An English Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (4 of 8)
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Title: An English Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (4 of 8)
Editor: Edward Arber
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ENGLISH GARNER: INGATHERINGS FROM OUR HISTORY AND LITERATURE (4 OF 8) ***
AN
ENGLISH GARNER.
VOLUME IV.
[Illustration:
AN
ENGLISH
GARNER
INGATHERINGS
FROM OUR
HISTORY AND LITERATURE
BY
EDWARD ARBER, FSA. &c.
"YEA, HISTORY HATH TRIUMPHED
OVER TIME: WHICH BESIDES IT,
NOTHING BUT ETERNITY HATH
TRIUMPHED OVER."
Sir W. Raleigh,
_Hist. of the World_.
"AIRS AND MADRIGALS
THAT WHISPER SOFTNESS
IN CHAMBERS."
J. Milton,
_Areopagitica_.
VOLUME IV
ONLY TO BE OBTAINED BY APPLICATION TO
E. ARBER, 1 MONTAGUE ROAD,
BIRMINGHAM. ENGLAND
16 JAN., 1882.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
MITCHELL INVT·ET·DEL]
Contents of the Fourth Volume.
PAGE
[? THOMAS OCCLEVE, Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.] _The_
_Letter of Cupid._ (1402.) 54
EDWARD UNDERHILL, Esq., of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners,
surnamed, "The hot Gospeller." _Examination and_
_Imprisonment in August 1553; with anecdotes of the Time_
(? 1562.) 72
[LUKE SHEPHERD, M.D.] _JOHN BON AND MAST PARSON._ (? 1551.) 101
ROBERT TOMSON, of Andover, Merchant. _Voyage to the West_
_Indies and Mexico, 1556-1558_, A.D. 11
JOHN FOX, the Martyrologist. _The Imprisonment of the Princess_
_Elizabeth._ (1563.) 112
Rev. THOMAS BRICE. _A compendious Register in metre, containing_
_the names and patient sufferings of the members of Jesus Christ,_
_and the tormented, and cruelly burned within England; since_
_the death of our famous King, of immortal memory, EDWARD_
_the Sixth, to the entrance and beginning of the reign of our_
_Sovereign and dearest Lady ELIZABETH, of England, France,_
_and Ireland, Queen; Defender of the Faith; to whose Highness_
_truly and properly appertaineth, next and immediately_
_under GOD, the supreme power and authority of the Churches_
_of England and Ireland._ (1559.) 143
GEORGE FERRERS, the Poet. _The winning of Calais by the_
_French, January 1558_ A.D. _General Narrative of the Recapture._
(? 1568.) 173
_The Passage of our dread Sovereign Lady, Queen ELIZABETH,_
_through the City of London to Westminster, the day before her_
_Coronation._ (1558.) 217
Lord WENTWORTH, the Lord Deputy of Calais, and the Council
there. _Letter to Queen Mary, 23rd May, 1557_ 186
Lords WENTWORTH and GREY, and the Council at Calais. _Report_
_to Queen Mary, 27th December, 1557_ 187
Lord WENTWORTH, at Calais. _Letter to Queen MARY, 1 January,_
_1558, 9 p.m._ 190
---- _Letter to Queen MARY, 2 January,_
_1558, 10 p.m._ 192
JOHN HIGHFIELD, Master of the Ordnance at Calais. _To the_
_Queen, our sovereign Lady._ (? 1558.) 196
Rev. WILLIAM HARRISON, B.D., Canon of Windsor, and Rector
of Radwinter. _ELIZABETH arms England, which MARY had_
_left defenceless,_ (? 1588.) 248
_ALCILIA: PHILOPARTHEN's Loving Folly._ (1595.) 253
_LYRICS, ELEGIES, &C. The First Book of Songs or Airs._
By JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1597.) 28
---- _The Second Book of Songs or Airs._
By JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1600.) 519
---- _The Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs._
By JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music. (1603.) 609
---- _A Pilgrim's Solace_. By JOHN DOWLAND,
Bachelor of Music. (1612.) 644
_Sir THOMAS OVERBURY his Observations in his Travels, upon the_
_State of the Seventeen Provinces, as they stood Anno Domini_
_1609: the Treaty of Peace being then on foot._ (1626.) 297
TOBIAS GENTLEMAN, Fisherman and Mariner. _England's Way_
_to Win Wealth, and to employ Ships and Mariners._ (1614.) 323
BEN JONSON. _Answer to Master WITHER's Song_, Shall I,
wasting in despair. (1617.) 577
King JAMES. _The King's Majesty's Declaration to his Subjects,_
_concerning lawful Sports to be used._ (1618.) 511
_The Famous and Wonderful Recovery of a Ship of Bristol, called_
_the Exchange, from the Turkish Pirates of Argier. With the_
_unmatchable attempts and good success of JOHN RAWLINS,_
_Pilot in her, and other slaves: who, in the end (with the_
_slaughter of about forty of the Turks and Moors), brought the_
_ship into Plymouth, the 13th of February [1622] last, with the_
_Captain a Renegado, and five Turks more; besides the redemption_
_of twenty-four men and one boy from Turkish_
_slavery._ (1622.) 581
GEO. WITHER. _Fair VIRTUE, the Mistress of PHIL'ARETE._ (1622.) 353
---- _A Miscellany of Epigrams, Sonnets, Epitaphs, and_
_such other Verses as were found written with the Poem aforegoing._
(1622.) 495
JOHN RUSHWORTH, Esq., of Lincoln's Inn. _The Sequestration of_
_Archbishop ABBOT from all his Ecclesiastical Offices, in 1627._ 535
R[ICHARD] Y[?OUNG]. _The state of a Christian lively set forth,_
_by an allegory of a Ship under Sail._ (1636.) 49
ABRAHAM COWLEY. _The Chronicle. A BALLAD._ (1669.) 319
_A true and just Relation of Major-General Sir THOMAS MORGAN's_
_Progress in France and Flanders with the Six Thousand_
_English, in the years 1657 and 1658, at the taking of Dunkirk,_
_and other important places._ (1699.) 623
FIRST LINES OF POEMS AND STANZAS.
[Illustration]
PAGE
_Adieu_ 478
Adieu, fond Love! 291
_Admire not, Shepherd_ 423
A foul vice it is 59
After dark night, the 268
After long sickness 271
After long storms 285
"Ah, Lady mine!" 55
"_Ah, me!_" 476
_A lad, whose faith_ 399
Alas, poor fools! 101
Albeit that men find 59
ALCILIA's eyes have set 267
ALCILIA said 270
All in vain is Ladies' 529
All the day, the sun 45
_All their riches_ 492
All the night, my sleeps 45
All ye, whom love 42
_A lover of the_ 456
Although through 57
And all the little lime 322
And for that every 56
And, furthermore, have 57
And GOD, to whom 68
And if thine Ears 525
_And if those, who_ 491
And Love itself is 621
_And, now, no more_ 426
And of mercy, hath 69
And O grant, thou 359
And the book 61
_And this shall be the_ 386
_And though I never_ 386
And though the work 260
And touching this 67
And trusteth well 63
And when he saddest 46
And when this man 56
And where men say 68
_And yet although_ 426
_And yet, I do not fear_ 424
_And yet, if in time_ 507
And you, my Thoughts 35
An old proverb there 60
Another MARY then 320
Another wretch, unto 57
"_Are we the two that_ 433
Are you false gods! 616
Are you fled, Fair! 616
As Heat to Life 648
A Shepherd in a shade 530
As Hope hath here 169
As LOVE had drawn 266
"_A thousand lives I_ 401
A thousand times 275
Awake, sweet love! 46
Away with these 47
A wicked tree 60
Base servile thoughts 292
Beauty can want no 613
Behold a wonder 612
_Be not proud, because_ 487
_Be thou still_ 493
Betrayin not men 57
Better a thousand times 37
Blush not, my Love! 266
Both knit in one 654
_Bound to none_ 484
Boy! ha' done! 406
Burst forth my tears! 38
"But could thy fiery 613
_But fie! my foolish_ 426
But her in heart 62
_But in her eyes_ 385
But in her place 321
But I will briefer 322
_But kissing and_ 431
_But let nor Nymph_ 405
_But lest this conquest_ 435
But, maugre them 62
But nought, alas 262
But O, the fury 42
_But, O, thrice happy!_ 424
_But say! What fruit_ 383
But should I now 321
But such as will run 622
_But such visions_ 508
_But, trust me!_ 505
But, understandeth 70
But what can stay 34
But when ISABELLA 321
_But why_ 476
_But, yet, at last, I_ 456
But yet it is a sport 622
By a fountain where 617
_By greatest titles_ 484
By process moveth 55
_By these imperfections_ 506
By thine error thou 530
_By this, thy tunes_ 520
'By thy Beauty 359
_Can he prize the_ 428
Can Love be rich 36
Can she excuse my 36
Care that consumes 43
'Cause her fortunes seem 579
'_Cause her fortunes_ 579
'_Cause her fortune_ 454
Cease, cease, cease 656
Clear or cloudy 533
Clerkis feign also there 65
Cold as ice frozen 617
Cold, hold! the sun 619
Come again! Sweet 44
Come again! that I 44
Come away! come 40
Come away! come 41
"Come, gentle Death! 205
Come, heavy Sleep! 47
_Come, my Muse!_ 381
Come, Shadow of my 47
Come, when I call 622
Come, ye heavy States 528
Come, You Virgins of 528
CUPIDO (unto whose 54
Daphne was not so 613
Dear! if I do 38
Dear, if you change! 38
Dear! let me die 648
Dear! when I from thee 37
Declare the griefs 273
Die not before thy day! 523
Disdain me still 648
_Do as thou wouldst_ 100
_Down her cheeks, the_ 509
Down vain lights! 523
Each hour, amidst 44
Each natural thing 295
_Ear never heard of_ 405
Earth with her flowers 38
ELIZA, till this hour 319
Enough of this! 275
_Ere I had twice_ 480
"Every woman" 58
Example we have 100
Experience which 526
Failed of that hap 289
Fain would I speak 269
_Fain would I tell_ 403
Fair is my love! 265
_Fair! Since thy_ 453
Fair tree, but fruitless! 273
Fair with garlands 618
False World! farewell! 653
_Farewell_ 477
Farewell, too fair! 611
Farewell, too dear! 611
Farewell, Unkind! 619
Fast fixed in my heart 262
Fear to offend forbids 271
Fie on this feigning! 620
Fine knacks for ladies! 526
Flow, my tears! 523
Flow not so fast 614
Fly, my Breast! 530
"_For if thy heart_ 432
_For if thou shalt not_ 493
_For like two suns_ 455
_For, lo, a dream I had_ 402
_For Love hath kindled_ 404
For my heart, _though_ 530
_For next, shall thy_ 507
_For on my chin_ 481
_"For should we do_ 433
_For when I waking_ 403
From Fame's desire 525
From silent night 653
Fulfilled be it! 71
Full hard it is 55
Gentle HENRIETTE 321
Gentle LOVE draw 45
_Gentle Swain!_ 490
God CUPID's shaft, 47
Go, nightly cares! 653
_Go, wantons, now_ 435
Great gifts are guiles 527
_Great men have helps_ 425
_Great, or Good_ 455
_Great, or Good, or_ 580
Grief, alas, though 650
Grieve not thyself 289
_Had I a Mistress_ 405
Hail, fair Beauties! 387
Hail! thou Fairest 358
_Happy are these_ 490
Hark, you shadows! 523
Haste hapless sighs! 39
Heart's Ease and I 272
_Hence, away!_ 427
Her body is straight 265
_Her dainty palm_ 431
Here may you find 259
Here PHIL'ARET did 488
Her fires do inward 651
Her Grace, like June 533
Her heapèd virtue 68
_He's a fool, that_ 428
_He that Courtly_ 491
He that in matters 295
_He that hath this_ 100
He that receiveth all 649
His golden locks 45
His helmet, now 46
Hope by disdain 43
How friendly was 65
"_How glad, and fain_ 401
How happy, once 290
"How might I that 614
How shall I then 34
How vain is Youth 295
Humour say I 533
I am no Italian lover 361
I am not sick, and yet 264
I am now inclined 534
_I die!_ 478
_I do scorn, to vow_ 428
_If all men could_ 491
If any carp, for that 494
If any eye therefore 654
I fare like him who 291
If CYNTHIA crave 48
_If I should my sorrows_ 381
If I should tell 322
If I speak! 41
If it be Love 264
If love doth make 36
If Music and sweet 28
If my complaints 36
If no delays can move 43
If she, at last 47
If she esteem the 46
If she for this 35
If she will yield to 37
_If such weak thoughts_ 424
If that in ought mine 264
If that these men, 63
_If you boast that_ 485
_I have a Love that's_ 424
_I have elsewhere_ 427
_I have heard that_ 382
_I have wept, and_ 381
I'll go to the woods 650
_I'm no slave to such_ 427
In any book also 69
In company 273
In general, we wollin 54
Ingrateful LOVE! 289
In her presence all 534
In looking back 293
In midst of winter 268
In my _Legend of_ 65
In prime of Youth 295
In Reason's Court 276
_In song, APOLLO gave_ 403
_In spite of others' hates_ 386
_In these lonely groves_ 492
_In these thoughts_ 488
In vain do we 290
"I pray thee, tell! 267
I saw my Lady weep' 522
Is this a fair avaunt? 56
_I that have oft_ 480
_I to a thousand_ 481
It was a time when 620
It was my chance 261
_I wandered out_ 455
I will no longer spend 293
I will not call for aid 259
Judge not by this 260
Justice gives each 532
_Knew I my Love_ 481
_Leave me! then_ 429
Lend your ears to my 617
Let love which never 46
Let not thy tongue 275
Let those doters on 360
Like to a man that 289
Like to the silver 613
Like to the winds 39
_Lines to some_ 382
Long have I 268
Lo here, the Record 296
Loose Idleness! 294
_Lordly Gallants!_ 484
Love and I are now 283
Love and Youth 283
LOVE! Art thou blind? 268
_Love causèd GOD_ 153
_Love GOD, above_ 100
Love is honey mixed 283
Love is sorrow mixt 284
Love is the sickness 284
LOVE now no more 612
LOVE, then I must 650
LOVERS' Conceits 291
Lovers, lament! 275
Love stood amazed 616
Love! those beams 650
_Lute! Arise and_ 520
Malice of women! 66
Many one eke would 58
MARGARITA first 319
MARTHA soon did it 319
MARY then, and 320
_Means of harbour_ 381
Meanwhile, vouchsafe 260
Me! me! and none 613
_Men, alas, are too_ 381
Men bearing, eke 64
Men sayin that our 66
Mirth, then, is 534
_Mispend not a morning_ 504
Most sacred Queen! 276
Mount, then, my 652
Mourn! Day is with 524
Mourn! Look, now 524
_Much good do 't them_ 493
My fair ALCILIA! 267
My Heart and Tongue 654
_My heart is full nigh_ 480
My heart where _have_ 531
My liege! gods grant 621
My Love, by chance 266
My love doth rage 42
My merry mates! 654
"_My only Dear!_" 399
My songs, they be 48
My Thoughts are 35
My SPIRIT, I 286
_NARCISSUS like_ 482
Nature two eyes 528
Nay, think not LOVE! 294
Ne no wight disceiveth 67
Never hour of pleasing 41
New found, and only 654
No charge is what 62
_None comes hither_ 490
No! No! Where 36
No pain so great 271
No sooner had the 474
_Note of me_ 486
Nought can I say 64
"_No vulgar bliss_ 434
Now cease my 527
_Now Grace is of such_ 153
Now have I spun 288
Now holdith this 70
Now LOVE sits all alone 294
Now none is bald 525
Now, O now 37
Now prick on fast! 58
_Now, Young Man!_ 504
O crystal tears! 39
_O do not smile at_ 480
_O'ertired by cruel_ 402
O, every man ought 60
O fairer than ought 522
O fairest mind 652
Oft have I dreamed 615
_Oft have the Nymphs_ 404
Of thy worth, this 358
Of Troy also 65
Of twelve Apostles 60
_"O Heavens!" quoth_ 400
O, how honoured are 436
O, I am as heavy 534
_O, if she may be_ 483
"_O, if the Noblest_ 401
O judge me not 270
Once did I love 288
Once, I lived! 617
_Once, in a dream_ 482
One man hath but one 527
One month, three days 320
_On every bush, the_ 430
On this Glass of thy 360
Open the sluices 271
_O pity me, you Powers_ 404
_O, rather let me die_ 385
O, sweet words 525
O that Love should 529
O that thy sleep 40
Out, alas! my faith 45
OVID, in his book 61
O well were it, Nature 269
O what a life 292
_O, what are we_ 432
O what hath 618
_O, why had I a heart_ 481
Our wished wealth hath 169
Pale Jealousy! 271
Pardie! this Clerk 63
Parting from thee! 270
_Parve liber Domini_ 257
Passing all land is 54
Pausing a while 261
_Peruse with patience_ 153
Pity is but a poor 532
_Poor COLLIN grieves_ 482
Poor, or Bad, or 580
Praise blindness 525
Pray we, therefore 169
Princes hold conceit 533
_Proud she seemed_ 429
Rest awhile 41
Retire, my wandering 274
_Sad Eyes! What do you_ 384
Sad pining Care 39
"Say, Love! if ever 613
_Say, you purchase_ 485
_Seek to raise your_ 485
See! these trees 457
Shall a woman's vices 579
_Shall a woman's_ 578
_Shall a woman's_ 454
Shall I, mine 577
Shall I strive with 650
Shall I sue? 531
_Shall I swear_, 381
_Shall I, wasting in_ 454
_Shall I, wasting_ 577
Shall my foolish heart 578
_Shall then, in earnest_ 385
_She, little moved with_ 400
_Should my foolish_ 578
_Should my heart be_ 454
Should then my love 40
Show some relenting! 620
Silly wretch! Forsake 531
"Since REASON ought 278
Since you desire 269
Sleep is a reconciling! 619
Sleep now, my Muse! 272
Sleep wayward thoughts 42
_Some say that_ 425
Something I want; 264
Sometimes I seek for 269
_Somewhat, then, I_ 510
So movingly these 479
_So much grief_ 509
So powerful is the 612
Sorrow! Sorrow, stay! 523
Sorrow, to see my 653
Sorrow was there made 522
_So those virtues_ 493
Stay awhile! my 622
Stay, happy pair! 656
Stay, merry mates 655
Stay TIME, awhile 651
"_Still keep thy forehead_ 402
_"Still, when any wooèd_ 510
_Straight on me she_ 509
Such are thy parts 267
Such beams infused 612
_Such equal sweet_ 455
"_Sweet Heart!_" 453
Sweet! stay awhile! 648
Sweet Summer! 533
Take me, ASSURANCE! 532
Tears but augment 652
_Tell me, my heart!_ 383
Tell me, TRUE LOVE! 652
_That Gait and those_ 506
That GOD's true Word 169
_That Forehead_ 505
