Preach in heart with one accord That they may neuer laugh for feare they do offend the Lord Then starteth vp a brother straight vpon a wicker Chayre And talkes of sinne and how it raignes amongst vs euery where How euery state is discontent How many sinne how few repent What May-poles and what Whitson-ales What ringing and what old-wiues tales Are now beleeu'd to be the way To saue vs all another day My son these men will nere endure the touch They know too little and they speake too much Their lookes are smoth like Siluer purifide They will proue Copper when they shall be tri'd I neuer heard of these which seeme so pure Which for Christs sake wold Martirdom endure And yet no doubt as long as peace remaines Their conscience will endure any paines But if the God of warre abroad should range And catch these men that long to see a change You then should see them all within one day For very feare of death to turne Turke-way But come my sonne sit downe and let vs eate These homely cates in steed of better meate And leaue these men that enuy so the state To die like dogs that can do nought but prate I 'le tell you Father of a Tale that is in Skeltons rime A foolish Tale but yet a Tale to driue away the time Of a very pleasant lad my Tale I must beginne That came into a house by chaunce where Sectaries did Inne And being in their company not knowing what they were He was as merry as a Pie still skypping here and there Till at the last a ciuill Sire came mildly towards him And like a man of God rebuk'd this yong-man for his sinne This merry Lad mus'd at the man as one loath to offend Saying if he had done amisse he would be glad to mend Night drew on Supper came in they all with one consent Desir'd this yong-mans company and he was well content He sadly sate all Supper while and not a word he said And as they did so would he do They after supper prayed And Chapters read and sung a Psalme all to instruct the youth What great delight he ought to haue in reading of the truth VVhen that the Lord was serued thus they cald a reckning presently And would not let this yong man pay but thank'd him for his company This pleasant Lad muz'd at the men yet being farre from scorning Intreated them to breake their fast with him the next day morning They thank'd him all with one consent but especially Maister Powes Desired him to bestow no cost but onely Beefe and Browes You shall haue nothing ese quoth he welcome shall be your chiefe And so good-night vntill we meete all at a peece of biefe The morning came there they met the boy that knew his time Set them downe to breakefast straight and then began his rime You are welcome heartily vnto lusty Humphrey VVelcome here must be your chiefe To a friendly peece of Biefe Such as was vs'd in ancient time VVhen house-keeping was in prime VVhen the Biefe and Brewes flourisht VVhen the silly soules were nourisht Then 't was a wonder to the poore To see a Porter keepe the doore Then were silly harmelesse folkes Plaine chimneyes then were full of smoakes Euery table then was spred And furnisht out with Biefe and bread Euery man then tooke a pleasure In his house to spend his treasure Who was then the Gentries Guest The Widdow poore that 's oft opprest The Souldiers with their wounds and skarres Bleeding for their Countries warres Then in the Country dwelt true pitty Now Christmas is but for the Citty A Gentleman of small reuenew Had then the poore for his retinew Wast not then a merry time When thy neighbour came to mine Canst thou lend me twenty pound For to buy a peece of ground Without statute or a bond Their word as good as any hand Then men of ancient calling Loued no pride for feare of falling Country Russet was their wearing And Kendall greene for feare of tearing The Clothier scarce the Mercer knew Now Silke-wormes make the Sheepe to rue The Plough-man liu'd sweete was his paine The Taylor now sweepes vp his gaine If any now do take compassion 'T is to checke the oldest fashion Yet paying for new fashions gold In spight of all the new is old But what meane I to runne so farre My foolish words may breed a skarre Let vs talke of Robin Hoode And little Iohn in merry Shirewood Of Poet Skelton with his pen And many other merry men Of May-game Lords and Sommer Queenes With Milke-maides dancing o're the Greenes Of merry Tarlton in our time Whose conceite was very fine Whom Death hath wounded with his Dart That lou'd a May-pole with his heart His humour was to please all them That seeme no Gods but mortall men For saith he in these our daies The Cobler now his Last downe laies And if he can but reade God wot Hee talkes and prates he knowes not what Of May-poles and of merriments