tourment of wretchyd Tantalus Whiche as sayd Fawstus whose saynge I may thinke In flode and fruytys may neyther ete nor drynke Auncyent poetes this Tantalus do fayne In hell condemnyd to suffer suche payne That vp to the chyn in water doth he stande And to his vpper lyp retche apples a thousande But whan he wolde drynke the water doth dyscende And whan he wolde ete the apples doth ascende So both fruyt and water them kepyth at a stent In myddes of pleasour haue courters lyke tourmēt But now to tell table for to retourne agayne There hast thou yet another greuous payne That whan other talke speke what they wyll Thou dare nat whysper but as one dom be styl And yf thou ought speke pryuey or aperte Thou art to besy callyd malaperte If thou call for ought by worde sygne or becke Thā Jacke w t the busshe shal tant the with a checke One recheth the bread with grutche murmurynge If thou of some other demaunde any thynge He hath at thy askynge great scorne dysdayne By cause y t thou syttest whyle he standyth in payne Somtyme the seruauntys be blynde ignorant And spy nat what thynge vpon the bord doth want If they se a fawt they wyll it nat attende By neglygent scorne dysdaynynge it to mende Somtyme thou wantest other bread or wyne But nought dare thou aske yf y u sholde neuer dyne Demaunde salt trenchour spone or other thynge Than art thou unportune euer more crauynge And so shall thy name be spred to thy payne For at the shall all haue scorne dysdayne Somtyme art thou erkyd of them at the table But moche more art thou of the seruynge rable The hungry seruers whiche at the table stande At euery morsell hath iye vnto thy hande So moche on thy morsell dystract is theyr mynde They gape whā thou gapyst oft bytynge y ◠wynde By cause that thy leuyngys is only theyr part If thou fede the well sore greued is theyr hart Namely of a dysshe costly and deynteous Eche pece that thou cuttest to them is tedyous Than at the cupborde one doth another tell Se how he fedeth lyke the deuyll of hell Our parte he eteth nought good shall we tast Than pray they to god that it be thy last ¶ Coridon ¶ I had leuer Cornix go souperles to bed Than at suche a faste to be so bested Better it is with chese and bread one to fyll Than with great deynte with anger and yll wyll Or a small handfull with rest and sure pleasance Than twenty dysshes with wrathfull countenance ¶ Cornix ¶ That can Amintas recorde and testefy But yet is in court more payne and mysery Brought in by dysshes the table for to fyll But nat one is brought in order at thy wyll That thou wolde haue fyrst and louest pryncypall Is brought to the borde of tymes last of all With bread and rude mete whan thou art sacyate Than cometh dysshes most swete and delycate Than must thou other dyspyse them vtterly Or to thy hurte surfet ensuynge glotony But yf it fortune as seldom dothe befall That at begynnynge come dysshes best of all Or thou hast tasted a morsell other twayne Thy dysshe out of syght is taken sone agayne Slowe be the seruers in seruynge in alway But swyft be they after takynge thy meat away A specyall costom is vsyd them amonge No good dysshe to suffer on borde to be longe If the dysshe be pleasant other flesshe or fysshe Ten handes at onys swarme in the dysshe And yf it be flesshe ten knyues shall thou se Manglynge the flesshe in the platter fle To put there thy hande is peryll without fayle Without a gantelet or els a gloue of mayle Amonge all these knyues thou one of both must haue Or els is it harde thy fyngers hole to saue Oft in suche dysshes in court is it sene Some leue theyr fyngers eche knyfe is so kene On a fynger gnawyth some hasty gloton Supposynge it a pees of befe or of motton Besyde these in court mo paynes shalt thou se At borde be men set as thycke as they may be The platters shall pas of tymes to fro And ouer the sholders hede shall they go And oft all the brothe and lycour fat Is spylt on thy gowne thy bonet and thy hat Somtyme art thou thrust for lytell rowme and place And somtyme thy felowe reboketh in thy face Bytwene dysshe and dysshe is tary tedyous But in y ◠mean tyme though y u haue payne greuous Neyther mayst thou ryse cough spyt or nese Or take other easemēt lest thou thy name may lese For suche as this wyse to eas them ar wont In nombre of rascaldes courters them count Of mete is none houre nor tyme of certente Yet from begynnynge absent yf thou be Other shalt thou lose thy meat and kys the post Or yf by fauour thy sowper be nat lost Thou shalt at lest way rebukes sour abyde For nat attendynge faylynge of thy tyde Onyons or garlyke whiche stamped Testyles Nor yet swete