_That Lust, which thy_ 507
_That Strength_ 504
The acts of Ages past 495
The ancient poets write 266
The child, for ever 292
The Cynic being asked 270
The day I see is clear 618
The days are now come 272
Thee! entirely 360
The envious swelling 67
_Thee! unknown_ 509
The fire of Love 274
_The force of Love_ 153
_The grief whereof_ 399
The Ladies ever 61
The Ladies smiled oft 483
The longest day 285
The lowest trees 621
The more the virtue 70
Their word is, spoken 55
_Then all those rare_ 505
Then, as I, on Thee 362
Then from high rock 616
Then his tears 616
Then I forthwith took 618
Then LOVE and FOLLY 286
_Then, O, why so_ 492
Then mote it follow 64
Then sit thee down! 524
_Then Thou, that art_ 502
Then thus I buzzed 620
_Then what new study_ 383
Then, while their loves 362
Then will I thus 70
The painful ploughman 269
_There, a fountain_ 509
_Therefore have the_ 492
_Therefore know!_ 429
_Therefore on my_ 508
_There lives no Swain_ 481
There was but One 291
These faults had 285
These Ladies 63
_These, thy flocks do_ 490
The Spring of Youth 292
The sun hath twice 296
The sweet content 268
The tender Sprigs 274
"The things we have 293
The time will come 294
_The wishes of the_ 170
The worth that 48
Think'st thou, then 39
This Beauty shews 612
_This I knowing, did_ 382
This, thy Picture 361
_Those Ears, thou_ 505
_Those Eyes, which_ 506
_Those Fancies that_ 507
_Those Lips, whereon_ 506
Those sorry books 61
"_Those that have set_ 401
Those, that Mistresses 361
_Those tresses of Hair_ 505
_Those, whom the_ 489
Though a stranger 359
_Though I vainly do_ 485
Though little sign 247
_Though of dainties_ 486
Though thou be fair 294
Though thy praise 358
_Though you Lord it_ 489
_Thou, their folly_ 492
Thou, to no man 361
Thus have I long 288
_Thus Love and Grace_ 153
Thus, Precious Gem! 69
Thus sang the Nymph! 493
_Thy Affection_ 490
Thy grief in my deep 36
Thy large smooth 295
_Thy leave_ 477
_Thy joints are yet_ 504
_Thy Teeth, that stood_ 506
Time can abate the 615
Time's eldest son 524
Time stands still 611
'Tis not the vain 619
_'Tis the Eye that_ 382
To all, save me 44
To ask for all thy love 649
"To err and do amiss 290
To her! Nay! 56
To her, then, yield 614
To Master JEAN 64
To paint her outward 265
To seek adventures 263
To slaunder women 59
To thee, ALCILIA! 259
To thyself, the 529
Toss not my soul 532
To whom shall I 651
True love cannot 43
Trust, Perfect Love 66
Truth is not placed 620
"Twixt Hope and Fear 274
_Two pretty rills do_ 363
"Uncouth, unkist 272
Unhappy Eyes! 263
Unquiet thoughts! 34
Unwise was he, that 267
Upon the altar where 270
Upon the ocean 275
Vows, and oaths 529
_Walking to a pleasant_ 508
Was I so base, that I 37
Weep you no more 619
Weep not apace 614
Welcome, black Night 655
Were every thought 651
Were Love a Fire 265
What although in 359
What, am I dead? 264
"_What goodly thing_ 433
_What hopes have I_ 384
What if I never 615
_What is the cause_ 452
"What is the cause 266
"_What I waking_ 510
What, JOHN BON! 103
What poor astronomers 621
What thing is Beauty? 292
What thing is LOVE? 289
_What though my_ 384
When ALEXANDER 168
When AMBROSE died 165
When ASKUE, PALMER 162
When AWCOCKE, in 155
When blessèd BUTTER 155
When BRADBRIDGE 158
When BRADFORD 156
_When bright_ 508
When constant 160
When DALE deceased 167
When DENLY died 156
When DIRICK 156
When DUNSTON 163
When fair REBECCA 320
When FORTUNE 612
When GEORGE EGLES 165
When GLOVER 158
When godly GORE 159
When HULLIARDE 160
_When I have reached_ 404
_When in thraldom_ 488
When I swore my 529
When JA[C]KSON 162
When JOAN 164
When JOHN DAVY 168
When JOHN FISCOKE 165
When JOHN FORMAN 162
When JOHN HORNE 163
When JOHN LESSE 158
When JOHN LOWMAS 159
When JOHN NEWMAN 157
When JOHN OSWOLD 161
When JOHN ROUGHE 166
When JOYCE BOWES 166
When KATHERINE 161
When, last of all 169
When LAURENCE 157
When learnèd RIDLEY 158
When lowly LISTER 161
When MARGARET 161
_When on my bed_ 482
_When other noble_ 386
When others sing 525
_When PHILOMELA_ 430
When raging reign 154
When RAVENSDALE 163
When RICHARD 156
When RICHARD ROOTH 166
When RICHARD SMITH 158
When RICHARD YEMAN 168
When ROGERS 154
When ROWLAND 154
When SAMUEL 157
When shall Contention 171
When shall Jerusalem 170
When shall our minds 172
When shall that Man 171
When shall that painted 171
When shall the 170
When shall the blood 171
When shall the faithful 172
When shall the mind 170
When shall the serpents 171
When shall the SPIRIT 171
When shall the time 170
When shall the Trump 172
When shall the walls 170
When shall this flesh 172
When shall this life 171
When shall this time 170
When shall Thy Christ 172
When shall Thy Spouse 171
When shall True 172
When SOUTHAN 167
When SPARROW 166
When STANLY's wife 164
When SPENCER 160
When sudden chance 263
When TANKERFIELDE 157
When ten, at 165
When that JOHN 167
When the high GOD 59
When the weaver 163
When THOMAS FINALL 164
When THOMAS TYLER 168
When THOMAS 162
When THOMAS 159
When thoughts are 652
When three, within 103
When THURSTON's 166
When TOMKINS 155
When two at Ashford 164
When two men 161
When two women 160
When WHOD the 162
When WILLIAM 168
When WILLIAM 164
When WILLIAM 165
When WILLIAM 160
When WILLIAM 156
When WILLIAM 155
When WILLIAM ALLEN 157
When WILLIAM HARRIS 167
When WILLIAM NICOLL 167
When worthy WATTES 155
When worthy WEB 159
_When your faults_ 486
_When your hearts_ 487
Wherefore I say 67
_Wherefore, Muse!_ 382
Wherefore proceedeth 58
Where, retchless boy! 261
Where waters smoothest 621
_Whether thrallèd_ 492
_Which if I find_ 385
While season served to 293
Whilom, for many 62
_Whilst thus she spake_ 434
_Whilst Youth_ 384
White as lilies was 528
Whoever thinks, or 35
Who seats his love 293
Who spends the weary 273
Who thinks that 35
Who would be rapt 291
_Why are idle brains_ 491
_Why court I thy_ 453
_Why do foolish men_ 401
"_Why do I fondly_ 400
Why should I love 272
Why should we hope 290
Wilt thou be abusèd 37
Wilt thou, Unkind! 43
_With hand in hand_ 430
Within this pack 527
With pity moved 616
_With pleasant toil_ 431
_With that dismayed_ 400
_With that, I felt_ 434
Woful Heart, _with_ 530
Woman forsoke Him 69
Womanis heart 66
Women were made 284
Would my conceit 44
Wretched is he that 273
_Yea, and he that thinks_ 382
Yet be thou mindful 43
_Yet, ere, my eyes_ 405
Yet, if you please 649
Yet in this, Thou 362
_Yet I would not_ 428
"_Yet, let not, poor_ 402
Yet was this sinnè 68
_You are pleasèd_ 487
You cannot, every day 649
_You do bravely_ 487
_You Gallants, born_ 425
_You gentle Nymphs!_ 480
_You may boast_ 484
You men that give 526
_You never took so_ 435
Young men shall 360
You that, at a blush 370
Youthful Desire is 290
You woods! in you 526
_You woody Hills!_ 403
[Illustration: AN ENGLISH GARNER
INGATHERINGS FROM OUR HISTORY AND LITERATURE]
VOL. IV.
ROBERT TOMSON, of Andover, Merchant.
_Voyage to the West Indies and Mexico_,
1556-1558, A.D.
[HAKLUYT. _Voyages._ 1589.]
The marvel is, that at this date, these Englishmen were allowed
to go to New Spain at all; it was probably one of the results
of the marriage of PHILIP with MARY TUDOR. BLAKE, FIELD, and
TOMSON were probably the first British islanders who reached
the city of Mexico. This narrative also gives us an account of
the first _auto-da-fé_ in that city.
* * * * *
ROBERT TOMSON, born in the town of Andover, in Hampshire, began his
travels out of England in the month of March, _anno_ 1553 [_i.e._,
1554]; who departing out of the city of Bristol in company of other
merchants of the said city, in a good ship called the bark _Young_,
within eight days after, arrived at Lisbon, at Portugal: where the said
ROBERT TOMSON remained fifteen days. At the end of which, he shipped
himself for Spain in the said ship, and within four days arrived in
the bay of Cadiz in Andalusia, which is under the kingdom of Spain:
and from thence, travelled up to the city of Seville by land, which is
twenty leagues; and there, he repaired to the house of one JOHN FIELD,
an English merchant who had dwelt in the said city of Seville eighteen
or twenty years married, with wife and children. In whose house, the
said TOMSON remained by the space of one whole year or thereabout, for
two causes: the one, to learn the Castilian tongue; the other, to see
the orders of the country, and the customs of the people.
At the end of which time, having seen the fleets of ships come out
of the [West] Indies to that city, with such great quantity of gold
and silver, pearls, precious stones, sugar, hides, ginger, and divers
other rich commodities; he did determine with himself to seek means and
opportunity to pass over to see that rich country, from whence such a
great quantity of rich commodities came.
And it fell out, that within short time after, the said JOHN FIELD,
where the said TOMSON was lodged, did determine to pass over into the
West Indies himself, with his wife, children, and family: and, at the
request of the said TOMSON, he purchased a license of the King, to
pass into the Indies, for himself, wife, and children; and among them,
also, for the said TOMSON to pass with them. So that presently they
made preparation of victuals and other necessary provision for the
voyage. But the ships which were prepared to perform the voyage being
all ready to depart, were, upon certain considerations by the King's
commandment, stayed and arrested, till further should be known of the
King's pleasure.
Whereupon, the said JOHN FIELD, with his company and ROBERT TOMSON
(being departed out of Seville, and come down to San Lucar de
Barrameda, fifteen leagues off) seeing the stay made upon the ships
of the said fleet, and not being assured when they would depart,
determined to ship themselves for the isles of the Canaries, which
are 250 leagues from San Lucar, and there to stay till the said fleet
should come hither; for that is continually their port to make stay
at, six or eight days, to take fresh water, bread, flesh, and other
necessaries.
So that in the month of February, in _anno_ 1555, the said ROBERT
TOMSON, with the said JOHN FIELD and his company, shipped themselves
in a caravel of the city of Cadiz, out of the town of San Lucar; and
within six days, they arrived at the port of the Grand Canary: where at
our coming, the ships that rode in the said port began to cry out of
all measure, with loud voices: insomuch that the Castle, which stood
fast by, began to shoot at us, and shot six or eight shot at us, and
struck down our mainmast before we could hoist out our boat to go on
land to know what the cause of the shooting was; seeing that we were
Spanish ships, and coming into our country.
So that being on land, and complaining of the wrong and damage done
unto us; they answered that "they had thought we had been French
rovers, that had come into the said port to do some harm to the ships
that were there." For that eight days past, there went out of the said
port a caravel much like unto ours, ladened with sugars and other
merchandise for Spain; and on the other side of the Point of the said
island, met with a French Man of War: which took the said caravel, and
unladed out of her into the said French ship, both men and goods. And
it being demanded of the said Spaniards, "What other ships remained
in the port whence they came?"; they answered, "There remained divers
other ships, and one ladened with sugars as they were, and ready to
depart for Spain." Upon the which news, the Frenchmen put thirty tall
men of their ship, well appointed, into the said caravel that they had
taken, and sent her back again to the said port from whence she had
departed the day before.
Somewhat late towards evening, she came into port, not showing past
three or four men, and so came to an anchor hard by the other ships
that were in the said port. Being seen by the Castle and by the said
ships, they made no reckoning of her, because they knew her: and
thinking that she had found contrary winds at the sea, or having
forgotten something behind them, they had returned back again for the
same, they made no account of her, but let her alone riding quietly
among the other ships in the said port. So that about midnight, the
said caravel, with the Frenchmen in her, went aboard [_touched_] the
other ship that lay hard by, ladened with sugars; and driving the
Spaniards that were in her under the hatches, presently let slip her
cables and anchors, and set sail and carried her clean away: and after
this sort, deceived them. And they thinking or fearing that we were the
like, did shoot at us as they did.
This being past: the next day after our arrival in the said port, we
did unbark ourselves, and went on land up to the city or head town of
the Grand Canaria, where we remained eighteen or twenty days; and there
found certain Englishmen, merchants, servants of ANTHONY HICKMAN and
EDWARD CASTELIN, merchants in the city of London, that lay there for
traffic: of whom we received great courtesy and much good cheer.
After the which twenty days being past, in which we had seen the
country, the people, and the disposition thereof, we departed from
thence, and passed to the next isle of the Canaries, eighteen leagues
off, called Teneriffe; and being come on land, went up to the city
called La Laguna: where we remained seven months, attending the coming
of the whole fleet, which, in the end, came; and there having taken
that which they had need of, we shipped ourselves in a ship of Cadiz,
being one of the said fleet, belonging to an Englishman married in the
city of Cadiz in Spain, whose name was JOHN SWEETING. There came in
the said ship as Captain, an Englishman also, whose name was LEONARD
CHILTON, married in Cadiz, and son-in-law to the said JOHN SWEETING:
and another Englishman also, whose name was RALPH SARRE, came in the
same ship, which had been a merchant of the city of Exeter; one of
fifty years of age or thereabouts.
So that we departed from the said islands in the month of October, the
foresaid year [1555], eight ships in our company, and so directed our
course towards the Bay of New Spain [_Gulf of Mexico_]; and, by the
way, towards the island of Santo Domingo, otherwise called Hispaniola:
so that within forty-two days [_i.e., in December_] after we departed
from the said islands of Canaries, we arrived with our ship at the port
of Santo Domingo; and went in over the bar, where our ship knocked her
keel at her entry. There our ship rid [_rode_] before the town; where
we went on land, and refreshed ourselves sixteen days.
There we found no bread made of wheat, but biscuit brought out of
Spain, and out of the Bay of Mexico. For the country itself doth yield
no kind of grain to make bread withal: but the bread they make there,
is certain cakes made of roots called _cassavia_; which is something
substantial, but it hath an unsavoury taste in the eating thereof.
Flesh of beef and mutton, they have great store; for there are men that
have 10,000 head of cattle, of oxen, bulls, and kine, which they do
keep only for the hides: for the quantity of flesh is so great, that
they are not able to spend the hundredth part. Of hog's flesh is there
good store, very sweet and savoury; and so wholesome that they give it
to sick folks to eat, instead of hens and capons: although they have
good store of poultry of that sort, as also of guinea cocks and guinea
hens.
At the time of our being there, the city of Santo Domingo was not of
above 500 households of Spaniards: but of the Indians dwelling in
the suburbs, there were more. The country is, most part of the year,
very hot: and very full of a kind of flies or gnats with long bills
[_mosquitos_], which do prick and molest the people very much in the
night when they are asleep, in pricking their faces and hands and
other parts of their bodies that lie uncovered, and make them to swell
wonderfully. Also there is another kind of small worm, which creepeth
into the soles of men's feet, and especially of the Black Moors
[_Indians_] and children which use to go barefoot, and maketh their
feet to grow as big as a man's head, and doth so ache that it would
make one run mad. They have no remedy for the same, but to open the
flesh, sometimes three or four inches, and so dig them out.