That haue no spot of ill pretence But I wonder now and then To see the wise and learned men VVith countenance grim and many a frowne Cries Maisters plucke the May-pole downe To heare this newes the Milke-maide cries To see the sight the Plough-man dies 'T is a iest to see when they beginne For to plucke downe such wodden sinne Foolish men and faith-lesse too That still professe and nothing do The Sectaries were in a rage and knew not what to say They spit and chafd and stampt amaine and would haue gone away This merry Lad began to laugh and to them thus replide You see it stands not with my youth from pleasure to be tide I loue to sit and laugh not to offend the wise I care not for their company that honest mirth despise Those that be Saints abroad whose substance shadowes bee Let them go seeke Precisian-sects they are no mates for mee And when you are at home thinke of this prouerbe told The Tree is still knowne by his fruite if it be nere so old The poore men went away all discontent in minde And had no pleasure to their meate but left it all behind Now Father be you iudge who plaid the better part They with their zeale or else the boy that spoke with all his heart In sadnesse my good sonne I neuer yet did heare A Tale to that effect so much to please mine eare My iudgement I will stay vntill our better leisure I 'le show thee heere a booke my sonne wherein thou maist take pleasure Heere shalt thou reade my sonne a volume of dispaire The death of many a conquering king their liues and what they were The wisedome of this world the frailty of our age Our present time now acting sinne like Players on a stage I writ it with this hand that once could guide a pen And set my Launce into my rest as well as other men But oh those daies are past and now I wish
haue about with you beare it off with the head and shoulders how you can But if you do vpon all the Cannes and quart-pots about London I will be sworne all Wine-pots from this generall rule excepted for them I haue for-sworne till Michelmas vnlesse the new wine of Peru that is made of no Grape but a strange fruite in the VVest-indies and is more comfortable to the braine and the stomacke then any restoratiue or cordiall whatsoeuer vpon them I say I will abiure and renounce all claime or interest I haue had in that wicked word of Poetry and bind my selfe and my heires neuer more to be publicans and sinners or sinners in publique in that vnfortunate Art of Printing It hath bene told mee that those that are slaine with the Indians poysoned arrowes die with their mouthes shut and how the Butchers in Germany kill their sheep after the selfe-same order by tying a cord about their mouthes and so strangling them that their flesh may be more swolne and puft vp so would I die by my good will if this my labour mis-carry and haue my mouth closed vp from euer speaking or writing hence-forward Had I had learning enough I would haue framed an inuectiue against learning because I know none saue the learned will finde fault with me but seeing I haue it not I must heere end my Epistle and desire such as descend to deepely into my shallownesse no otherwise to esteeme of my writings then of Drummes and Trumpets in warre which are not vsed so much to stir vp men to fury as to teach them to march in measure Yours as you conceite me HVMPHREY KING HOW dares the Author passe vnto the Presse Where Satyres Essayes Epigrams do swarme The Comicke and the stately Tragicke verse And Caltha metamorphos'd with a charme A strong imagination wrought this thing His name being King he thinkes himselfe a King In discommendation of the Author IT is no Tale the Hermite is beli'd The Author ouer-aw'd or much beguild Time past spoke plaine and did no vices hide Time present must be pleased like a child Christen thy booke anew then do'st thou well And call it Truth a Tale's an Infidell KIng neuer prou'd more King in any thing Then in this plaine-song freedome of a King Plaine vnaffected stile yet vices sting Why King I see y faith thou l't needs be King Conueniunt rebus nomina saepe suis TO grace the man whom all the Graces fauour Lies not within the compasse of my quill Suffice it his most plausible behauiour Drawes all the happy choise of wits and skill To loue admire affect and dignifie Himselfe and these his labours pleasing lines Mongst whom my zeale presumes to signifie Some loue to him in whom such vertue shines An Hermits Tale an Hermits Heart declareth Sincere the one so spotlesse pure the other That with the vertues euermore it shareth By no meanes suffering ill the good to smother Go then sweet Hermits Tale and tell the wisest Perfection liues not still in the precisest