lekes mayst thou nat etc ywys ¶ Coridon ¶ What forsake garlyke lekys and butter swete Nay rather wolde I go to Ely on my fete We counte these deyntyes and meates very good These be chefe dysshes and ruall mennys food ¶ Cornix ¶ Who court frequenteth must loue the dysshes swete And lordes dysshes to hym ar no thynge mete As for our metys they may nat ete I thynke By cause great lordes may nat abyde the stynke But yet lordes syege and ruall mennys or dure Be lyke of sauour for all theyr meates pure As for comon meatys of them pleasour is small By cause one seruyce of them contynuall Allayeth pleasour for voluptuosyte Wyll haue of dysshes chaunge and dyuersyte And whan thou hast smellyd meat more delycyous Thy course dayly fare to the is tedyous Now Judge Coridon yf here in be pleasour Me thynke it anguysshe sorowe dolour Contynuall care and vter mysery Affliceyon of herte wretchyd penury But many folys thynke it is nothynge so Whyle they se courters out warde so gayly go The coursers seruantys cloch syluer golde And other lyke thynges delyte they to beholde But nough they regard the inward mysery Whiche them oppressyth in court contynually And as sayth Seueke some count them fortunate Whiche outwarde apere well clothed or ornate But yf thou behelde theyr inwarde wretchydnes Theyr dayly trouble theyr fruytles besynes Than wolde thou count them bothe vyle myserable Theyr rowme and offyce bothe fals desceyuable For lyke as men paynt olde wallys ruynous So by they payntyd theyr lyfe contraryous And therfore all they whiche serue in court gladly For tast or smellynge or spyce of glotony Haue lyke more wretchyd than burgyes or marchant Whiche with theyr wyues haue loue lyfe pleasant Shepherdes haue nat so wretchyd lyfe as they Though they leue porely on cruddes chese whey On apples plommes and drynke
thou tary and fast tyll it be nyght To ete or to drynke than is it small delyte Whan no dysgestyon hath styred appetyte Agayne art thou set to sowper all to late All thynge hath season whiche men of court not hate For neuer shall thy meate be set to in the season Where of procedyth moche sore vexacion Oft age intestate departyd sodaynly And lusty galandes departyth semblably Here of procedyth the vomyte the stone And other syknesse many mo than one Somtyme is the wyne soure watery and so bad That onely the colour myght make a man be mad Colde without mesure or hote as hors pys Bad is the colour the sauour badder is But yf in the court thou drynke bothe bere and ale Than is the colour trowbled blake and pale Thynke nat to drynke it in glas syluer or golde The one may be stollyn the other can nat holde Of a treyn vessell than must thou nedy drynke Olde blake and rusty lately takyn fro some synke And in suche vessell drynke shall thou of tentyme Whiche in the bottom is full of fylth and slyme And of that vessell thou drynkest oft I wys In whiche some statis or damys late dyd pys Yet shalt thou nat haue a cup at thy delyte To drynke of allone at wyll and appetyte Coridon in court I tell the by my sowle For most parte thou must drinke of a comon bowse And where greasy lyppes and slymy berde Hath late ben depyd to make some man aferde On that syde must thou thy lyppys wasshe also Or els without drynke from dyner must thou go In the meane season olde wyne derely bought Before thy presence shall to thy prynce be brought Whose smell and odour so swete and maruelous With fragrant sauour inbawnyth all the hous As muscadell capryke romney and maluesy From Genes brough from grece or hungarry Suche shall he drynke suche shall to him be brought Thou hast the sauour thy part of it is nought Though thou sholde perysike for veray ardent thrust No drop thou gettest for to esclacke thy lust And though good wynes somtyme to the be brought The tast of better shall cause it to seme nought Oft woldest thou drynke yet darest thou nat sup Tyll tyme thy better haue tastyd of the cup No cup is fylled tyll dyner halfe be done And some mynystres it countyth than to sone But yf thou begyn for drynke to call and craue Thou for thy calling suche good reward shalt haue That men shall call the malapert or dronke Or an abbey lowne or lymner of a monke But with thy rebuke yet art thou neuer the nere Whyther thou demaunde wyne pallydale or bere Yet shalt thou nat drynke whā thou hast nede thrust The cup must thou spare ay for thy betters lust Thy ough many handes shall pas the pees or cup Before or it come to the is all dronke vp And than yf a drope or two therin remayne To lycke the vessell somtyme thou arte full fayne And than at the grounde some fylth yf thou espy To blame the