by like or very neare of kin Then followed them Detraction and Deceite Sym Swash did beare a buckler for the first False witnesse was the seconde seemely page And thus wel armd and in good equipage This Galant came vnto my fathers courte And wood my sister for she elder was And fayrer eke but out of doubt at least Hir pleasant speech surpassed mine somuch That vayne Delight to hir adrest his sute Short tale to make she gaue a free consent And forth she goeth to be his wedded make Entyst percase with glosse of gorgeous shewe Or else perhappes persuaded by his peeres That constant loue had herbord in his brest Such errors growe where suche false Prophets preach How so it were my Syster likte him wel And forth she goeth in Court with him to dwel Where when she had some yeeres ysoiorned And saw the world and marked eche mans minde A deepe Desire hir louing hart enflamde To see me sit by hir in seemely wise That companye might comfort hir sometimes And sound advice might ease hir wearie thoughtes And forth with speede euen at hir first request Doth vaine Delight his hasty course direct To seeke me out his sayles are fully bent And winde was good to bring me to the bowre Whereas she lay that mourned dayes and nights To see hir selfe so matchte and so deceivde And when the wretch I cannot terme him bet Had me on seas ful farre from friendly help A sparke of lust did kindle in his brest And bad him harke to songs of Satyra I selly soule which thought no body harme Gan cleere my throte and straue to sing my best Which pleasde him so and so enflamde his hart That he forgot my sister Poesys And rauisht me to please his wanton minde Not so content when this foule fact was done Yfraught with feare least that I should disclose His incest and his doting darke desire He causde straight wayes the formost of his crew VVith his compeare to trie me with their tongues And when their guiles could not preuaile to winne My simple mynde from tracke of trustie truth Nor yet deceyt could bleare mine eyes frō fraud Came Slander then accusing me and sayde That I entist Delyght to loue luste Thus was I caught poore wretch that thought none il And furthermore to cloke their own offence They clapt me fast in cage of Myserie And there I dwelt full many a doleful day Vntil this theefe this traytor vaine Delight Cut out my tong with Raysor of Restraynte Least I should wraye this bloudy deede of his And thus my Lord I liue a weary life Not as I seemd a man sometimes of might But womālike whose teares must venge hir harms And yet euen as the mighty gods did daine For Philomele that thoughe hir tong were cutte Yet should she sing a pleasant note sometimes So haue they deignd by their deuine decrees That with the stumps of my reproued tong I may sometimes Reprouers deedes reproue And sing a verse to make them see themselues Then thus I sing this selly song by night Like Phylomene since that the shining Sunne Is now eclypst which wont to lend me light And thus I sing in corner closely cowcht Like Philomene since that the stately cowrts Are now no place for such poore byrds as I. And thus I sing with pricke against my brest Like Philomene since that the priuy worme Which makes me see my reckles youth mispent May well suffise to keepe me waking still And thus I sing when pleasant spring begins Like Philomene since euery ianglyng byrd Which squeaketh loude shall neuer triumph so As though my muze were mute and durst not sing And thus I sing with harmelesse true intent Like Philomene when as percase meane while The Cuckowe suckes mine eggs by foule deceit And lickes the sweet which might haue fed me first And thus I meane in mournfull wise to sing A rare conceit God graunt it like my Lorde A trustie tune from auncient clyffes conueyed A playne song note which cannot warble well For whyles I mark this weak and wretched world Wherin I see howe euery kind of man Can flatter still and yet deceiues himselfe I seeme to muse from whence such errour springs Such grosse cōceits such mistes of darke mistake Such Surcuydry such weening ouer well And yet in dede such dealings too too badde And as I stretch my weary wittes to weighe The cause therof and whence it should proceede My battred braynes which now be shrewdly brusde With cānon shot of much misgouernmēt Can spye no cause but onely one conceite Which makes me thinke the world goeth stil awry I see and sigh bycause it makes me sadde That peuishe pryde doth al the world possesse And euery wight will haue a looking glasse To see himselfe yet so he seeth him not Yea shal I say a glasse of common glasse Which glistreth bright and shewes a seemely shew Is not enough the days are past and gon That Berral glasse with foyles of louely brown