Vincor non vinco THat I haue lou'd and most respected thee True-honest Humphrey I do heere protest And that the world shall witnesse it with me Embrace this signe of loue amongst the rest Wilt thou haue more my word I will engage Nay further yet I l'e take a solemne oath By the Red-herring thy true Patronage And famous Nash so deere vnto vs both By all the Bowers that we haue reueld in Our merry times that gallop hence so fast By all the houres we haue together bin By all our vowes of friendship that haue past By these I sweare my loue and thy worke graced On her rich worth and honour'd Titles placed LAtely the Muses from their forked hill Descending downe into our humbler vale To taste the fruits of Industrie and Skill In makers of this time Beheld thy Tale. Which though it did appeare emptie of Art As that thy modestie hath still profest Yet this faire censure they did all impart Thy loue to Arts therein was well exprest But when they saw to whom it was design'd A Ladie of her graces so inspir'd With euery bountie both of forme and mind As of the Muses selues she is admir'd They vow'd thy worke should liue and with one voyce Approu'd thy Iudgement in so sweet a choyce Suus cuique mos. AN Halfe-peny-worth of Wit in a Peny-worth of Paper ALIAS ¶ The Hermites Tale. VVAlking by a Forrest side An ancient Hermite I espide White was his head old was his face Pale were his lookes obscure his place And in his hand I might behold A booke all torne and very old I willing both to see and know His place and why he liued so Went to salute him as vnknowne To be a partner of his moane He being of an humble spirit As one that heauen would inherite A friendly welcome to me gaue And brought me to his homely Caue VVhere he had liu'd full twenty yeares And for his sinnes shed many teares Thinking euery howre to die Knowing the worlds vnconstancie Then sate he downe and to me told I once was yong but now am old And welcome is mine age to mee That no more changes I may see For I haue seene from time to time The highest fall the lowest clime Contray to that we expect To make vs know the worlds defect How time and death doth still presage The ficklenesse of euery age Like to the Moone that hath no power Louing to change both day and howre Vnhappy men that liue therein VVhere nought is found but death and sin Then gentle youth if you would know Heauens delight the world forgoe For wordlings very seldome can Two Maisters serue both God and man For if a man your Maister bee You then must sinne as well as hee To smooth his taste and please his vaine How much so ere the sinne containe If he a Tyrant do professe Then must his seruant be no lesse Or if an Athiest hee bee knowne So must you be or else be gone For I haue heard a prouerbe old Be rul'd by him that hath the gold Such are the errours of our age VVhen soules for gold are laid to gage A substance that wise men besot A pleasure full of paine God wot VVhen I was yong as you are now I spent my youth I know not how Rating my pleasure at such a price More worth then Heauens Paradice These worldly pleasures are but toies Vnto the high celestiall ioyes Where God doth sit on Syon hill To giue the doome of good and ill Then if you knew how sweete it is To meditate on heauens blisse You sure would leaue all worldly strife And liue with me an Hermites life Answere FAther or friend what ere you bee A happy man you seeme to mee The happiest man this day on earth Blest in your age and at your birth Whose heauenly words my heart hath wonne To liue with you and be your sonne Leauing the world too full of woes VVhere
to haue For all my seruice done a white sheete and a graue My Caske of steele is to a night-cap turn'd My shining Armour to a gowne of gray My youthful heart which once with beauty burn'd Like dreames illusions vading passe away Euen as the night doth from the glorious day My Naples Courser is a banke of earth Whereon I sit to manage all my sinnes Twixt life and death which are borne mortall twinnes My bridle now must be my Beades The golden bosses bookes And all my Sonnets must be prayers VVhereon deuotion lookes My Launce turn'd to a Palmers staffe VVhich once was painted braue And all my followers be my sinnes To bring me to my graue The shield which now my Page Vnto my Prince must giue Is time mispent An aged man that can no longer liue Beleeue me sonne I would not liue For to be yong againe To be great Emperor of the world The world I so disdaine Iudge you if I say true Reade this and know my mind They that haue eyes may see the world Or else they are borne blind It is a world of care The greatest Prince that raignes Hath not halfe pleasure in his Crowne To equall