Classic Poem

The Nightingale, whose happy noble hart,
No dole can daunt, nor feareful force affright,
Whose chereful voice doth comfort saddest wights,
When she hir self hath little cause to sing,
Whom lovers love, bicause she plaines their greves,
She wraies their woes and yet relieves their payne,
Whom worthy mindes, alwayes esteemed much,
And gravest yeares, have not disdainde hir notes:
(Only that king proud Tereus by his name
With murdring knife, did carve hir pleasant tong,
To cover so his owne foule filthy fault).
This worthy bird hath taught my weary Muze,
To sing a song in spight of their despight,
Which worke my woe, withouten cause or crime,
And make my backe a ladder for their feete,
By slaundrous steppes and stayres of tickle talke,
To clyme the throne, wherin my selfe should sitte.
O Phylomene , then helpe me now to chaunt:
And if dead beastes, or living byrdes have ghosts,
Which can conceive the cause of carefull mone,
When wrong triumphes and right is overtrodde,
Then helpe me now, O byrd of gentle bloud,
In barrayne verse to tell a frutefull tale,
A tale (I meane) which may content the mindes
Of learned men and grave Philosophers.

And you my Lord, (whose happe hath heretofore
Bene lovingly to reade my reckles rimes,
And yet have deignde with favor to forget
The faults of youth, which past my hasty pen:
And therwithall have graciously vouchsafte,
To yeld the rest, much more than they deservde)
Vouchsafe (lo now) to reade and to peruse,
This rimles verse, which flowes from troubled mind.
Synce that the line of that false caytife king
(Which ravished fayre Phylomene for lust,
And then cut out, hir trustie tong for hate)
Lives yet (my Lord), which words I weepe to write.
They live, they live, (alas the worse my lucke)
Whose greedy lust, unbridled from their brest,
Hath raunged long about the world so wyde
To finde a pray for their wide open mouthes,
And me they found, (O wofull tale to tell)
Whose harmelesse hart perceivde not their deceipt.

But that my Lord may playnely understand
The mysteries of all that I do meane,
I am not he whom slaunderous tongues have tolde
(False tongues in dede & craftie subtile braines)
To be the man which ment a common spoyle
Of loving dames, whose eares wold heare my words
Or trust the tales devised by my pen.
I n'am a man, as some do thinke I am,
(Laugh not good Lord) I am in dede a dame,
Or at the least, a right Hermaphrodite:
And who desires at large to knowe my name,
My birth, my line, and every circumstance,
Lo reade it here, Playne dealyng was my Syre,
And he begat me by Simplycitie ;
A paire of twinnes at one selfe burden borne,
My sistr' and I into this world were sent.
My Systers name was pleasant Poesys ,
And I my selfe had Satyra to name,
Whose happe was such, that in the prime of youth,
A lusty ladde, a stately man to see,
Brought up in place where pleasures did abound,
(I dare not say in court for both myne eares)
Beganne to woo my sister, not for wealth,
But for hir face was lovely to beholde,
And therewithall hir speeche was pleasant stil.
This Nobles name was called vayne Delight ,
And in his trayne he had a comely crewe
Of guylefull wights: False semblant was the first,
The second man was Flearing flattery
(Brethren by like, or very neare of kin),
Then followed them Detraction and Deceite .
Sym Swash did beare a buckler for the first,
False witnesse was the seconde stemly page;
And thus wel armd and in good equipage,
This Galant came unto my fathers courte
And woed my sister, for she elder was
And fayrer eke, but out of doubt (at least)
Hir pleasant speech surpassed mine so much,
That vayne Delight to hir adrest his sute.
Short tale to make, she gave a free consent,
And forth she goeth to be his wedded make,
Entyst percase with glosse of gorgeous shewe,
(Or else perhappes, persuaded by his peeres),
That constant love had herbord in his brest;
Such errors growe where suche false Prophets preach.
How so it were, my Syster likte him wel,
And forth she goeth, in Court with him to dwel,
Where when she had some yeeres ysojorned,
And saw the world and marked eche mans minde,
A deepe Desire hir loving hart enflamde,
To see me sit by hir in seemely wise,
That companye might comfort hir sometimes,
And sound advice might ease hir wearie thoughtes:
And forth with speede, (even at hir first request)
Doth vaine Delight his hasty course direct;
To seeke me out his sayles are fully bent,
And winde was good to bring me to the bowre
Whereas she lay that mourned dayes and nights
To see hir selfe so matchte and so deceivde;
And when the wretch, (I cannot terme him bet)
Had me on seas ful farre from friendly help,
A sparke of lust did kindle in his brest,
And bad him harke to songs of Satyra .
I selly soule (which thought no body harme)
Gan cleere my throte, and strave to sing my best,
Which pleasde him so and so enflamde his hart,
That he forgot my sister Poesys
And ravisht me, to please his wanton minde.
Not so content, when this foule fact was done,
(Yfraught with feare, least that I should disclose
His incest and his doting darke desire)
He causde straight wayes the formost of his crew
With his compeare to trie me with their tongues:
And when their guiles could not prevaile to winne
My simple mynde from tracke of trustie truth,
Nor yet deceyt could bleare mine eyes through fraude,
Came Slander then, accusing me, and sayde
That I entist Delyght to love & luste.
Thus was I caught, poore wretch that thought none il.
And furthermore to cloke their own offence,
They clapt me fast in cage of Myserie ,
And there I dwelt full many a doleful day,
Until this theefe, this traytor vaine Delight ,
Cut out my tong with Raysor of Restraynte ,
Least I should wraye this bloudy deede of his.