butler thou gettest but enuy And as men wekely newe holy water poure And onys in a yere the vessell vse to scoure So cupes tankerdes in court as thou mayst thynke Where in the comons ar vsyd for to drynke Or onys in the yere empty and made clene And scantly that well as oftentyme is sene For to aske water thy wynes to alley Thou fynde shalt no nede yf thou before assay With rynsynge of cupes it tempered is before By cause pure water perchaunce is nat in store ¶ Coridon ¶ Fye on this maner suche seruyce I defye I se that in court is vnclene penury Yet here though our drynke be veray thyne small We may therof plenty haue whan we call And in clene vessell we drynke therof parde Take here the bottell Cornix assay and se ¶ Cornix ¶ Than call for the prest whan I refuse to drynke This ale brewet bentlye it maketh me to wynke ¶ Coridon ¶ Thou sayst trouth Cornix byleue me by the rode No hand is so sure that can alway make goode But talke of the court yf thou hast ony more Set downe the bottell saue some lycour in store ¶ Cornix ¶ God blysse the brewer well colyd is my throte Now myght I for nede synge hyer by a note It is bad water that cannat allay dust And very soure ale that can nat quenche thrust How rowlyth my tunge now that I without payne Now here me I enter into the court agayne Beholde in the court on comon table clothys So vyle and ragged that some his dyner lothys Touche them then shall they vnto thy fyngers cleue And than must thou wype thy handes on thy slyue So he whiche dayly fareth in this gyse Is so imbrued and noynted in suche wyse That as many men as on his scyrtes loke Count hym a scolyon or ellys a gresy cooke ¶ Coridon ¶ Yet Cornix agayne all courtynge I defy More clennes is kept within some hogges sty But yet mate Cornix all be nat thus I wene For some table clothes be kept wyte and clene Fyner than sylke and chaunged euery day ¶ Cornix ¶ Coridon forsothe it is as thou dost say But these be thynges moost chefe pryncypall Onely reserued for greattest men of all As for other clothes whiche serue the comonte Suche as I tolde the or els vyler be And styll remayne the vnto the planke cleuynge So black so bawdy so fowle and yll semynge Of syght and of sent vyle and abhomynable Tyll skant may a man discerne them from the table But nowe here what meate there nedes ete thou must And than yf thou mayst to it apply thy lust Thy mete in the court is neyther swanne nor heron Curlewe nor crane but cowrs befe motton Fat porke or vele and namely suche is bought For easyer pryce whan they be lene and nought Thy flesshe is reesty or lean towgh and olde Or it come to borde onsauery and colde Somtyme twyse sodden vnclene without tast Sawsed with coles and asshes all for haste Whan thou it etyst it smellyth so of smoke Than euery morsell is able one to choke Make hunger thy sawse be thou neuer so nyse For there shalt thou fynde none other sawse ne spyce Thy potage is made with wedes with asshes And betwene thy tethe of tyme the coles crasshes Somtyme halfe sodden is bothe thy flesshe broth The watter and herbes togyder be so wrothe That eche goth a parte they can nat well agre And oft be they salt as water of the see Seldom at chese hast thon a lytell lycke And yf thou ought haue within it shall be quycke All full of magottys and lyke to the raynbowe Of dyuers colours as read grene and yelowe On eche syde grawen with myse or with rattys Or with vyle wormes with dogges or w t cattys Unclene and scurfy and harde as the stone It loketh so well thou woldest it were gone If thou haue
ryches in plente Than yf thou dye byleue me for certayne Suerly trustyth for to haue all agayne Scant any ryche man by deth hence now shall fare But that some great lorde wyll loke to be his heyre ¶ Coridon ¶ That is no leasynge but prouyd often trewe That causyd wydows oftymes sore to rewe But this hath ben sene for sothe and euer shall That the greater fysshe deuoureth vp the small ¶ Cornix ¶ A ryght true example mate Coridon doutles So myghty rulers the symple folke oppres But what care in court is now here my Coridon Concernynge thy lorde or maysters owne parson Of prynces or comons thou fyndest seldome tyme One profytely good spottyd with no cryme For all suche thynges as seldome tyme befall Tully was wont the monstres for to call Than is a good man more monster in dede Than is a wether hauynge a dowble head And in lyke wyse reheriyth Fuuenall That yf a man wolde seke ouer the worlde all So many good man vnetys fynde sholde he As there be yates in Thebes the Cyte That is to say vnder the cop of heuen Of parfyte good men scant shall a man fynde seuen And