The country yieldeth great store of sugar, hides of oxen, bulls and
kine, ginger, _cana fistula_, and _salsaparilla_. Mines of silver and
gold there are none; but in some rivers, there is found some small
quantity of gold. The principal coin that they do traffic withal in
that place is black money, made of copper and brass: and this they say
they do use, not for that they lack money of gold and silver to trade
withal out of the other parts of [West] India, but because, if they
should have good money, the merchants that deal with them in trade
would carry away their gold and silver, and let the country commodities
lie still. And thus much for Santo Domingo. So we were, coming from the
isles of Canaries to Santo Domingo, and staying there, until the month
of December: which was three months.
About the beginning of January [1556], we departed thence towards the
Bay of Mexico and New Spain; towards which we set our course, and so
sailed twenty-four days, till we came within fifteen leagues of San
Juan de Ulua, which was the port of Mexico of our right discharge.
And being so near our said port, there rose a storm of northerly winds
which came off from _Terra Florida_; which caused us to cast about
into the sea again, for fear lest that night we should be cast upon
the shore before day did break, and so put ourselves in danger of
casting away. The wind and sea grew so foul and strong, that, within
two hours after the storm began, nine ships that were together, were so
dispersed, that we could not see one another.
One of the ships of our company, being of the burden of 500 tons,
called the "Hulk of Carion," would not cast about to sea, as we did;
but went that night with the land: thinking in the morning to purchase
the port of San Juan de Ulua; but missing the port, went with the
shore, and was cast away. There were drowned of that ship, seventy-five
persons, men, women, and children; and sixty-four were saved that could
swim, and had means to save themselves. Among those that perished in
that ship, was a gentleman who had been Pres[id]ent the year before
in Santo Domingo, his wife and four daughters, with the rest of his
servants and household.
We, with the other seven ships, cast about into the sea, the storm
[en]during ten days with great might, boisterous winds, fogs, and rain.
Our ship, being old and weak, was so tossed that she opened at the
stern a fathom under water, and the best remedy we had was to stop it
with beds and pilobiers [? _pillows for litters_]: and for fear of
sinking we threw and lightened into the sea all the goods we had, or
could come by; but that would not serve.
Then we cut our mainmast, and threw all our ordnance into the sea,
saving one piece; which, early in a morning, when we thought we should
have sunk, we shot off: and, as it pleased GOD, there was one of the
ships of our company near unto us, which we saw not by means of the
great fog; which hearing the sound of the piece, and understanding some
of the company to be in great extremity, began to make towards us, and
when they came within hearing of us, we desired them "for the love of
GOD! to help to save us, for that we were all like to perish!" They
willed us "to hoist our foresail as much as we could, and make towards
them; for they would do their best to save us;" and so we did.
And we had no sooner hoisted our foresail, but there came a gale of
wind; and a piece of sea struck in the foresail, and carried away sail
and mast all overboard: so that then we thought there was no hope of
life. And then we began to embrace one another, every man his friend,
every wife her husband, and the children their fathers and mothers;
committing our souls to Almighty GOD, thinking never to escape alive.
Yet it pleased GOD, in the time of most need, when all hope was past,
to aid us with His helping hand, and caused the wind a little to cease;
so that within two hours after, the other ship was able to come aboard
us, and took into her, with her boat, man, woman and child, naked
without hose, or shoes upon many of our feet.
I do remember that the last person that came out of the ship into the
boat was a woman Black Moore [_Indian_]; who leaping out of the ship
into the boat, with a young sucking child in her arms, leapt too short,
and fell into the sea, and was a good while under the water before the
boat could come to rescue her: and, with the spreading of her clothes
rose above water again, and was caught by the coat and pulled into the
boat, having still her child under her arm, both of them half drowned;
and yet her natural love towards her child would not let her let the
child go. And when she came aboard the boat, she held her child so fast
under her arm still, that two men were scant able to get it out.
So we departed out of our ship, and left it in the sea. It was worth
400,000 ducats [= _about_ £100,000 _then = about_ £900,000 _now_], ship
and goods, when we left it.
Within three days after, we arrived at our port of San Juan de Ulua, in
New Spain.
I do remember that in the great and boisterous storm of this foul
weather, in the night there came upon the top of our mainyard and
mainmast, a certain little light, much like unto the light of a little
candle, which the Spaniards called the _corpos sancto_, and said "It
was Saint ELMO" [_see Vol. III. p. 417_], whom they take to be the
advocate of sailors. At which sight, the Spaniards fell down upon
their knees and worshipped it: praying GOD and Saint ELMO to cease the
torment, and save them from the peril they were in; with promising him
that, on their coming on land, they would repair unto his chapel, and
there cause masses to be said, and other ceremonies to be done. The
friars [did] cast relics into the sea, to cause the sea to be still,
and likewise said _Gospels_, with other crossings and ceremonies upon
the sea to make the storm to cease: which, as they said, did much good
to weaken the fury of the storm. But I could not perceive it, nor
gave any credit to it; till it pleased GOD to send us the remedy, and
delivered us from the rage of the same. His name be praised therefore!
This light continued aboard our ship about three hours, flying from
mast to mast, and from top to top; and sometimes it would be in two or
three places at once. I informed myself of learned men afterward, what
this light should be? and they said that "It was but a congelation of
the wind and vapours of the sea congealed with the extremity of the
weather, and so flying in the wind, many times doth chance to hit the
masts and shrouds of the ship that are at sea in foul weather." And,
in truth, I do take it to be so: for that I have seen the like in
other ships at sea, and in sundry ships at once. By this, men may see
how the Papists are given to believe and worship such vain things and
toys as God; to whom all honour doth appertain: and in their need and
necessities do let [_cease_] to call upon the living GOD, who is the
giver of all good things.
The 16th of April in _anno_ 1556, we arrived at the port of San Juan de
Ulua in New Spain, very naked and distressed of apparel and all other
things, by means of the loss of our foresaid ship and goods; and from
thence we went to the new town called Vera Cruz, five leagues from
the said port of San Juan de Ulua, marching still by the sea shore:
where we found lying upon the sands a great quantity of mighty great
trees, with roots and all, some of them four, five, or six cart load,
by estimation; which, as the people told us, were, in the great stormy
weather which we [en]dured at sea, rooted out of the ground in _Terra
Florida_ right against that place (which is 300 leagues over the sea),
and brought thither.
So that we came to the said town of Vera Cruz; where we remained a
month. There the said JOHN FIELD chanced to meet an old friend of his
acquaintance in Spain, called GONZALO RUIZ DE CORDOVA, a very rich man
of the said town of Vera Cruz; who (hearing of his coming thither,
with his wife and family; and of his misfortune by sea) came unto
him, and received him and all his household into his house, and kept
us there a whole month, making us very good cheer; and giving us good
entertainment, and also gave us, that were in all eight persons, of the
said J. FIELD's house, double apparel, new out of the shop, of very
good cloth, coats, cloaks, shirts, smocks, gowns for the women, hose,
shoes, and all other necessary apparel; and for our way up to the city
of Mexico, horses, moyles [_mules_], and men; and money in our purses
for the expenses by the way, which by our account might amount unto the
sum of 400 crowns [= £120 _then = about_ £1,000 _now_].
After we were entered two days' journey into the country, I, the said
ROBERT TOMSON, fell sick of an ague: so that the next day I was not
able to sit on my horse; but was fain to be carried upon Indians' backs
from thence to Mexico.
And when we came within half a day's journey of the city of Mexico,
the said JOHN FIELD also fell sick; and within three days after we
arrived at the said city, he died. And presently sickened one of his
children, and two more of his household people; who within eight days
died. So that within ten days after we arrived at the city of Mexico,
of eight persons that were of us of the said company, there remained
but four of us alive: and I, the said TOMSON, at the point of death,
of the sickness that I got on the way, which continued with me for the
space of six months [_till October 1556_]. At the end of which time,
it pleased GOD to restore me my health again, though weak and greatly
disabled.
* * * * *
Mexico was a city, in my time, of not above 1,500 households of
Spaniards inhabiting there; but of Indian people in the suburbs of the
said city, there dwelt about 300,000 as it was thought, and many more.
This city of Mexico is sixty-five leagues from the North Sea [_the Gulf
of Mexico_] and seventy-five leagues from the South Sea [_the Pacific
Ocean_]; so that it standeth in the midst of the main land, betwixt the
one sea and the other.
It is situated in the midst of a lake of standing water, and surrounded
round about with the same; save, in many places, going out of the city,
are many broad ways through the said lake or water. This lake and city
are surrounded also with great mountains round about, which are in
compass above thirty leagues; and the said city and lake of standing
water doth stand in a great plain in the midst of it. This lake of
standing water doth proceed from the shedding of the rain, that falleth
upon the said mountains; and so gathers itself together in this place.
All the whole proportion of this city doth stand in a very plain
ground; and in the midst of the said city is a square Place, of a good
bow shot over from side to side. In the midst of the said Place is a
high Church, very fair and well built all through, but at that time not
half finished.
Round about the said Place, are many fair houses built. On the one side
are the houses where MONTEZUMA, the great King of Mexico that was,
dwelt; and now there lie always the Viceroys that the King of Spain
sendeth thither every three years: and in my time there was for Viceroy
a gentleman of Castille, called DON LUIS DE VELASCO.
And on the other side of the said Place, over against the same, is the
Bishop's house, very fairly built; and many other houses of goodly
building. And hard by the same are also other very fair houses, built
by the Marquis DE LA VALLE, otherwise called HERNANDO CORTES; who was
he that first conquered the said city and country. After the said
conquest (which he made with great labour and travail of his person,
and danger of his life), being grown great in the country; the King
of Spain sent for him, saying that he had some particular matters to
impart to him: and, when he came home, he could not be suffered to
return back again, as the King before had promised him. With the sorrow
for which, he died: and this he had for the reward of his good service.
The said city of Mexico hath streets made very broad and right
[_straight_] that a man being in the highway at one end of the street,
may see at the least a good mile forward: and in all the one part of
the streets of the north part of their city, there runneth a pretty
lake of very clear water, that every man may put into his house as much
as he will, without the cost of anything but of the letting in.
Also there is a great ditch of water that cometh through the city,
even into the high Place; where come, every morning, at break of the
day, twenty or thirty canoes or troughs of the Indians; which bring in
them all manner of provisions for the city that is made and groweth
in the country: which is a very good commodity for the inhabitants of
that place. And as for victuals in the said city, beef, mutton, hens,
capons, quails, guinea cocks, and such like, are all very good cheap;
as the whole quarter of an ox, as much as a slave can carry away from
the butcher's, for five tomynes, that is, five rials of plate [_i.e.,
of silver. See Vol. III. p._ 184], which is just 2s. 6d. [= £1 5_s._
0_d. now_]; and fat sheep at the butcher's, for three rials, which is
1s. 6d. [= 12_s._ 6_d. now_], and no more. Bread is as good cheap as in
Spain; and all other kinds of fruits, as apples, pears, pomegranates,
and quinces, at a reasonable rate.
The city goeth wonderfully forward in building of Friaries and
Nunneries, and Chapels; and is like, in time to come, to be the most
populous city in the world, as it may be supposed.
The weather is there always very temperate. The day differeth but one
hour of length all the year long. The fields and woods are always
green. The woods are full of popinjays, and many other kind of birds,
that make such a harmony of singing and crying, that any man will
rejoice to hear it. In the fields are such odoriferous smells of
flowers and herbs, that it giveth great content to the senses.
In my time, were dwelling and alive in Mexico, many ancient men that
were of the Conquerors, at the first conquest with HERNANDO CORTES:
for, then, it was about thirty-six years ago, that the said country was
conquered.
* * * * *
Being something strong, I procured to seek means to live, and to seek
a way how to profit myself in the country seeing it had pleased GOD to
send us thither in safety.
Then, by the friendship of one THOMAS BLAKE, a Scottish-man born,
who had dwelt, and had been married in the said city above twenty
years before I came to the said city [_i.e., before 1536_], I was
preferred to the service of a gentleman, a Spaniard dwelling there, a
man of great wealth, and of one of the first conquerors of the said
city, whose name was GONZALO SEREZO: with whom I dwelt twelve months
and a half [_i.e., up to November 1557_]; at the end of which, I was
maliciously accused by the Holy House for matters of religion.
And because it shall be known wherefore it was, that I was so punished
by the clergy's hand; I will in brief words, declare the same.
It is so, that, being in Mexico, at table, among many principal people
at dinner, they began to inquire of me, being an Englishman, "Whether
it were true that in England, they had overthrown all their Churches
and Houses of Religion; and that all the images of the saints of heaven
that were in them, were thrown down and broken, and burned, and [that
they] in some places stoned highways with them; and [that they] denied
their obedience to the Pope of Rome: as they had been certified out of
Spain by their friends?"
To whom, I made answer, "That it was so. That, in deed, they had in
England, put down all the religious houses of friars and monks that
were in England; and the images that were in their churches and other
places were taken away, and used there no more. For that, as they say,
the making of them, and the putting of them where they were adored, was
clean contrary to the express commandment of Almighty GOD, _Thou shalt
not make to thyself any graven image &c._: and that, for that cause,
they thought it not lawful that they should stand in the church, which
is, the House of Adoration."
One that was at the declaring of these words, who was my master,
GONZALO SEREZO, answered and said, "If it were against the commandment
of GOD, to have images in the churches; that then he had spent a great
deal of money in vain; for that, two years past [_i.e., in 1555_] he
had made in the Monastery of Santo Domingo in the said city of Mexico,
an image of Our Lady, of pure silver and gold, with pearls and precious
stones, which cost him 7,000 and odd _pesos_" (and every _peso_ is 6s.
8d. of our money) [= _about_ £2,400, or _about_ £24,000 _now_]: which
indeed was true, for I have seen it many times myself where it stands.
At the table was another gentleman, who, presuming to defend the cause
more than any one that was there, said, "That they knew well enough,
that they were made but of stocks and stones, and that to them was no
worship given; but that there was a certain veneration due unto them
after they were set up in church: and that they were set there with a
good intent. The one, for that they were Books for the Simple People,
to make them understand the glory of the saints that were in heaven,
and a shape of them; to put us in remembrance to call upon them to
be our intercessors unto GOD for us: for that we are such miserable
sinners that we are not worthy to appear before GOD; and that using
devotion to saints in heaven, they may obtain at GOD's hands, the
sooner, the thing that we demand of Him. As, for example," he said,
"imagine that a subject hath offended his King upon the earth in any
kind of respect; is it for the party to go boldly to the King in
person, and to demand pardon for his offences? No," saith he, "the
presumption were too great; and possibly he might be repulsed, and have
a great rebuke for his labour. Better it is for such a person to seek
some private man near the King in his Court, and to make him acquainted
with this matter, and let him be a mediator to His Majesty for him
and for the matter he had to do with him; and so might he the better
come to his purpose, and obtain the thing which he doth demand. Even
so," saith he, "it is with GOD and His saints in heaven. For we are
wretched sinners; and not worthy to appear or present ourselves before
the Majesty of GOD, to demand of Him the thing that we have need of:
therefore thou hast need to be devout! and have devotion to the mother
of God, and the saints in heaven, to be intercessors to GOD for thee!
and so mayest thou the better obtain of GOD, the thing that thou dost
demand!"
To this I answered, "Sir, as touching the comparison you made of the
intercessors to the King, how necessary they were, I would but ask of
you this question. Set the case, that this King you speak of, if he be
so merciful as when he knoweth that one or any of his subjects hath
offended him; he send for him to his own town, or to his own house or
place, and say unto him, 'Come hither! I know that thou hast offended
many laws! if thou dost know thereof, and dost repent thee of the same,
with full intent to offend no more, I will forgive thee thy trespass,
and remember it no more!'" Said I, "If this be done by the King's own
person, what then hath this man need go and seek friendship at any of
the King's private servants' hands; but go to the principal: seeing
that he is readier to forgive thee, than thou art to demand forgiveness
at his hands!"
"Even so is it, with our gracious GOD, who calleth and crieth out unto
us throughout all the world, by the mouth of His prophets and apostles;
and, by His own mouth, saith, 'Come unto me all ye that labour and are
over laden, and I will refresh you!' besides a thousand other offers
and proffers, which He doth make unto us in His Holy Scriptures. What
then have we need of the saints' help that are in heaven, whereas the
LORD Himself doth so freely offer Himself for us?"
At which sayings, many of the hearers were astonied, and said that, "By
that reason, I would give to understand that the Invocation of Saints
was to be disannulled, and by the laws of GOD not commanded."
I answered, "That they were not my words, but the words of GOD Himself.
Look into the Scriptures yourself, and you shall so find it!"
The talk was perceived to be prejudicial to the Romish doctrine; and
therefore it was commanded to be no more entreated of. And all remained
unthought upon, had it not been for a villainous Portuguese that was in
the company, who said, _Basta ser Ingles para saber todo esto y mas_,
who, the next day, without imparting anything to anybody, went to the
Bishop of MEXICO and his Provisor, and said, that "In a place where he
had been the day before was an Englishman, who had said that _there was
no need of Saints in the Church, nor of any Invocation of Saints_."
Upon whose denomination [_denouncement_], I was apprehended for the
same words here rehearsed, and none other thing; and thereupon was used
as hereafter is written.
