A POSTE VVITH a madde Packet of Letters LONDON Printed for Iohn Smethicke and are to be sold at his Shop in S. Dunstons Church-yard in Fleetstreet 1602. To the Reader GEntle if you be be you so gentle Reader you shal vnderstand that I know not wheÌ„ there came a Post I know not whence was going I know not whither and carryed I knowe not what But in his way I knowe not how it was his happe with lacke of heed to let fall a Packet of Idle Papers the superscription whereof beeing onely to him that findes it beeing my fortune to light on it seeing no greater stile in the direction fell to opening of the enclosure in which I founde diuers Letters written to whom or from whom I could not learne Now for the Contents of the Circumstances when you haue red them iudge of them and as you like them regard them And for my selfe if I heare you like well of them when I meet next with the Poste it may be I will cast about with him for more of them till then fearing to be too tedious in this Letter lest you like the worse of that which followeth I rest as I haue reason Your louing friend Nicho. Breton The Contents of this Booke A Letter of comfortable aduise to a friend and his answere A Letter of aduise to a yong Courâ—er and his answere A mournfull Letter to a brother and his answere A Letter of a Iealous husband to his wife and her cunning answere A Letter of kind Complements to a friend and his answere A Letter of loue to a Gentle woman and her answere A Letter of scorne to a coy Dame and her answere A Letter to a fowle Dowde and her answere A Letter for the preferring of a seruant and the answere A Letter of counsell to a friend and his answere A Letter of comfort to a sister in sorrow and her answere A Letter of counsell from a kind Father A kind answere of a louing sonne A Merchants Letter to his Factor and his answere A Letter of challenge and the answere A merry Letter or neweâ— of complaints The answere of the Laughe A Letter to a friend for newes and his answere A disswading from marriage and the answere A kind Letter of a Creditor for mony The debters answere A Letter of Newes and the answere A Poste with a mad Packet Of Letters A Letter of comfortable aduise to a Friend HOnesâ— Alexander I heare thou art of late tallen into an extreame melancholy by reason of the suddaine departure of Pannella out of this life for thy sake I am sorie shee hath left her passage on this earth though being too gooâ—â—or this worlde she be surely gone to a better now if thy mourning could recouer her from death I could willingly beare part of thy passion but when it doth her no good and thy selfe much hurt let not a wilâ—ull humour leade thee into a wofull Consumption Thou knowest she is sencelessâ— in the graue and wilt thou therefore be witlesse in the world Say thy loue is extreame and lâ—t me beleeue it wilt thou therefore depriue nature of reason God forbid it well thou knowest I lent thee and in my loue let me aduâ—se thee not to goe from thy selfe with an imagination of what was to looseth it which is because she is in heauen wilt thou be in hell or if shâ— be hâ—lfe an Angell wilt thou be more then hâ—lfe a diuel â—â— spend thy spirit in a better humour let not the remâ—mbrance of her perfection driue thee into unperfections nor make loue hatefull to othâ—r by seeing the vnhappinesse in thy selfe Oâ— let not sancte shew folly in thee howsoeuer vertue deserued honour in her Leaue thy solitary humor and come and liue with me we will dâ—â—nse some good meaneâ— for the remoue of this melancholy In the meantime make not too much of it least it proue to a madnesse Loue thy selfe and beleeâ—â— thy friend and what is in me to too thee good commaund as thinâ— owne glad I would be to see thee as he who defy entierly lous thee and so desirous to heare from thee to the Almightie I leauâ— thee Farewell Thine as his owns D. F. His Answere KInde Francke I haue receiued thy friendly Letter and note thy carefull loue but pardon me if I do not answere thee to thy liking Alas how can he truly iudge of life that neuer kindly was in loue or know how soundly to help a sorrow that neuer inwardly felt it reading makes a scholler by rule and obseruation I know doth much in the perfecting of Art but experience is that which toucheth knowledge to the quicke My mistresse beautie was no Moone shine whose vertue gaue light to the harts eye nor her wisdom an ordinary wit which put reason to his perfect vnderstanding and for her Graces are they not written among the vertuous Thou saiâ—st well she was too heaueÌ„ly a creature to make her habitatioÌ„ on this earth is it not then a kind of hell to be without her in the world Imaginations are no dreames where substances are the obiects of the sences while the eye of memorie is neuer weary of seeing Oh honest Francke thinke thou hast not liued that hast not loued nor canst liue in this world to haue