all his paines And he that liues in Court And can but fauour win VVhat ere he was he may be sure That all will follow him The surly Vshers then VVill do him any grace That told him but a weeke before He did not know his place His fellowes of the Guard VVhen he comes to the dore VVill all stand vp and make a legge That would sit downe before But if this man be proud And full of high disdaine Caring for nothing else at all But for his priuate gaine Then Enuy mou'd in heart A Iury straight doth call Inditing that vsurping man Conspiring his downe-fall And straight he doth informe The Iury what he was That now vsurpes and hates the poore And doth his betters crosse The Poet hearing this Puls forth a booke of Tables And makes a subtill rime Much like to Esops fables Then being fore-man tels a Tale That was not much regarded How men of vertue and of worth Did wander vnrewarded So he that liues in Court And doth not seeke to haue The loue of euery priuate man And of the poorest slaue Let him be sure of this If Fortune chance to frowne Enuy in time will turne the wheele And throw him head-long downe Who would bee such a man When Time his fortune reades That he must leaue his Offices And take him to his beades And in a shirt of hayre Repent his time misled And giue his treasure to the poore Whom hee hath iniured This were the way to go In peace vnto his graue For none without they do repent Can any mercy haue But liues there such a man No sure there can be none We all are Lambes no Foxes now The deuil 's dead and gone No sure if he were dead The Poets then would leaue To write of those that follow him And all the world deceiue But fare-well to the world Vnlesse I come by stealth It neuer cares to grace such men As want both wit and wealth I cannot kisse my hand Nor lout below the knee Nor take a feather from your gowne You know such men there be In world one vndermines another to no end And worst they speed who most in hope do spend Enuide they are on whom but Fortune smiles Though those smiles turne to nothing other-whiles The mighty seeking to enlarge their might Into contempt oft tumble downe out-right The Lawyers Clyent crouching on his knees Preuaileth nought except he bring large fees The Cittizen the Scholler and the Boore Without a largesse are thrust out of doore Brauery the gallant nouice thinkes doth all When it consum'd his credite is but small Valour and Wit proud on their tip-toes stand And thinke chiefe dignities they may command When that a foole a Parasite a Pander Betwixt them steps and they are set to wander So from the head vnto the foote it fares Each one supplanteth other vnawares The wisest builders against after stormes Fishing for honour baite their hookes with wormes Wormes that do dig and delue for them all day Yet to all rauenous birds are left a pray In Common-wealth how many vainely dreame Of Indian Mines that fish against the streame How many that but hauing one good bite A nodde or least glaunce from their Mistres sight Cost vpon cost clap thicke and three-fold on And neuer cease till they be quite vndone How many that do fish before the Net VVho offices before they fall do get And count all fish into their Net doth chaunce VVhom nought so vile but serueth to aduance All these pursuing gaine not true content Fish for their bane their toile is fruitlesse spent This is the world my sonne Then now some comfort giue To me poore man my time is come I can no longer liue Mine age my blessed age VVherein I do reioyce Hath lent me time for to repent And sing with Angels voyce Hymnes Anthems Laude and Praise Vnto the King of Kings Which out of this vilde wretched world Poore soules to heauen brings You Poets all and some That write of Esops fables Conceiting plots to please the world Notes from your booke of Tables Me thinkes that A-iax should you call To make wast-paper of you all That spend your time to please the time With fictions tales and idle rime Leauing the marke that should be hit To praise Gods glory and your wit Oxford and Cambridge was erected For Vertue not for vice protected Ah sonne I faint mine age and I Are striuing now who first should die My will is made I haue no wealth But wishes prayers content and health To thee my sonne and all my friends That credite to this vaine world lends My swolne-sicke heart with death is tost Like to a foote-ball in a frost God blesse thee sonne now close mine eyes I hope my soule to heauen flies And thus I end my Hermites Tale Which is of mickle ruth It proues there is no hope in age Nor certainty in youth As for this homely Tale And hee that made the same Hath neither learning wealth nor wit And scarce can write his name FINIS