Might serue to shew a seemely fauord face That age is deade and vanisht long ago Which thought that steele both trusty was true And needed not a foyle of contraries But shewde al things euen as they were in deede In steade whereof our curious yeares can finde The christal glas which glimseth braue bright And shewes the thing much better than it is Beguylde with foyles of sundry subtil sights So that they seeme and couet not to be This is the cause beleue me now my Lorde That Realmes do rewe from high prosperity That kings decline from princely gouernment That Lords do lacke their auncestors good wil That knights consume their patrimonie still That gentlemen do make the merchant rise That plowmen begge and craftesmen cānot thriue That clergie quayles and hath smal reuerence That laymen liue by mouing mischiefe stil That courtiers thriue at latter Lammas day That officers can scarce enrich their heyres That Souldiours sterue or prech at Tiborne crosse That lawyers buye and purchase deadly hate That merchants clyme and fal againe as fast That roysters brag aboue their betters rome That sicophants are counted iolly guests That Lais leades a Ladies life alofte And Lucrece lurkes with sobre bashful grace This is the cause or else my Muze mistakes That things are thought which neuer yet were wrought And castels buylt aboue in lofty skies Which neuer yet had good foundation And that the same may seme no feined dreame But words of worth and worthy to be wayed I haue presumde my Lord for to present With this poore glasse which is of trustie Steele And came to me by wil and testament Of one that was a Glassemaker in deede Lucylius this worthy man was namde Who at his death bequeathd the christal glasse To such as loue to seme but not to be And vnto those that loue to see themselues How foule or fayre soeuer that they are He gan bequeath a glasse of trustie
and soūd not dub a dub Then be thou eke as mewet as a mayde I preach this sermon but to souldiours And learne to liue within thy bravries bounds Let not the Mercer pul thee by the sleeue For sutes of silke when cloth may serue thy turne Let not thy scores come robbe thy needy purse Make not the catchpol rich by thine arrest Art thou a Gentle liue with gentle friendes VVhich wil be glad thy companie to haue If manhoode may with manners well agree You haue forgot my greatest glorie got For yet by me nor mine occasion VVas neuer sene a mourning garmēt worne O noble words wel worthy golden writ Beleue me Lord a souldiour cannot haue Too great regarde wheron his knife should cut Ne yet the men which wonder at their wounds And shewe their scarres to euery commer by Dare once be seene within my glasse of Steele For so the faults of Thraso and his trayne Whom Terence told to be but bragging brutes Might sone appeare to euery skilful eye Bolde Manlius could close and wel conuey Ful thirtie wounds and three vpō his head Yet neuer made nor bones nor bragges therof What should I speake of drunken Soldiours Or lechers lewde which fight for filthy lust Of whom that one can sit and bybbe his fil Consume his coyne which might good corage yeld To such as march and moue at his commaunde And makes himselfe a worthy mocking stocke Which might deserue by sobre life great laude That other dotes and driueth forth his dayes In vaine delight and foule concupiscence When works of weight might occupie his hedde Yea therwithal he puts his owne fonde heade Vnder the belt of such as should him serue And so becoms example of much euil Which should haue servde as lanterne of good life And is controlde wheras he should commaund Augustus Caesar he which might haue made Both feasts and banquets brauely as the best Was yet content in campe with homely cates And seldome dranke his wine vnwatered Aristomenes dayned to defende His dames of prize whom he in warres had won And rather chose to die in their defence Then filthy men should foyle their chastitie This was a wight wel worthy fame and prayse O Captayns come and Souldiours come apace Be hold my glasse and you shall see therin As though the god of warres euen Mars himself Might wel by him be liuely counterfayte Though much more like the coward Constātine I see none such my Lorde I see none such Since Phocion which was in deede a Mars And one which did much more than he wold vaunt Contented was to be but homely clad And Marius whose constant hart could bide The very vaines of his forwearied legges To be both cut and carued from his corps Could neuer yet contented be to spend One idle groate in clothing nor in cates I see not one my Lord I see not one Which stands somuch vpon his paynted sheath Bycause he hath perchaunce at Bolleyn bene And loytered since then in idlenesse That