And thus (my Lord) I live a weary life,
Not as I seemd, a man sometimes of might,
But womanlike, whose teares must venge hir harms.
And yet even as the mighty gods did daine
For Philomele , that thoughe hir tong were cutte,
Yet should she sing a pleasant note sometimes:
So have they deignd, by their devine decrees,
That with the stumps of my reproved tong,
I may sometimes Reprovers deedes reprove,
And sing a verse to make them see themselves.

Then thus I sing this selly song by night,
Like Phylomene , since that the shining Sunne
Is now eclypst, which wont to lend me light.

And thus I sing, in corner closely cowcht
Like Phylomene , since that the stately cowrts,
Are now no place for such poore byrds as I.

And thus I sing, with pricke against my brest,
Like Philomene , since that the privy worme,
Which makes me se my reckles youth mispent,
May well suffise to keepe me waking still.

And thus I sing, when pleasant spring begins,
Like Philomene , since every janglyng byrd,
Which squeaketh loude, shall never triumph so,
As though my muze were mute and durst not sing.

And thus I sing, with harmelesse true intent,
Like Philomene , when as percase (meane while)
The Cuckowe suckes mine eggs by foule deceit,
And lickes the sweet, which might have fed me first.

And thus I meane in mournfull wise to sing,
A rare conceit, (God graunt it like my Lorde)
A trustie tune, from auncient clyffes conveyed,
A playne song note, which cannot warble well.

For whyles I mark this weak and wretched world,
Wherin I see howe every kind of man
Can flatter still and yet deceives himselfe,
I seeme to muse, from whence such errour springs,
Such grosse conceits, such mistes of darke mistake,
Such Surcuydry , such weening over well,
And yet in dede such dealings too too badde;
And as I stretch my weary wittes, to weighe
The cause therof and whence it should proceede,
My battred braynes, (which now be shrewdly brusde,
With cannon shot, of much misgovernment)
Can spye no cause, but onely one conceite,
Which makes me thinke the world goeth stil awry.

I see and sigh, (bycause it makes me sadde)
That pevishe pryde, doth al the world possesse,
And every wight, will have a looking glasse
To see himselfe, yet so he seeth him not:
Yea shal I say? a glasse of common glasse,
Which glistreth bright and shewes a seemely shew
Is not enough; the days are past and gon
That Berral glasse, with foyles of lovely brown,
Might serve to shew a seemely favord face.
That age is deade and vanisht long ago,
Which thought that steele both trusty was & true,
And needed not a foyle of contraries,
But shewde al things, even as they were in deede.
In steade whereof our curious yeares can finde
The christal glas, which glimseth brave & bright,
And shewes the thing much better than it is,
Beguylde with foyles, of sundry subtil sights,
So that they seeme and covet not to be.

