What heare ye of Muttrel There wyth I dare not mel Yet what heare ye tell Of our graund counsel I could say some what But speake ye no more of that For drede of the red hat Take peper in the nose For than thyne head of gose Of by the hard arse But there is some trauars Betwene some and some That makes our sire to glum It is some what wrong That his berde is so long He morneth in blacke clothing I pray god saue the kyng Where euer he go or ride I pray God be his guide Thus will I conclude my stile And fall to rest a whyle And so to rest a while c. ONce yet agayn Of you I wold fraine Why come ye not to courte To which court To the kinges court Or to Hampton court Nay to the kinges court The kynges court Should haue the exellence But hampton court Hath the preeminence And yorkes place With my Lordes grace To whose magnificence Is all the confluence Sutes and supplications Embassades of all nacions Straw for law canon Or for the law common Or for lawe ciuill It shall be as he wyll Stop at law tancrete An obstract or a concrete Be it soure be it sweete His wisdome is so discrete That in a fume or an hete Warden of the flete Set him fast by the fete And of his royal poure Whan him lyst to loure Than haue him to the toure Saunz aulter remedy Haue him forth by and by To the marshalsy Or to the kinges benche He diggeth so in the trench Of the court royall That he ruleth them all So he dothe vndermynde And such sleightes dothe fynde That the kinges mynde By him is subuerted And so streatly coarted In credensing his tales That all is but nutshales That any other sayth He hath in him such faith Now yet al this might be Suffred and taken in gree If that that he wrought To any good end wer brought But all he bryngeth to nought But God that me deare bought He beareth the king on hand That he must pyl his land To make his cofers rych But he layeth al in the dyche And vseth such abusion That in the conclusion All commeth to confusion Perceiue the cause whye To tell the trouth plainlye He is so ambicious So shameles and so vicious And so supersticious And so much obliuious From whēs that he came That he falleth in Acisiam Which truely to expresse Is a forgetfulnes Or wylful blindnes Wherwith the Sodomites Lost their inward sightes The gommorians also Were brought to deadly wo As scripture recordes A cecitate cordis In the latyn synge we Libera nos domine But this mad Amalecke Like to Amamelek He regardeth Lordes No more than pot shordes He is in suche elacion Of his exaltacion And the supportacion Of our soueraine Lords That God to recorde He ruleth al at will Without reason or skyll Howbeit they be prymordyall Of hys wretched originall And his base progeny And his gresy genealogy He came of the sanke roiall That was cast out of a bouchers stall But howe euer he was borne Men would haue the lesse scorne If he could consider His byrth and rowme together And call to his mynde How noble and how kynde To hym he hath founde Our souerayne lord chief groud Of all thys prelacy And set hym nobly In great aucthorite Out from a low degre Which he can not see For he was parde No doctour of deuinttie Nor doctor of the law Nor of none other saw But a pore maister of arte God wot had little part Of the Quatriuials Nor yet of triuials Nor of philosophye Nor of philology Nor of good pollicy Nor of Astronomy Nor acquainted worth a fly With honourable haly Nor with royal Ptholomy Nor with Albumasar To treate of any star Fyxt or els mobil His latin tounge doth hobbyl He doth but clout and cobbel In tullis facultie Called humanitie Yet proudly he dare pretend How no ma can him amend But haue ye not heard this How an one eyed man is Wel sighted when He is amonge blynd men Than our proces for to stable This man was ful vnable To reche to such degree Had not our Prince be Royall henry the eyght Take him in such conceyte That he set him on heyght In exemplyfieng Great Alexander the king In writing as we finde Which of his royal minde And of his noble pleasure Transcending out of measure Thought to do a thyng That pertaineth to a kyng To make vp one of nought And made to him be brought A wretched pore man Which his liuing wan With planting of Leekes By the dayes and by the weekes And of this pore vassal