# 1530-70 BALLAD ANALYSIS

Title:
A maruelous tydynges both wonders old and new The Deuyll is endited yf many mens wordes be tru.

Lyrics:
IN all Christendom, Christes Godspell now is rad


Title:
Other thus it is: or thus it shoulde bee.

Lyrics:
THe golden world is now come agayne,
God is knowen, beleued, loued, & otheyed:
True doctryne is taught, and false exyled cleane,
Sinne is mortified, all vice is decayed.
Peace doeth take place, all warres be delayed,
Youth is brought up in learnyng vertuouslye:
Common wealth doeth flourish, pouertie hath ayde,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde be.

 Kynges and Princes, doe Gods lawes aduaunce,
Iustice and equitie also, they doe maintayne:
They loue peace, they hate war and variaunce,
Vice they suppresse, and vertue cause to raigne.
To get learning & knowledge, they take great payne
They make good Iawes, and see them kepte iustlie:
To defend their cuntries, great trauel they sustaine,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Maiestrates and officers, each one in their degree,
Geue good ensample of obedience and liuyng:
For the common wealth also, they take great studie,
They execute iustice iustlie, in euery kynd of thyng.
To the poore pouertie, they be good and louyng,
The wylfull they restrayne from their iniquitie:
To the humble and good, they be gentle & benigne,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Bishops and Ministers, doe themselues apply,
Sincerelie to preach Gods holie law and Gospell:
Accordyng to their doctrine, they liue vertuously,
In hospitalitie, and almes deed, they greatly excell.
They geue good example, for other to doe well,
They be chaste, and sobre, and full of humilitie:
They studie the Scriptures, all vice they doe expell,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Iudges that sit in iudgemēt, matters for to heare
Be so uncorrupte, that no bribes they wyll take:
Tyll they heare both parties, they stop the one eare,
By the lawe deliberately, the cases they debate.
By euidence and witnesses, the truth they out beate
Falsehod they fetter, but right they doe set free:
Iust iudgement they geue, none can entreate,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Iustices Gentlemen, peace doe maintayne.
The Queenes lawes and statures, they see executed:
Contention and variaunce, they doe subdue cleane,
The uppressour they punish, the naughty is rebuked.
The sturdy they correcte, the poore be refreshed,
They lyue on their landes, rented reasonablie:
Matters before them, be iustly and soone ended,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Mayours and Bayliffes, and all other officers,
Of Cities, Boroughes, and of Townes corporate:
They studie such decrees, and such godly orders,
That the people be wel ruled. Treat paine they take
For the common weale. Tumult and debate
They destroy. But they encreace godly unitie:
They cause plentie by prudence, dearth they abate,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

All Lawyers doe perswade their clients to agree,
Rather then at the lawe, to spend out their money:
Yf they wyl not, they search their case profoundlie,
And therein they proceed, without fraude or delay,
They bryng it to iudgement, or to some godly stay,
Yf they promise their clientes, they performe iustly:
They take reasonable fees for their paynes alway,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

The Commons feare God, and obey the Queene,
They come to heare Gods wurd, and together pray:
Disobedience in no case, is now no more seene,
Contention they hate, they loue peace always.
Euery one is content, to liue as he may,
The rich helpe the poore, yea and that gladly:
The poore be content, and for them doe pray,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Parents doe bryng vp their children very godly,
Children obey their elders, and folow their aduice:
Husbandes loue their wiues, and they them hartely
Women be sober and gentle, neither proude nor nice.
Seruants be faithful, they need no warning twice,
to vertue & learning, youth geueth all their studie:
Yf any fall in decay, he is holpen agayne to arice,
Other thus it is, or thus it shoulde bee.

Al Subiects faithfully, pray for their Queene,
That God may endue her Royall hart alway:
With faith, feare, and loue, before him to be seene,
And for her honorable counsell they humbly pray.
That good lawes and statutes, set furth they may,
To the wealth of the realme, and communaltie:
That the queene may rule wel, and they truly obey,
Amen. God graunt that so it may bee.


Lyrics:
OVr father which in heauen doste sit,
We sanctifie thy name,Our praier we praye thee to admyt,
Quene Mary saue from blame.
Thy kyngdome be vs here among,
As in our hartes to raigne,
Queene Mary prosper thou here long,
Her honour none to stayne.
Thy wyll in earth be done and wrought,
Right as it is aboue.
Quene Mary bothe in deede and thought,
Maye thee bothe dreade and loue.
Our dayly breade geue vs this daye,
With all that wee doo nede
Our noble Quene Mary we praye,
Thou sende alwaye good speede.
And nowe (O Lorde) our synnes remit
Whiche we haue thee transgrest,
As we doo lette our neighbour flyt,
Out of our inward brest.
And lette vs not be ouercome
By fowle temptacion,
Our Quene thou graunt (of thy wysdom)
To honour thee alone.
But vs delyuer by thy myght,
From euery kynde of yll.
Quene Mary keepe both daye and night,
And prosper to thy wyll.


Title:
Sapartons alarum, to all such as do beare the name of true souldiers, in England, or els wheare

Tags:
Topical, Social Criticism, Political, other

Lyrics:
AL Mars his men drawe neere,
that warlike feates embrace,
Sit downe a while, & harken heere,
a seruinge Souldiers case.

Laye downe the shiuered Speare,
and eke the battered shielde,
From Trumpets sound withdraw thine eare,
and harke in open field.

The true complaint of one,
whose gaine by seruice got
Will scarsely yelde a hungry Boone,
to cast into the Pot.

If euer warlike wighte,
Hath serued his time in vaine:
In hope to haue bin well requighte,
and hath receiued disdaine.

In faith then I am he,
such one that for my parte
Haue ready bin full willinglye,
with hand, and eeke with harte.

To serue my Prince in fielde,
whiles life had bearing breath,
As one that minded not to yelde,
nor forced life or death.

The fiery Cannons thump,
the cragged Scull that riues:
Whose force by inwarde charge is wonte,
to spoyle poore Souldiers liues.

Could neuer force me yet,
the enemies face to shonne:
If Captaines courage semed fit,
the conquest to haue wonne.

And for the time perchaunce,
I was accepted then,
And promised to haue aduaunce,
as soone as other men.

I speake as founde I haue,
what thoe I am contente:
For Saparton now waxeth graue,
Some youthfull yeares are spente,

Tis not the curled head,
nor yet the frisled heare:
That courage giues in time of neede,
to weld thunweldy Speare.

Some youthfull Imps I knowe,
that beares a passing grace:
If they to pitched fielde should goe,
durst scarsly shew their face.

But when that all is don,
Tis manhood makes the man:
Match not the Candell with the Sunne,
no praise deserue you than.

If courage craues a fame,
remaining in the breast:
Then manhood needes must make his claime
for to excell the reste.

Though Venus striue with Mars,
to get the vpper grounde:
At length yet shall the barded Horse,
exceede doth Hauke and Hounde.

And Lustie Laddes to you,
let not your courage quell:
Good hap hereafter may ensue,
though I good hap do sell.

Coaste on apace althoe,
Light Horseman trace the soyle:
Encounter sharpely with thy foe,
Make hauocke of the spoyle.

Esteeme not my yll hap,
Nor weye it ought at all,
The wight that scapes the Cannons clap,
Runnes yet to further thrall.

O Mars, bewaile thy man,
Because he hath suche wronge,
In dolefull tunes, O rustick Pan,
Now helpe to waile this songe.

So thus my leaue I take,
O Souldier now farewell:
No more to do now will I make,
but God preserue Queene EL.


Title:
Te deum, lauding god specially with prayer therin, for our Quene Mary.


Title:
The braineles blessing of the bull the hornes, the heads and all, light on their squint eyed skonses full that boweth their knees to ball.

Location of Printer:
St Katherine's beside the tower of London over against the bear dance

Lyrics:
The cancred curse that wolde consume this realme with wracke and ruine,


Lyrics:
Comfort at hand, pluck up the hart
Thus sayde grace to my thowght
Syns the redres of all thy smarte
So nye at hand is wrowghte
Pluck up thy hart

Pluck up thy harte, whye dowtst thow so
Se who doth lost thy bandes
And toward the hevyns, I lokyng tho
In the eie of faythe ther standes
Coomfort at hand

Comfort at hand I say, sayth Grace; 
Marke, man, what tale I tell, 
And thow shalte see cawse in this case 
All care cleere to expell; 
Pluck up thy harte ! 

Pluck up thy harte, and gyve it Hym, 
That gave hymsealfe for the. 
In deite of whose diadym, 
Looke up I say and see 
Comfort at hande. 

Comfort at hand thyne enmyse yealde, 
Yf thow forsake thy syn
A new woon lyfe, a new woon feald. 
This victorye to wyn. 
Pluc up thy harte 

Pluck up thy harte, syns thow art sewre 
Showrs are as shorte aa sharpe; 
The worlds conflyctes can not endure. 
On this sweete stryng now harpe, 
Comfort at hand. 

Comfort at hand, hark now what sowndes
The captayne generall 
Evin wyth his blooddy bleedyng woondes 
Dooth sle thine enmyes all
Pluck up thy hart ! 

Pluck up thi hart, and this shorte lyfe 
Lyvyng in lovyng fayth
For endles rest at endles stryfe, 
Looke where he sytthe that saythe 
Comfort at band ! 

Comfort at hand to the and me, 
Synce God gyvth by his grace; 
Let us by grace in unitye 
This comfort to imbrace ! 
Pluck up our hartes.


Lyrics:
Of ever or never folke ever conjecter, 
That never is longer by wone Iytle letter; 
But ever or never, which ever be greter, 
Where never a good is theres never a better

Ever in graffyng and never in growing. 
Ever in plowing and never in sowing, 
Ever in repyng and never in mowinge. 
Ever in trowing and never in knowinge. 

Ever full gorgid, and never from tappynge, 
Ever at sylence and never from clappynge. 
Ever acold and never from wrappynge, 
Ever in hopyng and never in bappyng. 

Ever in travell and never at byrth, 
Ever in smylyng and never in myrth. 
Ever in swellyng and never slack gyrth, 
Ever in purchace and never owght wurth. 

Ever at hand and never at wyll. 
Ever styk fast and never stande styll, 
Ever cum toward and never cum tyll, 
Ever a clarke and never can skyll. 

Syns ever and never shall never have end, 
Good is it ever never to offend; 
For ever shall never kepe fawtes in safe mend. 
But ever shall scowrg fawtes that never amend


Title:
[The end and confession of T. Norton and C. Norton rebels who died the 27th of May 1570]


Title:
The end and confession of Iohn Felton who suffred in Paules Churcheyeard in London, the. viii. of August, for high treason. 1570.

Lyrics:
EChe man desiers to haue reporte,
of newes both strange and rare:
And couits for to know those thinges,
whereby they may be ware.
For to avoyde those doynges greate,
that might on them befall:
For by example are they taught to do,
and what they shall
Receiue for their malicious mindes,
and wicked Treasons greate:
As now of late it hath been seen
through Iustice iudgements seate.
That holdes the sworde to do the right,
and strike where blowes should fall:
And punish for their wicked liues,
eche one whom she doth call.
The poore, the ritche, the learnd, ye wise
the begger and the snudge:
The Kynge somtime too hath it felt,
aswell as hath the drudge.
Wherefore be lawes decreed and made
but for to punish those,
That will not by theyr Prince be rewld
but seemes to be theyr foes.
As now is seene by Felton lo,
that lately here did die,
In Paules Churchyarde he left his life,
on Galows taule and hie.
Who from the prison where he lay,
was drawne on Hardell there:
For good example of all such,
that they might take the feare.
For to beware of suche like facte,
as well in worde as deede:
Least they for theyr like hier at last
no better like to speede.
* Now marke his ende and what I shall
reporte here of his death:
For why these eares of mine did here,
and iyes while that his breath
Remained in his wicked corps,
which stubbornly did die:
As one me thought somthing best raught
through Treasons crueltie.
His Gowne of Grograin he put of,
which on his backe he had:
And eke his Doublet which was made
of Sattin somwhat sad.
Into his Shirte he then was stript,
and vp the Ladder he
Did mount, for to receaue that death,
that eche man there might se.
These wordes he spake, and said alowde
my Maisters all and some:
One thinge I haue to say to you,
now that I here am come.
That is, I pray you all with me
beare recorde what I say:
I here protest before you all
, this present dieyng day,
That I was neuer Traytour sure,
nor Treason to my Queene
Did neuer do, nor neuer thought,
that euer hath been seene.
And for the facte wherefore I die,
I can it not denie:
But at the Gate where as the Bull
was hanged, there was I,
In company, on more with me,
did hange it vp together:
And though in place, I had not bin,
it had not scaped euer.
From hanging vp, for suredly,
for that same present day:
It had bin hanged, in that place,
though I had been away.
Then sayde the Shreue, vnto him,
Oh Felton do remember:
That thou hast bin, a Traytour great
and to the Queene offender.
And surely thou moste Trayterously,
and stubbornly hast thou sought,
The best thou couldst to go aboute,
thy Prince to bringe to nought.
And eke the Realme and all the rest,
as mutche as in thee lay,
Thou soughst by thy Traiterous harte,
to bringe vnto decay.
Therfore call vnto God the Lord,
and pray him from thy hart:
That he receaue thy soule to rest,
when thou from hence shalt part.
Well so I do, and here I craue,
you all good people pray
For me, that ready is to dye,
and then began to say,
Into thy hands, Oh Lord my God,
I yeeld my Soule and Breath:
For thou hast me redeemd, I say,
with thy most precious death.
In manus tuas Domine,
and so the rest he sayde,
The Hangman then did throwe him of,
and so his breath was staide.
He hanged theare vpon the Tree,
and in a litle space:
They cut him downe incontinent,
that Iustice might take place.
Wher as he quartred shoulde be,
according to the Lawe:
And to the Iudgement that he had,
to make those stande in awe.
That be of his affinitie:
and surely there be some,
That thinkes that he deserude not death
in all that he hath don.
He then dismembred was straight way,
when he had ended that:
His Belly ripped open wide,
his Bowels all he gat.
And to the fire he straight them threwe,
which ready there was made:
And there consumed all to dust,
as is the fiers trade.
His Head cut of, the Hangman then,
did take it vp in hand:
And vp alofte he did it showe,
to all that there did stand.
And then his body in Fowre partes,
was quartred in that place:
More pitty that his Traytorous Hart,
could take no better grace.
And thus he had his iust desarte,
as well he had deserued:
I would the rest that not repents,
were likewise also serued.
Beware you Papists all beware,
be true vnto your Queene:
Let not your Traiterous hartes be bent
as here tofore hath been.
Stand not against the liuing God,
spurne not against his Law:
Kicke not against the Pricke I say,
but haue him still in awe.
Be not ashamde to torne in time,
set shamefastnesse aside:
No shame it is to turne to God,
though you haue gon far wide,
The farther you haue gon astray,
and wicked wayes hath led,
The ernester you should returne,
from that most wicked Bed,
Wherin you lay a sleape long while,
forgetting of his grace:
Now call the refore vnto the Lord,
to set you in that place,
Where you may haue eternall rest,
and liue in heauen hie:
And rest in Abrahams bosome too,
when that you needes must dye.
And for that grace that God may geue,
as I haue sayde before:
I humbly pray continually,
both now and euermore.
Our Prince, our Queene Elizabeth,
a happy state to haue:
Let vs all pray with one accord,
her noble grace to saue.
And hir to keepe from all hir foes,
and sheild eternally:
From wicked wights that go about,
to séeke continually:
Hir whole decay: the Lord defend,
hir noble royall hart:
From yeelding to those Foes of hirs,
that daily plaies their parte.
For to be reeue her of her right,
and of hir stately Crowne:
All those (I say) that so doth seke,
God shortly throw them downe.
Thus here I end, and once againe,
the liuing God I pray:
Our noble Quéene Elizabeth,
preserue both night and day.
quod F. G.