So, apprehended, I was carried to prison, where I lay a close prisoner
seven months [_till July 1558_], without speaking to any creature, but
to the gaoler that kept the said prison, when he brought me my meat and
drink. In the meantime, was brought into the said prison, one AUGUSTINE
BOACIO, an Italian of Genoa, also for matters of religion; who was
taken at Zacatecas, eighty leagues to the north-westward of the city of
Mexico.
At the end of the said seven months [_i.e., in July 1558_], we were
both carried to the high Church of Mexico, to do an open penance upon
a high scaffold made before the high altar, upon a Sunday, in the
presence of a very great number of people; who were, at least, 5,000 or
6,000. For there were some that came one hundred miles off to see the
said _auto_, as they call it; for that there was never any before, that
had done the like in the said country: nor could tell what Lutherans
were, nor what it meant; for they never heard of any such thing before.
We were brought into the Church, every one with a _san benito_ upon his
back; which is, half a yard of yellow cloth, with a hole to put in a
man's head in the midst, and cast over a man's head: both flaps hang,
one before, and another behind; and in the midst of every flap a Saint
Andrew's cross, made of red cloth, and sewed in upon the same. And that
is called _San Benito_.
The common people, before they saw the penitents come into the Church,
were given to understand that we were heretics, infidels, and people
that did despise GOD and His works, and that we had been more like
devils than men; and thought we had had the favour [_appearance_] of
some monsters or heathen people: and when they saw us come into the
Church in our players' coats, the women and children began to cry out
and made such a noise, that it was strange to hear and see; saying,
that "They never saw goodlier men in all their lives; and that it was
not possible that there could be in us so much evil as was reported of
us; and that we were more like angels among men, than such persons of
such evil religion as by the priests and friars, we were reported to
be; and that it was a great pity that we should be so used for so small
an offence."
So that we were brought into the said high Church, and set upon the
scaffold which was made before the high altar, in the presence of all
the people, until _High Mass_ was done; and the Sermon made by a friar
concerning our matter: putting us in all the disgrace they could, to
cause the people not to take so much compassion upon us, for that "we
were heretics, and people seduced of the Devil, and had forsaken the
faith of the Catholic Church of Rome"; with divers other reproachful
words, which were too long to recite in this place.
_High Mass_ and Sermon being done; our offences (as they called them)
were recited, each man what he had said and done: and presently was the
sentence pronounced against us, that was that--
The said AUGUSTINE BOACIO was condemned to wear his _San Benito_
all the days of his life, and put into perpetual prison, where he
should fulfil the same; and all his goods confiscated and lost.
And I, the said TOMSON, to wear the _San Benito_ for three years;
and then to be set at liberty.
And for the accomplishing of this sentence or condemnation, we must
be presently sent down from Mexico to Vera Cruz, and from thence to
San Juan de Ulua, which was sixty-five leagues by land; and there
to be shipped for Spain, with straight commandment that, upon pain
of 1,000 ducats, every one of the Masters should look straightly
unto us, and carry us to Spain, and deliver us unto the Inquisitors
of the Holy House of Seville; that they should put us in the
places, where we should fulfil our penances that the Archbishop of
MEXICO had enjoined unto us, by his sentence there given.
For the performance of the which, we were sent down from Mexico to the
seaside, with fetters upon our feet; and there delivered to the Masters
of the ships to be carried for Spain, as is before said.
And it was so, that the Italian fearing that if he presented himself
in Spain before the Inquisitors, that they would have burnt him; to
prevent that danger, when we were coming homeward, and were arrived at
the island of Terceira, one of the isles of Azores, the first night
that we came to an anchor in the said port [_i.e., of Angra_], about
midnight, he found the means to get him naked out of the ship into the
sea, and swam naked ashore; and so presently got him to the further
side of the island, where he found a little caravel ready to depart for
Portugal. In the which he came to Lisbon; and passed into France, and
so into England; where he ended his life in the city of London.
And I, for my part, kept still aboard the ship, and came into Spain;
and was delivered to the Inquisitors of the Holy House of Seville,
where they kept me in close prison till I had fulfilled the three years
of my penance, [_i.e., till about 1561_].
Which time being expired, I was freely put out of prison, and set at
liberty.
Being in the city of Seville, a cashier of one HUGH TYPTON, an English
merchant of great doing, by the space of one year [_i.e., till about
1562_]; it fortuned that there came out of the city of Mexico, a
Spaniard, JUAN DE LA BARRERA, that had been long time in the Indies,
and had got great sums of gold and silver. He, with one only daughter,
shipped himself for to come to Spain; and, by the way, chanced to die,
and gave all that he had unto his only daughter, whose name was MARIA
DE LA BARRERA.
She having arrived at the city of Seville, it was my chance to marry
with her. The marriage was worth to me £2,500 [= £25,000 _now_] in bars
of gold and silver, besides jewels of great price. This I thought good
to speak of, to show the goodness of GOD to all them that trust in Him;
that I, being brought out of the Indies in such great misery and infamy
to the world, should be provided at GOD's hand, in one moment, of more
than in all my life before, I could attain unto by my own labour.
After we departed from Mexico, our _San Benitos_ were set up in the
high Church of the said city, with our names written in the same,
according to their use and custom; which is and will be a monument and
a remembrance of us, as long as the Romish Church doth reign in that
country. The same have been seen since, by one JOHN CHILTON; and divers
others of our nation, which were left in that country, long since
[_i.e., in October 1568_] by Sir JOHN HAWKINS.
_Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals,_
_Canzonets, &c._
We purpose giving in the present Volume, all the printed Songs to
which music was set by JOHN DOWLAND, the Lutenist; of whom, probably,
BARNFIELD wrote the following lines, which first appeared in the
surreptitious Collection _the Passionate Pilgrim_, in 1599; but which
are usually included in SHAKESPEARE's _Works_:
If Music and sweet Poetry agree;
As they must needs, the sister and the brother:
Then must the love be great 'twixt thee and me!
Because thou lov'st the one; and I, the other.
DOWLAND to thee, is dear; whose heavenly touch
Upon the lute doth ravish human sense:
SPENSER, to me; whose deep conceit is such
As, passing all conceit, needs no defence.
Thou lov'st to hear the sweet melodious sound
That PHOEBUS's Lute, the Queen of Music, makes:
And I, in deep delight, am chiefly drowned
When as himself to singing he betakes.
One god is god of both, as Poets feign:
One knight loves both, and both in thee remain!
The other poems set to music by DOWLAND, will be found at _pp_.
519-534, 609-622, 644-656.
[Illustration]
JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music.
THE FIRST BOOK OF SONGS OR AIRS.
1597.
[Illustration]
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR GEORGE CAREY,
OF THE NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, KNIGHT,
BARON OF HUNSDON, CAPTAIN OF HER MAJESTY'S
Gentlemen Pensioners, Governor of the Isle of Wight,
Lieutenant of the County of Southampton, Lord
Chamberlain of Her Majesty's most royal
House; and of Her Highness's most
honourable Privy Council.
_That harmony, Right Honourable! which is skilfully expressed
by instruments: albeit, by reason of the variety of number and
proportion of itself, it easily stirs up the minds of the hearers
to admiration and delight; yet for higher authority and power, hath
been ever worthily attributed to that kind of music which to
the sweetness of [the] instrument applies the lively voice of man,
expressing some worthy sentence, or excellent poem. Hence, as all
antiquity can witness, first grew the heavenly Art of Music: for
LINUS, ORPHEUS, and the rest, according to the number and time of
their Poems, first framed the numbers and times of Music. So that
PLATO defines Melody to consist of Harmony, Number, and Words:
Harmony, naked of itself; Words, the ornament of Harmony; Number, the
common friend and writer of them both._
_This small book containing the consent of speaking harmony, joined
with the most musical instrument, the Lute, being my first labour,
I have presumed to dedicate to your Lordship: who, for your virtue
and nobility, are best able to protect it; and for your honourable
favours towards me, best deserving my duty and service. Besides,
your noble inclination and love to all good arts, and namely_
[particularly] _the divine science of Music, doth challenge the
Patronage of all Learning; than which no greater title can be added
to Nobility_.
_Neither in these your honours, may I let pass the dutiful remembrance
of your virtuous Lady, my honourable mistress, whose singular graces
towards me have added spirit to my unfortunate labours._
_What time and diligence I have bestowed in the Search of Music,
what travels in foreign countries, what success and estimation, even
among strangers, I have found, I leave to the report of others.
Yet all this in vain, were it not that your honourable hands have
vouchsafed to uphold my poor fortunes: which I now wholly recommend
to your gracious protection, with these my first endeavours, humbly
beseeching you to accept and cherish the same with your continued
favours._
_Your Lordship's most humble servant,_
_+JOHN DOWLAND.+_
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
To the Courteous Reader.
How hard an enterprise it is, in this skilful and curious Age, to
commit our private labours to the public view, mine own disability and
others' hard success do too well assure me: and were it not for that
love [which] I bear to the true lovers of music, I had concealed these
my first fruits; which how they will thrive with your taste I know
not, howsoever the greater part of them might have been ripe enough by
their age. The Courtly judgement, I hope will not be severe against
them, being itself a party; and those sweet Springs of Humanity, I
mean our two famous Universities, will entertain them for his sake
whom they have already graced, and, as it were, enfranchised in the
ingenuous profession of Music: which, from my childhood I have ever
aimed at, sundry times leaving my native country, the better to attain
so excellent a science.
About sixteen years past [_i.e., in 1580_], I travelled the chiefest
parts of France, a nation furnished with great variety of Music; but
lately, being of a more confirmed judgement, I bent my course towards
the famous provinces of Germany, where I found both excellent Masters,
and most honourable patrons of music, namely, those two miracles of
this Age for virtue and magnificence, HENRY JULIO, Duke of Brunswick,
and the learned MAURICE, Landgrave of Hesse; of whose princely virtues
and favours towards me, I can never speak sufficiently. Neither can
I forget the kindness of ALEXANDRO HOROLOGIO, a right learned master
of music, servant to the royal Prince, the Landgrave of Hesse, and
GREGORIO HOWET, Lutenist to the magnificent Duke of Brunswick; both
[of] whom I name, as well for their love to me as also for their
excellency in their faculties.
Thus having spent some months in Germany, to my great admiration of
that worthy country; I passed over the Alps into Italy, where I found
the Cities furnished with all good arts, but especially music. What
favour and estimation I had in Venice, Padua, Genoa, Ferrara, Florence,
and divers other places, I willingly suppress; lest I should, [in] any
way, seem partial in mine own endeavours. Yet I cannot dissemble the
great content I found in the proffered amity of the most famous LUCA
MARENZIO, whose sundry letters I received from Rome; and one of them,
because it is but short, I have thought good to set down, not thinking
it any disgrace to be proud of the judgement of so excellent a man.
_Molto magnifico Signior mio osservandissimo._
_Per una lettera del Signior ALBERIGO MALVEZI ho inteso quanto
con cortese affeto si mostri desideroso di essermi congionto_
_d'amicitia, dove infinitamente la ringratio di questo suo
buon'animo, offerendomegli all'incontro se in alcuna cosa la
posso servire, poi che gli meriti delle sue infinite virtù, e
qualità meritano che ogni uno e me l'ammirino e osservino, e per
fine di questo le bascio le mani. Di Roma, a' 13. di Luglio.
1595._
_D.V.S. Affettionatissimo servitore_,
+_LUCA MARENZIO_+.
Not to stand too long upon my travels: I will only name that worthy
Master, GIOVANNI CROCHIO, Vice-master of the Chapel of Saint Mark's in
Venice; with whom I had familiar conference.
And thus what experience I could gather abroad; I am now ready to
practice at home, if I may but find encouragement in my first assays.
There have been divers Lute Lessons of mine lately printed without my
knowledge, false and imperfect: but I purpose shortly myself to set
forth the choicest of all my Lessons in print, and also an Introduction
for Fingering; with other _Books of Songs_, whereof this is the first.
And as this finds favour with you, so shall I be affected to labour in
the rest. Farewell!
+JOHN DOWLAND.+
[Illustration]
+THOMÆ CAMPIANI.+
_Epigramma._ De instituto authoris.
_Famam, posteritas quam dedit ORPHEO._
_Dolandi melius MUSICA dat sibi,_
_Fugaces reprimens archetypis sonos;_
_Quas et delitias præbuit auribus,_
_Ipsis conspicuas luminibus facit._
[Illustration]
_Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals, Canzonets, &c._
[Illustration]
JOHN DOWLAND.
THE FIRST BOOK OF SONGS OR AIRS
Unquiet thoughts! your civil slaughter stint!
And wrap your wrongs within a pensive heart!
And you, my tongue! that makes my mouth a mint,
And stamps my thoughts, to coin them words by art,
Be still! For if you ever do the like,
I'll cut the string, that makes the hammer strike!
But what can stay my thoughts, they may not start?
Or put my tongue in durance for to die?
When as these eyes, the keys of mouth and heart
Open the lock, where all my love doth lie.
I'll seal them up within their lids for ever!
So thoughts and words and looks shall die together.
How shall I then gaze on my mistress' eyes?
My thoughts must have some vent, else heart will break.
My tongue would rust, as in my mouth it lies;
If eyes and thoughts were free, and that not speak.
Speak then! and tell the passions of Desire!
Which turns mine eyes to floods, my thoughts to fire.
* * * * *
Whoever thinks, or hopes of love for love?
Or who beloved, in CUPID's laws doth glory?
Who joys in vows, or vows not to remove:
Who, by this light god, hath not been made sorry?
Let him see me! eclipsed from my sun;
With dark clouds of an earth, quite overrun.
Who thinks that sorrows felt, desires hidden,
Or humble faith in constant honour armed,
Can keep love from the fruit that is forbidden?
Who thinks that change is by entreaty charmed?
Looking on me; let him know Love's delights
Are treasures hid in caves, but kept by sprites!
* * * * *
My Thoughts are winged with Hopes, my Hopes with Love.
Mount Love unto the moon in clearest night!
And say, "As she doth in the heavens move,
In earth so wanes and waxeth my delight."
And whisper this, but softly, in her ears!
"Hope oft doth hang the head, and Trust shed tears."
And you, my Thoughts, that some mistrust do carry!
If for mistrust, my mistress do you blame,
Say, "Though you alter, yet you do not vary
As she doth change; and yet remain the same:
Distrust doth enter hearts, but not infect;
And love is sweetest, seasoned with suspect."
If she for this, with clouds do mask her eyes,
And make the heavens dark with her disdain;
With windy sighs disperse them in the skies!
Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain!
Thoughts, Hopes, and Love return to me no more,
Till CYNTHIA shine, as she hath done before!
* * * * *
If My complaints could passions move,
Or make LOVE see wherein I suffer wrong;
My passions were enough to prove
That my despairs had governed me too long.
O LOVE, I live and die in thee!
Thy wounds do freshly bleed in me!
Thy grief in my deep sighs still speaks,
Yet thou dost hope when I despair!
My heart for thy unkindness breaks!
Thou say'st, "Thou can'st my harms repair."
And when I hope: thou mak'st me hope in vain!
Yet for redress, thou let'st me still complain!
Can LOVE be rich, and yet I want?
Is LOVE my judge, and yet am I condemned?
Thou plenty hast, yet me dost scant!
Thou made a god, and yet thy power contemned!
That I do live, it is thy power!
That I desire, it is thy worth!
If love doth make men's lives too sour,
Let me not love, nor live henceforth!
Die shall my hopes, but not my faith,
That you, that of my fall may hearers be,
May hear Despair, which truly saith,
"I was more true to LOVE, than LOVE to me."
* * * * *
Can she excuse my wrongs with virtue's cloak?
Shall I call her good, when she proves unkind?
Are those clear fires, which vanish into smoke?
Must I praise the leaves, where no fruit I find?
No! No! Where shadows do for bodies stand,
Thou may'st be abused, if thy sight be dim.
Cold love is like to words written on sand;
Or to bubbles, which on the water swim.
Wilt thou be abused still,
Seeing that she will right thee never?
If thou can'st not o'ercome her will,
Thy love will be thus fruitless ever!
Was I so base, that I might not aspire,
Unto those high joys, which she holds from me?
As they are high, so high is my desire,
If she this deny, what can granted be?
If she will yield to that which reason is,
It is Reason's will, that Love should be just.
Dear! make me happy still, by granting this,
Or cut off delays, if that die I must!
Better a thousand times to die,
Than for to live thus still tormented:
Dear! but remember it was I,
Who, for thy sake, did die contented.
* * * * *
Now, O now, I needs must part,
Parting, though I absent mourn;
Absence can no joy impart,
Joy once fled, cannot return.
While I live, I needs must love,
Love lives not, when hope is gone.
Now at last despair doth prove
Love divided, loveth none.
Sad despair doth drive me hence,
This despair, unkindness sends;
If that parting be offence,
It is she which then offends.
Dear! when I from thee am gone,
Gone are all my joys at once.
I loved thee, and thee alone!
In whose love I joyed once:
And although your sight I leave,
Sight wherein my joys do lie;
Till that death do sense bereave,
Never shall affection die!
Sad despair doth drive me hence, _&c._
Dear! if I do not return,
Love and I shall die together.
For my absence never mourn!
Whom you might have joyed ever.
Part we must, though now I die,
Die I do, to part with you:
Him despair doth cause to lie
Who both lived and dieth true.