he accompts no Soldiour but himselfe Nor one that can despise the learned brayne VVhich ioyneth reading with experience Since Palamedes and Vlisses both VVere much esteemed for their pollicies Although they were not thought long trained men Epamynondas eke was much esteemde VVhose Eloquence was such in all respects As gaue no place vnto his manly hart And Fabius surnamed Maximus Could ioyne such learning with experience As made his name more famous than the rest These bloudy beasts apeare not in my glasse VVhich cannot rule their sword in furious rage Nor haue respecte to age nor yet to kinde But downe goeth al where they get vpper hand VVhose greedy harts so hungrie are to spoyle That few regard the very wrath of God VVhich greeued is at cries of giltlesse bloud Pericles was a famous man of warre And victor eke in nine great foughten fields VVherof he was the general in charge Yet at his death he rather did reioyce In clemencie than bloudy victorie Be still quoth he you graue Athenians VVho whispered and tolde his valiant facts Art thou a seruing man then serue againe And stint to steale as common souldiours do Art thou a craftsman take thee to thine arte And cast off slouth which loytreth in the Campes Art thou a plowman pressed for a shift Then learne to clout thine old cast cobled shoes And rather bide at home with barly bread Than learne to spoyle as thou hast seene some do Of truth my friendes and my companions eke Who lust by warres to gather lawful welth And so to get a right renoumed name Must cast aside al common trades of warre And learne to liue as though he knew it not Well thus my Knight hath held me al to long Bycause he bare such compasse in my glasse High time were then to turne my wery pen Vnto the Peasant comming next in place And here to write the summe of my conceit I do not meane alonely husbandmen Which till the ground which dig delve mow and sowe Which swinke and sweate whiles we do sleepe and snort And serch the guts of earth for greedy gain But he that labors any kind of way To gather gaines and to enrich himselfe By King by Knight by holy helping Priests And al the rest that liue in common welth So that his gaines by greedinesse be got Him can I compt a Peasant in his place Al officers all aduocates at lawe Al men of arte which get goodes greedily Must be content to take a Peasants rome A strange deuise and sure my Lord wil laugh To see it so desgested in degrees But he which can in office drudge and droy And craue of al although euen now a dayes Most officers commaund that shuld be cravde He that can share from euery pention payde A Peeter peny weying halfe a pounde He that can plucke sir Bennet by the sleeue And finde a fee in his pluralitie He that can winke at any foule abuse As long as gaines come trouling in therwith Shal such come see themselues in this my glasse Or shal they gaze as godly good men do Yea let them come but shal I tell you one thing How ere their gownes be gathred in the backe With organe pipes of old king Henries clampe How ere their cappes be folded with a flappe How ere their beards be clipped by the chinne How ere they ride or mounted are on mules I compt them worse thā harmeles homely hindes Which toyle in dede to serue our common vse Strange tale to tel all officers be blynde And yet their one eye sharpe as Linceus sight That one eye winks as though it were but blynd That other pries and peekes in euery place Come naked neede and chance to do amisse He shal be sure to drinke vpon the whippe But priuie gaine that bribing busie wretch Can finde the meanes to creepe and cowch so low As officers 〈◊〉 neuer see him slyde Nor heare the trampling
eche in his degree That God vouchsafe to graunt them al his grace Where should I now beginne to bidde my beades Or who shal first be put in common place My wittes be wearie and my eyes are dymme I cannot see who best deserues the roome Stād forth good Peerce thou plowmā by thyname Yet so the Sayler saith I do him wrong That one contends his paines are without peare That other saith that none be like to his In dede they labour both exceedingly But since I see no shipman that can liue Without the plough and yet I many see Which liue by lande that neuer sawe the seas Therfore I say stand forth Peerce plowman first Thou winst the roome by verie worthinesse Behold him priests though he stink of sweat Disdaine him not for shal I tel you what Such clime to heauen before the shauen crownes But how forsooth with true humilytie Not that they hoord their grain when it is cheape Nor that they kill the calfe to haue the milke Nor that they set debate betwene their lords By earing vp the balks that part their bounds Nor for because they can both crowche