    FINIS.


Title:
The forme and shape of a Monstrous Child / borne at Maydstone in Kent, the .xxiiij. Of October. 1568.

Lyrics:
THis monstrous shape to thee England
Playn shewes thy monstrous vice.
If thou ech part wylt vnderstand,
And take thereby aduice.

For waying first the gaspyng mouth,
It doth full well declare:
What rauine and oppression both
Is vsed wyth greedy care.

For, for the backe, and gorging paunch,
To lyue in wealth and ease:
Such toyl men take that none may staunch
Their greedy minde, nor please.

For in such sort, their mouthes they infect,
With lying othes, and slaightes:
Blaspheming God, and Prince reiect,
As they were brutish beastes.

Their filthy talke, and poysoned speech,
Disfigures so the mouth:
That som wold think ther stood ye breech
Such filth it breatheth forth.

The hands which haue no fingers right
But stumps fit for no vse:
Doth well set forth the idle plight,
Which we in these daies chuse.

For rich and poore, for age and youth,
Eche one would labour flye:
Few seekes to do the deedes of truth,
To helpe others thereby.

The leg so clyming to the head,
What meaneth it but this?
That some do seeke not to be lead,
But for to leade amis.

And as this makes it most monstrous,
For Foote to clyme to head:
So those Subiects be most vicious,
That refuse to be lead.

The hinder part doth shew vs playne,
Our close and hidden vice,
Which doth behind vs run amayne,
In vyle and shameful wyse.

Wherefore to ech in England now,
Let this Monster them teach:
To mend the monstrous life they show,
Least endles death them reach.


Title:
The pope in his fury doth answer returne, to a letter ye which to Rome is late come

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

Lyrics:
I Doe esteme your kyndnes much
For sendyng worde so sone,
Your diligence it hath ben such
It is ariued at Rome:
But when I had pervsd your byl
In that you set thereto your wyl
And eke your mynd applyed vntyl
The writyng of the same.
I did beleue it to be true
But surely I must say to you
It greued mee those lines to vew
Were wrtten in your name.

And sure it is no maruell loe
For daylye I doe heare,
The matter semeth to be so
As amply doth appeare:
For euery man doth tell for true
The same that late was sent of you
But out alas, your tidynges new
Doth much appall my spirite.
And makes me sweare and makes me teare
To pull and hale, and rend my heare
And brynges me dayly in dispaire
To thinke on this despite.

But sith there is no remedye
That mine obedient chylde,
Is hanged vp vpon a tree
And to to much reuylde:
What shoulde I doe but curse and ban
And hurte them toe the worst I can
For hanging vp so good a man
That bare mee such good wyll?
But yf I had him here at Rome
His body should be shryned soone
And masse at mornyng and at noone
With chantyng of each bell.

For euer shoulde be sayd and soung
The deuyls to controvle,
And prayers all aboute his tombe
With senceyng for his soule:
That neuer a deuyll so deepe in hell
Shoulde once presume with him to mell
Nor once approch his body tyll
To vexe him any way.
And I wolde kepe his body so
That it from hence should neuer go
And dyuers of my fryers mo
For him should dayly pray.

And gladly wolde I be reuengd
On England yf I might,
Because they haue toe much a abusd
My Bull with great despight:
And make thereat a laughing game
And set but little by my name
And much my holynes defame
And dayly me dispyse.
Their Queene hath chast the rebels all
That loued to bow their knees to Ball
And hanged their quarters on the wall
As meat for crowes and pyes.

But I wyll walke and dayly seke
My Purgatorie thorow,
And cause all the deuyls at my becke
To me their knees to bow:
And where as I may any fynde
That to their Prince haue ben vnkynde
Be sure, with mee they shall be shrynde
As they deserued haue.
And cheefly now Iohn Felton hee
Shall euer be beloued of mee
Because that he so louinglye
My Bull did seeme to saue.

But yf that I coulde haue at once
The paryng of his toe,
His head, his quarters, or his bones
That with the wynde doe bloe:
Then shoulde they be layd vp by mee
As reliques of great dignitie
For euery man that comes to see
Those Iewels of such grace.
The Nortons bones should so be shrynd
That now hanges wauering in the wynd
Yf that I coulde deuyse or fynd
To bryug them to this place.

And I wyll curse and ban them all
That speake against my powre,
And seekes to make my kyngdome fall
My curse shall them deuowre:
And yf that here I might you see
For wrytyng lately vnto mee
Be sure, ye should rewarded bee
As best I coulde bethynke.
And as for Wylliam Elderton
That lately sent me worde to Rome
Be sure that he should haue lyke dome
To bye him pen and ynke.

Take this as written from our grace
That vnto you we send,
Because we want both time and place
To recompence you frend:
As for the boyes that trump and scoff
And at my holynes doe laugh
I mynd to dresse them wel enough
Yf case I had them here.
And for my seruants that abyde
And long haue had their pacience tryde
From Romaine faith that wyl not slyde
I wysh them all good there.


Title:
The true discripcion of a childe with ruffes borne in the parish of Micheham in the cou[n]tie of Surrey in the yeere of our Lord. M.D.LXvi

Location of Bookshop:
Long shop adjoining St Mildred's church in the Pultrie and at the little shop adjoing the north west door of Paul's church

Lyrics:
THis picture prest in paper white, our natures dooth declare:
Whose fourme so straunge by na tures spite may lerne vs to beware.

By natures spite, what doo I saye? dooth nature rule the roste?
Nay god it is say wel I may: by whom nature is cost.

The face ful faire, the members all, in order stand and place:
But yet too muche: by natures thrall, dooth woork a great disgrace.

This ruffeling world in ruffes al rolde, dooth God detest and hate:
As we may lerne the tale wel tolde, of Children borne of late.

What meanes this childe by natures woork: thus Ruffed for to be?
But by these Ruffes our natures spurk, we might be holde and sée.

Her squares our squaring dooth set out, this here our heres dooth checke:
This monstrouse monster out of dout, agréeth in eche respect.

Our filthy liues in Pigg{is} are shewd, our Pride this Childe dooth bere:
Our ragg{is} and Ruffes that are so lewd, beholde her fleshe and here.

Our Beast{is} and Cattel plagued are, all monstrouse in their shape:
And eke this Childe dooth wel declare, the pride we vse of late.

Our curled here her here dooth preche, our ruffes and gises gaie:
Our straunge attire wherto we reche, our flesshe that plese we may.

The poet telleth how Daphenes was, transformd into a trée:
And Io to a Cow did passe, a straunge thing for to sée.

But poets tales may passe and go, as trifels and vntrueth:
When ruffes of flesshe as I doo trowe, shall moue vs vnto ruthe.

Deformed are the things we were, deformed is our hart:
The Lord is wroth with all this géere, repent for fere of smarte.

Pray we the Lord our hart{is} to turn, whilest we haue time and space:
Lest that our soules in hel doo burn, for voiding of his grace.

And ye O England whose womankinde, in ruffes doo walke to oft:
Parswade them stil to bere in minde, this Childe with ruffes so soft.

In fourme as they in nature so, a maid she is in déed:
God graunt vs grace how euer we go, for to repent with spéed.


Lyrics:
WHen date of (1553.) was expirde ful,
And Gods wrath rypt, ready to fall:
His sworde from sheath did ferce out pul,
And to the heauens beganne to call.
Saying: on England now I shall,
Plage Prince, Prophet, and People all,
For contemptes sake.
Go Death inclose their Kyng in clay,
And Sunne withdraw the light of day,
And darkenes make.

No sooner sayd, but straight was done
The English Kyng Edward God tooke.
Light of soule from England gone.
Darkenes made them blyndely looke.
Truth and Fayth of People forsooke.
Their Prophetes taken from the booke,
And prysoners made.
The Bats & Owles from holes out came
Wolues and Beares, and cruel Caim,
Did England inuade.

When darknes thus echwhere was sen
And nightly Uermin rulde the rost,
No Birds might syng in that late euen,
By land, by sea, or by the coast,
But straight were brought to firy post,
Or els to Lolers tower tost,
And kept in cage,
From meate and frend somtimes so bard
That lomy wales they fed on hard,
Hunger to swage.

Thys darkenes so extremely bode,
That none from other scarce were known
On Noble, Sage, Learned and Good,
These wormes of darknes spared none,
And pourde their poison abrod so flowne
On Prophet, People, & Prince their own,
Whych is by name
Elizabeth, by God nowe Quene,
To Englands ioy ryght wel is sene,
They sought to shame.

The sun thus quentch, & day made dark
And Cockes in coopes from croing kept,
Then straight these Owles began to wark,
And to the Churches fearcely lept,
And wt new broumes then clene out swept
From God, from King and Scripture set
Upon the wall,
And in their stede set ydols long,
And made people with prayse and song,
On them to call.

Thus Uermin darke the mastry had,
Of Realme, of Prince, of Noble and all:
And yet not here with fully glad,
Away they sought to saue theyr fall,
And counsayle gaue a Forayne to call,
To match our Quene and Crowne royal
All for their Pope.
To haue their kingdome raygne alway,
And they them selues to heare the sway,
And blindly grope.

All this not yet their mindes fyllyng,
Nor no regarde to Natiu[...] land,
Fearing again Gods light should spring
Brought Mershial law forthwt in hand,
Against al such as would withstand,
Their wicked raygne and cruell band,
And Gods part take.
Or els in priuye places founde,
Praying to God prostrate on ground,
His wrath to slake.

Thus rulyng all in darkenes blynde,
Came miseries with heape on heape,
No lore was taught to fyl the mynde,
Godly to lyue and good fruite reape,
But al for Church they cride and threape
Restore, restore euen as good cheape,
As ye dyd take.
And be ye sure ye shall attayne,
To heauens blysse wythout more payne
And so mendes make.

Losses of townes and Holdes came on,
Ruine of people beganne eche where:
Richmen made beggers, & Captains bond
Armour for warre our enmyes toke clere
When al thys was seue in this realme here
Yet (sayd these Owles) we nede not feare
For all was well.
No losse haue we by Heritikes gone:
Ne for Calis for whych ye moue
Whych here do dwell

Yet God as God styll alwaies one
Though angry yet began to stay:
Plaging the Realme and People echeone
At last with teares beganne to saye:
Oh England, England sore doest thou stray,
My Martirs bloud shed out thys day,
In wofull plyght.
The infantes yong that fatherles be.
Wyth wydowes poore crying to me,
wythdrawes my spyte.

With that ye skies their hue did change
And light out shone in darkenes steede,
Up (said this God with voice not strange)
Elizabeth thys Realme nowe guyde,
My wyll in thee doo not thou hyde,
And Uermine darke let not abyde,
In thys thy Land.
Straight way the people out dyd cry,
Praysed be God and God saue thee
Quene of England.


Title:
Westerne Wyll upon the debate betweene Churchyarde and Camell

Lyrics:
Rowe thy bote thou ioly ioly maryner, & wynd wel vp thy sayle,
For thou mightst neuer wind it vp better thine own self for to auaile.

THere ware thre mery maryners, that dwelt in Maldon meade
That could sayl of wynde and tyde, of chanel and of streame
And eke theyr compasse well dyrecte, from euery shore & steade
And ware acqueinted wt the rockes: and sandes yt myght them queame
From Maldon hauen to Billingesgate, aswel I vndertake
As any thre of many yeres, suche course that vsed to make.

A Crayer had they prest to sayle, and all theyr takle yare
And all theyr fraught ybrought a borde, to wende to Maldon towne
But for the wynde was not the best, before they forth wolde fare
They thought the citie for to rowme, and viewe it vp and downe
If thing vncouth they there might fynde, wherwt to moue some glee
When they came home to Maldon meade, amonge theyr companye.

To Powles they hyed as place most fytte, for newes in theyr deuyce
Amonge the prynters gan they search, and busily enquyre
For thinges that might for Noueltie, at home be had in price
The printer sayd he thought he had, to pleasen theyr desyre
And drewe them nere into his shoppe, and gan vnfolde them lyght
A rolle of Rythmes, wherof the fyrst, the dickers dreame it hyght.

Then folowed answere to this dreame, to Dauie dickers whan
A solempne processe at a blusshe, be quoted here and there
With matter in the margent set, wheron to gase they gan
But they ne wist for ought I knewe, but hebrue that it were
A Replicacion was the next, whiche well I vnderstoode
For that I founde no worde therin, but it was Englyshe good.

But lo ye here the fourth quod he, that maketh vp the moste
I warrant you a clarkely pece, se howe it is be deckte
(As sellers are not nowe to learne, theyr wares to prayse I gesse)
The name therof Reioynder was, a terme to them suspecte
Because it sounded of the lawe, as though some case it warre.
Of ioyncture right for waywarde wyues, to pleaden at the barre.

But ay the prynter pressed on, and take them all quod he
I notte your names, but brethren myne. I you assure can
They be as good as in this towne in any shoppe there be
Our names quod be, and one stepped forth, a wight yonge watre man
Wylkyn is my name, and this is watte, and Herman hight the third
As trusty and sure at tackle knotte, as euer with corde was gyrd.

Well Wilkin, Watte, and Herman gent, by al your names I sweare
Ye shall not nede vpon my worde, to stande in any doubt
A meryer iest ye can not fynde, a boord with you to beare
So wyll ye say your selues I knowe, when ye haue red it out
But yf ye be vnlearned to reade, as maryners lyghtly be
Then yf ye lyst to harke a whyle, ye shall it heare of me.

For Gods swete bones quod Watkyn tho, for bokyshe be we not
We knowe to halfe, and stryke, & vyere, & vp the anchore waye
And cables folde, and clymbe to toppe, and then go tosse the potte
But if thou wylt of curtesy, of this vs somwhat say
By god my peny shalbe twayne, and theyrs shal make a grote
Though we therfore shulde go to bed, at nyght with thyrsty throte.

Nay then quod he Saynt George to borowe, the day is ours all
Ye shall it heare eche lyne at length, but fyrst and wote ye what
The partyes twayne betwene the which, this stryfe is nowe befall
It me behoueth fyrst to tell, good order asketh that
Wherfore a whyle gyue eare I pray, tyll I those twayne set out
And then ye may your fansye say, by turne eche one about.

This Diker semes a thryuynge ladde, brought vp in Pierces scole
The plowman stoute, of whom I thynke ye haue ful often harde
A swynckyng swaine, that handleth wel his spade and other toole
Ful loth he ware for lacke of hede, they shulde be reckly marde
For why in them and in his hande, his lyuynge chefely standes
He bragges not of his rentes ne fees, ne of entayled landes.

And yet he semeth a curtouse hind, and comen of good stocke
For Dikers feawe in my contrey, so wel y thewed bene
I warraunt you who lyst him proue, he is no spritelesse blocke
But to my tale, In cockowe tyme when eche thyng gan to gren
All weryed from his worke, retournes this Daui Diker hende
And for to ease hym selfe the bet, ful softely gan he wende

Unto his house within a groue, a lytle there besyde
His bottle & his bagge, he hent, he left them not behynde
Wherin remayned but small surplus, of viande at that tyde
And downe he sate hym on the benche, of meate had lytle mnide
But gan complayne his werynesse, and on his hande his hedde
He dyd arrest, & cleped wyfe, as though he wolde to bedde

Lo dame he sayd thou wotest I trowe, that candle is to diere
To sytte vp late and praten out our thryft tyll farther nyght
And eke I nyll no supper haue, lette be put out the fiere
And hast we all to bed I saye, that ryse betymes we myght
And in he stepte, and sone he was vncased in his couche
And at his heade as was his wonte, he layed vp his pouche.