Sad despair doth drive me hence, _&c._
* * * * *
Dear, if you change! I'll never choose again.
Sweet, if you shrink! I'll never think of love.
Fair, if you fail! I'll judge all beauty vain.
Wise, if too weak! more wits I'll never prove.
Dear! sweet! fair! wise! change, shrink, nor be not weak;
And, on my faith! my faith shall never break.
Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn;
Heaven her bright stars, through earth's dim globe shall move.
Fire, heat shall lose; and frosts, of flames be born;
Air made to shine, as black as hell shall prove:
Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transformed shall view,
Ere I prove false to faith, or strange to you!
* * * * *
Burst forth my tears! Assist my forward grief!
And show what pain, imperious love provokes!
Kind tender lambs, lament love's scant relief,
And pine, since pensive care my freedom yokes.
O pine to see me pine, my tender flocks!
Sad pining Care, that never may have peace,
At Beauty's gate, in hope of pity knocks;
And Mercy sleeps while deep disdains increase;
And Beauty, hope in her fair bosom yokes,
O grieve to hear my grief, my tender flocks!
Like to the winds, my sighs have wingèd been,
Yet are my sighs and suits repaid with mocks;
I plead, yet she repineth at my teen.
O ruthless rigour! harder than the rocks!
That both the shepherd kills, and his poor flocks.
* * * * *
O Crystal tears! like to the morning showers.
And sweetly weep into thy lady's breast!
And as the dews revive the drooping flowers,
So let your drops of pity be addresst!
To quicken up the thoughts of my desert.
Which sleeps too sound; whilst I from her depart.
Haste hapless sighs! and let your burning breath
Dissolve the ice of her indurate heart!
Whose frozen rigour, like forgetful Death,
Feels never any touch of my desert.
Yet sighs and tears to her, I sacrifice:
Both, from a spotless heart, and patient eyes.
* * * * *
Think'st thou, then, by feigning
Sleep, with a grand disdaining;
Or, with thy crafty closing,
Thy cruel eyes reposing;
To drive me from thy sight!
When sleep yields more delight,
Such harmless beauty gracing:
And while sleep feignèd is
May not I steal a kiss
Thy quiet arms embracing?
O that thy sleep dissembled,
Were to a trance resembled!
Thy cruel eyes deceiving,
Of lively sense bereaving:
Then should my love requite
Thy love's unkind despite,
While fury triumphed boldly
In beauty's sweet disgrace;
And lived in deep embrace
Of her that loved so coldly,
Should then my love aspiring,
Forbidden joys desiring,
So far exceed the duty
That Virtue owes to Beauty?
No! Love seek not thy bliss
Beyond a simple kiss!
For such deceits are harmless
Yet kiss a thousand fold;
For kisses may be bold
When lovely sleep is armless.
* * * * *
Come away! come, sweet love!
The golden morning breaks;
All the earth, all the air,
Of love and pleasure speaks!
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
And mix our souls in mutual bliss!
Eyes were made for beauty's grace
Viewing, ruing, love's long pains;
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.
Come away! come, sweet love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty's grace, that should rise
Like to the naked morn!
Lilies on the river's side,
And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown,
Desire no beauties but their own:
Ornament is Nurse of Pride.
Pleasure measure, love's delight,
Haste then, sweet love, our wishèd flight!
* * * * *
Rest awhile, you cruel cares!
Be not more severe than love!
Beauty kills and beauty spares,
And sweet smiles, sad sighs remove.
LAURA, fair Queen of my delight!
Come grant me love, in love's despite!
And if I ever fail to honour thee,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!
If I speak! My words want weight.
Am I mute! My heart doth break.
If I sigh! She fears deceit.
Sorrow then for me, must speak!
Cruel! unkind! with favour view
The wound that first was made by you!
And if my torments feignèd be,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!
Never hour of pleasing rest,
Shall revive my dying ghost,
Till my soul hath repossesst
The sweet hope, which love hath lost:
Laura! redeem the soul that dies
By fury of thy murdering eyes!
And if it proves unkind to thee,
Let this heavenly light I see,
Be as dark as hell to me!
* * * * *
Sleep wayward thoughts, and rest you with my Love!
Let not my Love, be with my love diseased!
Touch not proud hands, lest you her anger move!
But pine you with my longings long displeased:
Thus while she sleeps, I sorrow for her sake,
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.
But O, the fury of my restless fear!
The hidden anguish of my flesh desires!
The glories and the beauties that appear
Between her brows, near CUPID'S closèd fires!
Thus while she sleeps, moves sighing for her sake,
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.
My love doth rage, and yet my Love doth rest;
Fear in my love, and yet my Love secure;
Peace in my Love, and yet my love opprest;
Impatient, yet of perfect temperature.
Sleep dainty Love, while I sigh for thy sake!
So sleeps my Love; and yet my love doth wake.
* * * * *
All ye, whom love or fortune hath betrayed!
All ye that dream of bliss, but live in grief!
All ye whose hopes are evermore delayed!
All ye whose sighs or sickness want relief!
Lend ears and tears to me, most hapless man!
That sings my sorrows like the dying swan!
Care that consumes the heart with inward pain,
Pain that presents sad care in outward view;
Both, tyrant-like, enforce me to complain,
But still in vain, for none my plaints will rue:
Tears, sighs, and ceaseless cries alone I spend.
My woe wants comfort, and my sorrow, end.
* * * * *
Wilt thou, Unkind! thus 'reave me
Of my heart, and so leave me?
Farewell!
But yet, or ere I part, O Cruel!
Kiss me Sweet, my Jewel!
Farewell!
Hope by disdain grows cheerless
Fear doth love, love doth fear
Beauty peerless.
Farewell!
If no delays can move thee!
Life shall die, death shall live
Still to love thee.
Farewell!
Yet be thou mindful ever!
Heat from fire, fire from heat,
None can sever.
Farewell!
True love cannot be changed,
Though delight from desert
Be estranged.
Farewell!
* * * * *
Would my conceit that first inforced my woe,
Or else mine eyes, which still the same increase,
Might be extinct, to end my sorrows so;
Which now are such, as nothing can release.
Whose life is death; whose sweet, each change of sour;
And eke whose hell reneweth every hour.
Each hour, amidst the deep of hell I fry,
Each hour, I waste and wither where I sit;
But that sweet hour, wherein I wish to die,
My hope, alas, may not enjoy it yet.
Whose hope is such bereaved of the bliss,
Which unto all, save me, allotted is.
To all, save me, is free to live or die;
To all, save me, remaineth hap or hope.
But all, perforce, I must abandon!
Since Fortune still directs my hap aslope;
Wherefore to neither hap nor hope I trust,
But to my thrals I yield: for so I must.
* * * * *
Come again! Sweet love doth now invite
Thy graces that refrain
To do me due delight;
To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss,
To die with thee again in sweetest sympathy!
Come again! that I may cease to mourn
Through thy unkind disdain!
For now, left and forlorn,
I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die
In deadly pain, and endless misery.
All the day, the sun that lends me shine
By frowns doth cause me pine,
And feeds me with delay.
Her smiles, my springs, that make my joys to grow:
Her frowns, the winters of my woe.
All the night, my sleeps are full of dreams,
My eyes are full of streams;
My heart takes no delight
To see the fruits and joys that some do find,
And mark the storms are me assigned.
Out, alas! my faith is ever true;
Yet she will never rue,
Nor yield me any grace.
Her eyes, of fire; her heart of flint is made:
Whom tears nor truth may once invade.
Gentle LOVE draw forth thy wounding dart!
Thou can'st not pierce her heart!
For I (that do approve
By sighs and tears, more hot than are thy shafts)
Did 'tempt, while she for triumph laughs.
* * * * *
(_On the British Museum Copy, G9, there is the following pencil
note to this Song._ These words by [ROBERT DEVEREUX] the Earl of
ESSEX, and sung before Queen ELIZABETH, in a Masque at Greenwich.)
His golden locks, Time hath to silver turned.
O Time too swift! O swiftness never ceasing!
His Youth, 'gainst Time and Age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain, Youth waneth by increasing.
Beauty, Strength, Youth are flowers but fading seen;
Duty, Faith, Love are roots, and ever green.
His helmet, now, shall make a hive for bees,
And lover's Sonnets turn to holy Psalms;
A man-at-arms must, now, serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers, which are Age's alms:
But though from Court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.
And when he saddest sits, in homely cell,
H'll teach his swains this Carol for a Song;
_Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well!_
_Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong!_
Goddess! Allow this aged man his right!
To be your Beadsman now; that was your Knight.
* * * * *
Awake, sweet love! Thou art returned!
My heart, which long in absence mourned,
Lives now in perfect joy.
Only herself hath seemèd fair;
She only could I love.
She only drave me to despair,
When she unkind did prove.
Let love which never, absent, dies;
Now live for ever in her eyes!
Whence came my first annoy:
Despair did make me wish to die
That I my joys might end,
She only, which did make me fly,
My state may now amend.
If she esteem thee now ought worth;
She will not grieve thy love henceforth!
Which so despair hath proved.
Despair hath proved now in me
That love will not unconstant be,
Though long in vain I loved.
If she, at last, reward thy love
And all thy harms repair!
Thy happiness will sweeter prove,
Raised up from deep despair.
And if that now thou welcome be,
When thou with her doth meet;
She all this while, but played with thee,
To make thy joys more sweet.
* * * * *
Come, heavy Sleep! the Image of true Death!
And close up these my weary weeping eyes!
Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath,
And tears my heart with sorrow's sigh-swollen cries.
Come, and possess my tired thoughts! worn soul!
That living dies, till thou on me bestoule!
Come, Shadow of my End; and Shape of Rest!
Allied to Death, Child to this black-fast Night!
Come thou, and charm these rebels in my breast!
Whose waking fancies doth my mind affright.
O come, sweet Sleep! Come, or I die for ever!
Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never!
* * * * *
Away with these self-loving lads,
Whom CUPID's arrow never glads!
Away poor souls that sigh and weep,
In love of them that lie and sleep!
For CUPID is a meadow god,
And forceth none to kiss the rod.
God CUPID's shaft, like Destiny,
Doth either good or ill decree;
Desert is borne out of his bow,
Reward upon his feet doth go.
What fools are they, that have not known
That LOVE likes no laws, but his own!
My songs, they be CYNTHIA's praise:
I wear her rings on holidays.
On every tree, I write her name,
And every day I read the same:
Where HONOUR, CUPID's rival is,
There miracles are seen of his.
If CYNTHIA crave her ring of me,
I'll blot her name out of the tree!
If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then "Well fare nothing!" once a year:
For many run, but one must win.
Fools only, hedge the cuckoo in!
The worth that worthiness should move
Is love; which is the bow of LOVE:
And love as well the For'ster can,
As can the mighty Nobleman.
Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be!
Yet, without love, nought worth to me!
[Illustration]
+R[?ICHARD]. Y[?OUNG].+
_The state of a Christian lively set forth,_
_by an allegory of a Ship under Sail._
[This Writer was evidently a forerunner of JOHN BUNYAN.]
Prov. xxxi. 14. Job ix. 26. Isaiah xxiii. 1. Rev. viii. 9.
[Original broadside, inserted in a
distinct work of the Author, called
_The Victory of Patience_. 1636.]
My body is the Hull, the Keel my back, my neck the Stem; the Sides
are my ribs, the Beams my bones, my flesh the Planks; gristles and
ligaments are the Pintels and Knee-timbers; arteries, veins, and
sinews, the several Seams of the ship; my blood is the Ballast, my
heart the Principal Hold, my stomach the Cook-room, my liver the
Cistern, my bowels the Sink; my lungs the Bellows, my teeth the
Chopping-knives; except you divide them, and then they are the 32
Points of the Compass, both agreeing in number. Concoction is the
Cauldron, and hunger the Salt or Sauce. My belly is the Lower Deck,
my kidneys Close Cabins or receptacles, my thighs are Long Galleries
for the grace of the ship; my arms and hands the Canhooks, my midriff
is a large partition or Bulkhead. Within the circumference of my head
is placed the Steeridge Room and Chief Cabins, with the Round-house
[_now called the Captain's Cabin_] where the Master lieth: and these
for the more safety and decency are enclosed in a double fence; the
one _Dura mater_, something hard and thick [_the skull_], the other
_Pia mater_, very thin and soft [_the hair_], which serveth instead
of hangings. The ears are two doors or Scuttles fitly placed for
entertainment; the two eyes are Casements to let in light; under them,
is my mouth, the Stowage or Steward's Room. My lips are Hatches for
receipt of goods, my two nostrils serve as Gratings to let in air. At
the one end stands my chin, which is the Beakhead. My forehead is the
Upper Deck; all which being trimmed with my fat instead of Pitch, and
hair instead of Oakum, are coloured with my skin.
The Fore Deck is humility, the Stern, charity. Active obedience, the
Sails; which being hoisted up with the several Yards, Halliards, and
Bowlines of holy precepts and good purposes; are let down again by
fickleness, faintings and inconstancy. Reason is my Rudder, experience
the Helm, hope of salvation my Anchor, passive obedience the Capstan,
holy revenge the Cat and Fish to haul the Sheet Anchor or last hope.
Fear of offending is the Buoy, virtues are the Cables, holy desires
and sudden ejaculations the Shrouds. The zeal of GOD's glory is my
Mainmast, premeditation the Foremast, desire of my own salvation the
Mizenmast, saving knowledge the Bowsprit, circumspection a Sounding
line.
My Light is illumination; justice is the Card [_Map_]; GOD's Word, the
Compass; the meditation of life's brevity, a Four-Hour Glass [_i.e._,
_the length of a ship's watch_]; contemplation of the creatures, the
Cross-staff or Jacob's-staff; the creed, a Sea-Grammar; the life of
CHRIST, my Load-Star. The saint's falls are Sea-marks; good examples,
Land-marks. Repentance pumps out the sink of my sins, a good conscience
keeps me clean. Imputative righteousness is my Flag, having this motto,
_Being cast down, we perish not!_ the Flag-staff is sincerity.
The ship is victualled afresh by reading, hearing, receiving. Books
are Long-boats, letters are little Skiffs to carry and recarry my
spiritual merchandise. Perseverance is my Speed, and patience my Name.
My Fire is lust, which will not be clean extinguished: full feeding
and strong drink are the Fuel to maintain it; whose Flame, if it be
not suppressed, is jealousy; whose Sparks are evil words, whose Ashes
are envy; whose Smoke is infamy. Lascivious talk is a Flint and Steel,
concupiscence as Tinder, opportunity the Match to light it, sloth and
idleness are the Servants to prepare it.
The LAW OF GOD is my Pilot, FAITH my Captain, FORTITUDE the Master,
CHASTITY the Master's Mate, my WILL the Coxswain, CONSCIENCE the
Preacher [_or, as we now say, Chaplain_], APPLICATION OF CHRIST'S
DEATH the Surgeon, MORTIFICATION the Cook, VIVIFICATION the Caulker,
SELF-DENIAL an Apprentice of his, TEMPERANCE the Steward, CONTENTATION
his Mate, TRUTH the Purser, THANKFULNESS the Purser's Mate,
REFORMATION the Boatswain, the Four HUMOURS, SANGUINE, CHOLER, &c.,
are the Quarter-masters; CHRISTIAN VIGILANCY undertakes to supply the
office of the Starboard and Larboard Watches, MEMORY is the Clerk of
the Cheque, ASSURANCE the Corporal, the Armour INNOCENCY, the Mariners,
ANGELS.
Schismatics are Searchers sent abroad. My UNDERSTANDING, as Master
Gunner, culls out from those two Budge-casks of the _Old_ and _New
Testaments_ certain threats and promises which are my only Powder and
Shot; and with the assistance of the Gunner's Mate, HOLY ANGER AGAINST
SIN, chargeth my tongue, which, like to a piece of ordnance, shoots
them to the shame and overthrow of my spiritual Adversaries.
My noble passengers are JOY IN THE HOLY GHOST and PEACE OF CONSCIENCE,
whose retinue are DIVINE GRACES. My ignoble or rather mutinous
passengers are WORLDLY COGITATIONS and VAIN DELIGHTS which are more
than a good many; besides some that are arrant thieves and traitors,
namely, PRIDE, ENVY, PREJUDICE: but all these I will bid farewell to,
when I come to my journey's end; though I would, but cannot, before.
Heaven is my Country, where I am Registered in the Book of Life, my
King is JEHOVAH. My Tribute alms-deeds: they which gather it are the
poor. Love is my country's Badge, my Language is holy conference, my
Fellow Companions are the saints.
I am poor in performances, yet rich in GOD's acceptation. The
Foundation of all my good is GOD's free election. I became Bound
into the Corporation of the Church to serve Him, in my baptism. I
was Enrolled at the time when He first called me. My Freedom is
justification. It was Purchased with the blood of CHRIST. My Evidence
is the earnest of His spirit. My Privileges are His sanctifying graces.
My Crown, reserved for me on high, is glorification.
My Maker and Owner is GOD; who built me by His Word, which is CHRIST;
of earth, which was the Material; He freighted it with the essence of
my Soul, which is the Treasure; and hath set me to sail in the Sea
of this world, till I attain to the Port of death: which letteth the
terrestrial part into the Harbour of the grave, and the celestial part
into the Kingdom of Heaven. In which voyage, conveniency of estate
[_comfortable circumstances_] is as sea room; good affections serve as
a tide; and prayer as a prosperous gale, a wind to help forward.