creep The guilefulst men that euer God yet made VVhen as they meane most mischiefe and deceite Nor that they can crie out on landelordes lowde And say they racke their rents an ace to high VVhen they themselues do sel their landlords lābe For greater price then ewe was wont be worth I see you Peerce my glasse was lately scowrde But for they feed with frutes of their gret paines Both King and Knight and priests in cloyster pent Therefore I say that sooner some of them Shal scale the walles which leade vs vp to heauen Than cornfed beasts whose bellie is their God Although they preach of more perfection And yet my priests pray you to God for Peerce As Peerce can pinch it out for him and you And if you haue a Paternoster spare Then shal you pray for Saylers God them send More mind of him when as they come to lande For towarde shipwracke many men can pray That they once learne to speake without a lye And meane good faith without blaspheming othes That they forget to steale from euery fraight And for to forge false cockets free to passe That māners make them giue their betters place And vse good words though deeds be nothing gay But here me thinks my priests begin to frowne And say that thus they shal be ouerchargde To pray for al which seme to do amisse And one I heare more saucie than the rest VVhich asketh me when shal our prayers end I tel thee priest when shoomakers make shoes That are wel sowed with neuer a stitch amisse And vse no crafte in vttring of the same VVhen Taylours steale no stuffe from gentlemen VVhen Tanners are with Corriers wel agreede And both so dresse their hydes that we go dry when Cutlers leaue to sel olde rustie blades And hide no crackes with soder nor deceit when tinkers make no more holes thā they founde when thatchers thinke their wages worth their worke when colliers put no dust into their sacks when maltemen make vs drinke no firmentie when Dauie Diker diggs and dallies not when smithes shoo horses as they would he shod when millers toll not with a golden thumbe whē bakers make not barme beare price of wheat when brewers put no bagage in their beere when butchers blowe not ouer al their fleshe when horsecorsers beguile no friends with Iades when weauers weight is found in huswiues web But why dwel I so long among these lowts When mercers make more bones to swere and lye VVhen vintners mix no water with their wine VVhen printers passe none errours in their bookes VVhen hatters vse to bye none olde cast robes VVhē goldsmithes get no gains by sodred crownes When vpholsters sel fethers without dust When pewterers infect no Tin with leade When drapers draw no gaines by giuing day When perchmentiers put in no ferret Silke When Surgeons heale al wounds without delay Tush these are toys but yet my glas sheweth al. When purveyours prouide not for themselues VVhen Takers take no brybes nor vse no brags When customers conceale no covine vsde VVhen Seachers see al corners in a shippe And spie no pens by any sight they see VVhen shriues do serue al processe as they ought VVhen baylifes strain none other thing but strays VVhen auditours their counters cannot change VVhen proude surueyours take no parting pens VVhen Siluer sticks not on the Tellers fingers And when receiuers pay as they receiue VVhen al these folke haue quite forgotten fraude Againe my priests a little by your leaue VVhen Sicophants can finde no place in courte But are espied for Ecchoes as they are When roysters ruffle not aboue their rule Nor colour crafte by swearing precious coles When Fencers fees are like to apes rewards A peece of breade and therwithal a bobbe VVhen Lays liues not like a ladies peare Nor vseth art in dying of hir heare When al these things are ordred as they ought And see themselues within my glasse of steele Euen then my priests may you make holyday And pray no more but ordinarie prayers And yet therin I pray you my good priests Pray stil for me and for my Glasse of steele That it nor I do any minde offend Bycause we shew all colours in their kinde And pray for me that since my hap is such To see men so I may perceiue myselfe O worthy words to ende my worthlesse verse Pray for me Priests I pray you pray for me FINIS Tam Marti quà m Mercurio EPILOGVS ALas my lord my hast was al to hote I shut my glasse before you gasde your fill And at a glimse my seely selfe haue spied A stranger trowpe than any yet were sene Beholde my lorde what monsters muster here With Angels face and harmefull helish harts With smyling lookes and depe deceitful thoughts With tender skinnes and stony cruel mindes With stealing steppes yet forward feete to fraude Behold behold they neuer stande content With God with kinde with any helpe of Arte But curle their