To wery labouring men, full swete doth seme such rest
He had not lyen longe, but loude he gan to route
And softly by his syde his wyfe, her selfe to bed adrest
The dogge, the cat, and syb the mayde, eche couchen them about
Into theyr hernes where they ware wont, and al was huyst and styll
And Dauy gan to dreame his dreame, as we deuysen wyll

Then Wylkyn gan at once vpbrayde, and sware by gods dyne harte
A rushe for bookes, me leuer ware that I could tel this tale
Then of your scrabblynges for to haue, a loade by wayne or carte
Strawe for such peltry, it is good to stuffe an empty male
I durst it take vpon my soule, in all this lyther thynge
Is not a tale that may be founde so muche to my lykynge.

Yea yea quod Wat, my selfe by gisse, in youth might this haue learned
If I so wyse or happye had ben to folowe my fathers wyll
Who would haue spent vpon my scoole so muche as he had earned
But I was bent another waye, me thought it very yll
All daye to rucken on my tayle, and poren on a booke
It was nothyng vnto my paye, full soone I it forsoke.

But Herman here our other mate, it was a wytty elfe
Ado, ado, quod herman then and prynter yet go forth
What was the dreame that Dauy mette as he it tolde him selfe
For yet me thinketh by thy fare, that dreme is somewhat worth.
Content quod he gyue heare agayne, and here me what I sayne
I shall you reade this dreame a ryght, as here I fynde it playne.


Dauye Dikers dreme.


WHen fayth in frendes beares fruite, and foolyssh fansies fade
& crafty catchers come to nought & hate great loue hath made
When fraude flieth farre from towne: & loyterers leaue ye fylde
And rude shall runne a ryghtfull race, and al men be well wylde
When gropers after gayne, shal carpe for common wealth
And wyly woorkers shall dysdayne to fygge and lyue by stealth
When wysedome walkes a lofte, and folly syttes full lowe
And vertue vainquisheth pamperd vice & grace begynnes to growe:
When Iustice ioynes to trueth, and lawe lokes not to miede
And brybes helpe not to buyld faire bowers, nor gyftes gret glotons fiede
When hongre hides his head & pleinty pleaseth the pore
And nyggardes to the nedy men shall neuer shutte the dore
When double darke deceipt, is out of credite worne
And fawnyng speche is falshed founde & craft is laught to skorne
When pryde that pykes the purse, gapes not for garmentes gay
Nor Iauelles weare no veluette wiedes nor wandring wittes beare sway
When riches wronges not right, ne power puttes pore abacke
Nor coueytous criepes not into court nor learned lyuinges lacke
When slipper sleightes are sene and farre fatches be founde
And pryuate profite and selfe loue shall both be put in pounde
When debt no sergaunt dredes and courtiers credite kepe
And might melles not with merchaundise, nor lordes shal sel no shiepe
When lucre lastes not longe, and hurde greate heapes doth hate
And euery wyght is well content, to walke in his estate
When truth doth treade the stretes, and lyers lurke in den
And Rex doth reygne and rule the rost, and wiedes out wicked men
Then balefull barnes be blyth, that here in Englande wonne
Your stryfe shall stynt I vndertake, and dredfull dayes be donne.

This Dyker was no fole I gesse, quod Watte and Herman tho
It semeth well he hym bethought, vpon the worldes change
And of his drudge and myckle payne, when he to bed dyd go
And then to dreame of such lyke thynges, perdy it is not straunge
Such as my talke and thoughtes haue bene, the day before certaine
Such thinges again at night in slepe, my dreme hath shewed me plaine.

And eke I harden ones, a ryght good doctour tell.
That such as farced go to bedde, with meate and drynke good store
Theyr dreames alwaye to them in more dysordre fell
Then yf they empty went to bedde, as ye haue harde before
That Dauie dyd whose supper was, so slender and so short
That nothynge els but wearynesse, and nature caused hym snort.

A dreame, a strawe quod Wylkin then, by god it nas no sweuyn
Men dreame of deuyls, of apes, and [...]wles, of naked gyrles and boyes
But I ne thynke this dreame is such, it hitteth thynges so euen
It talketh with good reason rounde, of fansies ne of ioyes
But of suche thynges as I can not, amenden with my wytte
Nor neuer shall I thynke be founde, refourmed euery whytte.

No quod the prynted no, that ment not the dreame I vndertake
But where as many thynges ben found, that mans wyt can not fatche
To mend as many as we can, and the rest a paterne make
To brynge our state as nyghe to them, as mans deuyce can matche
As out of Plat[...]es commen welth, a tale I coulde you tell
Of many thynges that he wolde haue, and not but very well:

That neuer yet in earthe ware founde, as he wolde haue them done
Quod Watte no more of Platoes lore, I ken him not by gysse
Ne care not muche except he coulde some rules for chaunge of mene
But well I wot algates and am full sure of this
That I haue harde the preachers speake, of asmuche as is here
And of mo thynges than any man, is able to come nere.

But ay me thynkes it is to fyne, for such a rude vplande
It ware ynoughe for a ryght good clerke, at instyuynsty taught
He had to helpe his parysshe prest, I venture durst my hande
What though he coulde it dreame thus right, yet I beleue it naught
That he coulde with such queint prouerbes, his dreame at large endite
And eke I thynke the sely swayne, dyd neuer learne to wryte

No Watte quod the prynter tho, thou harpest on the truth
This Diker had a frende in court that well coulde handle pen
With whom he was acqueynted earst, as play felowes in youth
Who for they then companions ware dyd hym vouchsafe to ken
And loued Dauy euermore, in hym suche truth there was
And Dauy when he came to towne, vnsene wolde not hym pas.

Befell vpon a market daye, when he this dreame had had
That he to London lyst resort, for thynges that stode him niede
He founde his frende, and al this dreame, at length [...]to him radde
And he for that it semed a thynge, the pennynge worth in diede
Gan drawe it into frame, and shapen as ye harde
And one that lust it fantasien, to pryntynge it prefarde.

Lo nowe I haue the halfe perfourmed, that I you earst behight
What maner man this Diker was, and howe this dreame came out
And nowe I wyll to Camell passe, if ye therin delight
By whom this ioly sturre, is chiefly brought about
And tell fro poynte to poynte, as earst I dyd of this
His worthynesse as I it knowe, and as the sayeng is.

The Camell semes to me to be, a great out landishe beast
Quod Herman to the prynter then, that longe his peace had holde
With bunches twayne vpon his backe, as highe as any horse at least.
Of which I do remenbre is, in the newe Testament tolde
That euery ryche gnof, may vp to heauen as easyly stye
As maye this wylde vnruly beast, passe through a nydles eye.

And eke we none in Englande haue except they bene vs brought
Of late that I ne knowe, out of some farre countrye
And by my trouth if I shall say you playnly to my thought
Thoughe none we had, it skylles not muche, if they so vnruly be
But prynter trust thou me, I nylle it not belieue
A beaste to speake and wryten this, my reason doth not gieue.

The prynter loude he loughe, and so dyd al the shoppe
And sayde that Herman spoken had, asmuch as myght he sayde
But ware the Camell here quod he, he wolde be in thy toppe
No force quod he· of beastes I am nothynge afrayde
Though I do selde on horsebacke come, there can no Camel kynde
Tyll I knowe more, lette me to say, tho fansies of my mynde.

Mary knowe thou then quod he, that Camell is a man
Nay prynter softe quod Wylkin the, and suffer me to speake
What cause had he that moued hym, to answer to thys whan
Or why shulde he of other al, so sumysshlye out breake
To dart at Dauye Dikers dreame that ment him none vnrest
Except he ware one of those sortes, that it wolde haue redrest.

Pardien a dreame is but a dreame, a fansye of the heade
And he ne ment I hope that men, shulde it for godspell take
But as a sweuyn or fantasie, that eche one shulde it reade
For thy me thynkes accordyngly, the name dyd Dauye make
And nowe a man (ye saye he is) agaynst a dreame to spurne
Me thynke it eyther smelles of craft, or els of some harte burne.

What soft mate quod the prynter tho, and he began to lowre
You gynue waxe hote I wene, agaynst the somer sonne
Ye may be cooled ere ye come home, with some fresshe Apryl showre
This is to much before that I my tale haue all ydonne
Here fyrst an ende of all, and then prononcen dome
Or els depart ye calmely hence, euen such way as ye come.

Herman was full wo, when he, the printer sawe thus wroth
And had but lyttle lust to tary out the tale
And to his felowes gan vpbrayde, ye se the daye hence goeth
And eke ye knowe aswel as I, the water gynnes to vale
And by the vanes I spye the wynde, to be by south at west.
That we vs haste to Maldon meade, I thynke it be the best

And therfore nowe gyue vs quod he, and take thou here thy grote
And though that Wylkin and this Wat, haue shewed theyr hasty wyt
(We Maryners be salte yfrette, we can no bet god wote)
I pray the prynter be content and take no grefe at it
We haue at home a maryner that can some skyl of booke
He shall them see and reade them vs, and so theyr leaue they ioke.

And I that present was at al, for that I lyked the sporte
Gan prynt it in my fyckle heade, in order as I tolde
And for to pen it out the bet dyd to my celle resorte
And drewe it there into a somme, as I had harde it tolde
Not with such wordes as they it spake, but in suche wordes as I
Had partly learned of my dame, and lyst to fantasy.

Suche happe may happe, to gyue a seconde fytte
If cause shall happe, and laysure serue for it.


Lyrics:
Of god & man but with out p[…]itence
And confession with fylth and v[…]
Of dedely synnys presumyth to accede
Vn to the holy mysterise in dede
He etith & drynkith his dome to hym for sothe
[…]che dedely synner that cursidly so dothe
But we therfore that many day before
with confession of oure synnes soore
with penitence are chastysid & made thynne
with leane lent and fast ageyn oure synne
with almesse doyng & bitter teris wepyng
And fro synnes sluggye & fro slepyng
Are cleney wasshe with outyn foul enfection
Than in the day of holy resurrection
Of oure lorde we to his borde accede
In feyth catholique with flessh & blode vs fede
Of the vnspottyd lambe of crist iesu
Not vn to dome but to encrese of vertu
we it teceyue to remission of synne
Finally the blisse of heuyn to wynne
That is callid helthfull beatitude
It for to take with the hoole multitude
Of ioy & blisse to alle oure reparation
we take this fest as to oure preparation
And thus my frendes it nedith you to do
These textis and resons for to consent vn to
whan this peple in general had {per}ceyuid
The qwenys word{is} & specially conceyuid
These textis holy & trew exposition
Her wyse word{is} of trew humble condition
They coude answere in no maner wyse
For ripe sentence with wordis ware & wise
But when they knew the chirchis institution[…]
From thens forwarde to thexecutions
Of holy chirchis rite & gouernaunce
They toke to them this gentil obseruaunce
In parceyuing of this helthful mystery
And kept it forth with conscience good & mery
Preterea in aliquibus locis. &c .


And in scotland also in dyuers plac{is}
Men ther were I trowe for lakke of grac{is}
Ageyn holy chirchis consuetude
That vsid to sey myss that peple rude
with out the chirchis powere & licence
Abhoiable was this insolence
The which mysse vse this blessid holy qwene
In that erroure in no wyse wolde sustene
In goddis cause she sette her hert on fire
with al her study it was her hole desire
For to destroye & bryng to nowght yt rite
That after ward none durst in soyl non site
So presume or of that fecte appere
In alle the londe of scott{is} ferr ne new
Also they vsid ayens the reuerence
Of holy sonday ageyn cristys complacence
In seruile werk{is} to be laborious
But the qwene deuout & vertuous
She wyd theyr defaut by autorite
And by reson to ech in his degre
Seyeng thus that crist{is} holy day
which is sonday was ordeynyd this is no nay
For crist{is} high blessid resurrection
That euery cristen man shuld haue affection
It to haue in laude & veneration
That we shuld do noo werk nor operation
That were seruile for fro seruilite
Of the fende his bondage & pooste
we were bought as wel we knowyn alle
Thus are we fre after that we were thralle
That day we shuld be deuout & holy
Kepyng vs fro nycete synne & foly
This affermyth the pope seynt gregory
wher he seyth thus in his deuout story
In the sonday no man put hym in prease
Fro seruile werk{is} but fro that labowr cease
Insist to prayer in al maner wise
In gostly labour shuld he so deuise
That if owght of vice and insolence
By six dayes before of necligence
In the hole weke it happynyd to be done
That in sonday that cometh after sone
Of cristis risyng shuld be expiation
Clene by praier{is} in gostly consolation
And seynt Gregor the pope & holy clerk
A certeyn man for an erthly werk
Done on sonday espied in probation
He smote with cursyng & strait increpation
with hert blamyng & them that hym also
So conseylid & styrid hym ther to
He Iugid them for to be denouncid
By .ii. Moneth is cursid it was {pro}nouncid
In opyn chirch this was his decre
Til it was correcte it wold no other be
whan the resons of the qwene deuout
wel autorisid were thus brought about
They were concludid & cowd not ageyn say
But that they must kepe holy the sonday
Fro werk seruile & so they did in deede
Fro thens forward the better for to spede
And forther more vnleful mariag{is}
Of stepmodres had yey in vsag{is}
And that a man shulde wedde his brotheris wife
Aftir that he was passid fro this life
These were vsed & therfor the qwene
These cursid vses she coude not sustene
And seyd that all feythful peple must
Her cursid vse for sakyn & her lust
And as dethe such mariage escheu
And to good vse conforme them in vertue
And in that lond were many thing{is} mo
Of wikkid rite & cursid vse also
Ageyn the chirchis goodely ordynance
which in that counsel by her gouernance
were adnullyd danpuyd & cassate
And fro thoo bowndes fully extirpate
Out of the realme by her prouidence
Such was her witte prudence & sapiens
Also more ouer when she of soules helth
And wisedome spake & of gostly welth


Lyrics:
How showld I rock the cradle, serve the table, blow the fyre, and spyn, a 

But late in place 
A pretye lasse, 
That was both fayre and yonge e, 
Wyth wepjng eie. 
Right secretlye, 
Untyll hersealfe she soonge e. 

This lytle foote, 
And ite toote, 
With notes both swete and cleere e. 
She syght full ofte, 
And soong alofte 
In forme as ye shall here e; 

How showle I 

Alas! She sayde, 
I was a mayde. 
As other maydens be e; 
…

And thowgh I boste, 
In all the coste 
Ther was no more lyke me e. 

My byrth ryght good. 
Of jentle b!lod 
I am undowghtydly e : 
They calde me wyse, 
I bare the pryce 
Of all then who bat I e. 

How shoolde. 

I was belovde
Of ech man provde. 
And long I did denye e, 
Tyll at the last 
I hare purchast 
This babe that here dooth lye. 

Alas ! The tyme 
Of such a cryme 
That I showle live to see e. 
Now am I thrall 
Unto them all, 
That were thrall unto me e. 

How showld I. 

Clene out of syght 
And all delyght, 
Now heere in servitude e. 
At the behest 
Of most and least 
That be, God wot, full rude e. 

I may not swerve 
The boord to serve. 
To blow the fyre and spin e. 
My chyld to rock, 
And plese this flock, 
Where shall I first begin e. 

How showld I. 

Preserve, god God, 
All maydynhode, 
That maydenlye entend e. 
Let my defame 
And endless shame 

Kepe them from shamefull end e. 

Beware, good maydes, 
Of all such braydes, 
Before all other thing e; 
Or all in vayne, 
As I complayne, 

Thus wepyng shall ye syng e.


Lyrics:
Yf vertu sprynge, wheras youth raynythe, 
There must all goodnes neades ensue. 
And contrarye, where vice remayneth, 
Myschance doth sorow oft renue. 
Then it is best 
For youthe alwayes vice to refrayne, 
And geve God prayse, for it is playne 
Sertire Deo regnare est. 

The that in youth no vertu wyll use, 
Nor to no vertue themselves applye. 
In age all honor wyll them rufue; 
Let youth therfore then call and crye. 
And never rest; 
Who calth for grace to God above, 
In tyme and space shall fynde and prove 
Servire Deo regnare est. 