This is the cause (beleve me now my Lorde)
That Realmes do rewe from high prosperity,
That kings decline from princely government,
That Lords do lacke their auncestors good wil,
That knights consume their patrimonie still,
That gentlemen do make the merchant rise,
That plowmen begge and craftesmen cannot thrive,
That clergie quayles and hath smal reverence,
That laymen live by moving mischiefe stil,
That courtiers thrive at latter Lammas day,
That officers can scarce enrich their heyres,
That Souldiours sterve or prech at Tiborne crosse,
That lawyers buye and purchase deadly hate,
That merchants clyme and fal againe as fast,
That roysters brag above their betters rome,
That sicophants are counted jolly guests,
That Lais leades a Ladies life alofte,
And Lucrece lurkes with sobre bashful grace.

This is the cause (or else my Muze mistakes)
That things are thought which never yet were wrought,
And castels buylt above in lofty skies,
Which never yet had good foundation.
And that the same may seme no feined dreame,
But words of worth and worthy to be wayed,
I have presumde my Lord for to present
With this poore glasse, which is of trustie Steele,
And came to me by wil and testament
Of one that was a Glassemaker in deede.

Lucylius , this worthy man was namde,
Who at his death bequeathed the christal glasse,
To such as love to seme but not to be,
And unto those that love to see themselves,
How foule or fayre soever that they are,
He gan bequeath a glasse of trustie Steele,
Wherin they may be bolde alwayes to looke,
Bycause it shewes all things in their degree.
And since myselfe (now pride of youth is past)
Do love to be and let al seeming passe,
Since I desire to see my selfe in deed,
Not what I would, but what I am or should,
Therfore I like this trustie glasse of Steele.

Wherin I see a frolike favor frounst
With foule abuse, of lawlesse lust in youth:
Wherin I see a Sampsons grim regarde
Disgraced yet with Alexanders bearde:
Wherein I see a corps of comely shape
(And such as might beseeme the courte full wel)
Is cast at heele by courting al to soone:
Wherein I see a quicke capacitye,
Berayde with blots of light Inconstancie:
An age suspect bycause of youthes misdeedes.
A poets brayne possest with layes of love:
A Caesars minde and yet a Codrus might,
A Souldiours hart, supprest with feareful doomes:
A Philosopher, foolishly fordone.
And to be playne, I see my selfe so playne,
And yet so much unlike that most I seemde,
As were it not that Reason ruleth me,
I should in rage this face of mine deface
And cast this corps downe headlong in dispaire,
Bycause it is so farre unlike it selfe.

And therwithal, to comfort me againe,
I see a world of worthy government,
A common welth with policy so rulde,
As neither lawes are sold nor justice bought,
Nor riches sought unlesse it be by right.
No crueltie nor tyrannie can raigne,
No right revenge doth rayse rebellion,
No spoyles are tane although the sword prevaile,
No ryot spends the coyne of common welth,
No rulers hoard the countries treasure up,
No man growes riche by subtilty nor sleight:
All people dreade the magistrates decree,
And al men feare the scourge of mighty Jove.
Lo this (my lord) may wel deserve the name
Of such a lande, as milke and hony flowes.
And this I see within my glasse of Steel,
Set forth even so, by Solon (worthy wight)
Who taught king Croesus what it is to seme
And what to be, by proofe of happie end.
The like Lycurgus , Lacedemon king,
Did set to shew by viewe of this my glasse,
And left the same a mirour to behold
To every prince of his posterity.

But now (aye me) the glasing christal glasse
Doth make us thinke that realmes and townes are rych
Where favor sways the sentence of the law,
Where al is fishe that cometh to the net,
Where mighty power doth over rule the right,
Where injuries do foster secret grudge,
Where bloudy sword maks every booty prize,
Where banquetting is compted comly cost,
Where officers grow rich by princes pens,
Where purchase commes by covyn and deceit,
And no man dreads but he that cannot shift,
Nor none serve God, but only tongtide men.
Againe I see, within my glasse of Steele,
But foure estates, to serve eche country Soyle,
The King, the Knight, the Pesant, & the Priest.
The King should care for al the subjectes still,
The Knight should fight for to defende the same,
The Peasant he, should labor for their ease,
And Priests shuld pray for them & for themselves.