locks with bodkins with braids But dye their heare with sundry subtill sleights But paint and slicke til fayrest face be foule But bumbast bolster frisle and perfume They marre with muske the balme which nature made And dig for death in dellicatest dishes The yonger sorte come pyping on apace In whistles made offine enticing wood Til they haue caught the birds for whom they birded The elder sorte go stately stalking on And on their backs they beare both land and fee Castles and Towres revenewes and receits Lordships and manours fines yea fermes and al. What should these be speake you my louely lord They be not men for why they haue no beards They be no boyes which weare such side lōg gowns They be no Gods for al their gallant glosse They be no diuels I trow which seme so saintish What be they women masking
make I list not vaunte his workes for me shal say In praising him Timantes trade I take VVho when hee should the woful cheare displaie Duke Agamemnon had when he did waile His daughters death with teares of smal auaile Notskild to countershape his morneful grace That men might deeme what art coulde not supplie Deuisde with painted vaile to shrowde his face Like sorte my pen shal Gascoignes praise discrie VVhich wanting grace his graces to rehearse Doth shrowde and cloude them thus in silent verse Walter Rawely of the middle Temple in commendation of the Steele Glasse SVVetē were the sauce would please ech kind of tast The life likewise were pure that neuer swerued For spyteful tongs in cankred stomackes plaste Deeme worst of things which best percase deserued But what for that this medcine may suffyse To scorne the rest and seke to please the wise Though sundry mindes in sundry sorte do deeme Yet worthiest wights yelde prayse for euery payne But enuious braynes do nought or light esteme Such stately steppes as they cannot attaine For who so reapes renowne aboue the rest VVith heapes of hate shal surely be opprest VVherefore to write my censure of this booke This Glasse of Steele vnpartially doth shewe Abuses all to such as in it looke From prince to poore from high estate to lowe As for the verse who list like trade to trye I feare me much shal hardly reache so high Nicholas Bowyer in commēdation of this worke FRom layes of Loue to Satyres sadde and sage Our Poet turnes the trauaile of his time And as he pleasde the vaine of youthful age VVith pleasant penne employde in louing ryme So now he seekes the grauest to delight VVith workes of worth much better than they showe This Glasse of Steele if it be markt aright Discries the faults as wel of high as lowe And Philomelaes fourefolde iust complaynte In sugred sounde doth shrowde a solempne sence Gainst those whome lust or murder doth attaynte Lo this we see is Gascoignes good pretence To please al sorts with his praiseworthy skill Then yelde him thanks in signe of like good wil. The Author to the Reader TO vaunt were vaine and flattrie were a faulte But truth to tell there is a fort of fame The which I seeke by science to assault And so to leaue remembrance of my name The walles wherof are wondrous harde to clyme And much to high for ladders made of ryme Then since I see that rimes can seldome reache Vnto the toppe of such a stately Towre By reasons force I meane to make some breache VVhich yet may helpe my feeble fainting powre That so at last my Muse might enter in And reason rule that rime could neuer win Such battring tyre this pamphlet here bewraies In rymelesse verse which thundreth mighty threates And where it findes that vice the wall decayes Euen there amaine with sharpe rebukes it beates The worke thinke I deserues an honest name If not I fayle to win this forte of fame Tam Marti quà m Mercurio Gentle Reader I pray you before you reade to correct these faults ensuing Leafe Line Faulte Correction A. 2. First page 18. receiue reviued  Eadem 32. fainted fainting A. 2 Second page 25. euen now newe B. 2 First page 6. this deceite their deceipt  Eodem 2 page 18. seconde seemly seconde stemly  Eadem 21. woode woed B. 3. Second page 17 from fraude through fraude B. 4 Seconde Margin of them of the theame C. 4 First page 5. king knight F. 1 First page 9. greedinesse greedy guyles I. 1 Seconde page 2. byrded bryded K. 3 First page 19. astonyed astoynde  Eadem 20 aduance aduante P. 3 First page 6. phy false and Fye fierce and Q. 3 Seconde page 10 then vae vobis vae vobis then THE STEELE GLAS THe Nightingale whose happy noble hart No dole can daunt nor feareful force affright Whose chereful voice doth comfort saddest wights When she hir self hath little cause to sing Whom louers loue bicause she plaines their greues She wraies their woes and yet relieues their payne Whom worthy mindes alwayes