But innumerable are the impediments and perils. For here I meet with
the profers of unlawful gain and sensual delights, as so many SIRENS;
the baits of prosperity, as High Banks, on the right hand or Weather
Shore; and there with evil suggestions and crabbed adversity, as Rocks,
on the left hand or Lee Shore, ready to split me. The fear of hell,
like Quicksands, threatens to swallow me; original sin like Weeds clog
me, and actual transgressions like so many Barnacles hang about me.
Yea, every sin I commit springs a new Leak. My senses are as so many
Storms of Rain, Hail, and Snow to sink me. Lewd affections are Roaring
Billows and Waves. Self-confidence, or to rely upon anything but the
Divine assistance, is to lose the Bowsprit. Restitution is heaving
goods overboard to save the ship. Melancholy is want of Fresh Water.
The scoffs of atheists, and contempt of religion in all places is a
notable becalming; the lewd lives and evil examples of them most a
contagious air. Idleness furrs it, and is a shrewd decay, both of the
Hull and Tackling.
* * * * *
Moreover, sailing along, and keeping Watch (for they that be CHRIST's
friends, you know! must look for all they meet to be their enemies), we
no sooner look up, but presently we ken a Man of War, and then we must
be for war too, and provide for a skirmish.
Now the Galleon that hath our Pinnace in chase, and always watcheth
for advantages to surprise it, is the Piracy of Hell; the Synagogue
of SATAN. Her Freight is temptations and persecutions, with all the
engines of mischief. In which the DEVIL is Master, MALICE the Master's
Mate, CRUELTY the Captain, MURDER the Cook, FLATTERY the Caulker,
PROFANENESS a Quartermaster, RIOT the Steward, NEVER CONTENT his Mate,
PRIDE the Coxswain, SUPERSTITION the Preacher, HYPOCRISY the Boatswain,
COVETOUSNESS the Purser, LUST the Swabber, FURY the Gunner, PRESUMPTION
the Corporal, SEDITION the Trumpeter, DRUNKENNESS the Drummer.
Vices are the Sails, custom the Mainmast, example of the multitude
the Foremast, lusts and passions the Cables, blindness of mind the
Rudder, hardness of heart the Helm, the wisdom of the flesh the Card,
the mystery of iniquity the Compass. The five senses, or if you will,
scoffing Atheists, profane foul-mouthed drunkards, and all the rabble
of hell are the Mariners. Lewd affections the Passengers, LITTLE
CONSCIENCE the Load star.
She hath two tire of great ordnance planted in her, Heresy and
Irreligion; being either for a false god, or none. Oaths, blasphemy,
and curses are the Powder and Shot: which they spit against all that
worship the LAMB, or fight under the Ensign of Faith. Her Armour is
carnal security. The Flag in her Top is infidelity: the motto, _There
is no god, but gain!_
Her Ballast, which keeps her upright, is Ignorance. Most of her
Tackling she has from Rome, or Amsterdam. ANTICHRIST, as Pilot, steers
her in such a course that she goes on swiftly, proudly, securely,
scorning and scoffing (SENNACHERIB like) to hear that any Lord should
deliver this poor Pinnace out of her hands.
Yet in the sequel, this silly Pink, having the Insurance of GOD's
omnipresence, finds not only succour from the Stock of the Church's
prayers, which, like another Merchantman, come in to the rescue: but,
likewise that GOD's Almighty power and providence is near at hand, as
a strong Castle of Defence to free her, whereby she escapes, even as
a bird out of the snare of the hunter, to praise the LORD: who hath
not given her as a prey unto their teeth, that would have swallowed
up all quick; but delivered her from such swelling waters, floods
of affliction and streams of persecution, as else had gone over her
and even drowned her soul, as it is _Psalm_ cxxiv. While this great
Galleon (though it seems like that Invincible Armada) flies; and,
having no Anchor, when the storms of GOD's wrath arise, down she
sinks to desperation; and perisheth in the bottomless pit or burning
lake of fire and brimstone: where we will leave her to receive a just
recompense of reward.
R. Y.
_London. Printed by THOMAS COTES for the Author; and_
_are to be sold by Sarah Fairbeard, at the_
_North Door of the Royal Exchange_,
1636.
[? +THOMAS OCCLEVE+,
Clerk in the Office of the Privy Seal.]
_The Letter of CUPID._
[Old forms like _servin_, serve; _wollin_, will; _tellin_, tell;
_doin_, done; and the Imperatives _bethe_, be; _telleth_, tell;
occur in this Poem.]
[Urry's edition of CHAUCER's _Works_. ii. 534. _Ed._ 1721.]
Cupido, (unto whose commandèment
The gentle kindred of goddis on high
And people infernal be obedient;
And all mortal folk servin busily),
Of the goddess son, CYTHEREA only;
Unto all those that, to our deity
Be subjects, heartily greeting, send we!
In general, we wollin that ye know
That Ladies of honour and reverence,
And other Gentlewomen havin sow[n]
Such seed of complaint in our audience,
Of men that do them outrage and offence;
That it our earis grieveth for to hear,
So piteous is the effect of this matere.
Passing all landis, on the little isle
That clepèd is Albion, they most complain,
They say that there, is crop and root of guile:
So can those men dissimulin and feign,
With standing dropis in their eyin twain;
When that their heartis feeleth no distress,
To blindin women with their doubleness.
Their wordis, spoken be so sighingly,
With so piteous a cheer and countenance
That every wight that meaneth truly
Deemeth they in heart havin such grievance.
They say, "So importable is their penance,
That but their lady lust to shew them grace
They, right anon, must starvin in the place."
"Ah, Lady mine!" they say, "I you ensure
As doth me grace! and I shall ever be,
While that my life may lasting and endure
To you as humble and low in each degree
As possible is, and keep all things in secre[t]
Right as your selfin listeth that I do!
And ellis mine heartè must burst in two."
Full hard it is, to know a manis heart
For outward may no man the truthè deem.
When word out of the mouth, may none astert
But it, by reason seemed a wight to queme,
So it is said of heart, as it would seem.
O faithful woman! full of innocence!
Thou art deceivèd by false appearance!
By process moveth oft woman's pity.
Weening all things were as these men ysay,
They grant them grace, of their benignity,
For that men shouldin not, for their sake die,
And with good heart, settin them in the way
Of blissful love: keepin it, if they con!
And thus, otherwhile, women bethe ywon.
And when this man, the pan hath by the steel
And fully is in his possession;
With that woman keepeth he no more to deal
After, if he may findin in the town
Any woman, his blind affection
Unto bestow. But evil mote he preve!
A man, for all his oaths, is hard to believe!
And for that every false Man hath a Make,
(As unto every wight is light to know)
When this traitor, this woman hath forsake,
He fast speedeth him unto his fellow.
Till he be there, his heart is on a low;
His false deceit ne may him not suffice,
But of his treason telleth all the wise.
Is this a fair avaunt? Is this honour?
A man himself accuse thus and defame!
Is it good to confess himself a traitor?
And bring a woman into slanderous name
And tell how he her body hath do shame?
No worship may he thus, to him conquer,
But great dislander unto him and her!
To her! Nay! Yet ywas it no reprefe;
For all for virtue was, that she ywrought!
But he that brewèd hath all this mischief,
That spake so fair, and falsely inward thought;
His, be the slander! as it by reason ought
And unto Her be thank perpetual
That, in such a need, helpin can so well.
Although through manis sleight and subtilty,
A silly simple and innocent woman
Betrayed is: no wonder! since the city
Of Troyè, as the story tellin can,
Betrayèd was, through the deceit of man,
And set on fire, and all down overthrown;
And finally destroyèd, as men knowèn.
Betrayin not men, cities great and kings?
What wight is it that can shape remedy
Against these falsely proposèd things?
When can the craft, such crafts to espy
But man? whose wit is e'er ready to apply
To thing that sowning is into falshede?
Woman! bethe 'ware of false men! I thee rede!
And, furthermore, have these men in usage
That where they not likely been to sped
Such as they been, with a double visage,
They procurin, for to pursue their need
He prayeth him, in his cause to proceed.
And largely guerdoneth she his travail.
Little wot women, how men them assail!
Another wretch, unto his fellow saith,
"Thou fishest fair! She which that thee hath fired
Is false, inconstant, and she hath no faith.
She for the road, of folk is so desired;
And, as an horse, from day to day she is hired!
That when thou twinnest from her company,
Cometh another; and bleared is thine eye!
Now prick on fast! and ridin thy journey
While thou art there! For she, behind thy back,
So liberal is, she will nothing withsay,
But smartly of another take a smack.
And thus farin these women all the pack
Whoso them trusteth, hanged mote he be!
Ever they desire change and novelty."
Wherefore proceedeth this, but of envy?
For that he himself, her ne winnin may,
He speaketh her reprefe and villainy;
As manis blabbing tongue is wont alway.
Thus divers men full often make assay,
For to disturbin folk in sundry wise,
For they may not eschuin their emprise.
Many one eke would speakin for no good,
That hath in love his timè spent and used.
Men wist, his Lady his asking withstood;
Ere that he were of her, plainly refused.
Or waste and vain all that he had ymused:
Wherefore he can none other remedy,
But on his Lady, shapeth him to lie.
"Every woman," he saith, "is light to get,
Can none say, 'Nay!' if she be well ysought;
Whoso may leisure have with her to treat
Of his purpose, ne shall be failin ought
But he on madness be so deep ybrought
That he shende all with open homeliness
That loven women. They doting! as I guess."
To slaunder women thus, what may profit
To gentleness? namely, that them arm should
In defence of women, and them delight
As that the Order of Gentleness would?
If that a man list gentle to be held
He must all eschew that thereto is contrary.
A slanderous tongue is his great enemy!
A foul vice it is, of tongue to be light.
For _whoso mochil clappeth, gabbeth oft_.
The Tongue of Man so swift is, and so wight
That when it is yraisèd up on loft,
Reason is shewed so slowly and soft,
That it him never overtakin may.
Lord! so these men been trusty in assay!
Albeit that men find one woman nice,
Inconstant, recheless, and variable,
Deignous and proud, full fillèd of malice,
Without faith or love, and deceivable,
Sly, quaint, false, in all untrust culpable,
Wicked or fierce, or full of cruelty:
Yet followeth not that such, all women be!
When the high GOD, angellis formèd had:
Amongis them all formed, were there none
That foundin were malicious and bad?
Yet all men wotin, there were many one
That for their pride fell from heaven anon.
Should we, forthy, give all angels proud name?
Nay, he that that sustaineth, is to blame!
Of twelve Apostles, one a traitor was;
The remenant yet good werin and true.
So if it happen men findin, percase,
A woman false; such, good is to eschew:
And deem not all that they therefore be untrue.
I see well, that menis own falseness
Them causeth, woman for to trust the less.
O, every man ought have a heart tender
To a woman, and deem her honourable;
Whether her shape be thick, or else slender,
Or she be good or bad! It is no fable.
Every wight wot, that wit hath reasonable,
That of a woman, he descendèd is:
Then is it shame of her to speak amiss!
A wicked tree, good fruit may none forth bring;
For such the fruit, is aye as is the tree.
Take heed of whom thou take thy beginning!
Let thy mother be mirror unto thee!
Honour her, if thou wilt honoured be!
Despiseth her then not, in no manere!
Lest that thereby thy wickedness appear.
An old proverb there said is, in English,
_That bird or fowl, soothly, is dishonest_
_What that he be, and holdin full churlish_
_That useth to defoulin his own nest_.
Men to say well of women, it is the best:
And naught to despisin them, ne deprave;
If that they will their honour keep or save.
The Ladies ever complain them on Clerks
That they have made bookis of their defame;
In which they despise women and their works,
And speakin of them great reproof and shame:
And causèless give them a wicked name.
Thus they despisèd be, on every side,
Dislanderèd and blown upon full wide.
Those sorry books make mention
How women betrayed in especial
ADAM, DAVID, SAMPSON, and SOLOMON,
And many one more; who may rehearse them all,
The treasons that they havin done, and shall?
The world their malice may not comprehend
(As Clerkis feign), for it ne hath none end.
OVID, in his book callèd _Remedy_
_Of Love_, great reproof of woman ywriteth,
Wherein, I know that he did great folly;
And every wight who, in such case, him delighteth.
A Clerkis custom is, when he enditeth
Of women (be it prose, or rhyme, or verse)
Say, "They be wicked!" all know he the reverse.
And the book Scholars learned in their childhead
For they of women beware should in age,
And to lovin them, ever be in dread.
Sith to deceive, is all their courage,
They say, of peril, men should cast the advantage,
Namely, of such as men havin bewrapped:
For many a man, by woman hath mishapped.
No charge is what so these Clerkis ysain
Of all their writing, I ne do ne cure
All their labour and travail is in vain
For between me and my Lady Nature
Shall not be suffred, while the world may 'dure.
Thus these Clerkis, by their cruel tyranny,
On silly women, kithin their mastery.
Whilom, for many of them were in my chain
Ytied; and now, for unwieldy age
And unlust, they may not to love attain:
And sain, now, that "Love is but very dotage!"
Thus, for they themselfin lackin courage,
They folk excitin by their wicked saws
For to rebell against Me, and my laws!
But, maugre them that blamin women most,
Such is the force of mine impression
That, suddenly, I can fell all their boast,
And all their wrong imagination.
It shall not be in their election,
The foulest slut in all the town to refuse;
If that me lust, for all that they can muse:
But her in heart, as brenningly desire
As though she were a Duchess, or a Queen;
So can I folkis heartis set on fire
And, as me list, sendin them joy or teen.
They that to women ben ywhet so keen,
My sharpè piercing strokis! how they smite!
Shall feel and knowin, how they kerve and bite!
Pardie! this Clerk, this subtle sly OVID,
And many another deceivèd have be
Of women, as it is knowin full wide.
What! no men more! and that is great dainty
So excellent a Clerk as was he!
And other more, that couldin full well preach
Betrapped were, for aught that they could teach!
And trusteth well, that it is no marvail!
For women knowin plainly their intent.
They wist how softily they could assail
Them; and what falsehood they, in heartè meant:
And thus they Clerkis, in their danger hent,
_With one venom, another is destroyed_!
And thus these Clerkis often were annoyed.
These Ladies, ne these gentles ne'ertheless,
Where none of those that wroughtin in this wise;
But such women as werin vertueless
They quiltin thus, these old Clerkis wise.
To Clerkis muchil less ought to suffice
Than to dispravin women generally;
For worship shallin they none get thereby.
If that these men, that lovers them pretend,
To women werin faithful, good, and true,
And dread them to deceive, or to offend;
Women, to love them wouldin not eschew.
But, every day, hath man an heart new!
It, upon one abidin can, no while.
What force is it, such a wight to beguile?
Men bearing, eke, the women upon hand
That lightly, and withoutin any pain
They women be; they can no wight withstand
That his disease list to them to complain!
They be so frail, they may them not refrain!
But whoso liketh them, may lightly have;
So be their heartis easy in to grave.
To Master JEAN DE MEUN, as I suppose,
Then, it was a lewd occupation,
In making of the _Romance of the Rose_,
So many a sly imagination,
And perils for to rollin up and down,
The long process, so many a slight cautel
For to deceive a silly damosel!
Nought can I say, ne my wit comprehend,
That art, and pain, and subtilty should fail
For to conquer, and soon to make an end;
When men, a feeble place shullin assail:
And soon, also, to vanquish a battle
Of which no wight may makin resistance;
Ne heart hath none, to make any defence.
Then mote it follow, of necessity,
Sith art asketh so great engine and pain
A woman to deceive, what so she be?
Of constancy be they not so barren
As that some of these silly Clerkis feign;
But they be, as women oughtin to be,
Sad, constant, and full fillèd of pity.
How friendly was MEDEA to JASON
In his Conquering of the Fleece of Gold!
How falsely quit he, her true affection,
By whom victory he gate as he would!
How may this man, for shame, be so bold
To falsin her, that, from his death and shame
Him kept, and gate him so great a prize and name?
Of Troy also, the traitor ÆNEAS,
The faithless wretch! how he himself forswore
To DIDO, which that Queen of Carthage was
That him relievèd of his smartis sore!
What gentleness might she have doin more
Than she, with heart unfeigned, to him kidde?
And what mischief to her thereof betid!
In my _Legend of Natures_ may men find
(Whoso yliketh therein for to read)
That oathis ne behest may man not bind
Of reprovable shame have they no dread
In manis heart truth ne hath no stead.
The soil is naught; there may no troth ygrow.
To women, namely, it is not unknow[n].
Clerkis feign also there is no malice
Like unto woman's wicked crabbedness.
O Woman! how shalt thou thyself chevice;
Sith men of thee, so mochil harm witness?
Beth ware! O Woman! of their fickleness.
Kepeth thine ownè! what men clap or crake!
And some of them shall smart, I undertake!
Malice of women! What is it to dread?
They slay no man, destroyin no cities,
Ne oppress people, ne them overlaid,
Betray Empires, Realms, or Duchies,
Nor bereaven men their landis, ne their mees,
Empoison folk, ne houses set on fire,
Ne false contractis makin for no hire.
Trust, Perfect Love, and Entire Charity,
Fervent Will, and Entalented Courage,
All thewis good, as sitteth well to be,
Have women, ere, of custom and usage.
And well they canin manis ire asuage,
With soft wordis, discreet and benign.
What they be inward, they show outward by sign!