such a loue to die in It is a dull spirit that is fed with obliuion and a dead sence that hath no feeling of loue thinke therefore what was is with me and my selfe as nothing without the enioying of that something which was to me as all in all Is not the presence of an Angell able to rauish the sight of a man And is not the light of Beautie the life of loue Leaue then to burthen me with imperfections in my sorrow for her want whose presence was my paradise and whose absence my worldâ— hell thou doest misconstrue my good in languishing for her lacke and knowest not my hurt in thinking of any other comfort â—o Francke let it suffice though I loue thee I cannot forget her and though I liue with thee yet will I die for her haue patience then with my passion till time better temper my affection in which most diuoted to thee of any man liuing til I let thee which shall be as shortly as I well can I rest Thine as thou knowest D. E. A Letter of aduise to a yong Courtier My good Cousen I heare you are of late growne a great Courtier I wish you much grace and the continuing of your best comfort but for that your yeares haue not had time to see much and your kindnesse may hap to be abused let me intreat you a little now and then to looke to that which I tell you Keep your purse warily and your credit charily your reputation valiantly and your honor carefully for your friends as you finde them vse them for your enemies feare them not but looke to them for your loue let it be secret in the bestowing and discreet
thy kinde perswastons hoping thou will take no exceptions at my constructions intreating thee to belâ—ue of me no more then thou needest and to loue me as thou doest in the faith of that affection that holds thâ—â— beare to my loue I rest during life Thine obliged and diuoted W.B. A Letter of comfort to a sister in sorrow DEare sister I heard lately of your husbands departure for the Indies when with no little sorrow I considered your heauie case in which finding his wants to be grieuous and your friends colde in comfort I could not chuse without unkindnesse but remember these fewe lines of my loue unto you I knowe your state is weake how faire so euer you make your weather but the more is your patience worthy honour that can so nobly conceale your discontentments for my selfe I would I were able to doo you good but what I haue or can procure shall not faile to doo you pleasure but if your minde be too great to stoupe to be beholding what I am able to doo take a dutie in my brothers loue good sister therefore be of good cheare and put your care upon me I will soe you often and loue you euer for a creature of your worthinesse is seldome found in your sere that for her husbands loue will aduenture the state of her liuing your children are not many but such as are shall be mine and you to me as myselfe take therefore as litle thought and as much comfort as you can no doubt but God that trieth his seruants will blesse them hope then of my brothers happie returne and fill he come commaund me shortly God willing you shall see mee in the meane time let me entreat you kindly to accept this little token of my greater loue which is but an assurance of a beginning of my affections neuer ending in which predicament of true friendship I rest euer assured Your very louing sister E.W. Her answere SWéete sister I haue receiued your kinde Letter and louing token for both which I am your thankefull debtor but toâ—ching which husband though his wants were grieuoâ—s yet to want him is my greatest sorrewe for in the stay of his loue was the state of my liuing I am sorie that you know my weakenesse and with it but in strength to â—unswere your kindnesse but good sister though I am willing to conceale my crosses to be beholding to so honourable a spirit I count iâ— not the least of my happinesse Therefore though I haue diuâ—ted my selfe to solitarinesse in his absence your company shall bee to me as light in darknesse and noâ—ing the nature of your kindnesse will euer be beholding to your loue come then to me when you will and commaund me what you will for I will be as goe and you will my children are my worlds ioyes and my hearts Iewels in whose faces I will behold their father in whose loue I will spend my life so in a merrie goe sorrie grieuing for his abâ—ence and wishing your presence praying for his happie returne your health and mine owne patience that in too much passion of affection I fall not upon indiscretion with most heartie thankfull loue I commend my life to your commaundement Yours affectionately bound E.G. A Letter of loue to a faire Mistresse Farre Mistresse to trouble you with a long circumstance â— might perhaps feare you with the losse of time and to make an end ere I begin might argue little care in my conceit but to auoyd both suspitions let me a little entreat with your patience to peruse in a fewe