He made a kyng royal And gaue him a realme to rule That occupyed a showel A mattoke and a spade Before that he was made A kyng as I haue told And ruled as he wold Such is a kynges power To make within an hower And worke such a miracle That shalbe a spectacle Of renowme and worldly fame In likewise now the same Cardinall is promoted Yet with lewd conditions noted As hereafter bene noted Presumpcion and vain glorie Enuy wrath and lechery Couetes and gluttony Slouthfull to do good Now frantike now starke wode Shuld this man of such mode Rule the swerde of myght How can he do right For he wyll as soone smyght His freend as his foe A prouerbe longe ago Set vp a wretche on hye In a trone triumphantly Make him a great estate And he wil play checke mate With royall maiestee Count hymself as good as he A prelate potenciall To rule vnder Bellyall As ferce and as cruell As the feende of hel His seruauntes meniall He dothe reuile and brall Lyke Mahound in a play No man dare him with saye He hath dispight and scorne At them that be wel borne He rebukes them and rayles Ye horsons ye vassayles Ye knaues ye churles sonnes Ye ribauds not worth two plūms Ye rainbeaten beggers reiagged Ye recrayed ruffins all ragged With stoupe thou hauel Renne thou iauel Thou peuishe pie pecked Thou losel long necked Thus daily they be decked Taunted and checked That they are so wo They wot not whether to go No man dare come to the speche Of this gentel Iacke breche Of what estate he be Of spiritual dignitie Nor duke of hye degree Nor Marques Earle nor Lord Which shrewdly doth accord Thus he borne so base All noble men should out face His countinaunce lyke a kayser My Lord is not at layser Sir ye must tary a stound Tyl better layser be found And sir ye must daunce attendaunce And take pacient sufferaunce For my Lordes grace Hath now no time nor space To speake with you as yet And thus they shal syt Chuse them syt or flit Stand walke or ride And his laiser abide Parchaunce half a yere And yet neuer the nere This daungerous dowsipere Like a kinges pere And within this xvi yere He wold haue ben right fayn To haue ben a chaplayn And haue taken right
haue a tot quot From the Pope of Rome To weaue all in one lome A webbe of Lylse wulce Opus male dulce The deuill kysse his cule For whiles he doth rule All is warse and warse The deuill kysse his arse For whether he blesse or curse It can not be muche worse From Baumberow to both aÌ„bar We haue cast vp oure war And made a worthy truse Wyth gup leuel suse Our mony madly sent And more madly spent From Croydon to Kent Wote ye whither they went From winchelsy to Rye And all not worthe a flye From wentbridge to Hull Our army waxeth dull With turne all home agayne And neuer a scot slayne Yet the good Erle of Surray The french men he doth fraye And vexeth them day by day With all the power he maye The frenchemen he hath fainted And made their hertes attainted Of cheualry he is the flour Our Lord be his succoure The french men he hath so mated And their courage abated That they are but halfe men Like foxes in their den Like cankerd cowardes all Like heons in a stone walle Tey kepe them in their holdes Lyke hen herted cokoldes But yet they ouer shoote vs With crownes and with scutus With Scutes and crownes of golde I drede we are bought and solde It is a wonders warke They shoote all at one marke At the Cardinals hat They shote all at that Out of their stronge townes They shote at him with crownes With crownes of gold enblased They make him so a mased And his eyen so dafed That he ne see can To know God nor man He is set so hye In his Ierarchy Of frantike frenesy And folysh fantasy That in the chambre of stars All matters there he mars Clapping his rod on the borde No man dare speake a word For he hath all the saying Without any renaying He rolleth in his recordes He saith how say ye my lordes Is not my reason good Good euin good Robin hood Some say yes And some Sit still as they were dome Thus thwarting ouer thome He ruleth al the roste With bragging and with boste Borne vp on euery syde With pompe and with pryde With trompe vp alleluya For dame Philargerya Hath so his hart in hold He loueth nothyng but gold And Asmodeus of hel Maketh his membres swel With Dalyda