esteemed much And grauest yeares haue not disdainde hir notes Only that king proud Tereus by his name With murdring knife did carue hir pleasant tong To couer so his owne foule filthy fault This worthy bird hath taught my weary Muze To sing a song in spight of their despight Which worke my woe withouten cause or crime And make my backe a ladder for their feete By slaundrous steppes and stayres of tickle talke To clyme the throne wherin my selfe should sitte O Phylomene then helpe me now to chaunt And if dead beastes or liuing byrdes haue ghosts Which can conceiue the cause of carefull mone When wrong triumphes and right is ouertrodde Then helpe me now O byrd of gentle bloud In barrayne verse to tell a frutefull tale A tale I meane which may content the mindes Of learned men and graue Philosophers And you my Lord whose happe hath heretofore Bene louingly to reade my reckles rimes And yet haue deignde with fauor to forget The faults of youth which past my hasty pen And therwithall haue graciously vouchsafte To yeld the rest much more than they deservde Vouchsafe lo now to reade and to peruse This rimles verse which flowes fro troubled mind Synce that the line of that false caytife king Which rauished fayre Phylomene for lust And then cut out hir trustie long for hate They liue they liue alas the worse my lucke Whose greedy lust vnbridled from their brest Hath raunged long about the world so wyde To finde a pray for their wide open mouthes And me they found O wofull tale to tell Whose harmelesse hart perceivde not this deceit But that my Lord may playnely vnderstand The mysteries of all that I do meane I am not he whom slaunderous tongues haue tolde False tongues in dede craftie subtile braines To be the man which ment a common spoyle Of louing dames whose eares wold heare my words Or trust the tales deuised by my pen. I n'am a man as some do thinke I am Laugh not good Lord I am in dede a dame Or at the least a right Hermaphrodite And who desires at large to knowe my name My birth my line and euery circumstance Lo reade it here Playne dealyng was my Syre And he begat me by Simplycitie My sistr and I into this world were sent My Systers name was pleasant Poesys And I my selfe had Satyra to name Whose happe was such that in the prime of youth A lusty ladde a stately man to see Brought vp in place where pleasures did abound I dare not say in court for both myne eares Beganne to woo my sister not for wealth But for hir face was louely to beholde And therewithall hir speeche was pleasant stil. This Nobles name was called vayne Delight And in his trayne he had a comely crewe Of guylefull wights False semblant was the first The second man was Flearing flattery Brethren
of his stealing steppes He comes I thinke vpon the blinde side stil. These things my Lord my glasse now sets to shew Whereas long since all officers were seene To be men made out of another moulde Epamynond of whome I spake before Which was long time an officer in Thebes And toylde in peace as wel as fought in warre VVould neuer take or bribe or rich reward And thus he spake to such as sought his helpe If it be good quoth he that you desire Then wil I do it for the vertues sake If it be badde no bribe can me infecte If so it be for this my common weale Then am I borne and bound by duetie both To see it done withouten furder words But if it be vnprofitable thing And might empaire offende or yeld anoy Vnto the state which I pretende to stay Then al the gold quoth he that growes on earth Shal neuer tempt my free consent thereto How many now wil treade Zeleucus steps Or who can byde Cambyses cruel dome Cruel nay iust yea softe and peace good sir For Iustice sleepes and Troth is iested out O that al kings would Alexander like Hold euermore one finger streight stretcht out To thrust in eyes of all their master theeues But Brutus died without posteritie And Marcus Crassus had none issue male Cicero slipt vnsene out of this world With many mo which pleaded romaine pleas And were content to vse their eloquence In maintenance of matters that were good Demosthenes in Athens vsde his arte Not for to heape himselfe great hourds of gold But stil to stay the towne from deepe deceite Of Philips wyles which had besieged it Where shal we reade that any of these foure Did euer pleade as carelesse of the trial Or who can say they builded sumpteously Or wroong the weake out of his own by wyles They were I trowe of noble houses borne And yet content to vse their best deuoire In furdering eche honest harmelesse cause They did not rowte like rude vnringed swine To roote nobilitie from heritage They stoode content with gaine of glorious fame Bycause they had respect to equitie To leade a life like