The that delyghtyth in syn and rice, 
Not feryng God, nor kepyng his lawes. 
Let them remember, yf they be wyce. 
That God from suche his grace wythdrawes, 
And them detest; 
But such as dooth with hart and mynd 
Love hym for sooth, he shall well fynd
Servire Deo regnare est.


Lyrics:
I desyre no number of manye thynges for store. 
But I desyre the grace of God, and I desyre no more ! 

My grace to the suffysyth, sayth God unto seynt Powle, 
Whiche grace, as God promiseth, suffysyth body and sowle. 
What neade I number crave, to have thynges evrychone, 
Yf al of neade to have be had, havyng this one. 
I desyre no number. 

The grace of God well usyd, as Chryst offrythe the same, 
All thynges ar full refused, that myght turne man to blame; 
Grace being such a gyfte, as grace by grace may sownd, 
My voyce with hart I lyfte, repetyng thus this grownd, 
I desyre no number. 

The texte that wryten is, is wryten for our healthe, 
Takyng no texte amis, all textes may healpe to healthe; 
Faythe, hope and charytee, thea graces wyth the teste, 
Godes gyftes of grace they be, in texte this is exprest. 
I desyre no number. 

Least gyft of God to man, man can not full commend; 
Much les this most gyfte than mans prayse can comprehend: 
God grawnt us all the grace, for grace by grace to kall, 
That grace may get us place in place celestiall ! 
I desyre no number.


Lyrics:
Of all the creatures, lesse or moe. 
We lytle poore boyes abyde much woe. 

Lo! who must holde the caudle, but he that wurst may! 
Well, syns that I am chosen this pageant for to playe. 
Have at hyt, for out it shall evry whit by this daye, 
How we, poore sylye boyes, abyde much woe. 

Wee have a cursyd master, I tell you all for trew; 
So cruell as he is was never Turke nor Jue ! 
He is the mostt unhappiest man that ever ye knewe, 
For to poore syllye boyes he wurkyth much woe. 

Do wee never so well, he can never be content. 
Bat for our good wylles we ever more be shente, 
And oft tymes our lytle butokes he dooth all to-rent. 
That we, poore sylye boyes, abyde much woe ! 

We have so manye lasshes to leme this peelde songe, 
That I wyll net lye to yon now and then among; 
Out of our buttokes we may plucke the stumpes thus long! 
That we, poore sylye boyes, abyde much woe ! 

Well, I tell you trothe, this is no lawhyng game ! 
Yf ye felte as much as we doo, ye woold say the same, 
For of mye poore honestye, we geve him to good a name, 
That to poore sylye boyes dooth wurke so much woe. 

He plokth us by the nose, he plucth us by the hawes, 
He plucth us by the eares wyth his most unhapye pawse, 
And all for this pevysh pryk song, not wurth to strawes, 
That we poore sylye boyee abyde much woe ! 

He sayth we syng starke nowght, when we me a ryght good noyse, 
For I tell you he must have his knakes, ye, he must have his toyse ! 
Oh ! the payne that we have wyth hym, we lyttle poore boyes! 
Truly, poore boyes abyde much wo .' 

He is in our det manye tymee, that is his saynge. 
But we woold fogeve hym all the dett, and never take daynge. 
But geye hyme frely ij. as muche, so that we myght make good payng 
To that cursed master that wurkyth so much woe ! 

But what mynd or good consyence hath this man, I pray you! 
Sumtyme at our freendes desyre he saythe to us, go play yow, 
And by and by to scoole we must agayne; is not this a shame, how say you, 
That we, poore syllye boyes, shuld abyde so much woe ? 

Sumtyme I shrynke and I stand behynd the doore, 
I toll yow to see hym yt grevyth me ryght sore; 
Ye, by thes ton bones, I woold I myght never so hym more, 
For to poore syllye boyes he wurkyt much woe. 

We must ever be in hys sygbt, when yt grevyth us sore to thinke on him; 
God wottes full often tymes, when we have loe but a wynke on him. 
We wysh hym full hartellye in Newgate with a lynke on him, 
That to pore syllye boyes he workyth much woe ! 

Evry day thus we complayne, but for all that he mendth not; 
Nor for owght that we can se, to mend he entendth not; 
Ho that woold hang hym evyn np, in my consyenee offendeth not. 
For than we pore syllye boyes showld be ryd of much woe ! 

Yet for to hang hym I wene it be not beet, 
For yf he were gone, we shold have another gost 
As yll as he, for nowght they be all the hole nest, 
And to poore syllye boyes the worke much wooe. 

Therfore, thowghe he be starke nowght, yet we must kepe hym still; 
But to show our charytee and to do good for yll, 
We shall pray to Cryst to amend hym, when it is his wyll, 
That to poore sylly boyes he wurke no more woe.


Lyrics:
The hunt ys up, 
The hunt is up, 

Loe ! it is almost daye. 
For Chryst our kyng 
ls cum a huntyng, 
And browght his deare to staye. 

When God tooke in hand 
To make see and land. 
And cumpast it rownd, as wee see, 
With bewtyfull skyes, 
Where he dyd devyse 
The soone and moone showld be. 

To furnysh his warke, 
And expulce the darke, 
The soone shoolde rule by day; 
The moone sober lyghte, 
To enjoye the nyght, 
And kepe there coorse allway. 

Then affter his mynde, 
The fyshe were assynde 
To flows in seas and floode. 
The byrdes in the ayre, 
And beastes showld apeere, 
On yearthe to seake ther foode. 

And last be dyd frame, 
To set foorth hys name, 
A creature most cleere, 
Unto his owne lyknes, 
With reson and quycknes. 
And chose them for his deare. 

The moat plesant grownde 
That ever was fownde, 
Inclosyd with swerd defence; 
For, loe ! his wyll was 
His deare showld not pas
The pale of abstynence. 

But that falce deseaver, 
That lovyd them never. 
Game wyth his charmyng tayle; 
And by his falce wylle 
Dyd them sore begyle, 
And cawsyd them lepe the payle. 

Thus were they lost clene, 
For they by no meane 
Cowld not retume agayn; 
So that many yeares, 
Among thornes and breres, 
The sowght ther foode with payne. 

Wherefore they myssed 
Both drynke ther and breade, 
Became thet enmyse praye. 
The mercifull Lord 
Yet woold not accorde 
To cast them clere away, 

But sent his owne soone, 
Who strongly begoon 
To hunt both hill and playne; 
No one kynd of payne 
But he dyd sustayne, 
To wyn his deare agayn. 

He chose other twelve. 
And tawght them himselve 
To blow so just a note, 
That every deare, 
That lyst now to heare, 
May blys that happye note ! 

To fynysh hys warke. 
He inclosyd a parke. 
Both plesant, large, and wyde; 
In palyng it sewer 
With commandmentes puer, 
Wherin his deare showld byde. 

Thus were they restoryd; 
But, Lord ! how he roryde. 
That fyrst dyd wurke ther faule 
With sondrye entycys; 
Wherfore he devycis 
Agayne to make them thrall. 

Now yow that be kepers, 
Take heede be no sleepers, 
But watch bothe day and owre : 
For there is no dowte, 
The thefe goth abowte. 
And sekyth whome to devowre. 

Wherefore ye had neade 
To take ryght good heede, 
Among all other thynges; 
That is, ye be sure 
Ther feedyng be pure, 
And drynke of holsome sprynges. 

For yf the do not. 
They wyll have the rot; 
What wyll the Lord then saye ? 
When he shall vewe 
Of his deare and yowe. 
At that most dredefull daye. 

Wherby this is cleere, 
Yf so be his deare 
Wythin the parke persever; 
Then shall the rejoyse 
To heere his swete voyce, 
And be his deere for ever ! 

The hunt is up &c.


Lyrics:
Nolo mortem peecatorit: Hoc sunt verba Salvatoris. 

Father, I am thine onlye soone, 
Sent downe irom hevyn mankynd to save  
Father, all thynges fulflyld and doone 
Accordyng to thy wyll I have : 
Father, now all my wyll is this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Father, behold my paynes most smart, 
Takyn for man on evry syde, 
Evyn from my byrth to deth most tart; 
No kynd of payne I have denyed, 
But suffred all for love of this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Behold my byrth, in what degree 
Into thys wrechid worlde I came, 
Takyng mans vyle nature on mee, 
Wythe all the myseries of the same, 
Save onelye syn; and all for this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Beholde my tendre infancy 
Scante viij. dayes old, but that I was 
Cut in my fleashe most paynfullye. 
To shedd my bloode for mans trespas 
I not disdanid, for love of this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Heere dwelt I thyrtye yeares and three, 
In hoonger, thyrst, in cold and heate. 
In greate contempt of the world at mee. 
For my goode deedes and travelles greate 
Takyn for man, and all for this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

When thyrtye yeares and three were run, 
Tyme drawyng neare of my most woe; 
Oh Father, now behold thy soone, 
My paynes increcyng moe and moe  
For which, O Father, harken to this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Behold my sighes, my sorowful hart, 
Beholde my teares, my blooddye sweatt  
Behold my paynes in evry parte 
Had on the mownt of Olivet, 
Before my death, declaryng this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris, 

Beholde the Jues most fearee and woode. 
Thy soone they sowght wyth glayves and byIles  
Behold thy Soone most meake of moode, 
Gevyn to there handes to do there wylles. 
To whome I bowed my wyll for this. 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Then to a post fast was I teyde, 
Scorgyd and beten on evry syde 
Tyll no scin left, but as one fleyde, 
Ther stode thy sonne in blode all dyde, 
Most mekely suffryng all for thys. 
Nolo mortem peccatoris, 

Beholde, also, then how the browght 
Thy innocent lambe before ther judges, 
As one that had all myschefe wrowght, 
Condemd to deth upon ther grudges 
Growen agaynst me for prechyng this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Behold my hed then how they crowned 
Wythe thornes, ye, percyng nere the brayne  
My face, my neeke, in blood all drowned, 
My fleshe all tremblyng in evry yayne. 
For passyng payne; and all for this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

To bere my crosse then forth they drave me, 
Tyll the grete wayte threw me ther under, 
But then hard strokes inowe they gave me, 
Betyng me forth wyth shame and wunder  
All whych I mekely suffred for this, 
Nolo mortem peceatoris. 

My garmentes then to me fast clevyng, 
Most violently fro me they drew; 
The fleshe evyn from the bone then ryryng. 
My bloddy woondes they dyd renew 
With no small payne  oh, Father yet this. 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

But then behold those cruell folke. 
One at ech arme, wone at ech fote, 
Thorow flesh and bone grete nayles they stroke. 
The stremes of blod were set aflote; 
To washe ther syn that wrowght all this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Then up aloft my crosse they cast, 
The fall wherof downe in the rest 
My joyntes and sinewes all to-brast  
Whych payne of paynes was not the lest. 
That I ther mekely suffryd for this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Upon that cros behold how I there 
Hong thre long howres or lyfe wer gon. 
Havyng no stay my body to bere,
But those hard nayles thorow fleshe and bone; 
Yet I evyn ther declaryd this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

When all my blode was thorowly spent. 
My flesh dried up for lack of lycker. 
Then wyth a spere my hart they rent. 
To trye my dethe for man most sycker; 
The which I mekely suffred for this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Who may expres those paynes to me delt ?
Who may bethynk them to dysclose, 
In myne humanity sensyblye felt; 
Yet is ther one payne more then those. 
Oh  Father, why showld I say thist 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

This my most payne, this my most care. 
Is for to see mans unkyndnes; 
For all my deth he wyll not spare 
Me to offend, my lawes transgres. 
And all in hope and trust of this,— 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

The world, the flesh, ye, and the devyll, 
Man wyll not spare to serve all three, 
Takyng occasion of all this evyll 
Of myne owne wurdes; sayng to me, 
Whatever we do, yet Cryst sayth this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Bnt unto man I say agyne, 
Deth of a sinner wyll not I, 
Yf he amend and sin refrayne; 
But when in syn styll he wyll lye, 
Then unto him I speak not this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

man, for thy love have I dyede  
I ax no more of the therfore. 
But love for love in thy dedes tryed; 
Forsake thy syn and kepe my lore, 
And then to the I say evyn this, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris. 

Now here an end of this our song; 
Now to that Lord that dyed for man 
Geve thankes, and pray for grace among, 
To kepe his lawes, that we may then 
Enjoy his mercyfull woordes in thys, 
Nolo mortem peccatoris.


Lyrics:
In youthfull yeares, when first my yonge desires beganne 
To pricke mo forth to serve in court, a sclender, tall yonge manne: 
My fathers blessinge then I asked uppon my knee, 
Who, blessinge me wyth tremblinge hand, these woordes gan say to me
My Sonne, God guide thy waye, and shielde thee from mischaunce, 
And make thy just desartes in court, thy pare estate to advaunce : 
But when thou art become one of that courtlie trayne, 
Thinke on this proverbe olde, quod be, that faire woordes make fools faine. 

This coonsell gravelie geven, most straunge appeares to me, 
Till tract of time with open eyes had made me plainelie see 
What subtill sleites are wrought by painted talkes devise. 
When hollowe hartes with frendlie showes the simple dooe entise 
To thinke all golde that shines, to fede their fonde desier. 
Whose shiveringe coulde is warmde with smoke, in stede of flaminge fier; 
Sith talke of tickle trust dooth breede a hope most vaine. 
This proverbe true by profe I finde, that faire woordes make fooles faine. 

Faire speache alwaye dooth well, wheares deedes insue faire woordes; 
Faire speach againe alwaye dooth evill, that bushes geves for birdes; 
Who hopes to hare laire woordee to trie his Iuckie lott, 
If I maye counsell, let him strike it while the yron is whot  
But them that feede on cloddes, instede of pleasaunt grapes. 
And after waminge geven, for better lucke still gapes, 
Full loth I am, yet I must tell them in woordes plaine, 
This proverbe olde proves true in age, that foire woordes makes fooles faine

Wo worth the time that woordes so slowelye prove to deedes 
Wo worth the time that faire swete flowers ar turnde to rotten wedes  
But thrise woo worth the time, that truth awaye is fled, 
Wherein I see howe simple hartes with woordes are vainlie fed
Trust not feire woordes, therefore, where no dedes dooe ensue; 
Trust woordes as skilfull falkeners dooe trust haukes that never flewe; 
Trust dedes; let wordes be woordes, which never wrought me gaine; 
Let my experience make you wise, and let woordes make fooles faine


Lyrics:
Lett not the sluggish sleape 
Close up thy wakinge eye, 
Untill with judgment deepe 
Thy daylie deedes thou trie. 

He which one sinne in conscience kepes, 
When hee to quiet goes. 
More venterous is then he that sleepes 
With twentie mortall fooes. 

Wherefore at night, call unto minde 
How thou the daye hast spent; 
Praise God, if nought amisse thou finde; 
If ought, in time repent. 

And sith thy bed a paterne is 
Of death and fatall hearse, 
Bedward it shall not bee amisse 
Thus to record in verse  

My bedd is like the grave so coulde, 
And sleape which shuts mine eye 
Resemble death: clothes which me folde, 
Declare the moulde so drie. 

The friskinge fleas resemble well 
The wringlinge worme to me, 
Which with me in the grave shall dwell, 
Wheare I no light shall see. 

The nightlie bell which I dooe heare, 
As I in bed dooe lye, 
The passinge bell may seme t’apere, 
Which soundes when I must dye. 

The risinge in the morne likewise, 
When slepie night is past, 
Puttes me in minde howe I shall rise 
To judgment at the last. 

I gooe to bed as to my grave, 
God knowes when I shall wake  
But, Lord I trust thou wilt me save, 
And me to mercie take


Lyrics:
Man, for thyne yll lyfe formerly. 
And for thine ill lyfe presently. 
Let penitence penitently 
Declare good liffe consequently. 
As loving faythe may frutfully 
Bringe hoope of end mercifully 
By Christ, whose woundes most bledingly 
Wyne mercye most excedingly. 