Womanis heart unto no cruelty
Inclined is; but they be Charitable,
Piteous, Devout, Full of Humility,
Shamefast, Debonaire, and Amiable,
Dread full, and of wordis measurable:
What women, these have not, peradventure;
Followeth not the way of their nature.
Men sayin that our First Mother na'theless
Made all mankind lesin his liberty,
And nakid it of joyè, doubtless,
For GOD is hest disobeyèd she,
When she presumed to taste of the tree,
That GOD forbade, that she eat thereof should.
And ne had the Devil be, no more she would!
The envious swelling, that the Fiend our foe
Had unto man in heart, for his wealth,
Sent a serpent, and made her for to go
To deceive EVE; and thus was manis wealth
Bereft him by the Fiend, in a stealth,
The woman not knowing of the deceipt,
God wot! Full far was it from her conceipt!
Wherefore I say, that this good woman EVE
Our father ADAM, ne deceived nought.
There may no man for a deceipt it prove
Properly, but that she, in heart and thought,
Had it compassed[1] first, ere she it wrought.
And for such was _not_ her Impression,
Men may it call no Deceipt, by reason.
Ne no wight disceiveth, but he purpose!
The Fiend this deceipt cast, and nothing She.
Then it is wrong to deemin or suppose
That of his harm She should the causè be.
Wytith the Fiend, and his be the maugre!
And all excusèd have her innocence,
Save only, that she brake obedience!
And touching this, full fewè men there be,
Unnethis any, dare I safely say!
From day to day, as men may all day see,
But that the hest of GOD they disobey.
Have this in mindè, siris! I you pray.
If that ye be discreet and reasonable;
Ye will her hold the more excusable!
And where men say, "In man is stedfastness;
And woman is of her courage unstable."
Who may of ADAM bear such a witness?
Tellith me this! Was he not changeable?
They both werin in one case semblable.
Save that willing, the Fiend deceived EVE;
And so did she _not_ ADAM, by your leave!
Yet was this sinnè happy to mankind,
The Fiend disceived was, for all his sleight;
For aught he could him in his sleightis wind.
For his trespass, came from heaven on height
GOD, to discharge man of his heavy weight
He, flesh and blood ytook of a Virgine,
And suffered death, him to deliver of pine.
And GOD, to whom there may nothing hid be,
If he, in woman knowen had such malice,
As men record of them in generalty;
Of our Lady, of Life Reparatrice
He n'old have be born: but that she of vice
Was void, and full of virtue, well He wist,
Endowid! of her, to be born Him list.
Her heapèd virtue hath such excellence
That all too lean is manis faculty
To declare it; and therefore in suspense
Her due praising put, needis must ybe.
But this I sayin, Verily, that she
Next GOD, best friend is, that to Man 'longeth.
The Key of Mercy by her girdle hangeth!
And of mercy, hath every man such need,
That razing that, farewel the joy of man!
And of her power, now takith right good heed!
She, mercy may well, and purchasin can.
Depleasith her not! Honoureth that woman!
And other women, honour for her sake!
And but ye do, your sorrow shall awake!
In any book also, where can ye find
That of the workis of death or of life,
Of JESU spelleth or maketh any mind
That women, Him forsoke, for woe or strife?
Where was there any wight so ententife
Aboutin Him as woman? Provid none!
The Apostles him forsokin everichone.
Woman forsoke Him not! For all the faith
Of holy church in woman left only!
These are no lies, for thus Holy Writ saith,
Look! and ye shall so find it hardily!
And therefore I may well provin thereby
That in woman reigneth stable constancy;
And in men is change of variancy.
Thou Precious Gem! Of martyrs, Magarite!
That of thy blood, dreadest none effusion!
Thou Lover true! Thou Maiden mansuete!
Thou, constant Woman! in thy passion
Overcame the Fiendis temptation!
And many a wight, convertid thy doctrine,
Unto the faith of holy GOD, thou Virgin!
But, understandeth this! I commend her nought,
By encheson of her virginity.
Trusteth, it came never into thought!
For ever were I against Chastity.
And ever shall. But, lo, this moveth me!
Her loving heart; and, constant to her lay,
Drive out of my remembrance I ne may.
[Illustration]
Now holdith this for firm, and for no lie!
That this true and just commendation
Of women, tell I for no flattery;
Nor because of pride or elation:
But only, too, for this intention
To give them courage of perseverance
In virtue; and their honour to advance.
The more the virtue, the less is the pride.
Virtue so digne is, and so noble in kind,
That Vice and he will not in fere abide.
He putteth vices clean out of his mind,
He flyeth from them, he leaveth them behind.
O, Woman! that of Virtue, art hostess;
Great is thy honour, and thy worthiness!
[Illustration]
Then will I thus concludin and define.
We, you command! our ministers each one
That ready ye be, our hests to incline!
That of these falsè men, our rebell foen
Ye doin punishment! and that, anon!
Void them our Court! and banish them for ever!
So that therein more comin, may they never!
Fulfilled be it! Ceasing all delay,
Look that there be none excusation!
Written in the lusty month of May,
In our Palace, where many a million
Of lovers true, have habitation;
In the year of grace, joyful and jocond,
A thousand, four hundred and second.
_Thus endeth_
_The letter of CUPID._
[Illustration]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Embraced.
+EDWARD UNDERHILL+, Esq.
of the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners,
surnamed, "The hot Gospeller."
_Examination and Imprisonment in August_
_1553; with anecdotes of the Time._
[Harl. MS. 425.]
[_Narratives of the Days of the Reformation._ Camden Society. 1859.]
A Note of the Examination and Imprisonment of EDWARD UNDERHILL
(son and heir of THOMAS UNDERHILL of Honingham, in the county
of Warwick, Esquire) being of the Band of the Pensioners [_see
pp. 93-94_], for a ballet that he made against the Papists,
immediately after the Proclamation of Queen MARY at London; she
being in Norfolk.
The next day [4th] after the Queen was come to the Tower [_on the 3rd
of August, 1553_]; the foresaid ballet [_ballad_] came into the hands
of Secretary [Sir JOHN] BOURNE; who straightways made inquiry for me,
the said EDWARD, who dwelt at Limehurst [_Limehouse_]; which he having
intelligence of, sent the Sheriff of Middlesex, with a company of bills
and glaives [_lances, with a cutting blade at the end of each_]; who
came unto my house, I being in my bed, and my wife being newly laid in
childbed.
The High Constable, whose name was THOMAS IVE, dwelt at the next house
unto me, the said EDWARD; whom the Sheriff brought also with him. He,
being my very friend, desired the Sheriff and his company to stay
without, for [fear of af]frighting of my wife, being newly laid; and he
would go and fetch me unto him. Who knocked at the door, saying, "He
must speak with me."
I, lying so near that I might hear him, called unto him, willing him
"to come unto me!" for that he was always my very friend, and earnest
in the Gospel. Who declared unto me that the Sheriff, with a great
company with him, was sent for me.
Whereupon I rose, made me ready, and came unto him, demanding, "What he
would with me?"
"Sir," said he, "I have commandment from the Council to apprehend you,
and forthwith to bring you unto them."
"Why," said I, "it is now ten o'clock in the night; ye cannot, now,
carry me unto them!"
"No, Sir," said he, "you shall go with me to my house to London, where
you shall have a bed: and to-morrow, I will bring you unto them at the
Tower."
"In the name of GOD! [=_most certainly_]," said I: and so went with
him, requiring [_inquiring of_] him, "If I might understand the cause."
He said, "He knew none."
"This needed not, then," said I; "any one messenger might have fetched
me unto them": suspecting the cause to be, as it was indeed, the ballet.
On the morrow [_5th of August, 1553_], the Sheriff, seeing me nothing
dismayed, thinking it to be some light matter, went not with me
himself: but sent me unto the Tower with two of his men, waiting upon
me with two bills [_men with halberts_], prisoner-like, who brought me
unto the Council Chamber; being commanded to deliver me unto Secretary
BOURNE.
Thus standing waiting at the Council Chamber door, two or three of my
fellows, the Pensioners, and my cousin-german GILBERT WYNTER, Gentleman
Usher unto the Lady ELIZABETH [_see p._ 120], stood talking with me.
In the meantime, cometh Sir EDWARD HASTINGS [_see Vol. III. p. 147_],
newly made Master of the Horse to the Queen, and seeing me standing
there prisoner, frowning earnestly upon me, said, "Are you come? We
will talk with you or your party, I warrant you!" and so went into the
Council.
With that, my fellows and kinsman shrank away from me, as men greatly
afraid.
I did then perceive the said Sir EDWARD bare in remembrance the
controversy that was betwixt him and me in talk and questions
of religion at Calais, when the Right Honourable the Earl of
HUNTINGDON, his brother, went over, General of 6,000 men: with whom
I went the same time, and was Controller of the Ordnance.
The Earl being visited with sickness when he came thither, for that
I went over in his company, and could play and sing to the lute,
therewith to pass away the time, on the nights being long, for
we went over in Christmas [1552], would have me with him in his
chamber; and had also a great delight to hear his brother reason
with me in matters of religion. Who would be very hot, when I did
overlay him with the texts of the Scripture concerning the natural
presence of CHRIST in the sacrament of the altar; and would swear
great oaths, specially, "by the Lord's foot!" that after the words
spoken by the priest there remained no bread, but the natural body
that MARY bare.
"Nay, then, it must needs be so," would I say, "and [_if_] you
prove it with such oaths!"
Whereat the Earl would laugh heartily, saying, "Brother, give him
over! UNDERHILL is too good for you!" Wherewith he would be very
angry.
The greatest hold that he took of, was of the 3rd of _JOHN_, upon
those words, "And no man ascendeth up to heaven, but He that came
down from heaven, that is to say, the Son of Man which is in
heaven." I drove him from the 6th of _JOHN_ and all other places
that he could allege; but from this, he would not be removed, but
that those words proved his natural body to be in heaven and in
the sacrament also. I told him he as grossly understood CHRIST, as
NICODEMUS did in the same place, of "being born anew."
In my opinion, any man that is not given up of GOD, may be
satisfied concerning the natural presence in the Supper of the
Lord, by the Gospel of Saint JOHN, reading from the first chapter
to the end of the seventeenth; with the witness of the first of the
_Acts of the Apostles_ of CHRIST's ascension and coming again; if
ever he will be satisfied, without the help of any Doctors.
Undoubtedly, the apprehending of me was for this matter: but the
great mercy of GOD so provided for me, that Master HASTINGS was not
at my examination. For tarrying thus at the Chamber door, Doctor Cox
[_afterwards Bishop of ELY_] was within; who came forth, and was
sent to the Marshalsea. Then came forth the Lord FERRERS, [Viscount
HEREFORD], and was committed to the Tower. Then it was dinner time,
and all were commanded to depart until after dinner.
My two waiting men and I went to an alehouse to dinner; and, longing to
know my pain [_punishment_], I made haste to get to the Council Chamber
door, that I might be the first.
Immediately, as they had dined, Secretary BOURNE came to the door,
looking as a wolf doth for a lamb; unto whom my two keepers delivered
me, standing next unto the door: for there were more behind me.
He took me in greedily, and shut to the door; leaving me at the nether
[_lower_] end of the Chamber, he went unto the Council showing them of
me: and then beckoned me to come near.
Then they began the table, and sat them down. The Earl of BEDFORD sat
as chief, uppermost upon the bench. Next unto him, the Earl of SUSSEX;
next him, Sir RICHARD SOUTHWELL.
On the side next me, sat the Earl of ARUNDEL; next him, the Lord PAGET.
By them, stood Sir JOHN GAGE, then Constable of the Tower; the Earl of
BATH, and Master [_afterwards Sir JOHN_] MASON.
At the board's end, stood Serjeant MORGAN [_who, later on, condemned
Lady JANE GREY_] that afterwards died mad; and Secretary [Sir JOHN]
BOURNE.
The Lord WENTWORTH [_the Lord Deputy of Calais, when lost; see p._
173] stood in the bay window, talking with one, all the while of my
examination, whom I knew not.
* * * * *
My Lord of BEDFORD being my very friend, (for that my chance was
to be at the recovering of his son, my Lord RUSSELL, when he was
cast into the Thames against the Limehurst, whom I carried to my
house and got him to bed; who was in great peril of his life, the
weather being very cold) would not seem to be familiar with me,
nor called me not by my name, but said, "Come hither, sirrah! did
not you set forth a ballet of late, in print?"
I kneeled down, saying, "Yes, truly, my Lord! Is that the cause I am
called before your Honours?"
"Ay, marry," said Secretary BOURNE, "you have one of them about you, I
am sure."
"Nay, truly, have I not," said I.
Then he took one out of his bosom, and read it over distinctly; the
Council giving diligent ear.
When he had ended, "I trust, my Lords," said I, "I have not offended
the Queen's Majesty in this ballet; nor spoken against her title, but
maintained it."
"You have, sir," said Morgan, "yes, I can divide your ballet, and make
a distinction in it; and so prove at the least sedition in it."
"Ay, sir," said I, "you men of law will make of a matter what ye list!"
"Lo," said Sir RICHARD SOUTHWELL, "how he can give a taunt! You
maintain the Queen's title, with the help of an arrant heretic,
TYNDALE."
"You speak of Papists there, sir," said Master MASON, "I pray you, how
define you a Papist?"
I look upon him, turning towards him; for he stood on the side of me,
"Why, sir," said I, "it is not long since you could define a Papist
better than I" [_meaning that he had turned with the new change of
religion_]. With that some of them secretly smiled; as the Lords of
BEDFORD, ARUNDEL, SUSSEX, and PAGET.
In great haste, Sir JOHN GAGE took the matter in hand, "Thou callest
men Papists there," said he, "who be they that thou judgest to be
Papists?"
I said, "Sir, I do name no man, and I came not hither to accuse
any, nor none will I accuse; but your Honours do know that in
this Controversy that hath been, some be called Papists, and some
Protestants."
"But we must know whom thou judgest to be Papists, and that we command
thee, upon thine allegiance to declare!"
"Sir," said I, "I think if you look among the priests in Paul's, ye
shall find some old _Mumpsimuses_ there."
"_Mumpsimuses_, knave!" said he, "_Mumpsimuses!_ Thou art an heretic
knave, by God's blood!"
"Ay, by the mass!" says the Earl of BATH, "I warrant him an heretic
knave indeed."
"I beseech your Honours!" said I, speaking to the Lords that sat at
table; for those other stood by, and were not then of the Council,
"be my good Lords! I have offended no laws, and I have served the
Queen's Majesty's father and brother a long time; and in their service
have spent and consumed part of my living, never having, as yet, any
preferment or recompense; and the rest of my fellows likewise, to our
utter undoings, unless the Queen's Highness be good unto us. And for my
part, I went not forth against Her Majesty; notwithstanding that I was
commanded, nor liked those doings."
"No, but with your writings, you would set us together by the ears!"
said the Earl of ARUNDEL.
"He hath spent his living wantonly," saith BOURNE, "and now saith he
has spent it in the King's service; which I am sorry for. He is come of
a worshipful house in Worcestershire."
"It is untruly said of you," said I, "that I have spent my living
wantonly: for I never consumed any part thereof until I came into the
King's service; which I do not repent, nor doubted of recompense, if
either of my two masters had lived. I perceive you [to be] BOURNE's son
of Worcester; who was beholden unto my uncle WYNTER, and therefore you
have no cause to be my enemy: nor you never knew me, nor I you before
now, which is too soon."
"I have heard enough of you," said he.
"So have I of you," said I, "how that Master SHELDON drave you out of
Worcestershire, for your behaviour."
With that, came Sir EDWARD HASTINGS from the Queen, in great haste,
saying, "My Lords! you must set all things apart, and come forthwith to
the Queen."
Then said the Earl of SUSSEX, "Have this gentleman unto the Fleet until
we may talk further with him!" though I was "knave," before, of Master
GAGE.
"To the Fleet!" said Master SOUTHWELL, "have him to the Marshalsea!"
"Have the gentleman to Newgate!" saith Master GAGE again, "Call a
couple of the Guard here."
"Ay," saith BOURNE, "and there shall be a letter sent to the keeper
how he shall use him; for we have other manner of matters to him than
these."
"So had ye need," said I, "or else I care not for you!"
"Deliver him to Master [_after Sir WILLIAM_] GARRARD, the Sheriff [of
London]," said he, "and bid him send him to Newgate."
"My Lord," said I, unto my Lord of ARUNDEL, (for that he was next to
me) as they were rising, "I trust you will not see me thus used, to be
sent to Newgate. I am neither thief nor traitor."
"You are a naughty fellow!" said he, "you were always tutting in the
Duke of NORTHUMBERLAND's ear, that you were!"
"I would he had given better ear unto me," said I; "it had not been
with him then, as it is now" [_waiting his trial in the Tower_].
* * * * *
Master HASTINGS passing by me, I thought good to prove him; although he
threatened me, before noon.
"Sir," said I, "I pray you speak for me, that I be not sent to Newgate;
but rather unto the Fleet, which was first named. I have not offended.
I am a Gentleman, as you know; and one of your fellows, when you were
of that Band of the Pensioners."
Very quietly, he said unto me, "I was not at the talk, Master
UNDERHILL; and therefore I can say nothing to it." But I think he was
well content with the place I was appointed to.
So went I forth with my two fellows of the Guard, who were glad they
had the leading of me, for they were great Papists.