holy scrypture yet speketh more straytly As shepherd Dauid doth clerly testefy He sayd our lorde beholdynge on mankynde Coude skant one good in all the worlde fynde Scripture recordeth suche causes many one That men be synners god in good alone ¶ Coridon ¶ Whan now mate Cornix Aygh man god auowe Thou hast in some frerys bosome bene I trowe And spoyled some patche of his prechement Talke of the court saue this in store for lent ¶ Cornix ¶ So was my purpos thou nedyst nought obiect Of our fyrst purpos these wordes haue effect I tolde the before by good auctoryte How bothe the poetis and oratours agre And holy scrypture that fewe men be parfyte But bad in nomber be truly infenyte So yf thy mayster be bad worthy blame Than art thou sory of his dyshonest name Thy lordys vyces and lyuynge neglygent Shall greue thy stomake yf thou be innocent It greuyth the yf he be couetous or harde Bycause he daynyth thy labour to rewarde And for many thynges fayle by his neglygence And fall to ruyne for sparynge of expence Agayne yf thy lorde be fre lyberall Alway thou fyryst lest other men haue all His prodygall hand oft vexith sore thy harte Lest at the endynge nought shall come to thy parte And lest his treasour in foly so he spende That no thynge remayne to helpe hym at the ende But yf he be gyuen to wrath and cruelte Thou fearest lest he rage agayne thy kyn or the If he be meke mylde and sober thou art sory For he nat reuengyth eche hurt and iniury And yf he be harde than dredest thou daunger Whan he procedyth than standest thou arere If he be coward than hast thou great enuy Agayne his foes for they contynually Dystroy his londys and sore his name dystayne Whan he for drede dare no thynge do agayne If he vse chattynge oftyn be talkynge Well thou perceyuest y â— whyle his tonge is walkyng His pryue councell he oftyn dothe detect And moche he spekyth whiche is of none effect If he be secrete and styll as one in slepe Thou sayst he douteth that none can councell kepe And the suspectyth as moche as other mo Than art thou greuyd and full of care wo If he loue wynes thou fearest dronkenes If he hate wynes thou blamest his sadnes And to his body thou countest hym nygarde By cause he wolde kepe his how sholde y â— more harde To venus actis yf he to moche aply Thou sayst he to many doth hurt and iniury If he hate wymen fle theyr pleasour than Bothe thou and other reputest hym no man With fewe men yf he vse famylyaryte Thou art dyspleasyd of them yf thou nat be If he be comon to all indyfferent Than is thy mynde in lyke wyse dyscontent By cause he loueth famylyer to be To euery persone as greatly as with the But yf that thy prynce be good and thou be nought ThaÌ„ art thou inlyke wyse sore verid in thy thought Lest that he shortly thy seruyce may dyspyse By cause he nat lyuyth after thy lewde gyse But yf bothe be good and of all vyces clene Whiche is a thynge that seldome tyme is sene Than monest thou for that he is nat fortunate As he is ordeyned and after his estate Thy hart and mynde all thou to hym inclyne That all his troubles and payne shall be thyne For this without dout I tell the Coridon That no father is so tender ouer his son As is a good seruaunt dylygent and true Unto a noble prynce endewed with vertue And all yf good fortune to hym be fauourable Yet styll thou dredest bycawse it is vnstable Thus neuer shalt thou sleape in peas quietnes But whan thou wakest thy rest is moche les ¶ Coridon ¶ By cause thou recountest of thy fydelyte Of maysters and men whiche loueth honeste Now I remember the shepherde of the fen And what care for hym demeanyd all his men And shepherd Morton whan he durst nat apere How his olde seruantys were careful of theyr there In payne and pleasour they kept fydelyte Tyll grace agayne haue hym auctoryte Than his olde fauour dyd them agayne restore To greatter pleasour than they had payne before Though or a season this shepherde bode a blast The greattyst wâ—udes yet slakyth at the last And at conclusyon he and his flocke certayne Eche true to other dyd quyetly remayne My harte sore mouineth whan I must specyfy Of the gentyll Coke whiche sange so merely He and his flocke were lyke an vnyon Conioyned in one without dyscencyon All the fayre Cokes whiche in his dayes crewe Whan dethe hym touched dyd his departynge rewe The prety palays be hym made in the fen The maydes wydowes the wyues and the men With dedely dolour were persyd to the harte Whan dethe constrayned this shepherde to departe Corne grasse feldes mournyd for wo payne For of this prayer for them obtayned rayne The plyasant floures for wo fadyd echone Whan they