ouer Iudae spread
The people to the Citie flead
Hoping to haue redresse.

Before Titus Vaspasians sonne
Vnto this warres dyd goo
Was after Cristes assencion,
Longe .xl. Yeares and two
Then did the Romayns with suche pride
Be set theyr land both far and wyde,
And hemd them in, on euery side
To theyr great payne and wo,
They brought the Iewes in such a case
The prophesye, to bryng to passe,
Spoke by our Lord when he here was
The scripture doth saye so.

That prudent Iewe Iosephus sayes
Who did no wryte in vayne,
That he was present in those dayes
And sawe this mortall payne,
When that Tytus both bold and stout
Be set Ierusalem a bout,
That none mought in, nor Issue out,
No waye but to be slayne.
For Tytus his chyef capteyn was
The seige when he had brought to passe
Great was the cry woe and alas,
The story doth saye playne.

He stopt their pypes and Conduyts all,
That no water mought passe:
With famyne they were in great thrall,
Moste wofull was their case,
They were constraynyd in such need
With Horsse, and Asse, them selues to feed
Both Dogg, and Catte, this do I reed
Most ougle meate it was,
The honger ther it was so great,
Ones vomit was anothers meate
Ther was no waye for to intreate
But present death alas.

Sixe mounthes the siege it did holde on
A bout that Citie great,
Whearin was manie a mothers sonne
Did starue for lacke of meate,
The famous Ladies of that towne
That weare before of hie renowne,
For fault of foode fell in a sowne
Ther was nothinge to geate:
The storye this doth specifie,
The mothers moste vnnaturally,
They slewe their Children rufully,
And Rostyd them to eate.

This Titus then of hye renowne
Most valyently and bold,
The walles so stronge he did cast downe
Resystaunce waxyd colde,
The people in the streetes laye dead,
They had no Succour drynk nor bread
Muche was the blood that then was shead,
Alas lament wee should:
The Romains entred with suche might,
With Polare, speares, & swerdes so bright
They slew all that came in their sight
No mercie they did hold.

The Gates that couered were with golde
They threw them to the ground,
That famous Citie to behold
For sinne it was confound,
A leuen honderid thowsande slaine
Through honger, swerde & pestelent paine
In this the storie doth not faine,
Of manie a blooddy wound,
The stinke of carkas in the streete,
The feble soules that could not fleete
For faint with honger skarce could creepe,
Full heauie was their sounde.

Then Titus gaue this sentence bliue
Which Romayns lykyd well,
As many as you fynd a lyue,
After this Rate them sell,
As Crist was sold for thyrtye pence,
By Iudas and his false pretence,
So Titus made their recompence
The storie thys doth tell,
XXX. Iewes for a penie bougt,
As manie more were solde for nought
Ther owne confusion thus was wrought
Because they did rebell.

And manie prisoners mo I weene
To Egipt they weare send,
Fowerscore thousand, and seuenteene
In prison all their ende,
And Titus in his companie
Tooke manie suche as were worthie,
And lead them bounde all captiuelie,
To Rome with him to wend:
Ther was no helpe for to reuoke,
As Ihosephus saith in his booke
His Chronicles who liste to looke,
On truth they do depend.

Thirtie years God gaue them space
That they mought yet repent,
Their liues amend and call for grace
For them Christ did lament,
This louinge Lord oft did them call
By sundrie signes as heare you shall
Before his wrath on them did fall
Or anger fullie bent,
Twelue dayes eclipsed was the moone,
That they mought bee conuerted soone,
But they wist not what to bee doone,
But sinne still did augment.


Tags:
Other, Topical, Religious, Confessional, Political

Lyrics:
WHen that the Moone, in Northomberland,
After the chaynge, in age well conne,
Did rise with force, then to with stande,
The lyght and bright beames of the Sonne
The sorowfull dolers soone began,
Through Percies pryde to many a man.

But then a none the Westmere Bull,
Behelde the rysinge of this Moone,
Thinking that shee had byn at full,
He hastyd then a none full soone,
With horse, and Armes, and all his might,
From parfect daye, to vncertaine lyght.

When they in one, consent were pyght,
With them was many an ignorant man,
The Romyshe Lawes, they wold redyght
Through councell of some blind Syr Iohn,
Who neuer knewe godes veryte,
But to Rebellion then dyd a gree.

For if they would of gods word knowen.
Longe. xxx. yeres they haue had tyme,
Rebellion then had not byn sowen,
To brynge ther countre in such cryme,
Their poyson now, all men may see,
That vnder Suger longe did lie.

 What myschyfe mouid the Persies hart,
This enterpryse to take in hand,
This for to playe a Rebelles parte,
In raisinge vp Northomberland,
But looke what seede, by hym is sowen,
With sharp sythes downe it was soone mowen.

 That countre is, in full sore plyght,
That doth a gaynst their Prynce contend,
Seeking their owne dreames to redyght,
The Popes precepts for to defend,
Lyke brutyshe peruerst ignorant men,
That seekes before a lawe to ten.

 This venym longe a breedinge was
Which in the Persies breste did growe,
The Bull in bellinge did not ceasse,
Till that the poyson oute did flowe
So farr a broade the streames did ronne,
That backe a gayne cold not retourne.

 This hatefull poyson longe was hyde,
Under the cloake of amytie,
The outward Treasone was not spyde,
But couerid with all courtesie,
Their close vnlawfull conspitacion,
Hath brought them to great dysolacion.

 The hope vnsure was transytorye,
The which was in that clowdy Moone,
Her false eclypes with all the glorye,
Her ioye vnstable was endid soone
Her sudden chaynge now tells vs all,
That Suger sweet was blent with Gall.

 What state now maye hym selfe assure,
Longe here to lyue in quyetnes,
What worldely toye maye here in dure,
In those where is no stablenes,
Wher Lords, and Yerles, in welth doth flowe
From their hye state must fall downe lowe.

 Now by their fall learne to be wyse,
Both hye and lowe in eche degree,
Let no false lyght deceaue your eyes,
As it hath done of late you see.
The false beames of the glystringe Moone,
Now many a man it hath vndoone.

 For in the north the did shine longe,
But now eclypsyd is her lyght,
The Westmere Bull that held so stronge,
Hee is depreuyd of his myght,
For many tongs of them will tell,
How these to Yerles false did Rebell.

And many a man more as I heare,
That with these Rebelles did take part,
Which can not thinke them selues now cleare
That in brest beares a doble hart,
But as you haue be gonne to brewe,
So are you found Rebelles vntrue.



 The countre cleane you haue vndone,
The Lord graunt thersome better staye,
Or els will many a mothers sonne,
For this cursse you a nother daye,
You leaue your wyues and childrene deare,
Lamentinge in most wofull cheare.

 Now let vs praye as we are bound,
All for our Queenes hyghe maieste,
That shee her enemies may confound,
And all that to Rebelles agre,
And plant true men vp in their place,
The Lord from heauen now gyue her grace.


Location of Printer:
Long shop adjoining St Midlreds church in the Pultrie

Lyrics:
When raging louts with feble braines,
moste wilfully wyl spend a waye:
And eke consume more then their gaines,
in riotyng al the longe day.
And spend with him that wil spend moste:
yet of their gaine they need not boste.

When drunken Drunkerds will not spare,
the Alehous daily for to plye:
But sit and tipple there full square,
and to their gaines wil haue no eye.
Nor will not cease I warrant ye:
so long as they haue one penny.

When rufling roisters wil bestowe,
vpon thir backs suche fine aray:
And be not wurth that whiche they owe,
falling therby in to decay.
Yet wil they set theron a face:
and bragge and crake it out a pace.

When liuely lads wil plye the dice,
consuming there away their good:
No man wil count them to be wice,
but rather to be mad or wood.
For when that all their money is gone:
then are they dressed like a mome.

When lasie loiterers will not wurk:
and honestly their liuings get:
But had rather in corners lurk,
then that they wold with labor swet.
Therfore no welth they can attain:
but liue in trouble and in pain.

When doting doltes wil enterprise,
to wurk suche feates as I haue tolde:
Not ceassing for to exercise,
worse deeds then those wt courage bold.
Then some do lay their cotes to gage:
til that they haue receiued their wage.

Then some the Counter oft doo kisse,
if that the money be not paid:
Or if that they their day doo misse,
for whiche to gage their Cote was laid.
Yet wil they not by this take heed:
but stil continew to proceed.

Then some therby their credit lose
so that no wise man wil them trust:
Wherfore they can no lenger glose,
but rub and reuel not they must.
For whersoeuer they become:
they are not so wel trust as knowne.

Then some at length do beg their bread,
who if in time they had been wise:
Might wel haue had inough to fed,
them selues, their children & their wiues:
But when that all is gone and spent:
it is to late then to repent.

Then some to pilfer doo begin,
but assone as they be espied:
With whips they are laid on the skin,
at a carts ars being wel tied.
But al this can not those amend:
that wil doo mischefe to the end.

Then some proceed to rob and kyl,
counting al fish that comes to net:
And yf that they might haue their wil,
for right or wrong they wuld not let.
Til at the they last fall in bands:
and can not escape out of hands.

Then some at Newgate doo take ship,
sailing ful fast vp holborne hil:
And at Tiborn their anckers piche,
ful sore in deed against their wil.
But then it is to late I say:
to cal againe the yesterday.

Wherfore al ye that vse this trade,
leaue of betimes yf ye be wise:
Lest that perchaunce this way ye wade,
ful sore against your owne deuise.
For heer ye see the end of suche:
as litle haue and wil spend muche.


Title:
A discription of Nortons falcehod of Yorke shyre, and of his fatall farewel 
A discription of Nortons falcehod of Yorke shyre, and of his fatall farewel

Location of Printer:
the sign of the Black boy middel north door of Paul's churchmiddel north door of Paul's church at the middle north door of Paul's church

Lyrics:
The fatal fine of Traitours loe:
By Iustice due, deseruyng soe.