For whose sweate love incessantly. 
Take no hard happe displesantly; 
Loke what thou sufferist rightfully, 
That sufferance take paciently, 
And what thou sufferest wrongfully, 
That sufferance take rejoycyngly; 
Take ryght or wrong contentidlye; 
Man, bere the cros consentedlye  

And yf thy foes delyghtfully 
Show yll for good most spightfullye, 
Show good for yll most wyllynglye, 
To showe Godes woord fulfyllynglye; 
Thy foe fautyng offendynglye, 
Wyn as thow mayst amendynglye, 
But in no wyse intendynglye 
Requite thy foe revenginglye. 

Bere all thyne enmyes quietlye, 
Forgeve thyne enmyes hartelye. 
And axe forgevenese homblye. 
Where thow offendst offensyvelye; 
Premeditate advysedly, ' 
What troobles may fall folowynglye, 
Lest troble towch the terreblye 
By towchyng the to sodenly, 

Fancy not greves more dredfullye 
Then standth wyth reson nedefullye; 
Yf mene greves towch but tenderlye, 
Those greves can greve but slenderlye; 
Yf mayng greves grype the gredelye. 
Those greves remove them spedylye : 
Let comfort vanquysh cherefullye,
Faynt fancyes fellyng ferefullye. 

Syns welth and wo abydynglye, 
Remayne not here but slydynglye, 
The wealth and wo ensuenglye 
Remaynyng aye renewynglye; 
Man, pray for grace continuallye 
To pas from all paynes fynallye, 
Both erthly and infernally, 
To hevenly joyes etemallye


Lyrics:
What hart can thynk or toong expres 
The harme that groweth of idlenes  

This idlenes in sum of us 
Is sene to seme a thyng but sleyght, 
But yf that sum the sums discus, 
The totall sum doth show us streyght 
This idlenes to way such wayght, 
That it no tounge can well expres 
The harme that growght of idlenes. 

This vice I lyken to a weede 
That husbond-men have named tyne, 
The whych in come doth roote or brede; 
The grayne to grownd yt doth inclyne, 
Yt never rypyth but rottyth in fyne; 
And evyn a lyke thyng is to gesse 
Agaynst all vertu, idellnes. 

The prowd man may be pacyent, 
The irefull may be lyberall, 
The glotonus may be continent, 
The covetous may geve almes all, 
The lecher may to prayer fall; 
Ech vyce bydyth sum good busynes, 
Save only idle idlenes. 

As sum one vertu may by grace 
Supresse of vyces many one. 
So ys oue vyce once taken place 
Distroyeth all vertues evrychone; 
Where this vyce cumth, all vertues ar gone, 
For noe kynd of good busynes 
Can cumpany with idlenes. 

An yll wynd that blowth no man good, 
The blower of whych blast is she; 
The lyther lustes bred of her broode 
Can no way brede good propertye; 
Wherfore I say, as we now se. 
No hart can thynke or toong expres 
The harme that growgth of idlenes  

To clense the corne, as men at nede 
Wede out all wedes, and tyne for chefe. 
Let dilygence our wedehooke weede 
All vice from us for lyke releefe; 
As fayth may faythfully show preefe. 
By feythfull frutefull busynes, 
To wede out frutles idlenes.


Lyrics:
Long have I bene a singyng man, 
And sondry partes oft have I soong. 
But one part, sins I fyrst began, 
I cowld nor can syng, old nor yong; 
The meane I mene, whych part showth well 
Above all partes most to excell. 

The base and treble are extrems; 
The tenor standyth sturdely; 
The cownter rangyth then, me sems; 
The mene must make our melodye; 
Wherby the mene declaryth well 
Above all partes most to excell. 

Marke well the maner of the mene. 
And therby tyme and tune our songe 
Unto the meane, where all partes lene, 
All partes ar kept from syngyng wrong; 
Thowghe syngyng men take this not well. 
Yet doth the mene in thys excell. 

The mene in cumpas is so large, 
That evry parte must joyne therto; 
Yt hath an ore in evry barge, 
To syng, to say, to thynke, to doo; 
Of all thes partes this part showth well 
Above all partes most to excell. 

To low, to hye, to lowde, to softe. 
To few, to many at a part; 
To swyft, to slowe, to sealde, to oft, 
Where imperfection woold pervart, 
There doth the mene aprove ryght well 
Above all partes most to excell. 

The mene is so commodious. 
That sang we but that part alone. 
The mene is more melodious 
Then all those partes, lackyng that one; 
Wherby the mene comparyth well 
Among all partes most to excell. 

The mene in losse, the mene in gayne, 
In welth or in adversytye; 
The mene in helth, the mene in payne, 
The mene menyth allwayes equitye
This is the mene who menyth well. 
Of all our partes most to excell. 

To me and myne, with all the rest, 
And God grant grace with harty voyce 
To syng the mene that menyth best, 
All partes in the best to rejoyce; 
Whych mene in menyng menyth well, 
The mene of menes that doth excell.


Lyrics:
Where Power with Wyll can not agre, 
There Wyll can not be satysfied; 
Where thes too want equalytye, 
No unytye can be aplyed; 
Which in mysealf I have espied. 
In that that Power cannot fulfill 
The feythfull menyng of my Wyll. 

My Wyll is to do that I owght, 
But Powre therto cannot attayne; 
Thus Wyll to pas cannot be browght, 
As Wyll to have yt woold be fayne; 
Yet wyllyng Wyll shall styll remayne, 
Thowgh Powre be able in no wyse 
My wyllyng Wyll for to suffyse. 

Thus Wyll I have, but Powre I want, 
Whych showld to Wyll be healp at nede; 
Syns Power so far is discordante 
From Wyll, alas Wyll can not speede, 
Thowghe Wyll deserve both thanke and meede; 
That want of Powre then may I wayle, 
Wherby good Wyll can not prevayle.


Lyrics:
All a grene wyllow, wyllow, w, w. 
All a grene wyllow is my garland. 

Alas by what mene may I make ye to know, 
The unkyndnes for kyndnes that to me doth growe 
That wone who most kynd love on me shoold bestow, 
Most unkynd unkyndnes to me she doth show. 
For all a grene wyllow is my garland  

To have love and hold love, wher love is so sped. 
Oh I delycate foode to the lover so fed  
From love woon to love lost wher lovers be led, 
Oh desperate dolor, the lover is deade  
For all a grene wyllow is his garland  

She sayde she dyd love me and woold love me still, 
She sware above all men I had her good wyll; 
She sayde and she sware she woold my will fulfill 
The promyse all good, the performans all yll, 
For all a grene wyllow is my garland  

Now, wo wurth the Wyllow, and wo wurth the wyght. 
That wyndyth wyllow, wyllow garland to dyght  
That dole delt in allmys is all amys quyght  
Wher lovers ar begers for allmys in syght. 
No lover doth beg for this wyllow garland  

Of this wyllow garland the harden semth smal. 
But my brecke neck burden I may yt well call 
Lyke the sow of lede on my hed it doth fall  
Breke hed and breke necke, back, bones, brayn, hart, and all  
All partes prest in peces

To yll for her thynk I best thinges may be had. 
To good for me thynkthe she thynges beyng most bad. 
All I do present her that may make her glad. 
All she dothe present me that may make me sad; 
This equyte have I with this wyllowe garland  

Cowld I forget thee, as thow canst forget me, 
That were my sownde fawlte, which can not nor shalbe 
Thowghe thow, Iyke the soryng hawlke, evry way fle, 
I wylbe the turtle most stedfast still to the. 
And paciently were this grene wylow garland

All ye that have had love and have my lyke wrong, 
My lyke truthe and paciens plante still yow among; 
When femynyne fancis for new love do long. 
Old love can not howld them, new love is so strong, 
For all.


Lyrics:
Behowlde of pensyfnes the pycture here in place, 
Beholde myne eyes whose teres do moyst my paled face; 
Beholde myne eres denyde of there desyrid solas, 
Beholde my playntes of yll, my mornyng hevy case  
I Dido, quene of Carthage cooste, 
For Eneas love my lyfe have lost  

My fame, my love, mysealfe, I gave into his hand  
My kingdome and my welth at his owne breast did stand  
Yet promis nor desartes cowld binde his harte in trothe band
But fled, alas fro me by nyght out of my land 
Forgettyng all respectes of trothe. 
He falste his honor and his othe

As the whyte swan dothe singe towardes her dieng day, 
And as the turtle tru her mone doth make alway, 
So I, pore Dido, do my myseries here bewraye, 
And with my death my dolelull desteny display  
O, lawles love, no hearbe is fownd 
To salve the sore wher thow dost woond 

O worthy women all, of hye and lowe degre, 
A merror Dido make Eneas love to flee  
Trust not mens wordes or teares, 
Which most tymes deceiptfull be, 
And are, alas the baytes that breedes our misserie  
Sufficeth for my love I die. 
That you may live and learne thereby. 

O rockie ruthlesse hartes, 
Your owne with spite to spill 
O curssed crewell men, 
How can you worke such ill  
O dolfull deepe dispaier, 
Ringe out my carefull ends knill  
Welcome to me, swete death  
To me my grave, yt is my wyll  
I came of earth and wylbe thyne, 
By trayne of hym whom I thought myne


Lyrics:
Aryse, Aryse, Aryse, I say; 
Aryse for shame, yt ys fayre day  

After mydnyght, when dremes do fall, 
Sum what before the mornyng graye, 
Me thowght a voyce thus dyd me kall, 
O lusty yowth, aryse I say  

O youth, he sayd, lyft up thi hed  
Awake awake yt ys feyre day  
How canst thow slepe or kepe thy bed 
This feyre mornyng aryse, I say. 

The Sonne is up with hys bryght beames. 
As thoughe he woolde with the now fraye, 
And bete the up out of thy dreames 
To rayse the up aryse I say. 

Hark how the byrdes all with wone voyce 
Of one Concorde theire cordes the kay, 
Wythe joyfull tewnes the to rejoyse 
And chere the up Arise, I say. 

Beholde the fealde now in lyke foorme, 
Furnisht with flowres both swete and gay; 
It saythe to thee, thow slothful woorme. 
Cum walke in me arise, I say. 

The day, the soone, the byrd, the fealde, 
Syns all thes call, thow lumpe of clay  
Unles shameles now be tby sheelde. 
For very shame aryse, I say. 

With this me thowghte the voice reherste 
Hys wordes and sayde, youthe, I the praye 
What meanth thys day and all the rest 
That saythe to the, arise, I say. 

Truly thys day now to dysclose 
Is Cristis fayth, that long hyd lay, 
And now full fayre and clere it shouse 
To rayse the up. Aryse I say. 

What is this sun that shynith so brighte
The veri sun of God, no nay 
Whoose beames of Grace be bent even ryghte 
To beate the up  Aryse, I say. 

What are thes byrdes that so accorde. 
That eche swete corde eche ere woolde tay  
Truly, tru prechers of the Lord, 
At whos swete cordes aryse I say. 

What is this fealde furnisht so fayre 
With floweres so swet in ther araye 
The word of God most swete of ayre 
To walke therin. Aryse, I say. 

And se thow walk among thes flowres, 
Not for to pastime, jest, and play. 
But reverently pressyng thy powres 
From wanton pryde, Aryse, I say. 

For clarkes there hath bene many a wone, 
That in this feald themselves dyd slay, 
Trusting to muche themselves upon; 
Beware ther fall  Aryse, I say. 

The surest way to walke is thys, 
Meakely on Cristys church to stay; 
The lower thow walkest in hart sure is. 
The hyer thow shalt aryse, I saye. 

Now syns thow knowst both wher to walke, 
And how to walke thow knowst the waye; 
Let age lye still as drye as chalke. 
And lustye youthe, arise, I saye. 

To this me thought doubting the truthe, 
And lest this voice shoulde me betraye, 
I saide, O voyce, why more to youthe 
Than unto age, arise, I saye. 

That thynge, saide he, I shall declare, 
This youthe and age now to bewraye, 
The Jwes and Gentills suer they are  
Now gese to whome arise I saye. 

The Jwe he is so olde and worne, 
That speke to him in vaigne ye maye. 
But thow youthe art newlye borne; 
Wherfore to the arise I aaye. 

Sins Christ thy lorde hath chose thy stocke, 
And lest his owne flocke go astraye; 
Now shew thyselfe a lovinge flocke, 
And unto Christ arise I saye. 

This saide, I harde no more to tell. 
But waked, and seing faire clere daye, 
Saide to myselfe, these words might well 
Be saide to me — Arise, I saye


Lyrics:
Now will you be merye, 
And can you be merye 
We praye you be merye, 
Merye, merye, merye  
We praye you be merye, 
Merye, merye, merye, 
Merye, merye, merye, merye  

From Christmas to Ester 
Be as merye as you can. 
So you maye please bothe God and man. 

From Ester to Whytsontide 
Let us all now joye and singe, 
Be merye all in Christ risinge  

Ofte hathe this songe bene put in ure. 
That honest myrthe doth vertew allure; 
But now of mirthe who will be suer. 
He must begine at vertuze pure; 
For vertu bringithe chefe mirthe to man : 
In vertuouse mirthe be merye than. 

This vertuouse mirthe now to begine, 
To men of faithe we speake here in — 
Is to feare God and fle frome sinne, 
Which feare of God dothe wisdome wine; 
Which wisdome bringethe all knowlage to man, 
In vertue how to be merye than  

Where wisdome joyneth and rullethe the harte, 
Man knowithe himselfe in everye parte; 
God and his lawes with all thy harte 
Obayed of man syn to subvarte, 
The daungerous dawnger unto man; 
How can man but be merye than 

Whan God's worde hathe put syne to flyght, 
In commethe Cleane Consyence shyninge bright, 
In whome man fyndethe so greate delyght, 
That she can naythar daye nor night 
Be absent frome the harte of man; 
How can man but be merye than  

Whan Cleane Consyence in harte is sett, 
Faithe rysethe up, and withowte let 
Saithe unto man This howse is net 
Met to receyve a gost ryght greate; 
What yf thy Lorde shoulde prise the man, 
How can man but be merye than t 

O Faithe, saithe man, what haste thow tolde 
Yf that my howse were made of golde, 
And I muche bettar a thowsande folde. 
Yet so to think were overbolde 
My lorde to vysett me, wretched man; 
But oh how mery showld I be than. 

Why man, saithe Faithe, dost thow dowte me? 
No, no, saithe man, I dowte not the. 
What dowghtest thow, than saith faithe, tell me. 
Myne owne unworthynes, saithe he. 
Despayre not, man, saithe Faithe to men. 
No, no, saithe man, Faithe gone were than. 

As man and Faythe be thus talkinge. 
In commethe Suar Hope to man runnynge: 
man, sayethe he, thy lorde and kinge 
Senthe me to the to gyve warninge; 
This daye will he dyne with the, man; 
Prepare now to be merye than. 

Make spede, sayethe man, fayre consyence clere, 
With faythe and hope, thow messingere, 
And ladye love, com all you nere; 
Let all dylygence in you appere 
In welcumynge my lorde to man, 
That we in hym be merye than  

Cleane Conscyence saithe, as I ever must 
To trayne this howse is all my lust; 
Love saithe, my dedes shall shew, I trust, 
How my Lordes presence I do thurste; 
Hope saithe, then trust well, dowte not, man  
O man saythe, Faythe, be merye than 

Man havinge now greate gostlye care 
For his deare Lorde well to prepare. 
His power to weake his wyll to declare; 
Sodanlye a-none, or man beware, 
Oure Lorde imbrasethe the harte of man  
man, how arte thow merye than 

Where man was late in carefull plighte 
His Lorde to see receyved ryght. 
Now hathe he lost bothe tounge and myght  
Welcum, my Lorde, he cryethe in sprite; 
For joye no word can pase fro man. 
In harte man is so merye than. 