But out alas, such mists do bleare our eyes,
And christal glosse, doth glister so therwith,
That Kings conceive their care is wonderous great
When as they beat their busie restles braynes,
To maintaine pompe and high triumphant sights,
To fede their fil of daintie delicates,
To glad their harts with sight of pleasant sports,
To fil their eares with sound of instruments,
To breake with bit the hot coragious horse,
To deck their haules with sumpteous cloth of gold,
To cloth themselves with silkes of straunge devise,
To search the rocks for pearles & pretious stones,
To delve the ground for mines of glistering gold:
And never care to maynteine peace and rest,
To yeld reliefe where needy lacke appears,
To stop one eare until the poore man speake,
To seme to sleepe when Justice still doth wake,
To gard their lands from sodaine sword and fier,
To feare the cries of giltles suckling babes,
Where ghosts may cal for vengeance on their bloud,
And stirre the wrath of mightie thundring Jove.

I speake not this by any english king,
Nor by our Queene, whose high forsight provids
That dyre debate is fledde to foraine Realmes,
Whiles we injoy the golden fleece of peace.
But there to turne my tale, from whence it came,
In olden dayes, good kings and worthy dukes
(Who sawe themselves in glasse of trusty Steele)
Contented were with pompes of little pryce,
And set their thoughtes on regal governement.

And order was, when Rome did florish most,
That no man might triumph in stately wise,
But such as had with blowes of bloudy blade
Five thousand foes in foughten field foredone.
Now he that likes to loke in Christal glasse,
May see proud pomps in high triumphant wise,
Where never blowe was delt with enemie.

When Sergius devised first the meane
To pen up fishe within the swelling floud,
And so content his mouth with daintie fare,
Then followed fast excesse on Princes bordes,
And every dish was chargde with new conceits,
To please the taste of uncontented mindes.
But had he seene the streine of straunge devise,
Which Epicures do now adayes invent,
To yeld good smacke unto their daintie tongues:
Could he conceive how princes paunch is fillde
With secret cause of sickenesse (oft) unseene,
Whiles lust desires much more than nature craves,
Then would he say that al the Romane cost
Was common trash compard to sundrie Sauce
Which princes use to pamper Appetite.

O Christal Glasse, thou settest things to shew,
Which are (God knoweth) of little worth in dede.
Al eyes behold, with eagre deepe desire,
The Faulcon flye, the grehounde runne his course,
The bayted Bul and Beare at stately stake,
These Enterluds, these newe Italian sportes,
And every gawde that glads the minde of man:
But fewe regard their needy neighbours lacke,
And fewe beholde by contemplation
The joyes of heaven, ne yet the paines of hel.
Fewe loke to lawe, but al men gaze on lust.

A swete consent of Musicks sacred sound,
Doth rayse our mindes, (as rapt) al up on high,
But sweeter soundes, of concorde, peace, and love,
Are out of tune and jarre in every stoppe.

To tosse and turne the sturdie trampling stede,
To bridle him and make him meete to serve,
Deserves (no doubt) great commendation.
But such as have their stables ful yfraught
With pampred Jades, ought therwithal to wey
What great excesse upon them may be spent,
How many pore, (which nede nor brake nor bit)
Might therwithal in godly wise be fedde,
And kings ought not so many horse to have.

The sumpteous house declares the princes state,
But vaine excesse bewrayes a princes faults.

Our bumbast hose, our treble double ruffes,
Our sutes of Silke, our comely garded capes,
Our knit silke stockes, and spanish lether shoes,
(Yea velvet serves, ofttimes to trample in)
Our plumes, our spangs, and al our queint aray,
Are pricking spurres, provoking filthy pride,
And snares (unseen) which leade a man to hel.