OF late (alas) the great vntruth
Of Traitours, how it sped
Who list to know, shal here […]e
How late allegeance fled.
 If Riuers rage against the Sea.
And swell with soddeine rayne:
How glad are they to fall agayne,
And trace their wonted traine?
If fire by force wolde forge the fall
Of any sumptuouse place,
If water floods byd him leaue of,
His flames he wyll disgrace.
If God command the wyndes to cease,
His blastes are layd full low:
If God command the seas to calme,
They wyll not rage or flow.
All thinges at Gods commandement be,
If he their state regarde:
And no man liues whose destinie
By him is vnpreparde.
But when a man forsakes the ship,
And rowles in wallowing waues:
And of his voluntarie wyll,
His owne good hap depraues:
How shal he hope to scape the gulfe?
How shal he thinke to deale?
How shal his fansie bring him sound
To Safties shore with sayle?
How shall his fraight in fine succede?
Alas what shall he gayne?
What feare by storms do make him quake
How ofte subiecte to payne?
How sundrie times in Dangers den
Is throwne the man vnwyse?
Who climes withouten holde on hye,
Beware, I him aduize.
All such as trust to false contracts,
Or secret harmes conspire?
Be sure, with Nortons they shal taste
A right deserued hire.
They can not looke for better spéede,
No death for such too fell?
God grant the iustice of the worlde
Put by the paynes of hell.
For such a pensiue case it is,
That English harts did dare
To passe the boundes of duties lawe,
Or of their cuntrie care.
And mercie hath so long releast
Offendours (God doth know)
And bountie of our curteous Quéene
Too long hath spared her foe.
But God, whose grace inspires her harte,
Wyll not abyde the spight
Of Rebels rage, who rampe to reach
From her, her title quight.
Although shee flowe in pitifull zeale,
And loueth to sucke no blood:
Yet God a caueat wyll her lend
T'appease those Vipers moode.
A man that sées his house on fire,
Wyll seke to quench the flame:
Els from the spoyle some parte conuey,
Els seke the heate to tame.
Who sée a penthouse wether beate,
And heares a boistrouse wynde:
But héedefull sasetie of himselfe,
Wyll force him succour fynde?
The pitifull pacient Pellican,
Her blood although shée shed:
Yet wyll shée seme her date to end,
Or care her young be sped.
The Eagle flynges her yong ones downe
That sight of sunne refuse:
Vnperfect fowles shée deadly hates,
And rightly such misvse.
The Crane wolde flye vp to the Sunne,
I heard it once of olde:
And with the kyng of byrdes did striue
By Fame, I heard it tolde
And do woe she wolde not fal f[…]e no,
But higher styll did mou[…]:
Til past her reach (saith olde reporte)
Shame made a backe recour
I touch no Armes herein at all
But shew a fable wyse:
Whose morall sence doth repr[…]
Of clymers hye the guyse.
Who buyldes a house of many […],
and laith not ground work[…]
But doth ertorte the ground […]g,
His buildyng can not dure[…]
 Who sekes surmising to disp[…]
a Ruler sent by GOD:
Is subiect sure, deuoide of grace
The cause of his owne rod.
A byrde that wyll her nest defyle
By right should loose a wyng:
And then is shee no slying fowle,
But slow as other thyng.
And he that loseth all at games,
Or spendes in fowle excesse:
And hopes by haps to heale his harme,
Must drinke of deare distresse.
To speake of brydles to restrayne
This wylfull wayward crewe:
They care not for the booke of God,
To Princes, men vntrue.
To cuntrye, causers of much woe,
To faithfull fréendes, a fall:
And to their owne estates, a styng,
To others, sharpe as gall.
O Lorde, how long these Lizerds lurkt,
Good GOD, how great a whyle
Were they in hand with feigned harts
Their cuntrye to defyle?
How did they frame their furniture?
How sit they made their tooles:
How Symon sought our englysh Troie
To bryng to Romaine scooles.
How Simon Magus playd his parte,
How Babilon bawde did rage:
How Basan bulles begon to bell,
How Iudas sought his wage.
How Iannes and Iambres did abyde
The brunt of brainesicke acts,
How Dathan, Chore, Abiram séemd
To dash our Moyses facts.
How Romaine marchant set a fresh
His pardons braue a sale,
How alwayes some against the Truth
Wolde dreame a senceles tale.
Gods vicar from his god receaued
The keyes to lose and bynd:
Baals chaplein thoght h{is} fire wo[…]e
Such was his pagan mynd.
Good Lorde how hits the ter[…] their […]ts
That saith such men shall bée
In their religion hot nor colde
Of much varietie.
And sundry sorts of sects sur[…]
Diuision shall appeare:
Against the father, sonne sha[…]ue,
Gainst mother, daughter […]e.
Is it not come to passe trow you?
Yea, bastards sure they bée,
Who our good mother Quéene […]
Withstand rebelliouslie.
Can God his vengeance long reta[…]
Where his true seruants féele
Iniuriouse spights of godlesse men,
Who turne as doth a whéele?
No no, his suffryug long (be sure)
Wyll pay his foes at last:
His mercye moued once away,
He shall them quight out cast
With sentence iust for their vntruth,
And breakyng of his wyll:
The fruits of their sedicious séeds,
The barnes of earth shall fyll.
Their soules God wot sore clogd wt crime
And their posteritie
Bespotted sore with their abuse,
And stand by their follie.
Their liuyngs left their name a shame,
Their deedes with poyson sped:
Their deathes a wage for want of grace
Their honours quite is dead.
Their flesh to feede the kytes and crowes
Their armes a maze for men:
Their guerdon as examples are
To dash dolte Dunces den.
Throw vp your snouts you sluggish sorte
You mumming maskyng route:
Extoll your exclamations vp,
Baals chapleines, champions stoute.
Make sute for pardons, papists braue,
For traitours indulgence:
Send out some purgatorie scraps,
Some Bulls with Peter pence.
O swarme of Drones, how dare ye styl
With labouryng Bées contend?
You sought for home from the hiues,
But gall you found in end.
These waspes do wast, their stings be out
Their spight wyll not auayle:
These Peacocks proude are naked lefte
Of their displayed tayle.
These Turkye cocks iu cullour red,
So long haue lurkt a loofe:
The Beare (although but slow of foote)
Hath pluct his wynges by proofe.
The Moone her borowed light hath lost,
Shee wayned as we see:
Who hoped by hap of others harmes,
A full Moone once to bée.
The Lyon suffred long the Bull,
His noble mynd to trye:
Vntyll the Bull was rageyng wood,
And from his stake did hye.
Then time it was to bid him stay
Perforce, his hornes to cut:
And make him leaue his rageing tunes
In scilence to be put.
And all the calues of Basan kynd
Are weaned from their wish:
The Hircan Tigers tamed now,
Lemathon eates no fish.
Beholde before your balefull eyes
The purchace of your parte,
Suruey your sodeine sorrowful sight
With sighes of dubble harte.
Lament the lacke of your alies
Religious rebells all:
Bewepe that yll successe of yours,
Come curse your sodeine fall.
And when ye haue your guiles out sought
And all your craft approued,
Peccauimus shall be your song
Your ground worke is remoued.
And looke how Nortons sped their wills
Euen so their sect shall haue,
No better let them hope to gayne
But gallowes without graue.


Title:
A balad intituled, A cold pye for the papistes wherin is contayned: the trust of true subiectes for suppressyng of sedicious papistrie and rebellion: to the maintenance of the Gospell, and the publique peace of Englande

Lyrics:
What Christian that the Lord doth feare,
Can sobs & blubbering teares forbeare,
the time to way vprightly?
To se how subiects Ebbe and Flowe,
Wherby great discord haps to growe,
a thing God knowes vnsightly:
Wherby our Queene and Realme we see,
By such (alas) disquiet be,
But God cut short the rage of those,
As seeke to be their Countreis Foes,
Beat down their brags their boaste deface,
Unto our Queene Lord graunt thy grace,
That she the sword from sheath may draw
To vanquish such as hate thy law,
Then shall we be: from daunger free,
Graunt heauenly God, thus it may be.

The carelesse Crew the shameles Route·
Of Papists proud whose harts most stoute,
thy Gospell are disdaining:
Who secretly in corners lurke,
Much mischeife here and there to worke,
within our land remayning:
Deface deare God for Christes sake,
Then shall their Trayterous Treason […]ake,
Preuent their hope wherin they stay,
And disanuil their Golden day,
Wherof they brag: and make great boast,
Of Christ and his to scoure the Coast·
They trust to treade thy Gospell downe,
Against our Queene they fret and frowne,
Thus thine and thee, contemned be,
From all such Rebels, England free.

And fortefie our Queene with grace,
That she with sword from hence may chase,
all those that haue assented:
Against thy word and truth to iarre,
Who seek to rayse vp Ciuill warre,
as people discontented,
With thy deare gifts so manifolde
Which they and we do well behold,
Styll giuen by thy good prouidence,
Yet som withstand thy reuerence,
Thy worship Lord they do disdaine,
They seeke (as Truth) Lies to maintaine,
God graunt our Queene may looke about,
From hence to weede, such Papists stout,
Then shall we be, from daunger free,
Graunt heauenly God so it may be.

The discord in the North we knowe,
Which through the Poape did spring and grow,
was warely preuented:
And some that his Aduauncement sought,
A Hempen Hatchet iustly caught,
Because they so assented:
To take the Field agaynst all right
Against the Trueth and Queene to fight:
But if thy worde and Gospell deare,
Had ben so taught and preached theare
As it hath ben in London longe,
They wolde haue shund suche Treason stronge,
And duely done Obedience:
Unto our Queene: with reuerence:
Whose mercye may: procure alwaye·
Her Subiectes Hartes in Trueth to staye.

Yet many se[…]ke for to despyse,
The Fowntayne, whence suche Grace doth ryse,
Our Queene and Soueraygne raygnynge:
And vp and downe they vse to goe,
Lyke Rebelles, Discorde for to sowe
with Lyes of their owne faynynge:
What? Doth the Princesse Curteousie,
Of you deserue suche Iniurie?
That suche Rewarde ye render now,
To her, whiche so doth tender you?
Shall her true loue reape suche Disdaine?
Or thinke ye now as Lordes to raygne?
Our Queene beares not a Sworde for nought
Your Duties now ye wyll be taught:
I trust her Grace, within short space:
All peruers Papists wyll hence chace.

And where as mercye hath ben cause,
That ye transgresse her Highnesse Lawes:
I trust ye shall knowe truelye:
That Iustice Sworde shall cut you short,
Whiche to worke mischiefe thinke it sport,
As Rebelles most vnrulye:
Beware therfore, ye Papists prowde,
Whiche seeke in Dennes your selues to shrowde,
To worke your wiles as voide of feare,
In casting Billes now here, now there,
Which seemes our Queene and Crowne to touch
And ye your selues cannot advouche,
The hangman giue you not such checkes,
That Tiburne chaunce to breake your necks,
Trust me ye may, if ye do play,
The Rebels thus, you must that way.

For when such Wicked plants are gone,
Englande shall haue no cause to mone,
Nor future Foes be doutynge:
God graunt the Sworde may shun the Sheathe,
And by the Rootes suche Weedes bereaue,
For many here are scowtynge:
Who seeke as muche as ere they maye,
This lyttell Brittaine to betraye:
And all because we Christ professe,
As present tyme doth proue no lesse:
But God confownde poore Englandes Foes
And safely keepe our Ryall Rose:
From suche as woulde her highnesse harme,
With NESTORS yeares her Person arme:
Graunt her thy Grace, in euery place,
The Force of Rebelles to deface.


Title:
A new balade entituled as foloweth. To such as write in metres, I write of small matters an exhortation, by readyng of which, men may delite in such as be worthy commendation.

Location of Printer:
St Katherine's beside the tower of London

Lyrics:
To such as write in Metres, I write
Of small matters an exhortation,
By readyng of which, men may delite
In such as be worthy commendation.
My verse also it hath relation
To such as print, that they doe it well,
The better they shall their Metres sell.