perceyued this shepherde ded and gone The okys elmys and euery sorte of dere Shronke vnder shadowe abatynge all theyr chere The myghty wallys of Ely monastary The stonys rockes and towres semblably The marbyll pyllers and ymages echone Swet al for sorowe whaÌ„ this good cocke was gone Though he of stature were humble wenke leane His mynde was hye his lyuynge pure and clene Where other fedyth by beesty appetyte On heuenly fode was all his hole delyte And shortly after this Cock was dede and gone The shepherde Roger coude nat byde longe alone But shortly after fals deth stole hym away His worthy reporte yet lyueth tyll this day WhaÌ„ shepe ware scabbyd this good shepherd was fayne With easy saluys theyr sore to cure agayne He nought pretendyd nor shewed of rygour Nor was no
nere at rest ¶ Cornix ¶ Take vp thy baggage my mate that now is best ¶ Coridon ¶ But tell me Cornix one thynge or we departe On what maner lyfe is best to set my harte In court is combrance care payne and mysery And here is enuy yll wyll and penury ¶ Cornix ¶ Suffrance ouercommeth all malyce at the last Weyke is that tre whiche can nat abyde a blast But here now my councell I byde the fynally Lyue styll a shepherde for playnly so wyll I ¶ Coridon ¶ That I shall Cornix thy good councell fulfyll To dye a shepherde establyd is my wyll ¶ Cornix ¶ So do or after thou often shall repente Pore lyse is surest the court is but tourment ¶ Coridon ¶ ◠diew swete Cornir departynge is a payne But myrthe reneweth whan louers mete agayne ¶ Finis ¶ Thus endeth the thyrde and last egloge of the mysery of court and courters Composed by Alexander Barclay preste in his youthe ¶ The boke of Codrus and Mynalcas ¶ The prologe of the fourthe Eglog of Alexander Barcley COdrus a shepherde lusty gaye and stout Sat w t his wethers at pasture roūde about And poore Mynalcas with ewes scarse fourtene Sat sadly musyng in shadowe on the grene This lusty Codrus was cloked for the rayne And double decked with hoodes one or twayne That this long season none coude the here espy With vs was thou wont to syng full merely And to lye pipyng ofte tyme among the flouers What tyme thy bestes were fedyng among oures In these colde valeys we two were wont to bourde And in these shadowes talke many a mery worde And ofte were we wont to wrastell for a fall But nowe thou droupest and hast forgotten all Here was thou wont swete balades to syng Of song and dytie as it were for a kyng And of gay maters to syng and to endyte But nowe thy courage is gone and thy delyte Trust me Mynalcas nowe playnly I espy That thou arte wery of shepherdes company And that all pleasure thou semest to dispyse Lothyng our pasture and feldes in lykewise Thou fleest solace and euery mery fytte Lesyng thy tyme and sore hurtyng thy wytte In slouthe thou slombrist as buryed were thy song Thy pype is broken or somwhat els is wrong ¶ Mynalcas ¶ What tyme the cocke crowes fethers mout fall From sight she lurketh her song is gone withall Whan backe is bare and purse of coyne is lyght The wytte is dulled and reason hath no might A due endityng whan gone is lyberte Enuy to muses is wretched pouerte What tyme a knight is subget to a knaue To iust or tourney small pleasure shall he haue ¶ Codrus ¶ What no man the kepeth here in captiuyte And busy labour subdueth pouerte And ofte is it better and moche surer also As subget to obey than at frewyll to go As by ensample beholde a wanton colt In ragyng youthe lepeth ouer hyll and holt But whyle he skippeth at pleasure and at wyll Oftyme dothe he fall in daunger for to spyll Somtyme on stubbes his hofes sore he teares Or falles in the mudde bothe ouer heed and eares Somtyme all the night abrode in hayle or rayne And ofte among breres tangled by the mayne And other peryls he suffreth infynite So mengled with sorowe is pleasure and delyte But if the same colte be broken at the last His sytter ruleth and hym refrayneth fast The spurre him pricketh the bridell dothe him holde That he can not praūce at pleasure wher he wolde The ryder hym ruleth and saueth from dangere By whiche example Mynalcas it is clere That frewyll is subget to inconuenyence Where by subgection man voydeth great offence For man of hym selfe is very frayle certayne But ofte a ruler his folly dothe refrayne But as for thy selfe thou hast no cause parde To walke at pleasure is no captiuyte ¶ Mynalcas ¶ Seest thou nat Codrus the feldes rounde about Compased with flodes that none may in nor out The muddy waters nere choke me with the stynke At euery tempest they be as blacke as ynke Pouerte to me shulde be no disconfort If other spepherde were