How live the Mores, which spurne at glistring perle,
And scorne the costs which we do holde so deare?
How? how but wel? and weare the precious pearle
Of peerlesse truth, amongst them published,
(Which we enjoy and never wey the worth).
They would not then the same (like us) despise,
Which (though they lacke) they live in better wise
Than we, which holde the worthles pearle so deare.
But glittring gold, which many yeares lay hidde,
Til gredy mindes gan search the very guts
Of earth and clay to finde out sundrie moulds
(As redde and white, which are by melting made
Bright gold and silver, mettals of mischiefe)
Hath now enflamde the noblest Princes harts
With foulest fire of filthy Avarice;
And seldome seene that kings can be content
To kepe their bounds, which their forefathers left:
What causeth this, but greedy golde to get?
Even gold, which is the very cause of warres,
The neast of strife, and nourice of debate,
The barre of heaven, and open way to hel.
But is this strange? when Lords when Knights & Squires
(Which ought defende the state of common welth)
Are not afrayd to covet like a King?
O blinde desire: oh high aspiring harts.
The country Squire doth covet to be Knight,
The Knight a Lord, the Lord an Erle or a Duke,
The Duke a King, the King would Monarke be,
And none content with that which is his own.
Yet none of these can see in Christal glasse
(Which glistereth bright, & bleares their gasing eyes)
How every life beares with him his disease.
But in my glasse, which is of trustie steele,
I can perceive how kingdomes breede but care,
How Lordship lives with lots of lesse delight
(Though cappe and knee do seeme a reverence,
And courtlike life is thought an other heaven)
Than common people finde in every coast.
The Gentleman, which might in countrie keepe
A plenteous boorde and feed the fatherlesse
With pig and goose, with mutton, beefe and veale
(Yea now and then, a capon and a chicke)
Wil breake up house and dwel in market townes,
A loytring life, and like an Epicure .

But who (meane while) defends the common welth?
Who rules the flocke, when sheperds so are fled?
Who stayes the staff, which shuld uphold the state?
Forsoth good Sir, the Lawyer leapeth in,
Nay rather leapes both over hedge and ditch,
And rules the rost, but fewe men rule by right.

O Knights, O Squires, O Gentle blouds yborne,
You were not borne al onely for your selves:
Your countrie claymes some part of al your paines.
There should you live and therin should you toyle,
To hold up right, and banish cruel wrong,
To helpe the pore, to bridle backe the riche,
To punish vice, and vertue to advaunce,
To see God servde, and Belzebub supprest.
You should not trust lieftenaunts in your rome,
And let them sway the scepter of your charge,
Whiles you (meane while) know scarcely what is don,
Nor yet can yeld accompt if you were callde.

The stately lord, which woonted was to kepe
A court at home, is now come up to courte,
And leaves the country for a common prey
To pilling, polling, brybing, and deceit:
(Al which his presence might have pacified,
Or else have made offenders smel the smoke).

And now the youth which might have served him
In comely wise, with countrey clothes yclad,
And yet therby bin able to preferre
Unto the prince and there to seke advance:
Is faine to sell his landes for courtly cloutes,
Or else sits still and liveth like a loute,
(Yet of these two, the last fault is the lesse):
And so those imps which might in time have sprong
Alofte (good lord) and servde to shielde the state,
Are either nipt with such untimely frosts,
Or else growe crookt because they be not proynd.

These be the Knights which shold defend the land,
And these be they which leave the land at large.
Yet here percase, it wilbe thought I rove
And runne astray, besides the kings high way,
Since by the Knights, of whom my text doth tell
(And such as shew most perfect in my glasse)
Is ment nomore, but worthy Souldiours
Whose skil in armes and long experience
Should still uphold the pillers of the worlde.
Yes out of doubt, this noble name of Knight
May comprehend, both Duke, Erle, lorde, Knight, Squire,
Yea gentlemen, and every gentle borne.

But if you wil constraine me for to speake,
What souldiours are, or what they ought to be
(And I my selfe of that profession)
I see a crew, which glister in my glasse,
The bravest bande that ever yet was sene:
Behold behold, where Pompey commes before,
Where Manlius and Marius insue,
Æmilius and Curius I see,
Palamedes and Fabius maximus ,
And eke their mate, Epaminondas loe,
Protesilaus and Phocyon are not farre,
Pericles stands in rancke amongst the rest,
Aristomenes may not be forgot,
Unlesse the list of good men be disgrast.