And when we haue doen al that euer we can,
Let vs neuer seke prayse at the mouth of man.
HORACE, that noble Poet did write
In his learned booke, the arte of Poetrie
Notable thinges, of which to resite
One is now to be noted speciallie
In these our dayes, and wot ye whie?
For some there be, take matters in hand
Chiefly in Metre, to shew their fancie
As did in his dayes, a certaine band.

Read in his bookes, and then vnderstand,
They vexed his eares, they troubled his eyes
With Metres in number, compared to ye sand:
And lacked not such, as wolde to the skyes
So prayse their workes (such was their guyse)
And also extoll their Metres so
With wordes freuolous, and manifest lyes,
That lyke vnto them, there was no mo.

But what saith HORACE, afore we go
Any further herein? because they did vse
To procure freendes, lest that their fo
Shoulde paint them out, and so accuse
Their doinges in verse, and their abuse
Which men to praise them, were not so prest
As Horace agayne wolde styll refuse
To admit that number in to his brest.

Such coulde not dwell in his studie or chest
LVCILIVS, with other in Horace dayes
Was one which he coulde not disgest
His verse in wordes, or sence alwayes
For the most parte deserued small prayse.
And why? because he had more respect
To couet the garland, of Lawrel or Bayes
For number rather, then verse select.

For when by writing men doe detect
Their wysedome, or els their follie in deede
Yf it be foolish, they doe correct
Or ought that can, and that with speede
As HORACE did: the vnskylfull breede
Of Poets that wrote in his time (I say)
The workes of such, as ye may read,
Continue not long, but fall away.

Such spices & wares as come from the sea
They be good to vse from towne to towne,
To the Pedler they be a right good stay
To put in his stuff, blacke white or browne,
Good for the Master, and good for ye Clowne
To make (as ye know) the matter cleane,
Good to toke vp, and good to cast downe
When ye haue doen, ye know what I meane.

Your balades of loue not worth a beane
A number there be, although not all,
Some be pithie, some weake, some leane
Some doe runne as round as a ball:
Some verses haue such a pleasant fall
That pleasure it is for any man
Whether his knowledge be great or small
So that of a verse some skyll he can.

But some yf ye take in hand to skan
They lacke their grace, they lacke good sence,
The Printer shoulde therfore with his fan
Pourge chaff from corne, to auoyde offence.
And not for lucre, vnder pretence
Of newes, to print what commeth to hand,
But that which is meete to bring in pence
Let him print, the matter well stand:

Our englysh men, some out of the land
A sorte of Rebelles sturdye and stoute,
with our pope holy men, that ouerthwart band
At Louaine, with open sclander breath oute.
What enuie can doe, to bryng in doubte
The godly workes well written of late
Of learned men, and now go aboute
To stirre vp against vs warre and debate.

Wherfore let vs not open a gate,
Eyther the Printer, or they which write
To such as they be, knowyng their state,
Their sclanderous pen doth cruelly byte.
Let them not say that those which endyte
Lacke knowledge in that, the pen doth expresse,
Let them not say that a rauenyng Kyte
Is as good as a Larke, at a Printers messe.

But now lest ye thinke me to vse excesse
I wyll to an end my self prepare,
Wyshyng all them that wyll adresse
Their pen to Metres, let them not spare
To folow Chawcer, a man very rare,
Lidgate, Wager, Barclay and Bale:
VVith many other that excellent are,
In these our dayes, extant to sale.

Let writers not couet the bottom or dale
Yf they may come to the hyll or brinke,
And when they haue written their learned tale
The Printer must vse good paper and inke.
Or els the reader may sometime shrinke
When faulte by inke or paper is seene,
And thus euery day before we drinke
Let vs pray God to saue our Queene. Amen.


Title:
Almightie God I pray, his holy spirite to send the iust mannes hart stedfast to stay, and wicked liues to mend.

Lyrics:
Almightie God I pray, his Holy spirite to send:
The iust mannes hart stedfast to stay, and wicked liues to mend.

True tryall touchyng truth, time trimly here doth trye:
Except the Scribes therfore we passe in righteousnes, we dye.
Myndes many mooued bée, all truth to establysh:
Papes popish puft in Plutoes pride, all popery here doe wysh.
Voyde from them all good men, which godly be in mynde:
Sith Sathan assaileth some so sore, and styl their harts doth blynde.
Embrace and loue the Truth, on Christs syde stifly stand:
Deny the Pope Sathan the Turke, reiect them quite from hand.
And neuer wish in wyll, with wicked men t'agrée:
Xp[.]e saith we can not their wayes hould, and eke his seruaunts be.
Reiect, and expell quite, that which displease God may:
Encline to Christ, the truth embrace, be sure thereon to stay.
Reioyce though Rigour raunge, and run for to obtayne:
Vpon thée persecution beare, great ioyes to haue agayne.
Muse nothyng on these dayes, but wey the time now frayle:
The tryed truth time vnder treades, in time truth wyl preuayle.
In time the wicked laugh, in time the iust lament:
Muse not therfore, the iust to trie, the Lordes wyl now is bent.
Employ thy wyll and mynd, to the Scriptures deuine:
Be not seduced in no wyse, from truth doe not decline.
Refuse (yf faith thou hast) a Christian dumme to bée:
Yelde out thy talent with encrease, and looke thy faith be frée.
No doubt yf dumme thou lurke, clokyng thy faith for feare:
God wyl thée plague, and to good men, thy faint faith wyl appeare.
Enclyne thine eare hereto, and this well vnderstand:
Trie out the sence hereof by truth, all wickednesse withstand.
Heauen with the Lorde of Lordes, we shall not inherite:
Except our righteousnes far passe the Scribe and hipocrite.
All wicked men we sée, now glorie much in mynd:
Lookyng for masse, an Idoll which to them hath ben full kynd.
Truely those naughtie men, thinke now within short time:
Here, for Iesus Christes true worde, to plant Sathans doctrine.
Yea styll they hope in déede, and styll looke for a day:
No doubt, Christs gospel to exclude, & popes lawes to beare sway.
God saue our noble Quéene, Lorde graunt this we requyre:
Emong vs here long shée may raigne, and cut short papes desyre.
Send out thy wrath (O Lorde) confound with open shame:
Those which in hart vnto her grace, long lyfe doe not proclaime.
Out pull those hatefull harts, which in spight rage and boyle:
Against thy truth, her grace, good men (O Lorde) yu canst them foyle.
Nothyng but wickednesse, such in their hartes embrace,
Emong vs here although they say, and beare out a smooth face.
Now Lorde thy flocke defend, Lorde blesse thine heritage:
Direct thy spirit ouer vs all, in this our time and age.
Encourage vs against rageyng Sathan alway,
Quicken our myndes, strength vs herein, O Lorde to thée we pray:
Vouch safe eke on those men, thy heauenlie spirite to send,
O Lorde enspire them with thy grace, their erryng liues t'amend.
Destroy all errours here, illuminate their hart:
Call home all those which haue run wyde, to the truth them conuart.
Heale those which broken be (O Lorde I say) in mynd:
Reduce and bryng to thée in truth, all wicked Iewes vnkynd.
Infidels and eke Turkes, Paganes which know thée not:
So shall we all be to thée one inheritaunce and lot.
Tread vnder and suppresse all vice, and eke expell
Our hollow harted hipocrites, which loue not thy Gospell:
Put in their harts such grace (O Lorde) that they may now:
Hope in thée their eternall God, and to thée their hartes bow.
Euer to watch and pray, as thou hast taught the same:
Ready to be with oyle in lampe, heauen with thée to attaine.
VVée hopyng on thée thus, all vayne hope now confound:
In heauen wt thée at length wyl we thy worthy praise forth sound.
Lorde graunt that we may raigne, in ioyes celestiall:
Such as wyl styl thy foes remaine, shall to paynes infernall.
O Lorde graunt this request, Lorde let thy kyngdome cum:
Now watch and pray we wyll, for whye? Tempus edax rerum.

SOme hope you sée,
(The more pitie)
Not in the Lorde of might:
Whose harts and mynd,
His wayes should fynd,
To prayse him day and night.

 With hart and voyce,
They should reioyce,
Onely in Christ I say:
And not to hope,
To sée the Pope,
With his lawes to beare sway.

 Lament I doe,
Here to sée nowe,
The ioyes that some be in:
Wyshyng for Masse,
I say alas,
The cloke of filthy sin.

I may here write,
And truth endite,
Affyrme plainely and say:
The worde of truth,
(The more is ruth)
Is sowne in stonie way.

 For all teachyng,
And true preachyng,
Some harts be hard as stéele:
There is no way,
Their harts to stay,
Or cause them truth to séele.

 But stoute they be,
In all Poperie,
As by this man doth séente:
Whose shamelesse face,
Put forth this case,
And bad his neighbours deme:

 Where best should be,
To make ({quod} he)
An aulter for our Masse:
Let vs first be,
Herein ({quod} he)
It wyll thus come to passe.

 This fréend of Popes,
Offred ten grotes,
This aulter there to make:
Where masse should be.
Haue here ({quod} he)
This money mine here take.

Lorde our Quéene saue,
We cry and craue,
In godlie state alway:
Defend her grace,
Long time and space,
Emong vs here we pray.


Title:
Certayne versis writtene by Thomas Brooke Ge[n]tleman in the tyme of his impriso[n]ment the daye before his deathe who sufferyd at Norwich the 30 of August 1570

Lyrics:
I Languishe as I lye  And death doth make me thrall To cares which death shall some cut of And sett me quyt of all.  Yett feble fleshe would faynt 
To tesle so sharpe a fyght
Saue fayth in Christ doth comfort me
And sleithe such fancy quyght.

For fyndyng forth howe frayle
Eache wordly state doth stande
I hould him blyst that fearyng God
Is redd of such a band.

For he that longest lyues
And Nestors years doth gayne
Hath so much more accompte to make
and fyndeth Lyfe but vayne.

What cawse ys then to quayle
I am called before
To tast the Joyes which Christis bloode
Hath bowght and layde in store.

No no no greter Joye
Can eny hart posses
Then throwgh the death to gayne a lyfe
Wyth hym in blyssednes.

Who sende the Quene long lyfe
Much Joye and contries peace
Her Cowncell health hyr fryndes good lucke
To all ther Joyes increase.

Thus puttyng uppe my greaues
I grownde my lyfe on God
And thanke hym with most humble hart
And mekelye kysse his rodde


Note:
Due to irretrevable data loss, no further information is available with regard to this ballad. For more details please contact me on j.hyde2@lancaster.ac.uk


Title:
Writen at the Request of a Ladye in her boke

Lyrics:
IF you wyll walke the way,
That Christ hath you assignd:
Then learne thys lyttle verse,
Whych I haue left behinde.
Be feruent in the truth,
Although it beare the blame:
And eke apply your youth,
To stycke vnto the same:
That when the age is come,
And Death begynnes to call?
The truth may be your staffe,
To stay you vp wythall.
And though it bryng rebuke,
And cause you kysse the crosse:
Yet is it a rewarde,
To all that suffer losse.
For here we doo lay out,
The thynges that be but vayne:
But we are sure to reape,
The thynges that do remayne.
For all that ye doo lose,
Is but a synfull slyme:
And lyke vnto a Rose,
That taryeth but a tyme.
But if ye cary Christ,
And walke the perfite way,
ye shall posses the gold,
That neuer shal decay.
And al your Fathers goods,
Shalbe your recompense:
If ye confesse the woorde,
Wyth double diligence.
Not onelye for to heare
His pure and perfite woord:
But also to embrace,
The fire and eke the sword.
And if ye kepe this path,
And do not runne a croke,
Then Shall ye meete the man,
That writte thys in your booke
In that eternall Ioye,
That allwayes shall remayne:
Thus fare well faythfull frend,
Till we do meete agayne.