words the summe of a long tale in which the truth of loue to the latest houre of death protesteth the ioy of â—iâ— life but in the fruite of your fauour of which the thought of his unworthinesse toth too much shewe his unhappinesse Time makes me too briefe but in your wisedome is my hope of understanding that in my tryall you may trust me and by desert esteem me in which if I deceiue your expectation let me die in the misery of your disdaine Thus not to flatter you with a faire â—â—le in the state of your worthie commendation beseeching to be commaunded by the kinde care of your discretion in the handes of avowed seriuce I humbly rest Yours alwaies assured R.O. The Answere SIr as I would be loth so be thought proud I would as vâ—willingly be found idle either to beleeue too well of my selfe or not to haue a respect of other Truthe is sildome marked with smoothe words and loue is not bredde but upon great contentment your lyking may be greater then my desert and so alter vpon a better consideration but mistake not your happinesse in my fauours unworthinesse where the best of my commaundement may be the least of your contentment Your consideration of time may excuse my shortnesse of writing where in a word you may understand that in deed I intend that Truthe in honourable in loue and vertue the fairest ioy in affection in which it I not misconstrue your conceâ—â— I will answere the care of your kindnesse in which according to the due of desert you shall finde the effects of your desire And so for this time I rest Your poore friend A.T. A Letter of counsaile from a kinde Father MY deare sonne you must not from your father looke for a flattering loue noâ— take it unkindly that I suspect your â—ll courses for I haue passed the dangereus tune y â— you now are in and haue hardly goâ—e through the briers and therfore in a iealous feare from an inward care I cannot â—hâ—se but giue you wâ—rning of what may preâ—â—dice your good Beautie is a bewitching obied and â—antoâ—nes is the ruine of wit prodigality quickly makes a poore man and he is only rich that liues contented But my good sonne aboue all things serue God and keep a cleane conscience passe not the limits of allegeance nor build Castles in the aire take hâ—â—d of extremities for they are out of the course of discretion and the fruite of Ignorance yeelds but the sorrow of repentance young men may be wittie but â—â—ldome wise and sometime though â—rt be a great perfecter of Experience yet obseruation is better then conceited â—unning â—rpence is necessary upon occasion and hope is not amissâ— upon desert but Reason sometime is more regarded then rewarded where â—ill is too powerfull to be resisted I heare that you are much giuen to Alchâ—mistry it is a studie of great charge to many and profiteth â—ewe yet I forbid you no good labour so that you loose not by the bargaine â—â—e therefore a care in the imployment of your time and wherein my helps may further your good seeke no other friend for your comfort For though I would not wish you to disdaâ—ne any kindnesse yet would I haue you as litle as you may to be beholding to any man for the prodigall are commonly talkatiue and the couctous negatiue and what a griefe it is to want
on them in the mean time more at quiet in my lodging with a friend then perhaps I may be at home with a wife not forswearing marriage nor peasting to purgatory in stead of a mistaken paradise wishing thy prayers for my better happinesse then loues idlenesse and if I doo marry to be kindly matched I rest Thine aâ— mine owne D. L. A Letter of vnkindnesse vpon a deniall of a Courtesie IF my deserts had not excéeded my desire I would haue hateâ— the nature of my humor which loues nothing lesse then to be too much beholding my request was not much and the grant but easie howsoeuer for ill fashion the excuse â—ay be cunningly framed but though I conceiue vnkindnesse in this course I can rather grieue then be angry for I wil mistrust my wit til I sée too much of my sorrow and loue my friend though I be plaine with his patience be content therefore rather to let me tell you of my discontent then to couer a dissimulation and to wish your better regard of my affection then to giue me iust cause to touch the care of your discretion which in denying a triflle may loose a greater benefit but not to goe too farre in impatience let me thus grow to an ende Friendship once grounded is not easily remoued and therefore being assured of my loue beare with my dislike and wherein I may better pleasure you doubt not the ill requiâ—all of vnkindnes for I can chide and not be angry and better loue you then tell you so And so intreating your reasonable answere for my satisfaction I rest all displeasure set apart Your louing friend N. S. His answere YOur humorous kind of writing puts me to studie for an Answere for your anger without cause may moue