to mell That wanton damsell A dew Philosophia A dew theologia Welcome dame Simonia With dame Castrimergia To drynke and for to eate Sweet Ipocras swete meate To kepe his fleshe chaste In lente for a repaste He eateth Capons stewed Fesaunt and Partriche mewed Hennes chickins and pigges He foynes and he frigges Spareth neyther mayd ne wyfe This is a postels lyfe Helas my hart is sory To tell of vayne glory But now vpon this story I wyll no further rimè Tyll another time Tyll another time VUhat newes what newes Small newes that true is That be worth two kues But at the naked stewes I vnderstande howe that The sygne of the Cardinall hat That Inne is now shit vp With gup whore gup nowe gup Gup Gilliam Trauillian With iast you I say Iullian Wyll ye beare no coles A mainy of marefolles That occupy their holes Full of pocky moles What heare ye of Lancashire They were not payd theyr hyre They are fell as any fyre What heare ye of Chesshyre They haue layde all in the myre They grudge and sayde Their wages were not payde Some sayde they were afrayde Of the Scottishe hoste For all their crake and boste Wilde fire and thunder For all this worldly wonder A hundred myle a sunder They were whan they were next That is a true text What heare ye of the scottes They make vs all sottes Poppyng folysh dawes They make vs to pyll strawes They play their old prankes After huntly bankes At the streme of Banokes burns They did vs a shrewde turne Whan Edward of karnaruan Lost all that his father wan What here ye of the lord dakers He maketh vs Iacke rakers He sayes we are but crakers He calleth vs England men Stronge harted lyke an hen For the scottes and he To well they do agree With do thou for mee And I shal do for thee Whiles the red hat doth endure He maketh himself cocke sure The red hat with his lure Bryngeth al thinges vnder cure But as the world nowe goose What heare ye of the Lord Rose Nothyng to purpose Not worth a cockly fose Their hertes be in their hose The Erle of Northumberland Dare take nothing on hand Our barons be so bolde Into a mouse hole they wold Runne away and creep Like a mainy of sheep Dare not loke out a dur For drede of the maystife cur For drede of the bouchers dog Wold wirry them like an hog For and this curre do gnar They must stande all a far To holde vp their hand at the bat For all their noble bloude He pluckes them by the hood And shakes them by the eare And bryng them in suche feare He baiteth them lyke a beare Lyke an oxe or a bul Their wittes he sayth are dul He saith they haue no brayne Their estate to maintaine And make to bowe their knee Before his maiestee Iudges of the kinges lawes He countes them foles dawes Sergeauntes of the coyfe cke He sayeth they are to seke â—n pleating of their case At the commune place Or at the kinges benche He wringeth theÌ„ such a wrenche That all our learned men Dare not set theyr penne To plete a true triall Within westminster hall In the chauÌ„cery where he sittes But suche as he admittes None so hardy to speake He saith thou huddy peake They learnyng is to lewd Thy tounge is not well thewde To seeke before our grace And openly in that place He rages and he raues And calles them cankerd knaues Thus royally he doth deale Under the kinges brode seale And in the checker he theÌ„ checkes In the ster chaÌ„bre he nods becks And beareth him there so stout That no man dare rout Duke Earle Baron nor Lorde But to his sentence must accorde Whether he be knyght or squyer All men folow his desyre What say ye of the scottish kyng That is another thing He is but an yonglyng A tall worthy striplyng Her is a whispring a whiplyng He should be hither brought But and it were well sought I trow all will be nought Not worth a shittel cocke Nor worth a soure calstocke There goeth many a lye Of the duke of Albany That of should go his head And brought in quicke or dead And all Scotland oures The mouÌ„tenaunce of two houres But as some men sayn I drede of some false trayn Subtelly wrought shalbe Under a fained treate But within monethes three Men may happely see The trechery and the prankes Of the Scottishe bankes What heare ye of Burgonions And the Spanyardes Onions They haue slain our Englishmen Aboue three score and ten For al your amitee No better they agree God saue my Lord Admirell