Now maye man thinke himselfe now blest 
To se his Lorde become his gest. 
To lodge and kepe howse in hys brest; 
Noe townge can tell that joyfull fest, 
That is betwene now God and man  
Man ys with God so mery than  

Now man, witfa Mary, takth good hede 
What from hys lorde dothe there procede; 
Hys holly woordes doo man so fede, 
That man in wysedome is now indede, 
Ye, more lyke angell then lyke man; 
Gret cawse hath man to be mery than  

Man showth furth marthase dylygens 
To chere hys gest in evry sens; 
Hys gest dothe know by hys pretens 
How glad he is of hys presens, 
For whych hym lykth to dwell with man; 
How can man but be mery than ? 

With gostly wysedome man thus fedde. 
Of gostly strength now is she spedd, 
Hys gostly fooes under to treadd  
All gostly myrthe in hym is spred 
No carefull care can now hurt man  
What man can not be mery than  

Man sayth our Lord synce in good quarte, 
Thow art by me now as thow art, 
So show thyselfe in outward part, 
Therby thy brother to convart; 
Won man to wyn another man. 
That man wythe man be mery than. 

Man, with Zacheou, then, sayth he, 
Lo Lord, even halfe my goodes fro me 
I geve to the pore for love of the; 
Man saythe, our Lord, glad mayst thow be 
Thys day is helth to thys howse of man  
O man, how art thow merye than 

Man heryng this, man is not scilent, 
But with dew thankes and hart reverent, 
With Peter and Jhon he doth frequent 
Unto the temple, with prayer fervent; 
Man talkthe with God and God with man, 
In whom man is full merye than. 

Man now desyrth none other gayne, 
But as hys Lordes dyscyples twayne, 
Going to Emawce dyd constrayne 
Ther Lord to tary with them so fayne; 
So tary with me, Lord, sayth man. 
That we allway may be mery than  

Man, sayth our Lorde, I am with the 
Unto the worldes end, I so decre  
Walke in my wayes and thow shalt be 
Never voyde of myrth, but dwell with me 
In endles myrth, prepard for man, 
For ever to be merye than 

O gracious God, what wordes be theese. 
To stere all folke of all degrees 
To myrth in God, wherby man sees 
That endles myrthe shalbe hys fees  
Which myrth God grawnt us evry man, 
That we may all be meyye than


Lyrics:
Walkyng alone ryght secretly, 
Musyng on thynges late sene with eye,
All sortes of peple yong and olde 
Sortyd in sortes, as shalbe tolde; 
Sum hye, sum low, sum ryche, sum poore. 
Sum lernd, sum unlernd, sum lesse, sum more; 
Sum hole, sum sycke, sum in such rate 
As nothyng plesde with there estate. 

Sodaynly methowghte I hard a sownd. 
That from the hevens dyd rebownde  
A song yt semd sentens to frame 
To evry sort that I cowld name, 
Which sownd or songe dyd both repreve. 
And generally allso releve, 
But syngulerly the sentens ran, 
As ye shall here thus yt began. 

Yf gyftes of grace in all tyme past, 
Yf gyftes of grace in tyme present, 
Yf gyftes of grace to cum at last, 
Yf al be gyftes ryght excelent, 
Yf all which gyftes be geven and ment 
To make the mynd thy Lord so kynde, O man, 
Mynd well my gyftes, and thanke me than
  
Yf I made the to myne owne lyknes, 
Yf reson, wyll, and memorye, 
Yf sowIe and bodye, lyfe and quiknes, 
Yf thea to the be gyftes most hye; 
Yf all my creatures els worldlye 
Unlyke to the be made for the, O man. 
Why thankst not me, thy Maker, than  

Yf thow were lost by Adams syn, 
Yf ryghtwysenes condemd the quyte. 
Yf Adams syn damd all hys kyn, 
Yf dethe were dew to the of ryghte; 
Yf I, of my mere mercye pyghte, 
Bowghte the from deth by myne owne deth, O man
Why thankes not thy Redemer than

Yf thow hast dayly gyftes of me, 
Yf I geve thee gyftes naturall, 
Yf I geye worldlye gyftes to the, 
Yf I geve gyftes spyrytuall, 
Yf thow deservest no gyfte at all, 
But geven of me frelye to the, man, 
Why thankst not me, the gyver, than  

Yf dyvers wayes my gyftes I plant, 
Yf I geve the gyftes above other, 
Yf I geve the that other want, 
Yf I geve the gyftes for thy brother, 
Yf all be gyvyn won for an other. 
To helpe wyth mede where thow seyst nede, O man 
As I geve the, geve other than  

Yf I geve the gyftes grete and manye
Yf I to hy degree the kall, 
Yf I geve the cure over anye, 
Yf I geve the cure over all; 
Yf thow for all make answer shall 
That I set the to kepe for mee, O man, 
Remember where I set the than  

Yf I set the in low estate, 
Yf I geve the lest cause to bosts, 
Yf I geve the gyftes in ech rate, 
Yf my lest gyfte may make the moste; 
Yf paciens be a gyfte thow knowste 
Of all to wyn the pryce therin, O man, 
In pacience be thow thankfull than  

Yf I send the sycknes or healthe, 
Yf I send the plesure or payne, 
Yf I send the scarcnes or welthe, 
Yf I knowe best what is thy gayne, 
Yf for the best I send all playne, 
As thow shallt see by profe to thee, O man, 
Take well all that I send the than  

Synce these my gyftes thow dost acheve, 
Synce of my gyftes thow canst none mysse. 
Synce wyth my gyftes I the releve, 
Synce by my gyftes my love showde is; 
Synce for my gyftes I axe but thys. 
Thy love for myne to lyve in fyne, O man, 
Now love and lyve for ever than


Lyrics:
Wher Ryghtwysnes doth say, 
Lorde, for my synfull partes, 
In wrath thow showldest me paye 
Vengeance for my deseartes  
I can it not denye, 
But nedes I must confes 
How that contynuallye 
Thy lawes I doo transgres  

But yf yt be thy wyll 
With synners to contende, 
Then all thy flok shall spyll, 
And be lost wythout ende; 
For whoo lyvthe here so ryghte, 
That he can ryghtly saye, 
He synthe not in thy syghte 
Full oft and evry day  

Thy Scrypture playne telth me. 
The ryghtwyse man offendes 
Seven tymes a day to the, 
Wheron thy wrath depends; 
So that the ryghtwyese man 
Doth walke in no such pathe, 
But he falth now or than 
In danger of thy wrath  

Then synce the cace so standes, 
That even the man ryghtwyse 
Falth oft in synfull bandes, 
Wherby thy wrath may ryse; 
Lorde, I that am unjust, 
And ryghtwysenes none have, 
Wherto shall I then trust 
My synfull sowle to save. 

But only to the poste, 
Wherto I cleve and shall, 
Whyche is thy mercye moste
Lord let thy mercye fall, 
And mytygate thy moode, 
Or els we peryshe all  
The pryce of thys thy bloode, 

Wherin mercye I calle  
Thy scrypture doth declare 
No droppe of blood in the. 
But that thow dydst not spare 
To shedd ech droppe for me  
Now let thos dropps most weete, 
To dense my hart most drye, 
That I wyth syn replete, 
My lyve and syn may dye  

That being mortyfyed, 
Thye syn of myne in me, 
I may be sanctyfyed 
By grace of thyne in the  
So that I never fall 
Into such dedlye syn. 
That my foes infernall 
Rejoyse my dethe therin

But voutsafe me to kepe 
From thos infernall foes, 
And from that lake so depe, 
Wheras no mercye growes. 
And I shall syng the songes 
Confirmed with the juste, 
That unto the belonges, 
Whyche art myne onlye truste


Lyrics:
In worldlye welthe for mans releafe 
Vertu and lernyng are the cheafe
Well ys the man that dothe bestowe 
Hys tyme in vertu here to spende. 
For sure ther is no man dothe knowe, 
Excepte the same he do attende, 
What quietnes ther doth ensue 
To those that lerne and trade vertue. 

For sure these too the safegarde are, 
Wherby we pas the sturdye stremes, 
And the grete stormes of worldly care; 
For never cytees, landes nor remes, 
That can atayne prosperyte
Unles thos too regarded be. 

To vertu yet have thys respecte. 
Whos prayse is allway permanente, 
For lerninge is of small effecte 
Wher vertu is not resydent; 
But wher they both are knit in place, 
Oh that man ys in happye case .' 

Sum onlye lerne for knowledge sake, 
But that is kewriosyte; 
And sum for prayse grete paynes do take. 
But that is foolyshe vanite; 
Sum lerne for gayne, but lyghtly those 
Do leve the texte, and use to glose  

Now all thes sumes, and all thys sorte. 
Have lost ther labor and ther warke, 
For sum shotte wyde and sum shotte shorte, 
Yet all in fyne do mys the marke  
Wherfore let vertue furst be plaste. 
Or els is lernyng quighte dysgraste

Thus may ye evydentlye see 
How lerninge joynde with vertuous lyfe 
Showld of ech man regatdyd bee, 
For hyt hath thy a prerogatjve, 
That God hymselfe dothe those imbrace 
That trede the pathes of vertuse trace  

Synce God and man dothe love that man 
That studyeth to lyve vertuouslye, 
Who wyll not styfflye labor than 
To folowe vertne instantlye, 
When he therby shall sure obtayne 
The joyes that ever shall remayne


Lyrics:
Be merye, frendes, take ye no thowghte, 
For worldlye cares care ye ryght nowghte; 
For who so dothe when all ys sowghte, 
Shall see that thowghte avaylethe nowghte; 
Be mery, frendes  

All suche as have all wealthe at wyll, 
Ther wylles at wyll for to fullfyll
From greafe or grudge or anye yll, 
I nede not syng thys them untyll. 
Be merye, frendes  

But unto suche as wyshe and wante 
Of worldlye welthe wroghte them so scante, 
That welthe by wurke they can not plante, 
To them I syng at thys instante, 
Be mery, frendes  

And sache as when the rest seme nexte, 
Then be they strayte extremelye vexte; 
And suche as be in stormes perplexte. 
To those I syng thys shorte swete texte, 
Be mery, frendes

To lawghe and wyn ech man agrees, 
But eche man can not lawhe and Iese, 
Yet lawhyng in the laste of these 
Hathe bene alowde of sage decrees; 
Be merye, frendes  

Be merye with sorowe, wyse men sayde, 
Whyche saynge beynge wyselye wayde, 
Yt seamyth a lesson lyvelye layde, 
In thys sayde sens to bee a an eyde; 
Be merye, frendes  

Make ye not too sorowes of wone, 
For of wone greefe graffedd alone 
To graffe a sorowe ther upon, 
A sowrer crabbe we can graffe none; 
Be merye, frendes

Takynge our sorowes sorowfullye, 
Sorowe augmentythe our maladye; 
Takynge our sorowes merylye, 
Myrthe salvythe sorowes moste sowndlye; 
Be merye, frendes  

Of greves to cum standynge in fraye, 
Provyde defence the best we maye; 
Whyche done, no more to doo or saye. 
Cum what cum shall cum, care awaye  
Be merye, frendes  

In suche thynges as wee can not flee. 
But neades they most abydden bee, 
Let contentashyn be decree 
Make vertue of nessessytee; 
Be merye, frendes  

To lakke or lose that we woolde wyn, 
So that our fawte be not therein; 
What wo or wante end or begynne. 
Take never sorowe but for syne  
Be merye, frendes  

In los of freendes, in lakke of healthe, 
In los of goodes, in lakke of welthe, 
Wher Iybertee restraynte expelthe, 
Wher all thes lak, yet as thys telthe, 
Be mery, frendes  

Man hardly hath a rycher thyng 
Then honest myrth, the whyche well-spryng 
Watryth thee rootes of rejoysyng, 
Feedyng the flowers of flooryshynge; 
Be mery, freendes  

Bee meery in God, saynt Powle sayth playne. 
And yet, sayth he, be mery agayne; 
Synce whose advyce is not in vayne. 
The fect therof to entertayne, 
Be mery, freendes


Lyrics:
Yf love for love of long tyme had 

Mfty joyne with joy, and care hens cast, 
Then may rememfaroDS make me glad, 

Dayes weekea and yeares Id all tyme paat,' 
My love hath lovyd me so loovyngly, 
And I wyll love her ae trewlye ! 

And as we twayne have lovd and doo. 

So be we fyxyd to love evyn Btyll ; 
The lawe of love hath made ua too 

To wurk to wylles in wone wyll : 
My love wyll love me bo loovyngly, 
And I wyll love her as trewlye. 

Ye lovers all in present place, 

That long for love contynoall, 
I wysh to yon lyke plesant case. 

As ye perseve by me doth fidl, 
And yours to love aa lovyngly !


Lyrics:
O Lord, whych art in hevyn on hye, 
And seest the synnes of synners all, 
For grace, O Lord, to the I crye, 
Withowt the whych perysh I shall  
O here me O Lord, and grawnt mercye  

My syns, O Lord, I can not hyde 
From thy presens; therfore I crave 
Thy grace in erth to be my guide, 
That thow my synfull sowle mayst save  
O here me, Lord, and grant mercye  

No ryghtwysenes in mee doth rayne, 
But synne I knowe and wyckednes; 
Unles thy grace I doo obtayne. 
Dew unto mee is deth endles  
O, here me, Lord, and grant mercye  

From thi justice, Lord, I apele, 
No sinner in thy syght can stand. 
But thy mercy my sowle may hele. 
The whych I crave, Lord, at thy hand  
Oh here…

Suffer not me, thy creature, 
O Lord to peryshe in thy syghte  
Thowe canst make clene that is unpure  
Clense me, Lord, a wofull wyght 
O here me, Lord, and grant mercye  

Alas good Lord, yf I contende 
By thy justyce my wurkes to trye. 
Then am I damned wythout end 
Fro thy presence eternallye  
O heere me Lord, and grant mercye  

Lord, what woold it profyt the
That thow made me to thyne owne lyknes, 
Yf I shoold now condemned be 
To hell, for myne owne wyckednes 
O here me, Lord, and grante mercye  

O Lord, syth grace so needfull ys 
To mee, poore wretch, with syn infect. 
Let thy mercye exceede justyce, 
That I may be thyne owne elect 
O here me, Lord, and grant mercye  

But yet, O Lord, in thee I trust. 
That as thow hast created mee, 
I confessyng my synne unjust, 
Thow wylt not cast me of from the  
O here me Lord, and grant mercye


Lyrics:
Men most desyre, as most men most tymes see, 
To banyshe bonde and at lybertee to bee. 

Men take lybertee to man, as thyng most plesant, 
Whych tale to bee true wee agree to grante, 
In case that wee our lyberte do use, 
Enbracyng vertu and vyce cleerly refuse. 

But yf wee wylt abuse our lybertee. 
Then lybertee is mean to bryng captyvytee. 

So that lybertee yll usyd or understonde. 
Is onlye the thyng that makthe freemen bonde, 
As hath bene seene in folke of all degrees, 
And dayly is seene, whych syghte ech wyse man see
 
Thys danger done, who wyll leme to eschewe, 
Mark well thys lesson that after doth ensue. 

Synce our lyberte use makthe good and yll
And that lybertee wee wyll desyre styll, 
Wysh we to use lyberte in eche thynge 
As standeth with the lawes of God and our kynge.


Lyrics:
Ye be wellcum, ye be wellcum. 
Ye be wellcum won by wone; 
Ye be hartely wellcum. 
Ye be hartely wellcum everychone  

When freendes lyke freendes do frendlye showe 
Unto ech other hye or low. 
What cheere encrece of love doth growe, 
What better cheere than they to knowe  
Thys is welcum  
To bread or drynke, to flesh or fyshe, 
Yet wellcum is the best dysh  

In all our fare, in all our cheere 
Of deintye metes, sowght far or nere, 
Most fyne most costlye to apeere, 
What for all thys, yf all thys geere 
Lak thys welcum 
Thys cheere, lo ys not wurth won ryshe, 
For welcum is the best dyshe  

Where welcum is, thowgh fere be smalle. 
Yet honest hartes be plese withall; 
Where wellcum wanthe, thowghe grete fare fall, 
No honest hart content it shall 
Wythout wellcum; 
For honest hartes do ever wyshe 
To have wellcum to the best dyshe. 