caulâ— of anger you know you might commaund what I am and will you haue morâ— Conceâ—t may be deceiued and so kindâ—â—sse abused and suspition of impatience hath the least part of disâ—râ—â—on Excuses are idle among frâ—â—nds and therefore words shall be deferred till our meeting when sâ—â—ing your owne fâ—ulâ— you will not thinke amisse of your friend grieue not then without cause nor be carried away with conceit and as you know my nature commaund my loue which is farre from the thought to make a friend beholding be not discontent with a denâ—all till you haue better reason of displeasure but measure me with your â—â—lfe and you shall finde smal cause of difference if there be any let kindnesse dispute it reason confesse â—t anâ— patience bâ—â—re it so shall friends be themselues and you and I shall not fall out So hoping that you wil satâ—â—fie your selfe with this answerâ— tiâ— we mâ—â—t to talke further of the matter I conclude with your kindnes and rest euer Yours as you knâ—w T.W. A Letter to an vnthankfull person I Haue heard that a Prince sometime ordeining a punishment for all offences leâ—t Ingratitude to the gods to plague as pâ—â—â— manâ— power to punish â—â—ough the Tale may well be true conâ—â—dering the vilenesse of such a nature as I thinke the â—â—ke liueth not in the shape of man Couldest thou not only forget but abuse my kindnesse and so make a monster of a wicked shadow I could not haue beleeued it had I not too weâ—l proueâ— it but I wish you would leaue the humor least it make a loâ—thsome nature and though I wil not reuenge a wrong vpon a 〈…〉 to much basenesse yet wil I learne to know the condition of so much vilenesse and as well warne my friends from an enemy as further abuse mine own wit with so mistaking of a friend In briefe therefore let me tell you as I know you I regard you and as I found you I leaue you as one fit if there lacked a Card to put in the stock for a wicked help And so sorie to haue lost so much time to write to you I wish all the world that knowes you to hate you Your enemy from the heart D. M. His answere HOw straungely men will write that impatience doth put out of order a good turne is lost when it is cast in the receiuers teethe and abuse misconceiued can hardly be well excused consider better of what is done then wrong the meaning of a good minde and you shall finde without excuse no true cause of displeasure If the information of malice haue moued choller without iudgement poore men must endure the misery of euill fortune against my selfe I wil confesse nothing but referre time to decide all doubts when Truth shall put the differences betwixt a shadow and a better substance So leauing ill humors to like mindes and good thoughts to better natures hoping to finde you your selfe which wil be farre inough from that you write In spight of the diuel I commit you to God and so rest Your friend whether you will or noâ— D. R. A Letter to laugh at after the old fashion of 〈◊〉 to a Maide AFter my hartic commendations trusting in God that you are in good health as I was aâ— the writing â—â—râ—oâ— with my Father and my Mother my broâ—hers and sisters and all my good friends thankes be to God The cause of my writing to you at this time is that Eâ—len I do hear since my â—â—â—â—ing from Wakefield when you know what taâ—ke â—re bad together at the signâ— of the bleâ— Cucâ—oe and how you did giâ—e me your hand and swear that you would not forsake me for all the woâ—â—de and how you made me buy a Kiâ—ng and a â—art that cost me rightâ—â—â—e peneâ— which I left with you and you gaue me a Napkin to wearâ—â—n my â—â—t I thanke you which I will weare to my dying dayâ—â—nd I 〈◊〉 if it be true as I heare that you haue altâ—red your minde and are made sore to my neighbour Hobâ—ins younger sonne truly Ellen you do not welâ— in so doing and God wil pâ—aâ—â—e you for it and I hope I shall liue and if I neuer haue you for there are moâ—e maides theâ— Maulkin and I count my selfe worth the whisâ—ing And therefore praying you to write me your answer by thâ—s bearer my friend touching the truth of all how the matter â—tâ—ndâ— with you I comâ—â—â— you to God From Caâ—loâ— grâ—â—ne Your true Loâ—er R. P. Her Answere Tâ—uly Roger I did not looke for such a Letter from your hands I would you should know I scorne it Haue I gotten my Father and Mothers ill will for you to be so vsed at your hands I pâ—rceiue â— you be so Iealous alreadie you would be somewhat an other day I am glad I finde you that you can beleeue any thing of me but t is no matter I care not send me my Napkin and you shall hâ—ue your King and your Hart for I can haue enough and I neuer see you more for there are more Batchelers then Roger and my peny is as good siluer as yours and therefore séeing you are so lustie euen put vp your pipes for I will haue no more to do with you And so â—nsaying all that euer hath bene said betwixt us make your choyse where you list I know where to be loued and so I end From Wakefield M. R. FINIS