Lyrics:
Teach me O Lord to walke thy wayes,
My liuing to amend:
And I shall kepe it al my dayes,
Euen to my lyues ende.
Geue me a mynd to vnderstande,
So shall I neuer starte:
But I shall kepe al thy preceptes,
Euen wholie with myne hart.
Make me to go a perfect pace,
In that I haue begon:
For all my loue and my delyght,
Is in thy wayes to ronne.
Encline my harte vnto thy wayes,
Set thou theron my thought:
And let me not consume my dayes,
To couet that is naught.
O quicken mee in all thy waies,
The world for to despise:
And from all fonde and folish toyes,
Turne thou away mine eyes.
O plant in me thy perfect worde,
Which is to me so deare:
Laye vp thy Lawes within my hart,
To kepe me still in feare. And robbe me of that great rebuke,
Which I do feare full sore.
for al thy iudgementes and thy lawes
endure for euer more.
Behold O Lord in thy preceptes
is al my whole delyght.
O quicken me in al my wayes
that I maye walke a right.


Title:
The loue of God Here is declared, if you wyl rede that god doth loue this la[n]d in dede by felynge his rod

Lyrics:
Here is declared, if you wyl rede
    That god doth loue this la~d in dede
    By felynge his rod. 


England is blest, & loued of god
who can the same deny
For she hath felt his louin[…] rod
because she went awrye.
Deserue she dyd, more to be whypt
her faultes they were so great
Who dyd not se, how far she slypt
from law, and iustice seat.
The word so frely taught & preacht
as no land had it more
When teachers truelye truth them teacht
they set by it no store.
They kept it not in hart and minde
to lead therby theyr lyfe.
If they had ben to God so kynde
then had not come the stryfe.
But so longe as they hard the voise
full styl they were as shepe
Al huste & peace, there was no noise
but silence they did kepe.
And streight as sermon ended was
they fayd that he sayde wel
But aske them how his wordes dyd passe
& then they could not tel.
And some there semed to be so ful
that they woulde heare no more
Theyr sprites & eares wer waxe~ dul
they cared not therefore.
Al knoledge had they caught & won
as they had in theyr thought
So that wt spede theyr harts begon
to set by it as nought.
And fell to sekyng land and good
by rape and eke vnrighte
As men ful mad and worldly wood
from measure flyeng quight.
For glory eke and earthly prayse
some soughte as they were mad
Not sparing by vnlauful wayes
so they in sylkes were clad.
Promotion some so swiftly soughte
to place theyr bloud on hie
That fre~d or foe they spared nought
tho they therfore shuld dye.
To be forsworne, it was no synne
the custome made it law
So they a lyfe at ease might wynne
of God they had no awe.
Tho lawe did wyl of Idoles foyl
but few with wyl them burst
But al content to take the spoyles
not thinkyng them a curst.
Of pride, of enuye, and disdayne
Whose hart was not possest
Of wanton eyes and lustes so vaine
Who longe from these dyd reste.
So geuen to sectes and fables fond
so bent to tales vntrue
So geuen to lyes as any londe
styl lustyng thinges of new.
Who dyd not se, that had his eyes
these vyces so to raygne
That scourge & plague must nedes arise
to bring the~ home agayn.
Then came the rod by death to kyl
the prince that was full good
And let such tyrantes haue their wil
as shed the giltles bloud.
At large were set al wicked men
and good men put to thral
Ful lytle thought so soden then
that they shuld haue the baul.
The synnes that long had take~ rote
and blossomes ful dyd bear
The wyllyng eare and redy fote
false witnes for to heare:
Was punisht then by Ipocrites
and men that had no God
and such as past not of .ii. Mites
to do the thinge forbod.
By this meanes men yt were wtoute
and loked vpon our land
Did bring in question and in doute
how that this gere could stande.
Sayeng to God he dyd not loue
the English bloud at all
Because he dyd the swete remoue
and sent them bitter gall
To that his word did answer make
and toke his cause in hande
Affyrming God not to forsake
the lytle Ile England.
Whom God doth loue, then said his lore
the same he doth correcte
Least they shuld dye in hel therfore
and so for aye reiecte.
Also to proue and trye his vine
he let that the defence
Of romishe bores, and sowish swine
should quight be taken thence.
A forrein lande to set in foote
he winked at also
To proue a case by fourme of mote
that sinners myght hym knowe.
And whyles the word & carnal men
dyd reason thus a whyle
To make yt eche his wyl should ken
he strayght began to smyle.
Hold styl he sayd, I wyl be iudge
and sentence strayght he gaue
quod he to death se that thou trudge
and fyl thou vp a graue.
A graue quod he, wher may that be
and who shal therin lye
& straight was sene ye english quene
al prone and fyt to dye.
The roussed vp deth & cast his dart
and cloue her hart in twayne
Then lay she dead, yt causde ye smart
that fel vpon Britayne.
Death then had thought, yt he had done
& wold haue taken rest
nay nay sayd God, thou hast begon
therfore I thinke it best:
That thou do kyl more of my foes
that would my wil withstand
Then found he out, as tumor goes
some captaynes of the band.
He made the~ shri~k for al theyr brags
and burst their bandes in twayne
He pluckt the~ quite out of their iags
thus by him were they slayne.
Lo lo sayd God, now haue I tolde
my sentence and my wyl
And I my self haue ben so bold
my foes by death to kyll.
For this let vs geue thankes to him
and praise his holy name
And nowe let vs with hartes begin
a better life to frame.
Let al confesse the mercy of God
the cause to be alone
Why he hath cast away his rod
And is with vs at one.
Prayeng to him, that he wyll geue
vnto this ruler sent
A wylling mind while she doth lyue
as alwayes she was bent.
To set vp God, and godlynes
the truth for to restore
To banyshe out pope holines
by law for euermore.
Let al degrees vpon theyr knees
thus pray with one consent
That he which sees our miseries
may better be content.
Now to conclude my metre rude
but matter true and iust
se you repent your lyfe mysspent
Or els be sure and trust:
That God wyl strike, & strike again
a sharper stroke then this
That you shal fele wt greater payne
be sure he wyl not mysse.

    Finis.


{quod} Vvyllyam Samuel.

God saue the Quene.


Title:
A vvarnyng for the cittie of London that the dwellers therein may repent their evyll lyues for feare of Goddes plages.

Location of Bookshop:
Hugh Singleton at the sign of St Augustine in Paul's Churchyard