true Philosophers Of all the bristle bearded Aduocates That euer lovde their fees aboue the cause I cannot see scarce one that is so bolde To shewe his face and fayned Phisnomie In this my glasse but if he do my Lorde He shewes himselfe to be by very kinde A man which meanes at euery time and tide To do smal right but sure to take no wrong And master Merchant he whose trauaile ought Commodiously to doe his countrie good And by his toyle the same for to enriche Can finde the meane to make Monopolyes Of euery ware that is accompted strange And feeds the vaine of courtiers vaine desires Vntil the court haue courtiers cast at heele Quia non habent vestes Nuptiales O painted fooles whose harebrainde heads must haue More clothes attones than might become a king For whom the rocks in forain Realmes must spin For whom they carde for whom they weaue their webbes For whom no wool appeareth fine enough I speake not this by english courtiers Since english wool was euer thought most worth For whom al seas are tossed to and fro For whom these purples come from Persia The crimosine and liuely red from Inde For whom soft silks do sayle from Sericane And all queint costs do come from fardest coasts Whiles in meane while that worthy Emperour Which rulde the world and had all welth at wil Could be content to tire his wearie wife His daughters and his niepces euerychone To spin and worke the clothes that he shuld weare And neuer carde for silks or sumpteous cost For cloth of gold or tinsel figurie For Baudkin broydrie cutworks nor conceits He set the shippes of merchantmen on worke VVith bringing home oyle graine and savrie salt And such like wares as serued common vse Yea for my life those merchants were not woont To lend their wares at reasonable rate To gaine no more but Cento por cento To teach yong men the trade to sel browne paper Yea Morrice bells and byllets too sometimes To make their coyne a net to catch yong frye To binde such babes in father Derbies bands To stay their steps by statute Staples staffe To rule yong roysters with Recognisance To read Arithmeticke once euery day In VVoodstreat Bredstreat and in Pultery VVhere such schoolmaisters keepe their counting house To fede on bones whē flesh and fell is on And yet be combred with a concubine Not one of these wil reade the holy write Which doth forbid all greedy vsurie And yet receiue a shilling for a pounde Not one of these wil preach of patience And yet be found as angry as a waspe Not one of these can be content to sit In Tauerns Innes or Alehouses all day But spends his time deuoutly at his booke Not one of these will rayle at rulers wrongs And yet be blotted with extortion Not one of these wil paint out worldly pride And he himselfe as gallaunt as he dare Not one of these rebuketh auarice And yet procureth proude pluralities Not one of these reproueth vanitie Whiles he himselfe with hauke vpon his fist And houndes at heele doth quite forget his text Not one of these corrects contentions For trifling things and yet will sue for tythes Not one of these not one of these my Lord Wil be ashamde to do euen as he teacheth My priests haue learnt to pray vnto the Lord And yet they trust not in their lyplabour My priests can fast and vse al abstinence From vice and sinne and yet refuse no meats My priests can giue in charitable wise And loue also to do good almes dedes Although they trust not in their owne deserts My priestes can place all penaunce in the hart VVithout regard of outward ceremonies That Phisicke thriue not ouer fast by murder That Numbring men in al their euens and odds Do not forget that only Vnitie Vnmeasurable infinite and one That Geometrie measure not so long Til all their measures out of measure be That Musike with his heauenly harmonie Do not allure a heauenly minde from heauen Nor set mens thoughts in worldly melodie Til heauenly Hierarchies be quite forgot That Rhetorick learne not to ouerreache That Poetrie presume not for to preache And bite mens faults with Satyres corosiues Yet pamper vp hir owne with pultesses Or that she dote not vppon Erato Which should inuoke the good Caliope That Astrologie looke not ouer high And light meane while in euery pudled pit That Grammer grudge not at our english tong Bycause it stands by Monosyllaba And cannot be declind as others are Pray thus my priests for vniuersities And if I haue forgotten any Arte Which hath bene taught or exercised there Pray you to god the good be not abusde With glorious shewe of ouerloding skill Now these be past my priests yet shal you pray For common people