â—o idle fansies let me intreat you not to mistake your figures and to honour a better substance then my vnworthie selfe And yet so farre to assure your desert of my contentment that wherein I may conueniently counterâ—aile the care of your kindnesse excuse my indiscretion if I faile of my desire in which wishing you more happinesse then to be commaunded by my vnworthinesse I rest as I may Your louing poore friend M. W. A Letter of scorne to a coy Dame MIstresse Fubbes if you were but a little faire I see you would be mightily proude and had you but the wit of a Goose you would surely out hisse the Gander but being with as bad qualities as can be wished as rich as a new shorne sheepe I hope fortune is not so mad as to blesse you further then the begger It is not your holy-day face put on after the ilfauoured fashion can make your halfe Nose but ougly in a true sight and but that you are exceedingly beholding to the Taylor you might be set vp for the Signe of the Sea Crabbe Now for your parentage to helpe out the hope of all the rest when the Tinkers sonne and the Coblers daughter met vnder a hedge at the milking of a Bull within forties wéeks after what fel out you know Now not too plainly to laie open the â—owle members of a filthie carkassâ— but as patiently as I can to kéepe Decorum in your description lâ—t me tell you that all this and much more being true in your disgraces I cannot chuse but maâ—â—aile that you mourne not to death in imagination to thinke that a monster in naâ—ure can haue any grace in reason but let it be as it is I haue â—ut lost a little breath in talking to a deaffe eare for I meane â—o take no more trauell to the subiect of so ill an obiect and therefore meaning to make my farewell and beginning with you both at one instant leauing you to loathe your self as one whom no creature can well be in loue withall sorie that I euer sawe you and neuer more entending to trouble you In recompence of your course entertainment I rest in all vnkindnesse this present and alwaies Yours as much as may be T. E. Her Answere MAister Swash it is not your hustie rustie can make me afraid of your bigge lookes for I sawe the plaâ—e of Auncient Pistoll where a craking coward was well cudgeled for his knauery your railing is so neare the Rascall that I am almost ashamed to bestow so good a name as the Rogue vppon you but for modesties sake I will a little forbeare you and only tell you that a hanging lookâ— and a hollow hart a cunning wit and a corrupted conscience make you so â—â—t a mate for the diuel that there is no Christian wil desire your company now for your state it is much vpon fortune which brings many of your fellows to a deadly fall when the paine of their heads is only healed with a halter and for your linage when the Bearewards Ape and the hangmans Monky met together on a hay mowe what a whelp camâ— of such of such a litter let the world iudge I say nothing now for your stumpe feete and your lame hand suting kindly with your wry necke who would not make of their eyes that could endure the sight of such a picture now your wealth being but in a fewe words which you haue almost all spent in idle humors hoping that the Tortus wil not quarel with the Crabbe and that when you haue slept vpon your Alâ— you will get a medicine for your madnesse till the Woodcocke do tell you how the Dawcocke hath caught you leaning further to thinke on you more then vtterly to â—oathe you glad that your entertainment was so much to your discontentment In full measure with your malice I rest Yours as you see A. W. A Letter to a fowle Dowdâ—e MIstresse I heare that you thinke your selfe faire but you are much deceiued for the Curriers Dyle is but a coursâ— kinde of painting and for wit howe farre you are from vnderstanding the wise can tell you now for qualities where you learned them I know not but if you could leaue them â—werâ— well I wonder not a little what madnesse hath possessed your braines that you can make so much of your selfe are your eyes your owne or are they so sealed they cannot sée get you to your praiers and leaue making of loue for age and an euil fauâ—ur haâ— néed to be helped with a good pursâ— I heare you study Musique indeed when an Owle sings the Nightingale will hold her peace but for shame learne not to dance for a barrell can but tumble but if you would vse a medicine for your téethe you might be the better to speake with in a morning what ailes you to buy a â—anne except it be to hide your face and til your handeâ— be whole you sâ—ould weare but dogs leather for your gloues In truth you abuse your selfe that you keep not your chamber for none sees you but laughes at you or at least loatheth to looke vpon you be therefore content to do as I wish you speake with none