euer that he myghte Unthryftynes in him maye well be shewed For whome tyborne groneth both daie nighte And as I stode and caste a syde my syghte Dasdayue I sawe with Dyssymulacyon Standynge in sadde communicacyon But there was poyntynge noddyng w t y e hede And many wordes sayd in secrete wyse They wandred ay and stode styll in no stede Me thoughte alwaye Dissymular dyde deuyse Me passynge sore myne herte than gan aryse I dempte and drede their talkynge was not good Anone dyssimular came where I stode Than in his hode I sawe there faces tweyne That one was lene lyke a pyned ghost That other loked as he wolde me haue slayne And to me warde as he gan for to coost Whan that he was euen at me almoost I sawe a knyfe hyd in his one sleue Wheron was wryten this worde mysch efe And in his other sleue me thought I sawe A spone of golde full of hony swete To fede a fole and for to preye a dawe And on that sleue these wordes were wrete A false abstracte cometh frome a fals concrete His hode was syde his cope was roset graye These were the wordes y t he to me dyde saye Dyssymulacyon How do ye maister ye loke so soberly As I be saued at the dredefull daye It is a perilous vyce this enuy Alas a connynge man ne dwelle maye In no place well but foles with fraye But as for that conninge hath no foo Saue him that noughte can scripture saith soo I knowe your vertue and your lytterkture By that lytell conninge that I haue Ye be maligned sore I you ensure But ye haue crafte yourselfe alwaie to saue It is grete skorne to se a misproude knaue With a clerke that conning is to prate Let them go lowse them in the deuilles date For all be it that this longe not to me Yet on my backe I bere suche lewde delyng Right now I spake with one I trowe I se But what a strawe I maye not tell all thing By god I saie there is grete herte brenning Betwene the personne ye wote of Iou Alas I coulde not dele so with an yew I wold eche man were as playne as I It is a worlde I saye to here of some I hate this fayninge fye vpon it fye A man can not wote where to become I wis I coulde tell but humlery home I dare not speke we be so layde awaite For all our courte is full of desceite Now by saint fraūcys that holy man frere I hate this wayes agayne you that they take Where I as you I wolde ryde them full nere And by my trouthe but yf an ende they make Yet wyll I saye some wordes for your sake That shall them angre I holde thereon a grote For some shall wene be hanged by the throte I haue a stoppynge oyster in my poke Truste me and yf it come to a nede But I am lothe for to reyse a smoke Yf ye could be otherwyse agrede And so I wolde it were so god me spede For this maye brede to a confusyon Without god make a good conclusyon Naye se where yonder stondeth the feder man A flaterynge knaue false he is god wote The dreuill stondeth to herken and he can It were more thryfte he bought him a new cote It will not be his purse is not on flote All that he woreth it is borowed ware His wytte is thynne his hode is threde bare More could I saye but what this is ynowe A dewe till soone we shall speke more of this Ye muste be ruled as I shall tell you howe Amendes maye be of that is now a mys And I am your syr so haue I blys In euery poynte that I can do or saye Gyue me your honde farewell haue good daye Drede Sodaynly as he departed me fro Came pressynge in one in a wonder araye Er I was ware behynde me he sayde bo Than I astonyed of that sodeyne fraye Sterte all at ones I lyked nothynge his playe For yf I had not quyckely fledde the touche He had plucte oute the nobles of my pouche He was trussed in a garmente strayte I haue not sene suche an others page For he coude well vpon a casket wayte His body all pounsed and garded lyke a cage Lyghte lyme fynger he toke none other wage Harken quod he lo here myne honde in thyne To vs welcome thou arte by sainct Quyntyne ¶ Disceyte But by that lorde that is one two and thre I haue an errande to rounde in your ere He tolde me so by god ye may trust me Parte remembre whan ye were there There I wynked on you wote ye not where In A loco I mene iuxta B Woo is hym that is blynde and maye not se But to here the subtylte and the crafte And