all of the same sort But Codrus I clawe ofte where it dothe nat ytche To se ten beggers and halfe a dosen ritche Truely me thynketh this wrong particion And namely sithe all ought to be after one Whan I first beholde these feldes from a farre Me thought thē plesant boyde of stryfe or warre But with my poore flocke aprochyng nere and nere Alway my pleasure dyde lesse and lesse apere And truely Codrus sithe I came on this grounde Ofte vnder floures vyle snakes haue I founde Adders and todes and many vyle serpent Enfect olde shepe with venym violent And ofte be the yong infected of the olde That vnto these fewe now brought is all my folde ¶ Codrus ¶ In some place is nother venym nor serpent And as for my selfe I fele no greuous sent ¶ Mynalcas It were great marueyle wherso gret groūde is sene yf no small medowe were plesant swete and clene As for the Codrus I may beleue right wele That thou no sauour nor stynke of mud dust fele For if a shepherde hath styll remayned long In a foule prison or in a stynking gong His poores with yll eyre be stopped so echone That of the eyre he feleth small sent or none And yet the dwellers be badder than the place The riche and sturdy dothe threten and manace The poore and symple and suche as came but late And who most knoweth him most of all they hate And all the burthen is on the asses backe But the strong caball standeth at the racke And suche be assigned somtyme the flocke to kepe Whiche scante haue so moche of reason as a shepe And euery shepherde at other hath enuy Scant be a couple whiche loueth parfitely Ilwyll so reigneth that braulyng be thou sure Constrayned me nere to seke a newe pasture Saue onely after I hope of better rest For small occasyon a byrde nat chaungeth nest ¶ Codrus ¶ Wele ere thou graunted that in a small grounde Some plot of pleasure and quyet may be founde So where of herdes assembled is great sorte There some must be good than to the best resorte But leaue we all this tourne to our poynt agayne Of thy olde balades some wolde I here full fayne For often haue I had great pleasure and delyte To here recounted suche as thou dyde endyte ¶ Mynalcas ¶ ye other shepherdes which haue ynough at home Whan ye be mery and stuffed is your wombe Whiche haue great store of butter chese and woll your cowes vthers of mylke replete and full Payles of swete mylke as full as they be able Whan your fat disshes smoke hote vpon yor table Than laude ye songes and balades magnify If they be mery or written craftely ye clappe your handes and to the makyng harke And one say to other lo here a proper warke But whan ye haue said nought
fle the labour of the lande All ydle tryfles such taketh on theyr hande Styli be they busy and neuer come to ende To thynge profytable do fewe of them intende Some lyue by rapyne gyle fraude and polecy Pariury opprelsyon and some in vsury Some gladly borowe and neuer paye agayne Some kepe from seruaūtes y e stipēd of theyr payne Some rest men gyltles and caste them in pryson Some by stronge theues out of the dongyon Some fawn some flater mā trust not whā they smyle Than frame the fraudes men slyly to begyle Some in one houre more promes to the wyll Than all his dayes he thynketh to fulfyll By thousande meanes of fraude and craftynesse Ly they in wayte for honour and rychesse They fede the ryche and often let the pore Dye for pure colde and hungre at theyr dore We fede fat oxen they Marmosettes kepe We fede fat Kyddes Lambes and good shepe And they fede hawes apes also houndes And small is theyr Joye saue here w tin our boūdes We brynge them butter egges chese and woll Tancardes of mylde and creame fletynge full All maner flesshe and all theyr hole lyuynge Without our labour treuly they haue nothynge We are the feders of wethers and fat hogges And they of the'cyte fede byrdes and grete dogges Now Juge Amyntas whiche of these semeth the Of most auauntage and most nobylyte ¶ Amyntas Yf by your labour procedeth more rychesse And most auaūtage as semeth trouthe doubteles Than this Imeruayle that the they of the cyte Haue so grete pleynte and we necessyte The cause can not I call to my remembraunce Wherof procedeth theyr store and habundaunce ¶ Faustus The cause I tolde the what woldest thou haue more By fraude and flashode haue they so mykyll store Seest thou not playnly how they of the cyte Dayly dysceyueth our poore symplycyte With that cruelte agaynste vs they rage By fals oppressyon or fayre fayned langage They thynke it pleasoure that sorowe on them hap By glosed wordes to take vs in trappe The most of them all count it an almes dede Us herdes to fraude this is a gentyll