but by Atturney leaue the Painter to better Pictures and rather grieue at nature for framing of you then thinke of any thing that may helpe you your goods bestow on me for my counsell and make sute to Death for your comfort And thus hoping that being weary of your selfe you will hasten to your graue I end Yours as you see H. I. Her Answere SIr you may thinke your selfe wise but you do not shewe it for railing words are the worst testimonies of a good wit for good qualities I thinke you know them not nor can goe from the euil but for madnesse I thinke it sorteth best with your humor For the helpe whereof it were good that you were let blood in the braine but for ill sight who is so blind as bold baâ—â—rd that wil not sée his owne folly my prayers I will not forget to God to blesse me from such foule spirits on the earth and for loue more then Charitie I hold you the furthest off in my thought now knowing your pouertie I wonder you will speake of a purse and for an ilfauoured face goe to Parish garden to your good brother indeed your Croidon sanguine is a most pure complexion but for your Tabacco it is a good purge for your rewine for my Fanne it keepes me sometime from the fight of such a vizard as your good face and for my hands I keepe my nailes on my fingers though you cannot keepe your hayre on your head now for laughing at fooles you are prâ—uided for a Corcombe and for loathing an ill countenance let the hangman draw your picture be therefore contented to be thus answered speake wisely or hold your peace and be not busie with your betters least you know the nature of had I wist so hoping that you wil be
so wearie of the world that you will hang your selfe for a medicine to heale your wits of a melancholy I will bequeath you a halter vpon free cost at your pleasure and so I rest Your friend for such a matter E. P. A Letter for the preferring of a seruant SIr knowing your necessary vse of a good seruant and remembring your late speech w t me touching such a matter I thought good to commend vnto you in that behalf the bearer hereof W. T. a man whose honest secrecie and carefull diligence vpon a reasonable trial wil soone make proofe of his â—ufficiencie his parentage is not base nor his disposition vile but in all parts requisite in one of his place such a one as I am perswaded will fit your turne if therefore at my request you will entertaine him I doubt not but you wil thank me for him for I was glad to get him for you and hope to heare he will much content you and thus loth to trouble you with longer circumstances leauing his seruice to your good regard and my loue to your like commandement in affectionate good will I rest Yours euer assured N. B. The Answere SIr I haue receiued both your Letter and the bearer both which I wil make much of for your sake for in the one I will often see you and in the other remember you your commendatioÌ„ of him argueth your knowledge a sufficient warrant for his worth which I wil as kindly as thankfully think on his countenance I like wel and his speech better and for the performance of my expectation am the better perswaded of his discretion when I see you you shall know how I like him in the meane time hee shall find that I wil loue him for all things necessary for his present vse I find him sufficiently furnished but if I find his want it shall be soone supplied So thanking you for sending him and wishing you had come with him remaining your kind debter â—il a good occasion of requital with my hartie commendations I commit you to the Almightie Your verie louing friend R. T. A Letter of counsell to a friend MY best approued and worthiest beloued Philo I heare by some of late come from Venice that seeme to be somewhat inward in thy acquaintance that thou art of late faâ—nt into an amorous humor especially with a subiect of too much vnworthines a newes that knowing thy spirit I could hardly beleeue but vpon solemne affirmation I was sorie to beare for beautie without wealth is but a beggerly charuâ—e honor without vertue is but a little for a Title hath she a glib tongues it is pittie she hath no better wit is she wittiâ— it is a sorrow it is nâ— better bestâ—wed for the craft of one woman is the confusion of many a man doth she say she loues thee beléeue her not nay doth she loue â—hee regard it not for it is a Iewell of so little worth as wil giue but 〈◊〉 in the buying I feared the plague had taken hold of thy lodâ—inâ— but thou art peppered with a world of infection thy studie 〈…〉 with â—olenessâ— thy braine with dizinesse and thy spirit with madnes Oâ— leaue these follies think loue but a dreame and beautie a shadow and folly a witch and repentance a misery wake out of thy sleepe and call thy wittes together be not sotted with an humour nor slaue to thy selfe will leaue courting of a Curtizan and keepe thy breath for a better blast saue thy purse for a