Sum with small fare be not plesde. 
Sum with much fare be much dyssesde; 
Sum with mene fere be scant apesed, 
But of all sums none is dysplesed 
To be wellcum
Then all good chere to acomplyshe, 
Wellcum must be the best dyshe. 

Yet sum to thys wyll say that they 
Withoat wellcum with mete lyve maye, 
And wyth welcum without meate, naye
Wherfore mete seemth best dysh, thay saye. 
And not wellcum  
But thys vayne sayng to banishe, 
We wyll proove wellcum here best dyshe. 

Thowgh in sum case, for mannes releafe, 
Meate withoat wellcum may be cheafe; 
Yet wher men cum, as here in preefe, 
Much more for love then hoongeres greafe, 
Here is wellcum. 
Thorowghe all the chere to furnyshe. 
Here is wellcum the best dyshe. 

What is thys wellcum now to tell  
Ye are wellcum, ye are cum well, 
Aa hart can wysh youre cummyng fell. 
Your cummyng gladth my hart ech dell  
Thys is welcum  
Wherfore all dowtes to relynquishe, 
Youre wellcum is your best dyshe. 

Now as we have in woordes heere spent 
Declard the fecte of wellcum ment. 
So pray we you to take thentent 
Of thys poore dyshe that wee present 
To youre wellcum, 
As hartely as hart can wysh; 
Your wellcum ys here youre best dyshe


Lyrics:
Gar call hym downe, 
Gar kall hym downe. 
Gar kall hym downe, downe, ey. 
God send the faccion 
Of all detraccion. 
Kall downe and cast awaye  

Allmyghty God 
Doth shake hys rod 
Of justys on all those. 
That uniustlye 
Detractivelye 
Detract ther frendes or foes. 

He telth ech wone, 
Thow Shalt judge none, 
And yf thow judge unbydden, 
Thyselfe, sayth he, 
Shall judged be  
Thys lesson is not hydden. 

To thys now sturd, 
Thys is concurde, 
Which wylth us in ech dowghte 
To deme the best, 
That may be gest, 
Tyll tyme the trothe trye out. 

Knowyng by thys 
That thynke amys 
Agaynst no man we may; 
Much more must we 
III language flee, 
And call hyt downe, downe, ey  
Gar call hym downe  

With sword or skayne 
To see babes slayne 
Abhorth to looke upon  
Attend to mee, 
And ye shall see 
Murder and sklander one  

Lyke as a knyfe 
Berevyth lyfe, 
So sklander fame hath slayne; 
And both once doone, 
Both alyke soone 
May be undoone agayne. 

Then what more yll, 
Wyth knyfe to kyll, 
Then wyth the toonge to styng  
Wyth knyfe or toonge, 
Stryke old or yong. 
All in effect one thyng  

Thes woordes ar short. 
But they importe 
Sentence at length to way; 
Of all whych sens 
To fle th'ofence, 
To call them downe, downe, ey  
Gar call hym 

When vyce is sowghte. 
All vyce is nowghte, 
But sum vyce wurs then sum; 
And eche man sees 
Soondry degrees. 
In ech vyce selfe doth cum. 

Now synce the least 
We showld detest 
Vyce or degre in vyce; 
Yf in the most 
We show our bost, 
That showth us most unwyce  

If I in the 
Such fawtes once see, 
As no man els doth knowe, 
To the alone. 
And other none, 
Those fawtes I owght to showe. 

Then of intent 
Yf I invent 
Falce tales, and them dysplaye; 
That is most vyle, 
Whych to excyle 
God kalthe yt downe, downe, eye. 

Sum cownt no charge 
To talk at large 
Such yll as they doo here; 
But Godes accownt 
Doth not amownt 
To take such talkers cleere. 

Of work ill wrowghte 
When we here owghte, 
In tellyng foorth the same, 
Thowgh it be true. 
The talke may brue 
Drynke of damnable blame  

To frame excuse 
For toonges mysuse. 
We have no maner meane; 
So that by this 
No way ther is 
Yll tales to cary cleane : 

Whych makth me call 
Upon you all, 
As calyng call you may, 
Tales falce or trew, 
Meete to eschewe, 
To kall them downe, downe, ay. 
Gar call hym. 

Sklander to feare, 
Or to forbeare, 
Thys texte standth well in place. 
Wo be the toong, 
Whereby is sproong 
Sklander in any case. 

Cry at cryth owt styll. 
Say good for yll; 
But we say harme for harme; 
Ye, yll for good 
Yll toonges do brood, 
Wrath is in them so warme

To sleke thys fyre 
Of sklandrus yre
Repentance must devyse 
To set all handes 
To quench the brandes 
Wyth water of our eies

Whych brandes then blowe 
To make them glowe. 
As grace by grace may stay; 
And by resort 
Of good report, 
Call sklander downe, I say


Lyrics:
Man, yf thow mynd heven to obtayne, 
Bere no males to no wyghte humayne  

Whoever thow hate is good or yll; 
Yf he be good, hate showth the nowght; 
Yf he be yll, and yll shalbe styll, 
Wherby at end he hath so wrowght, 
That to damnacion he bee browght, 
Then charyte showth much more reson 
To pitye hys payne, then malyngne hys parson  
Man, yf thow. 

If he be nowght to whom thow art fooe. 
And shall here after so amend. 
That he be savid, and thow allso. 
Then shall he love the tyme without end  
Then why showldes thow thys tyme pretend 
In mallys towardes him to persever. 
That shall hereaffter love the for ever. 
Man, yf thow. 

By this thow mayst in reson see 
To hate the good is wretchednes; 
To hate the yll lakkyth charity; 
To good or yll then here no malles. 
But love the good for ther goodnes, 
And for the ill continuallye, 
Pray for amendment lovyngly  
Man, yf thow. 

Snm wyll perchans objecte to thys, 
That good folke wjth good consciens may 
Wysh harme to hym that harmfull is, 
Wherby the harmles may allway 
Unharmed be in quiet stay; 
But of this roote the branches are
Far over long now to declare. 
Man, yf thow. 

But for breafe end, by myne assent, 
All such as be of mene degree 
Desyne or devise of ponishment, 
Let us remyt to those that be 
Joyned therto by auctorytee, 
Whos wysdooms do by grace attend 
To ponysh the yll, and the good defend. 
Man, yf thow. 

And wher we suppose ani man in hart 
To bee any wurse then wee woold he were, 
Let us, I say, set malles apart. 
And loovynly fall we to prayer 
For hys amendment in thya maner; 
As by our owne fawte we see in deede 
Our owne amendment of prayer hath neade  
Man, yf thow.


Lyrics:
Yt hath beene oft both sayde and soonge. 
Take heede what wordes do pas the toonge; 
But now say we to olde and yonge, 
Take heede what thowghtes in harte ar sproonge. 
For of all partes cownt every parte. 
No parte comparth to a faythfull harte  

The toong is but an instrument 
Onlye to show the hartes entent; 
Except the hart doo fyrst consent, 
What good or yll can toong invent 
Synce in the toonge lyth not that parte, 
Be sure to keepe a faythfull hart. 

For as the harte is good or yll, 
So by the toong apeere yt wyll;. 
Yf the hart be good, tong good wyll styll; 
Yf the hart be yll, toong sure wyll kyll; 
Thus yf the hart rule toong ech parte, 
Be sure to keepe a faythfull harte. 

Yet sumtyme toonges full fayre can glyde. 
When hartes full falce from toonges be wyde; 
But what soever hartes do hyde. 
By toonges at length it wylbe spyed
Then is not toong the surest part. 
Wherefore keepe sure a faythfull hart. 

How oft see wee now in our dayes, 
Toonges thowght most sure prove unsure stayes; 
By wyne, or yre, or other wayes. 
The clocest hart the toong bewrayes
Synce daylye playde we see thys parte. 
Be sure to keepe a faythfull hart. 

Then synce our toonges be nothyng sure, 
Except our hartes all pure endure. 
And that our hartes beeing all pure. 
Our toonges can put none yll in ure; 
Then be wee sure the surest parte 
Ys to keepe sure a faythfull hart. 

Whych faythfull hartes God grawnt to spryng 
In ns and all the harts lyvyng; 
But specialy now let us syng 
Fyrst unto God and next our kynge. 
As we be bowne in thes owr partes,  
God grawnt us all good faythfull hartes


Tags:
News, Political, Religious, Confessional, Narrative, other

Lyrics:
Ma[.] [.]at the [...e]e in blud
to Latemer the great
when he his sistars chyldren from
did chefe in ha[...]se to kepe

in martars house she fostred was
as perle of godlye fame
and [..]se he was to Latemer
& prophet of great name

As phabe was Cstephana
to sayntes in sevys preste
so marye did to Latemer
in house here sayce beste

though father then by nature non
He had for he was dead
yet Latimer for father was 
who clothed her & fede

A comfort great she was to hym
his house she revled all
of care he was vnburdened
whych myght macke hym thrall

he gave to god full hvrtye thankes
because that of his grace
god had provyded suche a nurse
consederynge  his case

and aftar that she maryed
to Robart glover was
whose martardom in coventre
god aftar brought to pas

the ma[s]tar of the marryage
was Lattemer hym selfe
the dowrye lyke was Latymer
he not respote of […]elfe

the ma[s]tare of hit a martar was
a martar maryed the bryde
a martar was the spowse allso
in breste & ike in syde

yf fethfull pacience martares made
amartire then was she
in breste and syde her materdom 
you r[..]fully myghte see

in brest she bore a dollefull sore
whyche god to here ded send
& yet she bore hit pacientlye
And worthlye to the ende

I wytues tacte of you which ofte
wyth watterynge eyes behelde
for dolfull panges her wofull throwes
howe wycklye she ded melde

no paines nor prei[..]
her hart could so appaulle
but she to god full earnestly
in her distrese ded caule

and when she sawe her rufull sores
& assues that were bye
my fathers warekes thes are sayth she
of la[…] he chastenethe me

hal[…] are […]s […]es in fleshe I fell
yet speret doth parsuade
that god in love hath tol[…]osed me
to kep me to his trade

here is the marke of godes owne hand
enprinted in my breste
gave me strength to pase it well
as seymethe to thee beste

o […] all & p[…]sans all
example let me be
to you to fere the lord your god
whosse marcke you see in me

he cane his hand ofte […] stretche out
to lay on you the lycke
learnd you thou fore to p[ro]ve your god
leve pryd & be you mecke

that ofte here […]th she osso[…]ned
for[.] sores when ossen were
& may thou p[er]e perced thou hartes
& brought thou […]

marye thou are in lyncolne close
that this cane well recorde
howe that in dolfull meserie
she preched of the lord

& nowe my house of tresure such
alas is all berefte
that lyght is gone and dollfullye
in service am I lefte

orddare bere som[…]t wyth me
yf that thou bouells haste
let nabur play som[…] here part
and of som sorow[..]e taste

I know that she in glorye shynes
lord let me have lyike part
as I am suare she Joythe wud
when he[*]re I shall depart

god geve me grace & spyryt lycke
when dethe from me shall tacke
my syght my speache & senses alle
lyk blessed end to macke

& yet som leve to natur golde
of grace to have recourse
the vartue mor the sorrowe more
is resed of this corses

for she to me most fethtfull was
a wyf of tryed truthe
now may here spot for she to me
a pyllare was in sothe

A leven yeres ar nowe all paste
since wedd she was to me
but now hath deth wyth dolfull da[…]
devyded us you see

and now wyth criste she levethe aye
when ofte she ded me call
o come now criste full ofte she sayd
and macke an end of all

when wyll he com to me trowe ye
and when wyll he approche
o com my cryste and macke an end
and for my way abroche

o pray sath shor that criste wyll come
that he wyll haste to me
in mornynge saerlly he wyll come
hore were in it sayth she

gabrell I see wyth ebb of […]eth
in ioye and angells bryght
when shall I come before my criste
hywe to have the syght

no wille ueyp[..]e for uared hym
doth crave so ferventlye
as I do crave to be wyth criste
in glory hym to see

who apred the dare [….]
of […]
and [….]
[…..]

the sacred boocke she tock in hand
and swetlye it did kysse
she lead it to her hart anew
as comfort of her blisse

[…] hartt doth relle this for to wryte
[…]lyn doth melt
[…] at holbe[..]s had
[…]


Lyrics:
Mornyng mornyng now may I syng adue my Ioye and plesure
I mys all thyng of comfortyng my wo ys out of mesure
my stedfast mynd ys […]se behynd […] nott […]
Damsele unkynd I do her fynd I am nott well re[…]
I am not he was woutte to be yt your a thyng to wonder
some tyme sythyng some tyme moringy as hartte & solle
bryse in […]ouder Nodd may I saye farewell my
goythy and welcom [...]ary Goolld bo[...] nyett and 
day stylle morne I may in


Lyrics:
O Wanton England why has thou forgott
Thy visitation as thou hadst it not
Thou hast seene signes, & thou has felt the rodd
Of the revengeing wrathfull Hand of God
The frowneing heavens in fearfull sightes forespake
Thy Romayn Saxon Dane & Norman yoake:
And since (alas) unkinder woundes then those
The civile rents of thy divided rose
And lust of all the rageing woolues of Rome
Teareing thy limbes (christs lambs) in Martyrdom
Besides great plagues, & grevious dearthes which 
Have oft the sinues of thy strength reuerst
But then more faultie more forgetfull art
Then boies that feare but while they feele the sma[...]
All this is past & thou past feare of it.
In peace & plentie as a Queene dost sit
Of Rods forgetfull, & for rest ingratfull, 
That sottish dulness, this is a sin most hatfull
Ingratfull to thy God who all hath sent
And thy late Queene his sacred instrumen[t]
By whose pure hand, he hath more blessed thin[e]
Then erst his owne choice planted Hebrew vi[…]
From whence he lookt for grapes as new fro[…]
That have him crabs, thou worse, if worse may […]
That was destroid, the wild boors entred in
England beware like punishement like sin.
But o what boots, or what availes my song
To this deafe adder that hath slept so long
Snorting so loud in pillows of sequritie,
Dreadlesse of danger drowned in impuriti[e]
Whose senses all, all ouer growne with fatt
Hath left no dore for feare to enter at
Yet once againe deare country must I call
England, repent, fall, to p[re]vent thy fall.
Thou thou be blinde, thy wakefull watchme[n]
Heauens Irefull vengeance changing ouer t[…]
In fearefull signes thretning a thousand woes
To thy sinne deluge which all ouerflowes.
Thine uncontrould bold open Atheisme
Close Fool-seruice: Cloaked Hypocrisme
Co[…]  blaspheming of Gods name in Othes
Vsvall prophaneing of his Sabaothes
Thy blind dombe Idolsheepherds choakt with steeples
That flece they flockes & doe not feed thy peoples
Striffull ambition, Florentizeing states 
Bribes and affections = swaying Maiestrates
Wealths mercieless wronge, Vsurie extortio[na]t[…]
Poores idelness repineing at their portion
Thy drunken surfetts; and excess in diet
Thy sensuall wallowing in laciuious riot
Thy huft, puft, painted, curld purld wanto[n] prid[…]
The bande to lust & euery sine beside
These are thy sines, these are the signes of ru[…]
To every state that doe the same Insuent
Such cost the Iewes & Aliars desolation
How turned the turkes that weare the holy nat[…]
Happie who takes by others dangers warni[...]
All that is writt is written for our learnin[…]
So preach thy proficts[.] but who heeds their cr[…]
Or who beleiues? then much leste hope haue […]
Wherfore deere Bartas hangeing warned the[..]
From this digression turne we to our Theme 

Sofare in pureness th’elemental flame
Excells the fire that for our use we frame
That ours is nothing but a dusky light
Gross, thick and smoky enemie to fight


Lyrics:
"The thre crowns doo hoont after the harte lyffe
Fayn wolld they have yt and that is all ther stryffe
The hart wythe hys hedd they doo sek after
Mark well the end yt wyll be no better
Wherein ther game when they have made
Tak hede raged staffe they wyll mak the full sade
Thy toorn is next thy raggs they wyll so pare
That on thy staffe to let thy hand thow shalt not ca[re].
The flyeing horsse then soon after wyll they tame
And of all hys wyngs they wyll mak hym full lame
Therefor take hede Dorsett thy coorss shall coom after
And as many of your sort as they cann owt utter.
Thus on by on they wyll pykk you owt all
Making you the instruments of your own fall
Then shall you repent when it is to late
That ye did not mor wyzly thys thing befor debate.
Look befor."