mede For them we labour in here wynde colde and rayne And fraude bysceyte the paye vs for our payne With myndes and tongue they stody and they muse Bothe daye and nyght vs herdes to abuse Theyr wyt and body all hole do they ply For vs poore wretches to stody polecy And after theyr fraude gyle and decepcyon Than do they laughe vs vnto derysyon ¶ Amyntas How came thou to knowledge of this enormyte And of these maners of them of the cyte My selfe there wonned and there was couuersaunt Of some of these thynges yet am Jygnoraunt ¶ Faustus Thou coude not perceyue well theyr enormyte Parchaūce thy maners dyde with theyr lyfe agre There seldome is sene grete contradyccyon Where men accordeth in dysposycyon No faute with moryans is blacke dysformyte Because all the sorte lyke of theyr fauour be So couthe thou not se theyr vyces nor them blame Because thy owne lyfe was fyled with the same But how I knowe them now shall I tell to the Whyle I brought butter to sell to the Cyte And other vytayle I vsed mylke to cry Than hadde I knowledge with an apotecary Of hym I lerned moche fashode and practyse Not to the purpose the same to excercyse He couthe make playsters newe cōmyxcyons In valour scant worthe a couple of onyens Yet solde he the same as it were golde so dere Namely yf happened ony infectyfe yere I was aquaynted with many an hucster With a costardemonger and with an hostle◠This thefe was crafty poore people to be gyle None lyke I suppose within a dosen myle Amonge all other his fraudes and his crymes He solde one botell of hey a dosen tymes And in the otes couthe he well droppe a candell Well knewe he how his gestes for to handle And in the same In there dwelt a prety pryme She couthe well flater and glose with hym hym And necke a mesure her smyrkynge gan her sale She made ten shylynge of one barell of ale Whome she begyled in pottes she was fayne To wyn them w t flesshe and paynted loke agayne And as I remembre her name was wanton besse Who leest with her delt he thryued not the lesse What nede more processe no crafte of the cyte Is but is myngled with fraunde and subtylte Saue onely the crafte of an apotycary That is all fraude and gylefull polecy But all these wolde swere that they were innocent Or they totlhe cyte dyde fyrste of all frequent There lerned they thefce and fraude to exercyse And man of nature is moued soone to vyce Some be also whiche spende theyr patrymony Whiche was to them lette by theyr olde auncestry On queanes bawdes in ryot and dronkenesse Theyr name defylynge despysynge all goodnesse With cost and paynes suche busuly labour Sekynge for shame and dethe before theyr houre Saye where is custome of fornycacyon Incest auoutry and destoracyon Forsynge of women murdre and rapyne Dyscorde braulynge nnd lyuynge lyke to swyne Malyce enuy and all iniquyte Do these not rayne in myddes of the cyte All newe abusyon prouokynge men to synnes Hadde fyrst begynnynge amonge the cytezyns Where dwell grete prynces aud myghty gouernours Theyr lyfe dyspysynge for to haue vayne honours Capytaynes souldyours and all lyke company Whiche put for money theyr lyfe in ieopardy These dwell not vpon londe but haunteth the cyte Pore herdes fyght not but for necessyte For lyberte lyfe and iustyce to vpholde Towne dwellers fyght for vayne honour golde We fyght our frendes and housholde to defende They fyght for malyce to ryches to ascende Our cause and quarell is to meynteyne the ryght But all on selfe wyll without reason they fyght They seke by woundes for honour and rychesse And dryue the wekest to hardest busynes O blynde sowdyour why settest thou thy hert For a vayne stypende agayne a mortall darte By thousande peryllys thou takest thy passage For a small Lucre rennynge to grete dammage Theyr swete lyfe they gyue for a poore stypende And ofte lese they bothe and heuen at the ende Whyle some contendeth and fyghteth for his wage His lyfe he spendeth than fare well auauntage What is more folysshe or lyker to madnesse Than to spende the lyfe for glory and rychesse What thynge is glory laude praysynge or fame What honour report or what is noble name Forsothe nought but voyce of wytles comonte And vayne opynyon subiecte to to vanyte Proceste of yeres reuoluynge of season Bryngeth all these soone in oblyuyon Whan lyfe is faded all these ben out of syght Lyke as with the sonne departeth the daye lyght They all be fooles whiche medleth with the see And other wyse myght lyue in theyr owne countre He is but a foole whiche runneth to tempest And myght lyue on londe in suerte and in rest He is but a foole whiche hathe of good plenty And it dysdayneth to