Lyrics:
To speake the truthe, Let me nothynge spare.
But without feare, the veretie to declare.
For sclaunderus wordes, I do not care
Repent ye cittysnes of London.
Seke all the plasys, in Christys dominyon.
And I do beleue, in my opyngnyon.
That non hath hardemore, of the treu evanglyon
Repent ye cyttizyns of London.
Haue ye not had, of Godes worde suche store.
As neuer no cittie, hath had here tofore.
And yet amendement of Lyfe, is nere the more.
Repent ye cyttizyns of London.
What preachyngs ye haue had, euen in our age
Of lerned men, Both sapient and sage.
Wherof some hath gone, to the counter or cage.
Repent ye cittizyns of London.
Where hath the Gospell, byne more frely preched.
Where hath the veritie, byne more truly teached.
Where hath Godes flocke, byn more apeached.
Repent ye cittizyns of London.
I thynke yf the citties, of Gomer and Sodome
Had had suche warnynge, as to you hath come.
They wolde haue Repented, their shamful Hordom.
Repent ye cittizyns of London.
The people that were drownyd in Noes Floude,
Suerly in noughtines, were no more woode.
Then is the sittizyns, whiche shoulde be good.
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
Haue not your Byshops, with strange sacrifise.
Whiche they haue offred, before Godes eyes.
wt Nadab and Abyhu, to haue death lykwyse?
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
Haue not your Priestes, offred vnto Ball.
And do yet on straunge Gods both cry and call.
Deseruynge a Danyell on them to fall.
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
What is the cause, that God hath sent,
Such blynde gydes, ouer you to haue Iudgment,
But that you were neuer yet wyllyng to Repent.
ye sittizyns of London.
Hath not God sent you, both bussardes and kytes
To mynister vnto you wronge in stede of ryghtes.
& haue ben dombe dogges wt lacking ther sightes
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
These haue you mayntayned, and do to this day.
Fedynge their panchys, and clothynge them gay.
And mayntayne them with Horses, to ryde in ryche aray
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
But he that truly preached with you at any tyme,
Was neuer bydden, with most of you to dyne.
But was sent to newgate, in chaynes to pyne.
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
Haue you not accusyd, the Innocents to death.
And broght them to smythfyld, ther to lese their breth
God of you wyl axe their bloud, as ye scripture saith
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
The good creature of God, called An Askewe.
For declarynge the veritie, both Iust and true.
Was she not Bourned in Smythfield of you?
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
For speakynge agaynst ye abuse of the sacrmennt.
And for not apeachynge other to your intent.
Was she not for these, both rackyd and brent.
Repent ye sittizens of London.
Was not he glad, that had a Pollax in his hand
wt it as a witnes, at her death to stande.
Thynkynge therby, to inherite the heauenly lande.
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
O what bloude hath byn shedde in your cittie.
To reherse all their Names, in this simple dittie.
It wolde prouoke Tourkes, with lamentable pittie.
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
Hath not the maryed Man, here lost his Lyfe.
And hath not the Housbande here lost his Wyfe.
And all for the Truthe, suche was your strife.
Repent ye sittizyns of London.
Hath not the Father, seene his Chylde bourned?
And ye Mother, the Doughter vnto asshys tourned.
For which dede done, the parentes sore morned.
Repent ye citizens of London.
With you the brother, hath betrayd the brother.
And hath accused, the one the other.
I am ryght sure, you can saye none other.
Repent ye citizens of London.
Not only this, but you haue also.
Hanged the true man, and let the theeffe go.
Example by Hunne, that it was so.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
This blyndnes, hath God let in you to rayne.
Bycause his true prophets, ye haue always slayne.
And yet ye shall here of a nother plage agayne.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Bycause to resyst God, you haue thynges discust.
God hath geune you vp, vnto your hartes luste.
Causynge you to worshype, thynges made of doust.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
What shamfull Idolatry, hath and douth rayne.
Amunge you in sarnynge Godes, folyshe and vaine.
The presente dedes douth declare, it playne.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
And now that your Godes, of woode and stone.
Of seluer and goulde, be almoste gonne.
Nowe other come, for mene to looke on.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
I dare saye that there, is many a one.
That be glade that Images, be gonne.
Because that them selues, may be loked apone.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Men may wt some wemen, in london be aquanted
That carued Idoldes, wer neuer more paynted.
With shinynge Facys, as though they sayncted.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
And this also, I may truly saye agayne.
That many men, be also as vayne.
And wolde be loked, apone as fayne.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Some make their Godes, of their chyldern.
And wyll not suffer, them to lerne.
Goddes holy Lawes, but of it them warne.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Some make their Godes, of goodes vyle.
Wich they haue gotten, with crafte and gylle.
They neuer thynke, to leue but a whylle.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Som make their Godes, of their dwellynge placys.
And neuer haue this, afore their facys.
That the buldyng of Heauen, this buldyng out facis.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Alas with my tears, I can not exprese.
The a boundance of, the greate wyckednes.
That rayneth in the cittie, doutlese.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Se what it is frome Godes, Lawes to ronne.
How many great evells, strayght way doth come.
It may be well sene, by the citie of London.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Whan dyd any Mayer, knowe his Iuste dowtie.
Whan dyd any shereffe, do his office truly.
Whan dyd any sargant, vse him selfe godly.
Repent ye citizyns of London
Whan dyd any Constable, see good order kepte.
Whan dyd any bedells, loke to pouertie yt wepte.
Whan hard ye of Kepers, yt from crueltie slpte.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Wher dwelleth any, yt hath his wyfe in subieccion.
Wher dweleth any vnder her Husbandes correccion
Wher dwelleth man and wyfe, of godly affeccion.
Repent ye citizyns of London
Whre dweleth a father, yt techeth his child godes lawe
Whre dweleth a child, yt is vnder his fathers awe
Whre dweleth he, that often this sawe.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Where dweleth a master, yt kepeth his saruantes wel.
Where dweleth a saruant, yt foloweth his masters go od connsel.
Where dweleth these to yt truly by & selle.
Repent ye citizyns of London
If I shoulde speake of their byinge and sellynge,
The crafte therin, passe my tounge tellynge.
Hir prouoketh agaynst the Gospel great rebellyng.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
That they haue a delyght, to walke in the nyght,
And can not abyde, of the gospels syght.
Is sene in sellynge their wares with small lyght.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Of greate Pentysis, they haue no lacke.
Payntynge their howsys, round about with blacke.
Though the ware be nought, the pryse is not slacke.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
The lyght of the sonne, they can not abyde,
Nor to haue their wyndowes open and wyde.
And this do they only, that their craft be not spyde.
Repent ye citizyns of London
ye and though the ware be starke nought.
yet wyll he sweare, by him that vs bought.
That there can no better in Englande be sought.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Fyrste he lyeth, and sayeth that it is good.
Then he sweareth, as though he were woode.
And him selfe forsweareth, in the same moode.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Here is a Plage for liynge & a Plage for swering
A Plage for periury, yt deserueth helle tearynge.
Thre Plages ar deserued, a heuey heareryng.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Hayll, Brymstone, and also wylde fyre.
Shall come frome Heauen, to pay your hyere.
Unles shortly you, recompence the byear.
Repent ye citizyns of London
ye brynge the curse of God, dayly on your heade.
whiche shall fall vpon you, as heuy as any lead.
For Pouertie with you, hath the strete for his bed.
Repent ye citizyns of London
Oh what Hordome Adultery, and Fornycation·
Is vsed amonge you, and not looked vpon?
with all kyndes of other abhomynation.
Repent ye citizyns of London
Amende Amende, I saye and Repente,
And say not but warnynge, God hath you sente.
If you do not, you are lyke to be rent.
Repent ye sittizyns of London,
Acknowlege your synnes to ye lyuyng god almighty
And repent, frome ye bottom of your hartes hartyly
And haue Fayth in ye Bloude of Iesu Christ only.
Repent ye citizyns of London,
Pray vnto God, to increse your Faythe.
And beleue all thynges, that scrypture saythe.
And god shall saue you, through Christis death.
Repent ye citizyns of London,
you may well saye, that Fayth you haue.
Sufficient your soules to saue.
But your dayly workes, do you depraue.
Repent ye citizyns of London
Christe saythe, that euery good tree,
By his Frute, is knowne manyfestly.
your workes, declare that Faythlesse you be,
Repent ye citizyns of London
Can thorns beare grapes, by any meane.
Or Bryers Fygges, was it euer seane.
So a corrupt Fayth, shewe workes vnclene.
Repent ye citizyns of London,
A good tree must nydes brynge furth good Frut.
Exsample by Christ, I may playnly dispute.
Whiche fyrste wt his dedes, dyd the Iewes confute.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Euery tree, that bryngethe not forthe.
Good frut, it is nothynge worthe
But to be cast into fyere, that all wayse [...].
Repent ye citizyns of London
Lett your workes, Afore mene soo shynne.
Acordynge vnto, the scryptures Devynne.
That god may be praysed, your Father and myne.
Repent ye citizyns of London,
And If amendement, do not now apere.
That all mene may se it open and clyer
Dowt ye not, but more shortly you shall here.
Repent ye citizyns of London.
Lett the voyse of you, vnto God be harde.
To pray for your Lorde and Kynge, Edwarde.
Confessyng you haue not, so good a kynge desarue[...]
Repent ye citizyns of London,
Also pray ye, for the holle Counsell,
That the spryte of GOD, in them may dwell.
And then no dowt, they shall doo well.
Repent ye citizyns of London,


Title:
A new mery balad of a maid that wold mary wyth a seruyng man

Lyrics:
Nowe prudentlie to ponder proverbes of olde. 
How that seldome or when commeth the better, 
Wyth divers other tales as I have herd tolde. 
That the nigher the bone, the flesh is much sweter ; 
Thus a lover of late sente rae his letter ; 
Therfore let al my friendes saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a serving man. 

The sight of serving men doth my herte good 
When I them beholde, and wot ye well why? 
Bicause they be lustie and ful of yonge bloude, 
Stronge and nymble, and very quicke of eye, 
Clene, brave in apparel, and made properlye ; 
Wherfore let father and mother saye what they can, 
I wyl have to ray husband a serving man. 

My father and mother geveth me exhortacion, 
That if ever their good wylles I wyl have, , 
To take a man of some good occupacion. 
Or els some ryche farmoures sonne, substaunce to save. 
Thus upon me dayly they do crave, 
But let them bothe saye Avhat they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a serving man. 

Servinge men that be gentle and wyce, 
Can lacke no service, nor livyng at all. 
Though one of an hundred suche be geven to vyce, 
Shuld the residue of them be hated all ? 
No, by saint Marie ; come of it what shall. 
And let my friendes do and say what they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a serving man. 

Servyng men honeste are greatly commended 
Of Lordes and Ladies, and of gentelmen fyne ; 
Though loutes with serving men be offended, 
Yet wyl not I from their company declyne, 
For I trust and hope one of them to be myne ; 
Let my friends do and saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husband a servyng man. 

Serving men ever be jocunde and mery, 
Whether they have litle or muche in their purse, 
And of good companie they are never wearie, 
And a woman they love as a childe dothe the nurse ; 
One serving man I knowe that loveth me no worse ; 
Wherfore let all my friendes saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a servinge man. 

Serving men finelie can colly and kysse, 
Serving men featlie can maidens imbrace, 
Fewe suche serving men of their purpose can raysse, 
Bicause of audacite, beautie or grace, 
And in some of them all three taketh place ; 
Wherfore let my friendes saye what they can, 
I wyl have the swete, loving, kynde serving man. 

Oh Lorde, how the herte in my bealie doth hoppe, 
When I here that serving men be come to towne ; 
Streight some resortes to my mistres shoppe, 
There merelie talking, by me sitting downe ; 
Of lovers fame they maye well weare the crowne ; 
Wherfore let all the worlde sale what they can, 
I wyl have to my husband a servinge man. 

What yonge men eyther in towne or citie 
With them in daliaunce maie compare ? 
In entertainement they be excellent wittie, 
God geve them longe lyfe and well to fare ; 
Thoughe my chaunce be to live in carpe and care, 
As my friendes saye, yet if that I can, 
I wyl have to my husband a serving man. 

Shulde I marie with a boye, a loute, or a slymme, 
A dawcocke, an asse, a toyle or a jacke, 
That wyll not let me go tricke nor trimme. 
Nor yet he hym selfe, but lyke one in a sacke, 
And that with al mirth and solace wyl grudge and find lacke
I wyll no such dranes ; say my friendes what they can, 
But I wyl marrie with the merie good serving man. 

A man is manlie, and to a woman comfortable, 
But a churle or a nygarde is to women greate wooe ; 
A serving man, beinge grome or but page in the stable, 
With meate to his maisters owne borde mays go, 
When ten times his betters may not do so, 
And manie times be thrieftie; to prove this I can, 
Wherfore shuld I not marie with a serving man ? 

Some men growe ryche, although they do spend. 
And some men waxe pore, thoughe they do spare ; 
Then why may not a serving man to riches assend. 
As well in their myrthe as some with their care ? 
The world now a daies goth round and square, 
Wherfore I wyl do the best that I can, 
To have to my husbande a servynge man. 

My mistres liveth a merye lyfe 
As most women doth for her degree, 
Although a serving man hath her to wyfe. 
And whie may not I do so as well as she ? 
No men on earth do better please me ; 
Ryche or unriche, saye all what you can, 
I wyll have to my husbande a servynge man. 

And tyll that daye douteles be come and gone, 
That I quickely be maried to my true love, 
My fleshe wyll pine awaye even to the bone, 
Bicause my herte from hym wyll not remove. 
Fare vvell, swete serving men, by God above ; 
And for my sake all you that tipple pot or canne, 
Drynke freely to the merie good serving man


Lyrics:
To heare of such thinges ye be not wont
Nam horum contraria verissima sunt

AS verily as Adam created firste his God
So verily he tasted not, the fruite that was forbod

As verily as Abell, dyd kyll hys brother Kayn
So verily the shyppe made Noye this is playne

As verily as Isaac, hys father dyd begette
So verily the Sodomytes remayn vnburned yet

As verily as the Isralites, the Egiptians dyd oppresse
So verily dyd Moyses gyue God the lawe dowbtles

As verily as Sampson was, slayne of the lion rampynge
So verily dyd Goliad distroye Dauid the Kynge

As verily as in Babilon the meates were eate of Bell
So verily the dragon of brasse deuoured Daniell

As verily as Christe dyd crucifye the Jewes
So verily the Aposteles the gospell dyd refuse

As verily as Simon Magus the Apostles dyd confute
So verily the Apostels dyd princes persecute

As verily as the deuyll hath perfecte loue and hope
So verily goddes worde doth constitute the pope

As verily as Ise sicles wythin be hote and holowe
So verily proude prelates oure master Christe do folowe

As verily as bread doeth make and bake the baker
So verily these thefes the prestes can make their maker.