Title:
An Exhortacyon to the nobylles and com[m]ons of the north


Title:
A very lamentable and woful discours of the fierce fluds, whiche lately flowed in Bedford shire, in Lincoln shire, and iu [sic] many other places with the great losses of sheep and other cattel. The v. of October. Anno Domini 1570.

Location of Printer:
long shop adjoining st Mildred's church in the Pultrie


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

Lyrics:
ISAIE.i.
The Oxe knoweth his owner, and the Asse his masters crib, but
Israell hath not knowen: my people hath not understand. Ah, sin-
full nation, a people laden with iniquitie: a seede of the wicked,
corrupt chyldren: they have forsaken the Lorde, they have provo-
ked the holy one of Israell to anger: they are turned backewarde.
OH Endland be vigilant, and repent thee with spede,
And marke well the myrours of thy visitation:
Prepare thee to prayer, for it was never more neede,
And langwish 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 gave them sixe score yeares, a space for to repent.
Zodome and Gomorra also, were sunke in fyre ful hot,
Burnyng all in Brimstone, untyll they were destroyed:
And yet they were forewarned long, by the prophete Lot,
With Repentance unto them, continually he cryed.
But that happye citie Ninivie, among all the rest,
They heard Jonas 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, Jerusalem I may thee call,
For whye? thy conversation agreeth thereto now:
They wolde take no warnyng before the plague did fall,
And at this present day O LONDON, no more doest thou.
What tokens have bene of late, of Gods feareful yre?
The lyke before was never seene, in no time (I trowe)
Thy cheef and beautifull Temple was defaced with fyre,
A goodly admonition sure (yf thou couldest it knowe)
Neither coulde the Pestilence provoke us to repent,
Nor cruell warres warne us that the end is at hand:
No, we mocke at Gods threatnings lyke beasts impudent,
No doubt, Gods justice must needes plague the lande.
For we wyll not repent, nor our wicked lyves amend,
But continue styll in wickednes, procuring Gods curse:
What earnest preachers doth the Lorde us dayly send?
It is but pearles before swyne, for we ar wurse & wurse.
If a man rebuke drunkennes, swearyng or blasphemie,
He shall in this wyse be mocked of one iavell or an other:
[.]is good godly man, [.]e toe holy for our companie,
[.] ar a precisian I t[.]r some unspotted brother.
Alas, is this your repentance after so long preachyng?
I pray you read the .xii. chap. of S. Mathewes gospell:
Christ saith, of every idle worde we shal geve a reconyng,
Then swearers and blasphemers, shal be punished in hell.
Deare christians, consider our state this present yeare,
Both with war and other plagues, we are round enclosed:
Let us turne to the Lorde our God with tremblyng & feare,
With harty thankes gevyng 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 Jesus Christ agayne,
To geve him hartie thankes for his great benignitie.
So let us geve thanks to God in hart both al & some,
A[n]d repent our former lives, without any longer delay:
[.]eare lest a grevous plague among us hastely come,
[W]ithout speedye repentance, looke for it we may.
Bryng forth the frutes of the gospel, I meane a godly life,
Leave your filthy hipocrisie which stinketh in Gods sight
Leave your abominable pryde, amend both man & wyfe,
Leave your horrible blasphemie wherein you so delight.
Pray England pray, and London leave thy wicked trade,
Especiallye Covetousnes, Glotonie, and al fylthy lust:
And remember our merciful God who hath us all made,
A body that is mortall, and shall turne to dust.
For our noble queene Elizabeth, let us al hartely [.]
And for her honorable counsell, that God geve th[.]
To maintayne his glorious Gospell both night [.]
To the advancement of Vertue, all wickednes to ra[.]


Lyrics:
Our Sauiour is come.
MAns teares and wofull plaint, hath pierst the lofty skies,
gladsom newes in glittring robe, from heauen an Angell flies,
the clouds now open wide, & grace sends downe it shewers,
Which watereth natures barren soyle, with euerlasting flowers.
The ayre therefore resounds, Yule, Yule, a Babe is borne,
O bright and blazing day, to save mankind that was forlome.
Our God from mercies throne, beheld old Adams ragge,
And how proude Sathan hath displaid abroad his flaunting flagge,
His robes imbrude with bloud, his signes of conquest braue,
Haue caused God, from heauen to send his sonne, mans soule to saue.
The ayre etc.

When mercy on her knees, gusht out a wayling floude,
Our Father sent his Sonne for vs, to spend his precious bloud,
He sent no Angell bright, he sent the Lambe of God,
Our lesus sweete, to shrowde vs from Sin and Sathans rod,
The ayre etc. 
The old Lawe which was writt in tables faire of stone,
Could not redeeme vs from the deuill, nor yet deliuer one,
When shaddowes would not serue, the Lambe of God is sent,
An offering sweete for vs, on crosse his Cristiall bloud was spent. 
The ayre therefore etc.
When sathan did outrage and Sin did most abound,
And cruell death man trodden downe, with dinting dart did wound
Then God from heauen did shew, the riches of his grace, 
The Lyon then of luda came, the Dragon to displace.
The ayre therefore etc. O Deuill, O Death, O Sinne, disgorge your bitter gall,
A babe is borne, the which wilbe, the ruine of you all.
O Deuill where is thy rage, O Death where is thy sting,
O Sinne where be thy chaines, a child, your force to ground will bring
The ayre therefore resounds, Yule, Yule a Babe is borne,
O bright and blazing day to save mankind that was forlorne.
Yule cometh
Of Yulath that
is to say
babe is borne
for vs.
No Cittie but
Yorke was euer
hearde to
welcome our
Sauiour, with
this ioyfull
word. Yule
The meaning of Yule, in Yorke.
O famous Yorke reioyce, and thinke of this no shame.
To dubble Yule with sounding voice, to the honour of Gods name.
For Yulatk Hebrew word, expresseth very well,
That babe the which was borne to saue our soules from damned hell.
True Isralites resound, Yule, Yule, a babe is borne,
O bright and blazing day, to saue mankind that was forlorne.
It was not without cause, that God gaue the grace,
With Yule to welcome his deare sonne, who Sathan did deface,
Triumph O Yorke, reioyce, this priueledge is thine,
In this all other townes, thou doest, and Citties ore shine.
Therefore eftsoones resound, yule, yule, etc

Christ is our
Pascall Lambe
offered vpon
the Crosse for
vs. I. Cor. 5
I am the bread
of Life. lo. 6.
True Isralites.
The shoulder of the Lambe the man in hand doth beare,
Doth represent the lambe of God which lewes on crosse did reare.
The Cake of purest meale, betokeneth very well,
The bread of life which came from heauen in earth with vs to dwell.
True Isralites resound, Yulath a babe is borne,
(O bright and blazing day) to saue mankind that was forlorne.
The Angels Trumpe doth blowe, the childrens cries resounde
The ioyfull noyse in earth belowe, to heauen aboue rebounde
Because faire lessies branch, brought forth that noble Nut,
Which being crackt vpon the crosse, did sinne and Sathan gut.
Therefore we will resound &c.

All haile renowned king, we thanke thee for thy loue,
Through which for vs, thou lefts thy throne, in haughty heauen aboue
Be thou our lesus sweete, grant grace to follow thee,
To keepe thy lawe and sacred word, that saued we may be.
And we will still resound, Yule, Yule, a Babe is borne,
(O bright and blissful/ day) to saue mankind that was forlorne. True Isralites.
The man wrongfully called Yule, and his wife, resemble true Isralites crying
yulf, and reioycing for their deliuerance from Sathan, through lesus Christ.
Children.
The children crying after them, do signifie our Children and Successors, who
shall celebrate this Feast to the worlds end, with ioyfull & tnumphall 
clamours.
Shalmes.
The Shalme and musicke, resemble the mirth and melody of Angels. 
Nuts.
Nuts casten abroad, puts vs in rememberance of that most noble Nut our
sauiours blessed body, springing miraculously from that beautifull branch 
of lesse, the most pure and imaculate virgin. As it was possible (according
to Saint Austen) for the rod of Aaron, to bring forth Nuts, against the
common course of nature. So was it possible for the blessed virgin, to bring
forth that most excellent nut our sweete Sauiour, contrary to the lawe of
nature, whose sacred body (according to the same Saint Austen) is aptlie
compared to a nut. For the Nut hath in it body a triple vnion, that is to
wit, Testain the shell, signifying the bones; and Conum et nucteitm, the
skmne, and kirnell signifying the flesh & inward soule of our Sauiour. The
nut destroyed! poyson, Our sauiour crushed vpon the crosse, imbraced with
a liuely faith, destroyeth the poyson, of sinne and Sathan. 
Sergeants.
The officers, resemble the noble spreaders & publishers of this Mysticall and
miraculous Nut.
Reiected Draffe.
The reiected draffe, doth signifie the shaddowes and camall ceremonies of
the old law, Which being weake and vnable to iustifie or saue vs, are (according 40
to S. Paule) to be reiected and esteemed as dung and dirt, in comparison of
the light of truth it selfe, which hath now shined vpon us. Distaffe or Rocke.
The very Rocke, sheweth that women laying aside their seruile workes, must
make good preparation tor this solemne feast.
Thus you haue the meaning of this notable and antient spectacle, of Yule in
Yorke, conteymnga hnefe sum of verity in it.
Soli Deo, sit honor et gloria.
FINIS.


Title:
A new ballad intituled, Daniels siftyng in these our dayes aptly applyed to the true preachers of the Gospell. What God hath wylled vs, to that good eare geue: for Daniels are abroad: siftyng with their seeue.

Lyrics:
What God hath wylled vs, to that good eare geue:
    For Daniels are abroad: siftyng with their Seeue. 

GOOD Daniels sifting, in Gods church aboute,
The footsteps out findyng: or those as be stoute.
Against Gods word deuine, which all [...]ught to knowe
In their owne mother toung: what duty they owe.

To God alone iustly, to serue hym with loue,
For all are not trusty: as his worde doth prooue.
Now yf God we obeyd, as be hath vs taught,
Then were our sayth stayed: in him that vs bought.

By Daniels, the Preachers: so this vnderstand,
Which doo preach Christ truly: in euery land.
Without Pope or popery, our soules for to saue,
By faith in Christ onely, of whom we it craue.

And Gods booke this Séeue is, that they in hand take,
And his word the Ashes, there out for to shake.
In Temples and Churches, where people resort,
To haue for their soules health: the food of comfort.

The people is the ground, on whom now doth fall,
Those high deuine Ashes: that makes the true tryall.
Whose footesteppes shal ap[...]ere without trawde or guile,
Of young and olde people: now marke well this stile.

By these footesteppes I meane, the whole lyfe of man,
And of all women kynde: these things now well scan.
Who so in these Ashes, now treadeth awrye,
Their steps shalbe well knowne: to God & mans eye.

As was in Bels Temple, a God without lyfe,
Whereas footyng was found: of Man, Chyld, & Wyfe.
Who cate vp the vittells, from that false God Bell,
And deceyued the Kyng: as the text d[...]th tell.

But Daniell by siftyng, all them to lyght brought,
And also Bels Pristes: that wickedly wrought.
Euen so now our Sisters, that siftes at this day,
With Gods word shall finde out: those in the brode way.

When they heare the law red, vnto them full playne,
As God hath commanded: so to be certayne.
The which law and Gospell, receiue in good parte,
And out of the broad way· betimes tooke ye starte.

The footesteps that Adam, and Eue first dyd trace,
To the forboden tree: brought them in woe case.
And all we by their fall in bondage be set,
Day by day masked styl in Sathans great net.

The firste bloty footestep[...], that Cayne dyd commit,
To his brother Abell: remaynes in some yet.
As in Ruffians and Rogges, that desperate be,
Whose footesteps from much sinne cannot scape frée.

The pryde of great Nemrode, that in hym dyd rayne,
Was knowne by his footesteps, and all his whole trayne.
So lykewyse shall theirs doe, that buyldeth excesse,
In any kynd of trade: abusing Richesse.

Quéene Iezabell that dyd, Gods true Prophets kyll,
Her footeyng was found out: agaynst her owne wyll.
The Dogs her bloud lapped in Iezraell,
This sore greuons plague: was cast on Iezabell.

So lykwyse the footsteps of Gods enemyes,
Shall well be spyed: when as his wyll is.
And haue their reward due, for shedyng of bloud,
Of Gods elect people: when the Lorde thinks it good.


Remember how Pharao, though he was a King,
His footesteps were found out: of persecutyng.
He with his whole army, of men drowned were,
In midst of the red sea: God dyd them not spare.

Euen so from tyme to tyme, you may read and sée,
How God plageth Tirants: for their iniquytye.
He is the same God styll, sinners to correct,
Except they repent now: he wyll them reiecte.

Sodome and Gomorra, their footyng was found,
What wayes they then walked: vpon the Lords ground.
They liued to them selues in the sinke of sinne,
Tyll fyre and brimstone: therby they dyd winne.

Let this be a warnyng, so now in lyke case,
To whores and whore mongers: that yet lacketh grace.
Whose close trippyng footesteps, wyll shortly app[...]ere,
By our Daniells siftyng: they can not scape cléere.

The coueiteous footesteps, of Ahabs great spight,
To haue Nabaoths viniard: dyd come vnto light.
For the which the Lorde, with Abab was wroth,
And sent to hym Elyah: who tolde hym the troth.

Now the Lorde wold plague hym and all his houshold,
For the death of Nobaoth: as Elyah hym tolde.
Beware now by Ahab, to get worldly muck,
For many one therby: hath had but yll lucke.

Syr Rapax, syr Capar and syr Tenax also,
And you master Vserers: that now in wealth flow.
Be not imps of Ahab, common wealth to annoye,
I cast you with your footesteps: the Lord doo destroy.

The Scribes, the Pharasies, and Lawyers lykewyse,
Their footyng was well knowne: of their enterprise.
How they came vnto Christ, to take hym in a trip,
But be euer came them: and gaue them the slip.

So Lawyers that wrest law, and matters prolong,
Their footesteps wyll appeere of makyng right wrong.
Woe be to such sayeth Christ, whose sentence is great,
Wherfore repent in tyme: and for mercy intreat.

Thus for to conclude now, let all men repent,
And to leade a new lyfe: by Gods Testament.
Ere death steale vpon vs, our footesteps to finde,
Contray to Gods wyll: and to natures kinde.

Wherefore siftyng Daniells, now ply your vocations,
Declare Gods worde truely, vnto all nations.
God is your head Captayne, your shield and defence,
Without feare or parcialytie, now doo your dilygence.

By siftyng and sortyng, the good from the bad,
Then God wyll be pleased: and his people glad.
To heare what God wylleth, to that good eare geue,
And to all such Preachers, as vse wel the Séeue.

    FINIS.


# Balladeers

Occuptation:
Blacksmith, master of the scriveners' company


Occuptation:
printer, poet, freeman of the Stationer's Co.