"Where is that knave, the printer [_of the ballad_]?" said Master GAGE.
"I know not," said I.
* * * * *
When we came to the Tower gate, where Sir JOHN BRYDGES [_afterwards
Lord CHANDOS of Sudeley, see p. 128_] had the charge, [who was there]
with his brother Master THOMAS; with whom I was well acquainted, (but
not with Sir JOHN) who, seeing the two of the Guard leading me, without
their halberts, rebuked them; and stayed me while they went for their
halberts.
His brother said unto me, "I am sorry you should be an offender, Master
UNDERHILL."
"I am none, Sir!" said I, "nor went I against the Queen."
"I am glad of that," said he.
And so forth we went at the gate, where was a great throng of people to
hear and see what prisoners were committed: and amongst whom stood, my
friend Master IVE, the High Constable, my next neighbour.
One of the Guard went forth at the wicket before me, to take me by the
arm, the other held me by the other arm; fearing, belike, I would have
shifted [_escaped_] from them amongst the people.
When my friend, who had watched at the gate all the forenoon saw me
thus led; he followed afar off, as PETER did CHRIST, to see what should
become of me. Many also followed, some that knew me: some to learn who
I was; for that I was in a gown of satin.
Thus passed we through the streets, well accompanied, unto Master
GARRARD, the Sheriff's house, in the Stocks Market. My friend Master
IVE tarried at the gate.
These two of the Guard declared unto Master Sheriff, that they were
commanded by the Council to deliver me unto him, and he to send me unto
Newgate: saying, "Sir, if it please you, we will carry him thither."
With that, I stepped unto Master Sheriff, and, taking him a little
aside, requested him that, forasmuch as their commission was but to
deliver me unto him, and _he_ to send me into Newgate, that he would
send me by his officers: for the request was of mere malice.
"With a goodwill!" said Master Sheriff.
"Masters!" said he, "you may depart! I will send my officers with this
gentleman anon; when they be come in."
"We will see him carried, Sir!" said they, "for our discharge."
Then the Sheriff said sharply unto them, "What! do you think that I
will not do the Council's commandment? You are discharged by delivering
him unto me!"
With that, they departed.
My friend, Master IVE, seeing them depart and leave me behind, was very
glad thereof: and tarried still at the gate to see farther.
All this talk in the Sheriff's hall, did my Lord RUSSELL, son and heir
to the Earl of BEDFORD, hear and see; who was at commandment [_under
arrest_] in the Sheriff's house, and his chamber joining into the hall,
wherein he might look: who was very sorry for me, for that I had been
familiar with him in matters of religion, as well on the other side the
seas as at home. He sent me on the morrow, 20s. [= _about £10 now_];
and every week as much, while I was in Newgate.
When these two companions of the Guard were gone, the Sheriff sent two
of his officers with me, who took no bills with them, nor lead me; but
followed a pretty way behind me: for as I said unto Master Sheriff,
"But for order's sake and to save him blameless, I would have gone unto
Newgate myself, at the Council's commandment, or his either."
When I came into the street, my friend Master IVE, seeing me have such
liberty, and such distance betwixt me and the officers, he stepped
before them, and so went talking with me through Cheapside: so that it
was not well perceived that I was apprehended, but by the great company
that followed.
The officers delivered me unto the Keeper of Newgate, as they were
commanded: who unlocked a door, and willed me to go up the stairs into
the Hall. My friend IVE went up with me; where we found three or four
prisoners that had the liberty of the house.
After a little talk with my friend, I required him not to let my wife
know that I was sent to Newgate, but [to say] to the Counter, until
such time that she were near her _churching_: and that she should send
me my night-gown, my _Bible_, and my Lute. And so he departed.
* * * * *
In a while after, it was supper time [_i.e., about 5 p.m._]. The board
was covered in the same hall. The Keeper, whose name was ALEXANDER, and
his wife came to supper; and half a dozen prisoners that were there for
felonies: for I was the first, for religion, that was sent unto that
prison; but the cause why, the Keeper knew not.
One of those prisoners took acquaintance of [_recognised_] me,
and said, "He was a soldier under Sir RICHARD CROMWELL in the
journey [_in July, 1543_] to Landreci [in Hainault], where he did
know me and whose servant I was, at the same time; and who, the
next year following [1544], when the famous King HENRY VIII. went
unto Boulogne, did put me unto his Majesty into the room of a
man-at-arms. Of the which Band, there were 200 of us, upon barded
horses, all in one suit of red and yellow damask, the bards of our
horses and plumes of feathers of the same colours, to attend upon
his Majesty for the defence of his person."
After supper, this good fellow whose name was BRYSTOW procured me
to have a bed in his chamber. He could play well upon the rebeck
[_violin_]. He was a tall man, and afterwards of the Queen MARY's
Guard, and yet a Protestant, which he kept secret: "For else," he said,
"he should not have found such favour as he did at the Keeper's hands,
and his wife's; for to such as love the Gospel, they were very cruel."
"Well," said I, "I have sent for my _Bible_; and by GOD's grace,
therein shall be my daily exercise. I will not hide it from them."
"Sir!" said he, "I am poor; but they will bear with you, for that they
see your estate is to pay well; and I will shew you the nature and
manner of them: for I have been here a a good while. They both do love
music very well; wherefore you with your lute, and I to play with you
on my rebeck, will please them greatly. He loveth to be merry, and to
drink wine; and she also. If you will bestow upon them every dinner and
supper a quart of wine, and some music: you shall be their white son,
and have all the favour that they can shew you!" And so it came to pass.
And now I think it good a little to digress from my matter
concerning my imprisonment and my deliverance; and to note
the great mercy of GOD shewed unto his servants in that great
Persecution in Queen MARY's time: how mightily and how many ways
he preserved such as did fear Him, even as He preserved DANIEL,
JEREMY, PAUL, and many in the old time.
Some were moved by His Spirit to flee over the seas. Some were
preserved still in London, that, in all the time of persecution,
never bowed their knees unto Baal: for there was no such place to
shift [_hide_] in, in this realm, as London, notwithstanding their
great spiall and search; nor no better place to shift the Easter
time [_to avoid being houselled, i.e., taking the sacrament_] than
in Queen MARY's Court, serving in the room I did, as shall be
shewed hereafter [_p._ 88].
A great number, God did strengthen constantly to stand to His Word,
to glorify His name, which be praised for ever and ever, world
without end! And some be preserved for these days.
And now again to prosecute the matter of my trouble and wonderful
deliverance out of that loathsome gaol of Newgate.
When that I had been there about two weeks [_5th-18th August, 1553_],
through the evil savours, and great unquietness of the lodgings, as
also by occasion of drinking of a draught of strong Hollock [a sweet]
wine, as I was going to bed, which my chamber fellow would needs have
me to pledge him in, I was cast into an extreme burning ague, that I
could take no rest, and desiring to change my lodging. And so did, from
one to another, but none could I abide; there was so many evil savours,
and so much noise of prisoners.
The Keeper and his wife offered me his own parlour, where he himself
lay: which was furthest from noise; but it was near the kitchen, the
savour of which I could not abide. Then did she lay me in a chamber,
where she said never a prisoner lay, which was her store chamber, where
all her plate and money lay; which was much.
So much friendship I found at their hands, notwithstanding that they
were spoken unto, by several Papists. And the Woodmongers of London,
with whom I had had a great conflict for presenting them for false
marking of billets; they required the Keeper to show me no favour, and
to lay irons upon me, declaring that "I was the greatest heretic in
London."
My very friend Master RECORDE, Doctor of Physic, singularly seen in
all the seven sciences, and a great Divine, visited me in the prison
(to his great peril if it had been known, who long time was at charges
and pains with me, gratis), and also after I was delivered. By means
whereof, and the Providence of GOD, I received my health.
* * * * *
My wife then was churched before her time, to be a suitor for my
deliverance; who put up a Supplication unto the Council declaring my
extreme sickness and small cause to be committed unto so loathsome
a gaol; requiring that I might be delivered, putting in sureties
to be forthcoming to answer farther when I should be called.
Which she obtained by the help of Master [afterwards Sir] JOHN
THROGMORTON, being the Master of the Requests, and my countryman
[_i.e., of Worcestershire_] and my kinsman. He, understanding who
were my enemies, took a time in their absence, and obtained [_on
21st August,1553_] a letter to the Keeper, subscribed by the Earl
of BEDFORD, the Earl of SUSSEX, [STEPHEN GARDINER the Bishop of]
WINCHESTER, [Sir ROBERT] ROCHESTER [Comptroller of the Household], and
[Sir EDWARD] WALDEGRAVE, to be delivered; putting in surety, according
to the request of my wife's Supplication.
With whom WINCHESTER talked, concerning the christening of
her child at the church at the Tower Hill; and the gossips
[_sponsors_], which were the Duke of SUFFOLK, the Earl of
PEMBROKE, and the Lady JANE, then being Queen: with the which, he
[_GARDINER_] was much offended.
My Lady THROGMORTON, wife unto Sir NICHOLAS THROGMORTON, was
the Queen's deputy; who named my son GUILDFORD after her [_the
Queen's_] husband.
Immediately after the christening was done [_on the 19th of July,
1553_], Queen MARY was proclaimed in Cheapside; and when my Lady
THROGMORTON came into the Tower, the Cloth of Estate was taken
down, and all things defaced. A sudden change! She would have gone
forth again; but could not be suffered.
But now again to my matter.
When my wife had obtained the letter, joyful she was; and brought her
brother, JOHN SPERYNE of London, merchant, with her; a very friendly
man, and zealous in the LORD: who was bound with me, according to the
Council's letters before Master CHEDELY, Justice of the Peace: who
came into the prison unto me; for I was so sick and weak that I was
constrained to tarry a while longer, and my wife with me day and night.
During all the time of my sickness, I was constrained to pay 8_d._ [=
_about_ 6_s._ 8_d. now_] every meal; and as much for my wife, and for
every friend that came to see me, if they were alone with me at dinner
or supper time, whether they came to the table or not; and paid also
40s. for a fine for irons [_i.e., for not being chained_] which they
said, "They shewed me great favour in; I should have else paid £4 or
£5."
Thus, when they perceived I did not amend, but rather [grew] worse and
worse; they thought it best to venture the matter; and provided a horse
litter to carry me home to Limehurst. I was so weak that I was not able
to get down the stairs; wherefore one that was servant to the gaoler,
who, beforetime, had been my man, who was also very diligently and
friendly unto me, took me in his arms, and carried me down the stairs
to the horse-litter, which stood ready at the prison door; and went
with me to my house.
Many people were gathered to see my coming forth, who praised GOD for
my deliverance, being very sorry to see my state, and the lamentation
of my wife and her friends, who judged I would not live until I came
home.
I was not able to endure the going of the horse-litter, wherefore they
were fain to go very softly, and oftentimes to stay; at which times,
many of my acquaintances and friends and others resorted to see me:
so that it was two hours ere we could pass from Newgate to Aldgate;
and so within night, before I could get to my house. Where many of
my neighbours resorted to see me taken out of the horse-litter; who
lamented and prayed for me, thinking it not possible for me to escape
death, but by the great mercy of GOD.
Thus I continued for the space of eight or ten days, without any
likelihood or hope of amendment.
I was sent to Newgate, the 5th day of August; and was delivered the 5th
day of September.
* * * * *
The 1st day of October, was Queen MARY crowned; by which time I was
able to walk up and down my chamber. Being very desirous to see the
Queen pass through the City, I got up on horseback, being scant able to
sit, girded in a long night-gown; with double kerchiefs about my head,
a great hat upon them; my beard dubbed [_clotted_] hard too. My face so
lean and pale that I was the very Image of Death; wondered at of all
that did behold me; and unknown to any. My wife and neighbours were
too too sorry that I would needs go forth; thinking I would not return
alive.
Thus went I forth, having on either side of me a man to stay [_uphold_]
me; and so went to the West end of Paul's; and there placed myself
amongst others that sat on horseback to see the Queen pass by.
Before her coming, I beheld Paul's steeple bearing top and top-gallant
[yards] like a royal ship, with many flags and banners: and a man
[_PETER, a Dutchman_] triumphing and dancing in the top.
I said unto one that sat on horseback by me, who had not seen any
coronation, "At the coronation of King EDWARD, I saw Paul's steeple
lie at anchor, and now she weareth top and top-gallant. Surely, the
next will be shipwreck, ere it be long!" which chanceth sometimes
by tempestuous winds, sometimes by lightnings and fire from heaven.
But I thought that it should rather perish with some horrible wind,
than with lightning or thunderbolt [_evidently alluding to the
destruction by lightning of the Steeple, on the 4th June,1561_];
but such are the wonderful works of GOD, whose gunners will not
miss the mark that He doth appoint, be it never so little.
When the Queen passed by, many beheld me, for they might almost touch
me, the room [_space_] was so narrow; marvelling, belike, that one in
such a state would venture forth. Many of my fellows the Pensioners,
and others, and divers of the Council beheld me: and none of them all
knew me.
I might hear them say one to another, "There is one that loveth the
Queen well, belike; for he ventureth greatly to see her. He is very
like never to see her more." Thus my men whose hearing was quicker than
mine, that stood by me, heard many of them say.
The Queen herself, when she passed by, beheld me. Thus much I thought
good to write, to shew how GOD doth preserve that which seemeth to man
impossible; as many that day did judge of me. Thus returned I home.
* * * * *
And about two months after [_i.e., in December_], I was able to walk to
London at an easy pace; but still with my kerchiefs and pale lean face.
I muffled me with a sarsenet, which the rude people in the streets
would murmur at, saying, "What is he? Dare he not show his face?"
I did repair to my old familiar acquaintance, as drapers, mercers, and
others: and stood talking with them, and cheapened their wares; and
there was not one of them that knew me.
Then would I say unto them, "Do you not know me? Look better upon me!
Do you not know my voice?" For that also was altered.
"Truly," would they say, "you must pardon me! I cannot call you to
remembrance."
Then would I declare my name unto them; whereat they so marvelled, that
they could scarcely credit me, but for the familiar acquaintance that I
put them in remembrance of.
* * * * *
Thus passed I forth the time at Limehurst until Christmas [1553] was
passed, then I waxed something strong. I then thought it best to shift
from thence; for that I had there fierce enemies; especially [HENRY
MORE the Vicar of Stepney, Abbot _quondam_ of St. Mary de Grace on
Tower Hill. _He died in November, 1554._]
Whom I apprehended in King EDWARD's time, and carried him to
Croydon to CRANMER, Bishop of CANTERBURY, for that he disturbed
the Preachers in his Church [_at Stepney_] causing the bells
to be rung when they were at the Sermon; and sometimes begin to
sing in the Choir before the sermon were half done, and sometimes
challenge the Preacher in the Pulpit. For he was a strong stout
Popish prelate: whom the godly men of the parish were weary of;
specially my neighbours of the Limehurst, as Master DRIVER, Master
IVE, Master POINTER, Master MARCHE, and others.
Yet durst they not meddle with him, until it was my hap to come and
dwell amongst them: and for that I was the King's Servant, I took
it upon me; and they went with me to the Bishop to witness those
things against him. Who was too full of lenity. A little he rebuked
him, and bad him do no more so.
"My Lord," said I, "methinks, you are too gentle unto so stout a
Papist!"
"Well," said he, "we have no law to punish them by."
"We have, my Lord!" said I. "If I had your authority, I would be so
bold to un-Vicar him; or minister some sharp punishment unto him,
and such other. If ever it come to their turn; they will show you
no such favour."
"Well," said he, "if GOD so provide, we must abide it."
"Surely," said I, "GOD will never cone you thank for this; but
rather take the sword from such as will not use it upon His
enemies." And thus we departed.
The like favour is shewed now [_i.e., in ELIZABETH's reign_]; and
therefore the like plague will follow.
There was also another spiteful enemy at Stepney, called BANBERY,
a shifter, a dicer, &c., like unto DAPERS the dicer, MORGAN of
Salisbury Court, busking [Sir THOMAS, _also called_ Long] PALMER,
lusty YOUNG, [Sir] RALPH BAGNALL [_see Vol. III. p. 147_], [Sir]
MILES PARTRIDGE [_idem_], and such others. With which companions, I
was conversant a while; until I fell to reading the Scriptures, and
following the Preachers.
Then, against the wickedness of those men, which I had seen among
them; I put forth a ballet, uttering the falsehood and knavery that
I was made privy unto. For the which, they so hated me that they
raised false slanders and bruits of me, saying that "I was a spy
for the Duke of NORTHUMBERLAND": and calling me [Bishop] "HOOPER's
companion," for a bill that I set up upon Paul's gate, in defence
of HOOPER; and another at St. Magnus's Church, where he was too
much abused, with railing bills cast into the pulpit and other ways.
Thus became I odious unto most men, and many times in danger of
my life, even in King EDWARD's days. As also for apprehending one
ALLEN, a false prophesier [_of whom UNDERHILL says elsewhere_, This
ROBERT ALLEN was called the God of Norfolk, before they received
the light of the Gospel]; who bruited [_in January, 1551_] that
King EDWARD was dead, two years before it came to pass; who was a
great calculator for the same. But these jugglers and wicked dicers
were still in favour among the magistrates, and were advanced; who
were the sowers of sedition, and the destroyers of the two Dukes.
I pray God the like be not practised by such flatterers in these
days [_i.e., in ELIZABETH's reign_], according to the old proverb,
"He that will in Court dwell, must cur
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