If Leighton wyll neades his maker make
That these are true he can not forsake
A Papiste he is and the popes owne knight
That preacheth falshed in stead of ryght
He knowith not howe to pay hys dettes
But wyth catchinge his creditors in the Popes netts
A thefe, a robber, by preachinge sedition
Is better regarded then the kings commission.
Amonge Papistes.


Lyrics:
God that is all good and almyghtye 
Hath shewed his power vpon me Nobodye, 
For whear my mouth with locke was sparred 
He hathe it burst and my speche restored, 
Wherfor I wyll syng prayse vnto his name 
Bicause I may speke withoute anye blame, 
And thoughe the pope with all his trayn 
Do me rebuke and against me sayen 
That as tofore I shuld nowe holde my peace 
Yet Gods honour to set furth I can not ceasse. Many speke of Roben hoode that neuer shott in his bowe 
So many haue layed faultes to me, which I did neuer knowe, 
But nowe beholde here I am 
Whom all the worlde doeth diffame 
Long haue they also skorned me 
And locked my mouthe for speking free 
As many a Godly man they haue so serued 
Vvhich vnto them Gods truth hath shewed 
Of such they haue burned and hanged some 
That vnto their ydolatrye wold not come 
The ladye truthe they haue locked in cage 
Sayeng that of her Nobodye had knowledge 
For asmuche nowe as they name Nobodye 
I thinke verilye they speke of me 
Vvherfore to answere I nowe beginne 
The locke of my mouthe is opened with ginne 
Vurought by noman, but by Gods grace 
Vnto whom be prayse in euery place 
My Iourneyes I make both far and nere 
To seke whear people Gods iustice fear 
In that place wolde I make my habytation 
Trusting there to haue a continuall mansion 
In print tofore I did neuer appere 
Yet many coulde me not well bear 
But no maruell for the prouerbe sayeth 
All men can not abyde to here the truthe 
A companyon must he be with these good fellowes, 
As long as they wyll haue hym in theyr companyes, 
But sometyme they forget hym, vntyll he be 
Moulded or wormeaten, and than for heresye 
They do hym burne secretely as in the nyght 
The Iewes toke Christ, so these by theyr myght 
Followe the other, beyng sore afrayed, 
Lest these theyr prankes shuld be bewrayed. 
In the Dedication daye, than oute of the steple 
Do they hym hange to espye the people, 
And with a litle bell them for to warne, 
Because the prestes shuld catche no harme 
In studiyng Gods worde the flocke to fede. 
No thys is ynough, they haue no other sede 
To sowe, therfore they shall reap 
Vvynde, as they sowed wynde a great heap. 
Vvo be to me sayth Paule, yf I shuld not preache 
No sayth the Pope my ceremonyes teache. 
But what do they teache shew the meanynge? 
Vvel, Gods worde gyueth me smellyng 
That Paule and your opinyon contrary be, 
Shuld men leaue Paule, and followe the. 
On relyke Sondayes, than bryng you furth trompery 
Your relykes must be washen, that water saye yet, 
Is good for synne and sicknes of beast, 
Thus of Christes bloude make you a gest 
So is thy soule spiritually fedde, 
With Christes moost blessed bodye and bloude, 
Vvhich forthy synnes was offered on the rode, 
Vvith whiche oblacyon Gods wrathe is satisfyed 
Neuer hereafter to be Reoffered 
For with one oblacyon by hym self made, 
He hath made vs perfect, therfore be glad, 
For vnto perfection nothyng can be added 
Vvhere be now suche, as masses haue sayed 
To be propiciatory God them forgeue, 
And conuert theyr hartes, whyles they do lyue 
That they loke for none other propiciation 
Than that which Christ made hym self alone, 
In remembraunce, wherof to confirme our faythe 
He bade vs receyue as the scripture sayeth. 
Thys holye communyon. No come and see 
Stare on it (sayeth the Pope) and ones a yere take 
Nay not so neyghbour take not, but gape. 
Thy fynger wold rot yf thou touche but the chalyce, 
O holye Paule, thou bade men be wyse, 
And ware of suche, as shuld admonysh 
From handlyng and touchyng, which thynges do perysh, 
Euen with thabuse thou sayest. Vvell 
Nowe seynge that all men begyn to smell 
All you that be prestes I Nobodye praye, 
To repent and be lerned, resist not I saye


Lyrics:
Rude Pan woulde ne des one day in compa nye
Compare to mend Apolles melodye?
And toke his homlye pipe and gan to blo
The Ientil god, that saw his rudnes lo
(Although him selfe knewe how for to excell)
Contented stode, to here his conning well:
pan played, and played boysti+ouslye
Apollo played but muche me lodiously
And suche a tune wyth suche musicke gaue
As well became hys know ledge for to haue.
Midas stode by to Iudge and to decre
whiche of them both shoulde best in musycke be
And as he herde pan playe & vse hys song,
He thought it suche as he had liked long
And wonted was to here of others oft
Apolles· harpe and song went very soft
And swete and strange: as none might sweter be:
But yet thought Midas this musycke lykes not me.
And therfore strayght full loude he cried and said:
Pan. To mine eares of both hath better plaied,
Quoth then Apollo syns thus thou demest Pan·
Me to excel that God of Con nyng am,
And so doest iudge of thinges thou canst not skyll
Midas henceforth lo thus to the I wyll
Thou shalte haue eares to shewe and tell I wys:
But what thy skyll and what thy reason is.
Which on thy heade shal stande and witnes be
Howe thou haste iudged this rurall God and me
Nay be contend for I haue it sayd
A ful sad man stood Midas then dismaide
And as hee felt to trye if it so was
He found hee had two eares as hath an Asse
Newly growen out wher as hys own eares stoode
Sor chaunged then his coul lour and his mode
But yet for thie, hauing no worde to say
He shooke hys eares and sa dly went hys waye
I know no more, but thys I wot and know
That tho the Phrigian kyng be buried lo
And both hys eares eke with hym hydden be
And so far worne that no man shall them se,
Syns suche there are that lyue at this day yet
whiche haue hys skyl, hys iudgement and his wit
And take vpon them both to iudge and know
To them I wy[…]he euen thus and to no mo
That as they haue hys iud gement and his yeares,
Euen so I woulde they had his fayre longe eares.


Title:
A Mery dema[nde and answere therevnto?] between Vu[lcan and Venus]

Lyrics:
Of wise heades would I vnderstande this sober doubt that troubles me


Title:
Great thankes to the welcome, in Churchyards behalfe:
To him that hath bleared, and cried like a Calfe.

Location of Bookshop:
dwellyng in Paules churchyarde, at the signe of the greene Dragon.

Lyrics:
Great thankes to the welcome, in Churchyards behalfe:


Title:
The discription of a rare or rather most monstrous fishe taken on the East cost of Holland the .xvii. of Nouember, Anno 1366.

Location of Printer:
Pawles Churchyarde by Thomas Purfoote at the signe of the Lucrece.

Lyrics:
AS thou this formed fishe doest see
I Chaunged from his state
So many men in eche degree.
From kynd degenerate,
To monsters men are turned now,
Disguised in their raye.
For in theyr fonde inuentions new
They kepe no meane ne staye,
Their maners mad and monsterous,
what shoulde I now discry?
Or yet their cates delitious,
why shoulde I them espye?
If one that liued in thys land,
A fortye yeares before:
Could be released from the band,
To be as he was yore.
would he not wonder wonderously,
when he our monsters spied,
In so small tyme so folyshly
From auntiant custume flyed?
These monsters therfore God doth sende,
To put vs all in minde.
Such shaples shapes for to amend,
whych now are out of kynd,
Or els the God of kind and shape
wyll shaples vs detest,
And with his plage will punishe vs.
But more to speake I rest.


Title:
Of the endes and deathes of two Prisoners / lately pressed to death in Newgate. 1569.

Lyrics:
TRue Preachers which God liketh well, 
To you I runne wyth all my hart, 
Your wordes with me are like to dwell, 
Vntyll thys lyfe I shall depart. 
As for the rest whose tounges are tyde, 
To them who runs, he runs far wyde. 

What so doth best commend the truth, 
All falshood lykewyse discommendes, 
I know you Preachers tender youth, 
And visits them lyke faythfull frendes. 
Yet if there hap a dismoll day, 
The Wolues would teare your liues away 

But they that humbly do you beare, 
And eke well beare your woordes away, 
Hauing their vnderstandinges cleare, 
Needes neuer feare the dismoll day. 
Nor wyll seek[...] peace here in this lyfe, 
Where nought is found but war and strife. 

So they that do, nor yet wyll beare, 
When they be cald, and truth is told, 
Ill haps to them vnwares is neare, 
Yet blindnes maketh Bayardes bold. 
But they that warned are in tyme, 
Halfe armed are gainst daungerous crime. 

A tryall iust I found of late, 
Where Preachers dyd them selues addresse, 
To spend the day within Newgate, 
To comfort two whom Law bad presse. 
There did I see that comfort great, 
Whereof our Preachers oft intreat. 

There saw I more, do what they might, 
Sharpe iudgement pass, the Presse at hand, 
The one would not remyt hys spight 
But doth the same to vnderstand, 
By blasphemies most horrible, 
And countenaunce most terrible. 

[...] would beleue that he should dye, 
Which playnly dyd to vs appeare, 
By [...]yish countenaunce smylingly, 
Which seemed very monstrous geare. 
And yet he was of perfect mynde, 
But thus he shewed hys diuelish kynde. 

Wyth hym perswasions would not serue, 
In all my lyfe I saw none sutch: 
He sware great othes he would not sterue, 
If ought there were within the hutch. 
And to it he went full egerly, 
As one that thought he should not dye. 

Anon there came a prisoner in, 
That yrons had clapt on good store. 
Gods hart quoth Wat, you wyl not lyn, 
These partes you playd lyke slaues before. 
And vp he snatch hot coales in hand, 
To throw at one that by did stand. 

This stander by a Keeper was, 
That hardly handled him alwayes: 
Wherefore if he myght bring to pas, 
That Keeper should now end hys dayes. 
Though he did burne in hell therefore. 
Sutch Keepers should keepe there no more. 

This desperate foole intreated was, 
By Master Yong and others there, 
To pray for them that dyd trespas, 
And to forgeue, sithe death is neare. 
Gods woundes quoth he, it is shame for ye, 
That cry not agaynst this tyrannye. 

Why wyll not bolts or fetters serue, 
Thinke you (quoth Wat) to hold this man? 
He hath no money though he sterue, 
Hys hos[...] and doublet must trudge than. 
If bell there be, or plages to fall, 
These Villains wyll be plaged all. 

For my part if I boyle in lead, 
I cannot hold but brawle this out. 
Would I might [...]ight how euer I sped, 
Chuld course that Ore and fl[...]ring Lout. 
No more good Wat, quoth Master Yong, 
Thou hurt[...] thy selfe most wt that tong. 

Thus parted he and Master Yong, 
Much greued for hys senceles soule. 
But I remayned and vsed my tong, 
As God dyd force vice to controle, 
But-Wat no chaungeling would not rest, 
But fell a fresh vnto a [...]est. 