the ragged ray Of Galaway ¶ Dunbar Dunde Ye shall trowe me False scottes are ye Your hartes sore faynted And so attaynted Lyke cowardes starke At the castell of warke By the water of Twede Ye had euill spede Lyke cankerd curres Ye loste your spurres For in that fraye ye ranne awaye With hey dogge hay For sir William Lyle Within shorte whyle That valiaunt knyght Putte you to flyght By his valyaunce Two thausande of Fraunte There he putte backe To your great lacke And vtter shame Of your scottysshe name Your chefe Cheftayne Uoyde of all brayne Duke of all Albany Than shamefuly He reculed backe To his great lacke Whan he herde tell That my Lorde Amrell Was comyng downe To make hym frowne And to make hym lowre With the noble powre Of my lorde Cardynall As an hoost royall After the auncient manner With sainct Cutberdes banner And sainct Williams also Your capitayne ranne to go To go to go to go And brake vp all his hoost For all his crake and bost Lyke a cowarde knyght He fledde and durst nat fyght He ranne awaye by night But now must I Your duke ascry Of Albany With a worde or twayne In sentence playne Ye duke so doutty So sterne so stoutty In shorte sentens Of your pretens What is the grounde Breuely and rounde To me expounde Or els wyll I Euydently Shewe as it is For the cause is this Howe ye pretende For to defende The yonge Scottyshe kyng But ye meane a thyng And ye coude bryng The matter about To putte his eyes out And put hym downe And set hys crowne On your owne heed Whan he were deed Such trechery And traytory Is all your cast Thus ye haue compast With the frenche kyng A fals rekenyng To enuade Englande As I vnderstande But our kyng royall Whose name ouer all Noble Henry the eyght Shall cast a beyght And sette suche a snare That shall cast you in care Bothe kyng Fraunces and the That knowen ye shall be For the moost recrayd Cowardes afrayd And falsest forsworne That euer were borne O ye wretched scottes Ye puaunt pyspottes It shalbe your lottes To be knytte vp with knottes Of halters and ropes About
your lord again all ryght The groūd of his quarel was for his soueraī lord The well concerning of all the hole Lande Demandyng suche duties as nedes most acord To y e right of his prīce which shold not be w t stād For whose cause ye slew him w e your owne hand But had his noble men done wel that day Ye had not bene able to haue sayd hym nay But ther was fals packing or els I am begylde How be it the mater was euydent and playne For if they had occupied their spere their shilde This noble man doutles had not bene slayne But men say they wer lynked w t a double chaine And held with the comones vnder a cloke Which kindeled y e wild fyr y t made al this smoke The commons Renyed ther tares to pay Of them demaunded and asked by the kynge With one voice importune they plaīly sayd nay They buskt thē on a bushmēt thēselfe in baile to bring Againe the kyngs plesure to wrestle or to wring Bluntly as bestis with boste and with crye They sayd they forsed not nor carede not to dy The nobelnes of y e north this valiāt lord knight As man that was Innocent of trechery or traine Presed forth boldly to withstand the myght And lyke marciall Hector he faught thē a gayne Uygorously vpon them with might with maine Trustyng in noble men y t were with him there But al they fled from hym for falshode or fere Barones knyghtes squiers and all To gether with seruantes of his famuly Turned their backe and let their master fal Of whome they counted not a flye Take vp whose wold for ther they let him ly Alas his gold his fee his Annual rent Upon suche a sort was Ille bestowd spent He was enuirond aboute on euery syde With his enemyes y t wer starke mad wode Ye while he stode he gaue them woundes wyde Allas for ruth what thoughe his mynd wer gode His corage manly yet ther he shed his blode Al left alone alas he foughte in vayne For cruelly among them ther he was slayne Alas for pite that percy thus was spylt The famous Erle of Northumberland Of knyghtly prowes the sword pomel hylt The myghty Lyon doutted by se and Lande O dolorus chaunce of fortunes froward hande What man remembryng howe shāfully he was slaine Frō bitter weping himself cā restrain O cruell Mars thou dedly God of war O dolorous