Behold (my lord) these souldiours can I spie
Within my glasse, within my true Steele glasse.

I see not one therin, which seekes to heape
A world of pence, by pinching of dead payes,
And so beguiles the prince in time of nede,
When muster day, and foughten fielde are odde.
Since Pompey did enrich the common heaps,
And Paulus he ( Æmilius surnamed)
Returnde to Rome no richer than he went,
Although he had so many lands subdued,
And brought such treasure to the common chests
That fourscore yeres the state was (after) free
From grevous taske and imposition.
Yea since againe, good Marcus Curius ,
Thought sacriledge himselfe for to advaunce,
And see his souldiours pore or live in lacke.

I see not one within this glasse of mine,
Whose fethers flaunt and flicker in the winde,
As though he were all onely to be markt,
When simple snakes, which go not halfe so gay,
Can leave him yet a furlong in the field:
And when the pride of all his peacockes plumes,
Is daunted downe with dastard dreadfulnesse.
And yet in towne he jetted every streete
As though the god of warres (even Mars himself)
Might wel (by him) be lively counterfayte,
Though much more like the coward Constantine .
I see none such (my Lorde), I see none such,
Since Phocion , which was in deed a Mars
And one which did much more than he wold vaunt,
Contented was to be but homely clad.
And Marius (whose constant hart could bide
The very vaines of his forwearied legges
To be both cut and carved from his corps)
Could never yet contented be to spend
One idle groate, in clothing nor in cates.

I see not one, (my Lord) I see not one
Which stands somuch, upon his paynted sheath
(Bycause he hath perchaunce at Bolleyn bene
And loytered since then in idlenesse)
That he accompts no Soldiour but himselfe,
Nor one that can despise the learned brayne,
Which joyneth reading with experience.
Since Palamedes and Ulisses both,
Were much esteemed for their pollicies
Although they were not thought long trained men,
Epamynondas eke was much esteemde
Whose Eloquence was such in all respects,
As gave no place unto his manly hart.
And Fabius surnamed Maximus ,
Could joyne such learning with experience,
As made his name more famous than the rest.

These bloudy beasts apeare not in my glasse
Which cannot rule their sword in furious rage,
Nor have respecte to age nor yet to kinde:
But downe goeth al where they get upper hand.
Whose greedy harts so hungrie are to spoyle,
That few regard the very wrath of God,
Which greeved is at cries of giltlesse bloud.
Pericles was a famous man of warre,
And victor eke in nine great foughten fields,
Wherof he was the general in charge.
Yet at his death he rather did rejoyce
In clemencie than bloudy victorie.
Be still (quoth he) you grave Athenians ,
(Who whispered and tolde his valiant facts)
You have forgot my greatest glorie got.
For yet (by me, nor mine occasion)
Was never sene a mourning garment worne.
O noble words, wel worthy golden writ.
Beleve me (Lord) a souldiour cannot have
Too great regarde wheron his knife should cut.

Ne yet the men, which wonder at their wounds,
And shewe their scarres to every commer by,
Dare once be seene within my glasse of Steele;
For so the faults of Thraso and his trayne
(Whom Terence told, to be but bragging brutes)
Might sone appeare to every skilful eye.
Bolde Manlius could close and wel convey
Ful thirtie wounds (and three) upon his head,
Yet never made nor bones nor bragges therof.

What should I speake of drunken Soldiours?
Or lechers lewde, which fight for filthy lust?
Of whom that one can sit and bybbe his fil,
Consume his coyne, (which might good corage yeld,
To such as march and move at his commaunde)
And makes himselfe a worthy mocking stocke
Which might deserve (by sobre life) great laude.
That other dotes and driveth forth his dayes
In vaine delight and foule concupiscence,
When works of weight might occupie his hedde.
Yea therwithal he puts his owne fonde heade
Under the belt of such as should him serve,
And so becoms example of much evil,
Which should have servde as lanterne of good life:
And is controlde, wheras he should commaund.
Augustus Caesar , he which might have made
Both feasts and banquets bravely as the best,
Was yet content (in campe) with homely cates,
And seldome dranke his wine unwatered.
Aristomenes dayned to defende
His dames of prize, whom he in warres had won,
And rather chose to die in their defence,
Then filthy men should foyle their chastitie.
This was a wight wel worthy fame and prayse.