As I might then I did exhort, 
Them both with me to go and pray, 
Where I would speake to their comfort, 
If that the Lord dyd not say nay. 
The time is short, therefore quoth I, 
Let vs seeke the Lord whiles he is nye. 

I pray you be content quoth Wat, 
The Lord hath mercy inough in store, 
I may yet haue my part of that, 
As he to others hath geuen before. 
You must repent and cal for grace, 
(Quoth I) els neuer looke to see Gods face. 

Then was the tother glad of me, 
And gaue to God great thankes and prayse, 
That he might haue my companye, 
With hym for to remayne alwayes. 
Wherein such comfort great he found, 
That teares of ioy dropt to the ground. 

I see now God is good (quoth he) 
And wyll not haue my soule be lost, 
But hath prouided you for me, 
Not sparing any payne nor cost. 
You come from God, your words arswete, 
I feele Gods grace my hart doth mete. 

I would I had knowen you befor[...]e, 
But now it is in ryght good tyme: 
For though my carcas be forlorne, 
My soule to God I feele doth clyme. 
Oh beare me (sayth he) to the rest, 
Ill haps to me is for the best. 

Heare how this misery hath wrought, 
The taming of my flesh so proud: 
My soule to God that hath it bought, 
I do commend with voyce so loud. 
Knowing that he doth heare my cry, 
And pardons me immediately, 

Would God the world dyd heare my voyce 
And would be warned by my death, 
Then would they not in euyll reioyce, 
But prayse the Lord whyles they haue breath. 
And loue hym that hath loued them well, 
Who hath redeemed their soules from hell. 

O God (quoth he) is thys thy kynde, 
To care for hym that knew not thee? 
I neuer had thee earst in mynde, 
Yet now thy grace hath healed me. 
Due thankes to thee I cannot geue, 
That hast now made me to beleue. 

O tell me I pray, what is your name, 
Sayth he to me vnknowen you are: 
To you lykewyse I am the same, 
But God that knowes vs is not far. 
He wyll reward you this I trust, 
Sith I cannot that dye needes must. 

So God dealt with me yester day, 
A frend be sent vs in Limbo: 
Whose good estate God blesse alway, 
For that good [...]ore that came him fro. 
Hys name was Draper Alderman, 
Which was my comfort great as than. 

He prayed wyth vs most earnestly, 
No scorne was in hys v[...]luet cote, 
Wyth teares he kyst vs louingly, 
And went with mourning there God wote. 
So doth the power of the Lord, 
Make diuers men in truth accord. 

Thus God hath found me out at length, 
And stayed me of my wicked race 
And me indu[...] with perfect strength 
No [...]ong can rightly prayse such grace 
I would my death were much more vile 
That others might beware ther while. 

So then we prayed ech one for other 
Wyth trickling teares of ioye and greefe 
In truth I tooke him for my brother 
Though neuer so much he were a theefe. 
Then death to him could not come ill, 
For of Gods grace he had his fill. 

Then foorth we went and made a fyre, 
I dyned there wyth bread and cheese: 
To sing some Psalmes was his desyre, 
So ech man soonge in their degrees. 
O Lord turne not away thy face, 
From hym that lyes prostrate in place. 

But Watson fell vnto hys foode 
As one that hungry was in deede 
And merely eate that he thought good, 
But threw the rest the dogs to feede. 
I saw no thought that he did take, 
Nor lykelyhoode from sinne to wake. 

hen vp came Maister Yong agayne 
Their deathes now being at the doore 
But Watson could not yet refrayne, 
But laughes it out still more and more. 
Still all in vayne to hym was sayd, 
Yet all the rest downe kneeling prayde. 

Then Skarlet tooke hym by the hande 
And preached, though small to his regarde 
Yet all the rest might vnderstande, 
Hys woordes deserued to be harde. 
And yet he could not [...]olde but smyles, 
In deede he was begylde therwhyles. 

A Prisoners tale that he dyd trust 
Made hym that way to loose hys lyfe 
So there the matter was discust, 
The presse at length did end their stryfe. 
He trusted that which was vntrue, 
Vntill it was to late to rue. 

Lo thus much I thought good to wryte 
For those that warned yet will be 
That they in euill no more delyght, 
Nor to such councell do agree. 
Who dyd this yll one so peruarte, 
That heauy presse burst Watsons harte.


Lyrics:
E Hath my herte in holde
So sure I can not starte
whiche causeth me to be bolde
With lovers for to take parte.

B.hath me bounde so sure
Thorowe Venus ordynaunce
That in paynes I must endure
There for to take my chaunce.

The paynes they be so stronge
And paynefull unto me
That I thynke I have great wronge
Yf on me she have no petie.

Nowe petie I the crave
Her mynde for to remove
That I may ones have
Her favour whom I love.

It is for no great substaunce
Nor goodes that I her desyre
But onelye for the governaunce
And the honesty in her doth apere.

For yf I myght obtayne
To fall unto my loote
Then wolde I be moste fayne
To knyt an endles knotte.

And yf I get no grace
Of her whom I love best
My herte is in a wofull case
Never lyke for tolyue in rest.

Therfore Venus I the requyre
The gods of this arte
That soone thou wylte appere
To stryke her with thy darte.

For to cause her have some rueth
And graunt to me her love
That meanes nothynge but trueth
By God that is above.

Thus E, and B. I byd farewell
Desyrynge them not to be unkynde
For of letters all, both great and small
They are depyst in mynde.

Hertely unto you I me recomende
Desyrynge you not to be offended
For yf any thynge be amysse
That here in is
Unto my power it shal be amended.

My herte is yours
Unto the death
Whyle in my body
Remaynes the breath.


Lyrics:
A Thousand times I me recomende
To you that is my lover deare
And here a letter, have I send
To speke with you yet had I lever

Your lustye loke and smerkyng chere
My hert doth move both nyght and day
In all thys world ye have no pere
Therefore to my hert I do you lay.

O lusty smyrker to me be true
Ye have my hert forever and aye
I praye you chaunge me for no newe
Thys same to you do I say.

I have loved truely I dare make bost
And doth yet styll so god me save
Alas let not my love be lost
But yours agayne that I may have.

The time past I do repente
Yf ever ye thought I was unkinde
To you this letter have I sent
Because in love I am so blynd.

The lynes of love do me imbrase
And bytterly beyte my body with in
All is for your lovely face
And gentyll hert yf I myght it win.

Your countenaunce and your comely cheare
As oft as I loke it upon
My hert in peces it doth teare
When that I am my selfe alone.

The paynes of love do me so pyne
And perce my hert on every syde
That wheresoever I suppe or dyne
My hert with you shall ever abyde.

Alas now be a lover true
And take never from me your hert
For yf ye do I must it rew
And ever lyve in payne and smart.

Nowe stedfast to be I do you praye
My herte is closed your body within
The same to me nowe do you say
It is trewe love that I am in.

A thousande tymes nowe fare you well
Ye have my herte both nowe and aye
The sorowe I byde no toung can tel
Gentyll lover do not cast me awaye.

My herte is locked within your brest
And closly closed your body within
There would I faynest take my reste
In pure wedlocke with outten synne.

Nowe you knowe my hole intent
It doth me good when I you se
Yf I get no grace I shal repent
For lokyng above my pore degre
Be trewe to me in this dystres
And leve me not here comfortles.


Note:
Apparently from British Library, but no version has been located

Lyrics:
Such as we be, such is this age, Behold and you shal se


Location of Printer:
Fleet Street beneath the conduit at the sign of St John Evangelist

Lyrics:
This geare goythe well and better it shall
For triall will tell, the Treson of Ball

You whisperinge fellowes, that walke euery wheare
now clau your old elbowes, a skratch up your heaer
I will tell ye for troth, what newes I heare,
the Bull of the Northe is afrayd of the Bear
This geare goethe well and Better it shall,
For triall will tell, the Treson of Ball

The Moone and the Ster, are fallen so at stryfe,
I neuer knewe warre, so strange in my lyfe,
And all is a longe of a Babylon Beaste,
that hath a thowsand heddes, at the leaste
This geare goythe well.&c.

What made the Murrians hed so stoute,
to seeke the sheaffe of Arroes oute,
A Moryon of that hed, the Northe maie saie
that hed from the boddye must needes a waie.
This geare goythe well.&c.

The Lambe that knewe this newes before,
did bid the Lyon begin to rore,
The Lion coulde not then refraine,
did byd the Beare go shake his chayne.
This geare goythe well.&c.

Whose shakinge suche a shryll did yelde,
that euery Beast did flye the feelde,
Which serued and shadowid vnder the Moone,
and thowght full littell to shrinke so soone.

This geare goythe well.&c.

And to Sainte Androwe, be they gone,
with very harde shyfte to make theare moane,
And som of theare Ladies lefte behinde,
with very small wages vnder the wynde.
This geare goythe well.&c.

But I maruell yet, of Ser John Shorne,
whether he and the blessed Masse be borne,
It weare a mery thinge to be knowen,
wheare he doth make his Alter stone.
This geare goythe well.&c.

The Cropyerd For, that is begon,
and made this brablinge to be don,
Is curst of many a mothers sonne,
and I praye ye what hath his coraige wonne,
This geare goythe well.&c.

Yet when this newes shall come to Roome,
I knowe they will not sticke to presume,
To wright to many Cristian kings,
they haue as they woulde almaner of things,
This geare goythe well.&c.

Why walke ye not by three and three,
in Polles as ye weare wonte to bee,
And saye as you were wont to do,
I hold you a crowne it is not trewe,
This geare goythe well.&c.

Of manie great helpes you bragge and bost,
besydes sir John that carieth the hooste,
Lyke vnbeleuers as you bee,
you bragge of nothinge that you see.
This geare goythe well.&c.

You bragge of the almighties name,
you bragge not of your Princes fame,
You bragge of neuer a faithfull knight,
that for his contrey goeth to fight.
This heare [sic] goythe well.&c.

You bragge to see your countrey spoyled,
you bragge to see poore men begilde,
You bragge to see your brothers blood,
I pray tell me if these be good.
This geare goythe well.&c.

And as ye are of peruerst minde,
you swere and stare and wilbe blinde,
Wher in ye shew that faithlesse ye, 
Haue no good power to here and see.
This geare goythe well.&c.

Where be the Northen idiotes fled,
that were by your deuises led.
They had bin better they had kept their bed,
you can not repeale that you haue spred.
This geare goythe well.&c.

I thinke by this you do beleue,
the Deuill him selfe laughes in his sleeue
That yet so many of Balahams markes,
are still his trewe and faithfull clarkes.
This geare goythe well.&c.

And to be short I see and knowe,
howe manie a one them selues bestowe,
I accuse no one I tell ye trewe,
but ye wilbe knowne I must tell you.
This geare goythe well.&c.

And thinke in tyme that error is,
the cause of all that is a misse,
God of his mercie mend thease dayes,
and her preserue that seekes the waies.
This geare goythe well.&c


Title:
The tragical end and death of the Lord Iames Regent of Scotland, lately set forth in Scottish, and printed at Edinburgh. 1570. And now partly turned in to English.