better purpose and spend thy time in more profit let not the wise laugh at thee and the honest lament thee for my selfe how I grieue for thee I would I could tell thee but let thus much suffice thee beleeue nothing that shee saieth care for nothing that she doth nor giue her any thing that she wants see her but to purge melancholy talke with her but to sharpen wit giue her but to be ridde of her company and vse her but according to her conditioÌ„ so shalt thou haue a hand ouer those humors that would haue a head ouer thy heart and be maister of thy sences by the vertue of thy spirit otherwise Will hauing gotten the bit in his téethe will runne away with the bridle and Reason being cast off may neuer sit well againe in the saddle but why do I vse these perswasions for the remoue of thy passions If thou be soundly in thou wilt hardly get out but if thou be but ouer shoes thou maist be saued from drowning well whatsoeuer I heare I hope the best but to aâ—â—â—d the worst I haue presumed out of my loue to send thee this fruit oâ— my affection In which if my care may doo thee comfort I â—hâ—lâ— thinke it a great part of my happinesse howsoeuer it 〈◊〉 I coâ—â—it the consideration to thy kindnesse And so till I â—eare from thee which I daily long for I rest Thine as his owne N. R. His answere Gentle Millo I haue receiued thy most kinde and carefuâ—â— Letter a messenger of the most honest loue who hath tolde me no lesse then I wholy beleeue that loue in idlenesse is the very entrance to madnesse but yet though I will thinke on thy counsell giue me leaue a little to goe on along with conceit whereof let me tell thee my opinion Beautie without wealth is little worth but being a riches in itselfe how can it be poorely valued and honour beeing but the state of vertue how can you plucke a little out of her â—tytle the tongue is the instrument of wit and wit the approuer of discretion where it Reason bâ— grauelled nature may bée admyred now for words they hauâ— their substance and loue is not to bee abused for it is a Iewell well knowne that is worthy his price Intrations are cuerie where and Iealousie a most cruel plague but rid thy selfe of that disease and feare not my health in the other conceit is a kinde of dizinesse which worse formented then with idlenesse is troubled with too strong a madnesse but he that is unwise had need to be reformed and he that laughes at an imperfection may fall himselfe vpon the foole now for a mad dreame or an imagined witch a conceited sleepe or an intreated waking I must confesse they are prâ—tie humours and will thinke of their errors now for lotting and slauerie and for courting in â—nauerie be perswaded that time will employ my purse to better purpose then grieuâ— not for mee but onely loue mee and let that suffice mee and for thine aduice in seeing talking and giuing feare not the hadâ—wist of my folly for he that is master of himselfe shall not need to his mistresse and therefore hee that cannot ride let him leaue the saddle for Reason hath a power ouer 〈◊〉 where 〈◊〉 is but a seruant to Nature in the certainty of which course intending so to lay my hand on my heart that I will feare no hoâ—nes on my head with many thankes for
had sent more of them for they are much in request and well solâ—e I haue by good happe met with a hundreâ— Tunne of Gascoigne Wines upon a good market as you may knowe by my note Prunes are good and good cheape and therefore I haue sent you the greater store of them on the â—aâ—tes you shall finde my marke with two letters of your name I haue sent you likewise a Tunne of Cuchiniles which I bought by a great chaâ—nce the price you shall findâ— in my note with the rest By the next Poste you shall heare what I neede in the meane time hauing no intelligence of worth â—oth to trouble you with â—â—â—tleâ— glad to performâ— that 〈◊〉 that your kindnesse hath bounde me too wishing to liue no longer then to discharge the office of an honest care praying for your long health and euerlasting happinesse I humbly take my leane Your faithfull seruant C.B. A Letter of chalenge My wrongs are so many as may no longer be digeâ—ted and your excuses so idle as I will beneforth despise them for your words are but winde and therefore I am wearie of them and therefore if you bee not of so cold a complexion that you bare not maintaine your reputation méete me to morrow early in the morning in some â—elds a mile out of Towne and bring with you such Armes as you doo ordinarily carrie assigne your place aâ—d houre and faâ—e not your appointment that God the Iudge of 〈◊〉 may determine of our wrongs and the point of the sword may put a period to our discourses Thus hauing blowne ouer an idle paper with a fewe last words of my intent answerâ— me as I expect or â—eare of me as it will fall out â—n haste Your enemie to the death T.P. The answere What you haue written to me I