for no good happe The best is bad that lights on lechery And al wel weyed he sits in Fortunes lappe Which feeles no sharper scourge than beggery You princes peeres you comely courting knights Which vse al arte to marre the maidens mindes Which win al dames with baite of fonde delights Which bewtie force to loose what bountie bindes Thinke on the scourge that Némesis doth beare Remember this that God although he winke Doth see al sinnes that euer secret were Vae vobis then which still in sinne do sinke Gods mercy lends you brydles for desire Hold backe betime for feare you catch a foyle The flesh may spurre to euerlasting fire But sure that horse which tyreth like a roile And lothes the griefe of his forgalded sides Is better much than is the harbrainde colte Which headlong runnes and for no bridle bydes But huntes for sinne in euery hil and holte He which is single let him spare to spil The flowre of force which makes a famous man Lest when he comes to matrimonies will His fynest graine be burnt and ful of branne He that is yokte and hath a wedded wife Be wel content with that which may suffyse And were no God yet feare of worldly strife Might make him lothe the bed where Lays lies For though Pandyons daughter Progne shee Were so transformde into a fethered foule Yet seemes she not withouten heires to be Who wrongde like hir ful angrely can scoule And beare in brest a right reuenging mode Til time and place may serue to worke their will. Ye a surely some the best of al the broode If they had might with furious force would kil But force them not whose force is not to force And way their words as blasts of blustring winde VVhich comes ful calme when stormes are past by course Yet God aboue that caÌ„ both lose bynde VVil not so soone appeased be therefore He makes the male of female to be hated He makes the sire go sighing wondrous sore Because the sonne of such is seldome rated I meane the sonnes of such rash sinning sires Are seldome sene to runne a ruly race But plagude be like by fathers foule desires Dogadde a broade and lacke the guide of grace Then Lapwinglike the father flies about And howles and cries to see his children stray Where he him selfe and no man better mought Haue taught his bratts to take a better way Thus men my Lord be Metamorphosed From seemely shape to byrds and ougly beastes Yea brauest dames if they amisse once tredde Finde bitter sauce for al their pleasant feasts They must in fine condemned be to dwell In thickes vnseene in mewes for minyons made Vntil at last if they can bryde it wel They may chop chalke take some better trade Beare with me Lord my lusting dayes are done Fayre Phylomene for bad me fayre and flat To like such loue as is with lust begonne The lawful loue is best and I like that Then if you see that Lapwinglike I chaunce To leape againe beyond my lawful reache I take hard taske or but to giue a glaunce At bewties blase for such a wilful breache Of promise made my Lord shal do no wrong To say George thinke on Phylomelâes song FINIS Tam Marti quà m Mercurio ANd thus my very good L. may se how cobler like I haue clouted a new patch to an olde sole beginning this coÌ„plainte of Philomene in Aprill 1562. continuing it a little furder in Aprill 1575 and now thus finished this thirde day of Aprill 1576. A. which mine April showers are humbly sent vnto your good Lordship for that I hope very shortly to see the May flowers of your fauour which I desire more than I can deserue And yet rest Your Lordships bownden and assured VVhere may be commonly found a meeter vvoer for plesant poetry than vaine Delight Such men do many â—ymes attend vpon vaine delight Satyrical Poetry is somtimes rauished by vayne Delight False semblant and flatterie can seldome beguile satirical Poetrie The revvard of busy medling is Miserie note now compare this allegory to the story of Progne Philomele Here the substance of them beginneth A famous old satyriâ—cal Poete The aucthor himselfe AlexaÌ„der magnus had but a smal beard He vvhich vvil rebuke other mens faults shal dovvel not to for get hys ovvne imperfectioÌ„s Common vvelth Common voe Kings Veleri max. lib. a. Cap. 3. Deut. â—â— Knightes Souldiours Couetous Soldiours Soldiours more braue theÌ„ valiaunt â—ngrateful 〈◊〉 VVhat euery soldiour should be in time of peace Braggers and such as boast of their vvounds Drunken and lecherous soldiours Soldiours vvho for their ovvn long continuance in seruice do seeme to despise all other of latter 〈◊〉 and especially such as are learned Soldiours ouer cruel vvithout any regard Peasaâ—â—â— Strange Peasanâ—â— Officers There are to fevv such officers â—alse â—udges 〈◊〉 Mercâ—â—â— August 9. For the CoÌ„inaltie 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 An expotion of al such notes as the nightingale doâ— commonly vse to sing The author continevveth his discourse and coÌ„cludeth