Lyrics:
IAMES Earle of Murray Regent of renowne
Now lieth dead, and wofully put downe,
Murdred wtout mercy, mourning for remaid
Who lost his life in Lythquo by a Clowne,
Giltles God wot, betrayed in to that towne.
Was slayne by gunshot, and sodainly put to death,
Done by the Papists our foes, through fellonous faith.
Hangman to Harry, now Burrio to their brother,
Well may this murther manifest the tother.

What wight a lyue would not lament his losse?
Wo is me to want him, is the common voyce:
For such a Prince shal neuer poore man haue,
Kylled by a Traytour, stealing vpon him close,
Purposing of purpose, life for life to lose,
But no comparison twixt a Kinges sonne and a Knaue
Sith he is gone, we cannot againe him craue.
Through al our realme I dare wel make this choise,
Raigned not his fellow since buried was the Bruise.

To kéepe good rule he rode, and tooke no rest,
Both South and North, and somtime East and West,
All to decore our common wealth men know:
By whom let vs sée, was Pirates so opprest?
Or yet the theeues so throwne downe and drest?
Argyle and Huntlye hid them both for aw,
And when he might, he was tendant at Law,
Twyse on a day, and sleeped not in sleuth,
To see no fauters should beare them by the treuth.

Of this foule fact suppose our foes be fayne,
Yet after Moyses, Iosua comes agayne,
To guide the people, geue glory therfore to GOD.
Should they succeede, that haue Lord Iames so slayne?
Beware of that, least that ye feele the payne,
And haue your weake ones wyrried with the Tode.
Thinke ye with reason that such should rule the rod,
Which with double murder haue made vs such ado
And with our Kyng would play like cousonage to?

Pray, if you please, I warrant you ye haue néede,
To kéepe our King from kankred Kedzochis seede,
That dayly wayes inuentes to put him downe:
His Graundsire slayne at Lythquo as I it réede,
His Gudsire thrise did leaue this land in déede,
Harry at midnight murdred in this towne,
His Cousin now last, and yet they claime the crowne.
Blinde Iocke may gesse, if these be godly déedes,
Brude by that Bishop in who~ this mischiefes bréedes

Cut of that Papist Prothogal partes,
That with his leesings all the Laitie peruartes,
Straight ioyne your forces to the fieldes without feare,
Because ye take your stoutnes al in startes,
To Hammilton in hast while ye haue hartes.
Deuise some way to pay your men of warre,
For if they once begon, ye neede not gather geare.
Fight well, and war them, and win the riches thore,
And if ye doe thus, in deede ye neede no more.

Curst be ye both, Bishop and Bothwell ech,
For this foule deede, your neckes the halter stretch,
If ye two want the withy, they do much wrong you:
Lythquo lament, your Burgeses may looke bleach,
In their sayd time your Burrow rueth the leach,
Because of this murther lately made among you,
For if I thought it helped ought to hang you,
So should ye die, and set your towne on fire,
As some part of punishment to asswage Gods ire.

Ouer these two houses for these déedes inding,
The hand of GOD doth ouer their heades hing,
Them to destroy, I dout not in these our daies:
Hepburnis wil go to wracke, for wyrring of the King,
But Hamiltons fye, this was a fouler thing.
Is this your firme religion, yea is, yea is?
Such a time shall come I trow as Thomas saies:
Heardmen shal hunt you vp through Garranis hill,
Casting their Plates and let the plough stand still.

Apparantly these plages are poured out,
To wreake this world, and wot ye where about?
Because we want no vice vnder the heauen:
Sith double murder makers séeke to rule the rout,
With the Niniuites to our GOD let vs go cry and shout,
For to retreate that sentence iustly geuen.
Yet thou good Lord, that iudgeth al thinges euen,
Seing the perril that ouer the people standes,
Let not their blood be sought at giltles handes.

Now Lordes & Lordings assembled in this place,
Ouer long we talke of Tragedies, alas,
Away with care, with comfort now conclude:
As good in paper, as speake it to your face,
If murtherers for this geare get any grace,
Ye shal be shent, thinke on, I say for good,
Sith arte and part are gilty of his blood,
Why should ye feare, or fauor them for […] fleiching ?
Ye herd your selues what Knox spake at the preaching.

First on the fieldes, make shortly to leSingle illegible letter
We lacke but one, and what the woorse are wée?
Sith GOD was pleased to take him out of pine:
Al men on moold are marked for to dye,
In time and place appointed, so was he.
Let not in care your couragies decline,
For want of one I would not al should tine.
Go seeke at Roxbrugh when the King was slaine
And yet one woman wan the house agayne.

Sith then by women doughty déedes were done,
Ye Barrons be blithe, and hold your harts aboue,
And let vs heare wherefore ye hapned hither,
They are no great partie, and ye speede you soone,
Albeit that boyd be dayily in Denone,
Lang or Argyle be gathered in together,
When al is done, the Counsaile may consider,
What is the most those murtherers may do,
Suppose that Huntly would come & help them to.

Had we one head would stoutly vndertake it,
The Barrons sayes they should be boldly backed,
Mought they with speedines trauel to these townes:
Why stand ye afeard of Traitours twise detracted?
Thinke ye not shame to heare your Lordships lacked?
Some feares their flesh, som gins to gather crownes
Single illegible letterides their heads, som girds them vp in gownes
Looke how your enmies prides the~ in their spurring
Keping the fields, and frées not in their furring.

Wo worth the wiues that fostred you and fed,
Ye do nothing loue but lye on soften bed,
And keepe you fro cold, with cloutes in your shoo:
I thinke great wonder how ye can be so dred,
Or fray at them that last before you fled.
Wanting their Quene, sith God is gaynst them too.
Why lye ye here, hauing here litle to do?
The Barrons bids you shortly bide, or els begone,
Courage decaies if Scotishmen tary long.

Haue Lions lookes, and then make way forth cleare,
Be Hannibals, and hoyse your harts with cheare.
But be not still, while those Knaues do enclose you.
He néedes not worke that hath one good ouersaeer,
Nor ye néede fight, so that your hartes were fraeer.
But by my soule my selfe could neuer [...] ruse you:
I know wel for this crime Christ shal accuse you.
For sparing Agag, Saul was punished sore,
So shal he you, I dare not say no more.

The Lord of hostes that heauen & earth commaundes,
Kéepe our yong King from al vnhappy handes,
And that good Queene of England, and her Counsel to.
Ye feare the Frenchmen should ouerlay these landes,
But I heare say by some that vnderstandes,
The Doctours doubt but they haue more ado.
Our Quéene is kept straightly, her power is igo,
England wil help you, and ye wil help your selues,
And be the contrair, craue of them nothing els.

Thus fare ye wel, I spare not to offend you,
In simple verse this Schedul that I send you,
Beseching you to scanne it if ye may.
Steale ye away, the wiues wil vilypend you,
And if ye byde, the Barrons wil commend you.
Best were it I thinke, we might preuent that day,
Their méeting is on Sonday I heare say,
In Glasgow towne, thinking to fight or flée,
It lookes wel there, ye get no more of mée.


Title:
An answer to a Papistical Byll cast in the streetes of Northampton, and brought before the Iudges last Syses. 1570

Location of Printer:
Little Britain Streete without Aldersgate

Lyrics:
The Papistes bill.

HOw now my maisters maryed Priestes,
How like you of these newes?
You must forsake your wicked lyues,
Your wyues must to the stewes.

The Aunswer.

How now my masters popish Priestes,
How like you of these newes?
You must forsake your Sodomites liues,
For down is gone your stewes.

2. The papisticall byll.

What neede our women now take care,
What life they now do leade?
Since euery preaching knaue must haue
A whoore in house to treade.

2. The Protestant.

What neede our men now to take care,
What way they go or treade,
For those Priests which wer whormongers
Must now marry wife or maide.

3. The Papist.

There is not now a strumpet whore,
In all the land to haue:
They are sodainly snatched vp,
With some Geneua knaue.

3. The Protestant.

Sithe there is now no strumpet whore,
In England for to haue:
Speake well then of the Gospell good,
And do no more so raue.

4. The Papist.

Maister VViborne, alias tiborne ticke,
There dwelleth in this towne:
Which sought by all the meanes he coulde,
The Easter to plucke downe.

4. The Protestant.

And where that godly Preacher sought,
There dwelling in that towne:
Your knauerie and hipocrisie,
At Easter to plucke downe.

5. The papist.

But I of him dare well pronounce,
And time the truth shall trie:
That he shall trust vnto his héeles,
Or els in Smithfield frie.

5. The protestant.

For this of him you dare pronounce,
And thousandes of his side:
Not like to CHRIST, but to the Pope,
Who loues to see Christ fride.

6. The papist.

Not he, but thousandes of his sect,
Must to Geneua seeke:
The wrestling of the Gospell wrong,
Preuailes them not a leeke.

6. The Protestant.

If that in Rome and Geneua
The whoores were all well sene:
The wrestling of the Gospell pure,
By that men might well deeme.

7. The Papist.

The Deuil when he would Christ attempt,
In Scripture seemed wyse:
And for him they the Scriptures take,
To maintaine all their lyes.

7. The Protestant.

CHRIST, when the deuil did him tempt,
By Scripture did confute:
But Papistes passe on that no lesse,
Then Fawkners on Hawkes mute.

8. The Papist.

Therefore be packing pratyng knaues,
Your rayling is to playne:
Commit your Bastards to the bag,
And hye you hence agayne.

8. The Protestant.

Saint Frances preaching to the Birdes,
All countries hath well spyde:
So as if Fooles should be hanged vp,
The Papistes sure should ryde.

9. The Papist.

And where I tolde you of your wyues,
Take you for them no care:
Shift for your selues, and trudge with spede
Least halter be your share.

9. The Protestant.

Idolatrie and adulterie,
For them you take no care,
But euery godly common wealth,
May wysh such tyborne fare.

10. The Papist.
quod Non est Inuentus.

10. The protestant.
Coronat opus,

Exitus acta probat.
FINIS.



Three helps deuised by the Pope for his Mayden Priestes.

FIrst that Priestes myght examine in confessions, wyues, & Maydes of theyr whoredom, & by that they knewe to make their bargaynes, and the people looking on, must thinke it confession, and committing the like with them, they had power to geue them a knauish absolucion.

2 The seconde helpe appeareth Glos. in Caus. 11. q 3. cap. Absit: That if any of hys Clergy should be found embrasing a woman, it must be expounded and presupposed hee doth it to blesse her.

3 The third helpe, that in euerye Citye (lyke as it is now in Rome) one stewes at the least to be permitted.

Experientia docet.

Doctor VVeston in England, who was burnt, but not with coales, billets, faggots, straw, nor reedes.

Also, the twoo Mayden Bishops at the last counsell of Trent 1562. beyng taken blessing mens wyues, the one was thrust through wyth a Bores speare, the other hanged out of a wyndow, in the sight of all the people.

Et cetera.