hood All is consumed all spent and worne be So is all goodnesse and welthe of the cyte The temples pylled dothe bytterly complayne Poore people wayleth and cal for helpe in vayne Poore wydous sorowe and chyldren fatherles In vayne bewayleth whan wolues them oppresse Syn hath no scourge and vertu no rewarde Who loueth wysoome his fortune is but harde Counceyll and cunnynge now tombles in the dust But what is the cause lawe tourned is to lust Lust standeth in stede of lawe and of Justyce Wherby good lyuynge subdued is by vyce ¶ Amyntas I tell the Faustus this hastynes of the Passeth the bondes of ryght and honeste All men thou blamest by wrothe and hastynesse As all cytezyns were full of vycyousnesse What man remembre some lyue in innocence Some in the Cyte be partles of offence ¶ Faustus I am not angry I saye but veryte Here me Amyntas one clause with breuyte As many todes as bredeth in Irelonde As many Grypes as bredeth in Englonde As many Cockowes as synge in January And nyghtyngales as synge in February And as many whalys as swymmeth in the fen So many ben there in cytes of good men ¶ Amyntas A good man is geason not easy to be founde On londe or in cyte or ouer all the grounde Many thynges longe vnto a parfyte man Aske that of Codrus declare the trouthe he gan Badnes encreaseth and ouer fast dothe growe Goodnes and vertu in comynge vp ben slowe ¶ Faustus Thou art madde I trowe so many foes haue we As dwell cytezyns in all the hole cyte They clyp vs they poll vs they pyll vs to the skyn And what they may get y â— thynke they well to wyâ— To theft they constrayne vs I tell the by all Halows And after by and by they sende vs to the Galows Therfore it is reason yf ought of theyrs hap Or come to our clawes it pryuely to trap They vs oft dysceyue dysceyue we them agayne Deuyse we slyly gyle subtyll and trayne But this Amyntas to me is gretest grefe And doubt for it is yll stelynge from a thefe Yf it be secret we maye it well deny Yf it be knowen excuse it craftely Preue felony thoughe it be vsed longe Is not called theft but iniury and wronge All that they haue within these townes playne Is our harde labour sore trauayle grete payne ¶ Amyntas Now thou excedest the marke of equyte Thou passest reason Faustus I tell to the ¶ Faustus What than Amyntas haue pacyence a whyle Towne dwellers vyces dothe all the worle defyle The ayre is corrupt by theyr enormyte These somer stormes wheÌ„ce come they tell thou me Lyghtnynge grete wyndes flodes hayle thundre I well remembre oâ—ttyme the grounde here vnder Ryght sore hathe quaked and caused houses fall Uyce of the cyte is rote and cause of all The sonne in myddaye oftyme hathe lost his lyght In lykewyse the mone in season of the nyght Bothe hathe ben blacke or elles reed as blode This sygne Amyntas pretendeth vs no good Why growe the wedes and cokyll in the corne Why is haye and grasse oftymes all forlorne Why lose we our sede our labour und expence Where cometh moryen and greuous pestylence All these procedeth by madde enormyte And corrupte maners of them of the cyte And wors is lykely yet afterwarde to fall Yf they not refourme theyr lyuynge bestyall Whence came the furour of harnes and batayle Which causeth wydowes theyr spouies to bewayle Whiche bryngeth with it all kynde of mysery As theft and murdre grete deth and penury Forsoth in cytees this furour fyrste began To the confusyon of many a doughty man The cyte is well and grounde orygynall Bothe fyrst and last of dedely ylles all Bredde in the cyte was cruell Lycaon Bredde amonge herbes was good Dewcalyon Amonge shepeherdes norysshed was Rennus And also his brother the myghty Romulus The cause of the flode in Cyte fyrste began Wherby was wasted nere euery best and man Our lorde dsteroyed v. Cytes for outrage Rede where for synnes he wasted one vyllage I trowe whan the worlde with fyre shall wasted be The cause shall procede and come of some cyte What shall I touche the sauour and the stynke Whiche is in cytes of gutter and of synke There men be choked with vyle and deedly sent Here haue we odour of floures redolent I count me happy whiche won in the vyllage As vndefyled with Cytezyns outrage ¶ Amyntas Haue done now Faustus lave there a strawe and test Fyll we our bely with cruddes that is best Leue we the cyte and all Cyuyle outrage Now it is season to torne to the potage After our dyner is best as in my mynde The rest to declare y fought remayne behynde ¶ Finis ¶ Here endeth the. v. Eglog of Alexandre Barclay of the Cytezyn and vplondysshman Inprynted at London in flete strete at the sygne of sonne by Wynkyn de worde wynkyn de worde