returne upon your selfe as loth to loose time in answere of such idlenesse if you burst goe alone I would goe with you but let it suffice you that I know â—â—u and therefore meane not to trust you but bring a friend with you and I am readie for you come to my lodging as early as you wil and though I would be loth to breake a sleepe for you yet I will take a little paine to answere you and for the field wee will cast loâ—â—es for the place where God and a good conscience will quickâ—y determine tâ—e quarell but I feare the point of the sword will make a comma to your â—unning which if it doo you shall finde whâ—t will follow And so leauing further wâ—rds wishing you to be as good as your word I end Yours as you mine H.W. A merriâ— Letter or Newes of complaints HOnest George mine olde schoolefellow and kinde friend glad to heare of thy home quiet how euer I fare wâ—â—â—â—y farre trauell whereas thou writest vnto me for such Newes as this place â—eelds let me tell thee that there are so many and so fewe of them true that I dare almost write none onely this vpon my knowledge I dare deliuer thâ—â— that of late in this Cittie there are a number of complaints euery houre in the day but all to little purpose The Souldier complaines either of peace or peâ—â—rie the Lawier either of lacke of Clients or cold fâ—es the Merchant of small trafficke or ill fortune the Trades man of lacke of Chapmen the labourers of lacke of worke the poorâ— men of lacke of charitie and the rich men of lacke of money the thâ—efe of lacke of booties and the hangman that his trees are bare in briefâ— if I should tel thâ—e of all the complaints that I heare of as well among the Feminine as Masculiâ—e gender how soâ—e old women crye out of young vnthâ—ifts and some young wenches complaine â—f olde misers How some complaine of their customers and some other of their neighbours it were such a world of idle stoâ—â—e as would but trouble thee in the reading but since their complaints are all to little purpose for that Sâ—uldiers are but for eâ—tremities though honourable in their erployâ—â— and Lawiers are some trâ—ublesome except vpon agreement of controueâ—sâ—es though Iudges are worthy honour in execution of iuâ—â—ice and Merchants may beare with fortâ—ne when their Coffers are full of coyne though in respect of their trafficke they are the maintenance of the Common-wealth and Trades men may sell cheape when their best wares are all vttered though it is necessarie that they bee set on worke for the maintenance of the state and labourers may rest when their Haruest is in though it be needfull to set them to worke for the auoyding of idlenesse beggers mâ—y hold their peacâ— when they haue filled the patches of their profession though it is not amisse to relieue them for the exercise of charitie now the rich men may shrugge their shoulders when they haue no vse for their bagges though sometimâ— it be requâ—â—â—t rather to be sparing then prodigall and for thâ— Thâ—efe let him â—â—gh till the hangman doo helpâ— him and for thâ— hangman let him mourne for hee iâ— sure the diuell lieâ— in waitâ— for him and therefore let the oldâ— meâ—ill munch and the young titte mourne I cannot helpe them but as I hâ—are of their complaints I haue written thee the contents which being scarcâ— worth the reading I lâ—aue to thy worst vsing And so sorrie that I haue no matter of worth wherewith better to fit thinâ— humor in as much kindnesse as I can I commend my loue to thy comâ—â—â—ndement and so I 〈◊〉 Thine euer 〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉 W. P. The answere of the lâ—ugh MY good wagge I see trauell hath not so altred thine humor but thou wilâ— euer be thy selfe with thy â—â—ienâ—s for thy kind Letter I thanke thee and as kindly as I can will requiâ—e thee as you are there full of sorrow we are here full of mirth for in euery place there is nothing so coÌ„mon as laughing one laughs at an other the wise man laughes at the â—â—â—le to see the nature of his imperfâ—ctions and the foole laughes at the wise man becausâ— nature lets him know none of his sorrowes the rich man laughes at the poore to see the maner of his life and the poore man laugheâ— at the rich to sâ—e the miserie of his care the faire laughes at the sowle to see how they are despised and the fowle laugh at the faire to see how they are troubled the honest laugh at the knauâ— to see how he shifts with the world and the knaue laughes at the honest to see how his simplicitie is abused for particulars how any one laughes at the other eyther the old at the youthfull or they at the aged I dare say nothing but wâ—rt thou hare and had I not the more cause of sorrow we would laugh a little together to looâ—â— at the laugher of this world but they say he may laugh y â— wimâ—es at least till he loose againe but the natures of their laughing are diuers and very strange for some