tewisday dedicate to thy name Whē thou shoke thy sworde so noble a mā to mar O ground vngracious vnhappy be thy fame Which wert endyed with rede bloud of the same Most noble erle O foule mysuryd ground Where on he gat his finall dedely wounde O Atropos of the fatall systers iii. Goddes most cruel vnto the lyfe of man All merciles in the is no pite O homicide which sleest all that thou can So forcibly vpon this erle thou ran That with thy sword enharpit of mortall drede Thou kit a sonder his perfight vitall threde My wordes vnpullysht be nakide and playne Of Aureat poems they want ellumynynge But by them to knowlege ye may attayne Of this lordes dethe and of his murdrynge Which whils he lyued had fuyson of euery thing Of knights of squyers chyf lord of toure towne Tyl fykkell fortune began on hym to frowne Paregall to dukes with kynges he might cōpare Surmountinge in honor al erlis he did excede To all countreis aboute hym reporte me I dare Lyke to Eneas benigne in worde and dede Ualiant as Hector in euery marciall nede Prudent discrete circumspect and wyse Tyll the chaunce ran agayne hym of fortunes duble dyse What nedeth me for to extoll his fame With my rude pen enkankered all with rust Whose noble actes show worshiply his name Transendyng for myne homly muse that muste Yet somwhat wright supprised w t herty lust Truly reportyng his right noble estate Immortally whiche is immaculate His noble blode neuer destayned was Trew to his prince for to defend his ryght Doblenes hatyng fals maters to compas Treytory and treason he banysht out of syght w e truth to medle was al his holl delyght As all his coūtrey can testyfy the same To sle suche a lorde alas it was great shame If the hole quere of the musis nyne In me all onely wer set and comprysed Enbrethed with the blast of Influence deuyne As perfytly as could be thought or deuised To me also all though it were promised Of Laureat Phebus holy the eloquence All were to lytell for his magnificence O yonge Lyon but tender yet of age Grow and encrese remembre thyn estate God the assyst vnto thyn herytage And geue the grace to be more fortunate Agayn rebellyones arme the to make debate And as the Lyone whiche is of bestes kynge Unto thy subiectes be curteis and benygne I pray God sende the prosperous lyfe and long Stable thy mynde constant to be and fast Ryght to mayntayn to resyst all wronge All flateryng faytors abhor from the cast Of foule detraction God kepe the from the blast Let double delyngin the haue no place And be not lyght of credence in no case With heuy chere with dolorous hart and mynd Eche man may sorow in his inward thought This lords death whose pere is hard to fynd Al gife Englond Fraunce were thorow saught Al kynges all princes al dukes well they ought Both temporall and spiritual for to complayne This noble man that crewelly was slayne More specially Barons and those knygtes bold And al other Gentilmen with him enterteyned In fee as menyall men of his housold Whom he as lord worshyply mainteyned To sorowful weping they ought to be cōstresned As oft as they call to theyr remembraunce Of ther good lord the fate and dedely chaunce Perlese prince of heuen Emperyall That with one word formed al thing of noughte Heuen hell and erthe obey vnto thy call Which to thy resēblaūce wōdersly hast wrought All makynd whom thou full dere hast bought with thy bloud precious our finaūce thou did pay And vs redemed from the fendys pray To the pray we as prince Incomparable As thou art of mercy and pyte the well Thou bring vnto thy Ioye eterminable The soull of this lorde from all daunger of hell In endles blys with the to byde and dwell In thy palace aboue the orient Where thou art lord and God omnipotent O Ouene of mercy O lady full of grace Mayden most pure goddes moder dere To sorowful hartes chef comfort and solace Of all women O flowre without pere Pray to thy son aboue the sterr is clere He to vouchesaf by thy mediacion To pardon thy seruant brynge to saluacion In Ioy triumphaunt the heuenly gerarchy With all the hole sorte of that glorious place His soull mot receyue in to theyr company Thorow bounty of hym that formed all solace Wel of pite of mercy and of grace The father the sonn and the holy ghost In Trinitate