O Captayns come, and Souldiours come apace,
Behold my glasse, and you shall see therin
Proud Crassus bagges consumde by covetise,
Great Alexander drounde in drunkennesse,
Caesar and Pompey spilt with privy grudge,
Brennus beguild with lightnesse of beliefe,
Cleomenes by ryot not regarded,
Vespasian disdayned for deceit,
Demetrius light set by for his lust,
Whereby at last he dyed in prison pent.

Hereto percase, some one man will alledge
That Princes pence are pursed up so close,
And faires do fall so seldome in a yeare,
That when they come provision must be made
To fende the frost in hardest winter nights.

Indeed I finde, within this glasse of mine,
Justinian , that proude ungrateful prince,
Which made to begge bold Belisarius
His trustie man, which had so stoutly fought
In his defence, with evry enimy.
And Scypio condemnes the Romaine rule,
Which suffred him (that had so truely served)
To leade pore life at his ( Lynternum ) ferme,

Which did deserve such worthy recompence.
Yea herewithal most Souldiours of our time
Beleeve for truth, that proude Justinian
Did never die, without good store of heyres,
And Romanes race cannot be rooted out,
Such yssewe springs of such unplesant budds.

But shal I say? this lesson learne of me,
When drums are dumb and sound not dub a dub,
Then be thou eke as mewet as a mayde
(I preach this sermon but to souldiours)
And learne to live within thy bravries bounds.
Let not the Mercer pul thee by the sleeve
For sutes of silke, when cloth may serve thy turne;
Let not thy scores come robbe thy needy purse,
Make not the catchpol rich by thine arrest.

Are thou a Gentle? live with gentle friendes,
Which wil be glad thy companie to have,
If manhoode may with manners well agree.

Art thou a serving man? then serve againe,
And stint to steale as common souldiours do.

Art thou a craftsman? take thee to thine arte,
And cast off slouth which loytreth in the Campes.

Art thou a plowman pressed for a shift?
Then learne to clout thine old cast cobled shoes,
And rather bide at home with barley bread,
Than learne to spoyle, as thou hast seene some do.
Of truth (my friendes and my companions eke)
Who lust by warres to gather lawful welth,
And so to get a right renoumed name,
Must cast aside al common trades of warre,
And learne to live as though he knew it not.

Well, thus my Knight hath held me al to long,
Bycause he bare such compasse in my glasse.
High time were then to turne my wery pen,
Unto the Peasant comming next in place,
And here to write the summe of my conceit.
I do not meane alonely husbandmen,
Which till the ground, which dig, delve, mow, and sowe,
Which swinke and sweate, whiles we do sleepe and snort
And serch the guts of earth for greedy gain;
But he that labors any kind of way
To gather gaines and to enrich himselfe,
By King, by Knight, by holy helping Priests,
And al the rest, that live in common welth,
(So that his gaines, by greedy guyles be got)
Him can I compt a Peasant in his place.
Al officers, all advocates at lawe,
Al men of arte, which get goodes greedily,
Must be content to take a Peasants rome.

A strange devise, and sure my Lord wil laugh
To see it so, desgested in degrees.
But he which can in office drudge and droy,
And crave of al (although even now a dayes
Most officers commaund that shuld be cravde);
He that can share from every pention payde
A Peeter peny weying halfe a pounde,
He that can plucke sir Bennet by the sleeve,
And finde a fee in his pluralitie,
He that can winke at any foule abuse,
As long as gaines come trouling in therwith,
Shal such come see themselves in this my glasse?
Or shal they gaze, as godly good men do?
Yea let them come: but shal I tell you one thing?
How ere their gownes be gathred in the backe
With organe pipes of old king Henries clampe,
How ere their cappes be folded with a flappe,
How ere their beardes be clipped by the chinne,
How ere they ride or mounted are on mules,
I compt them worse than harmeles homely hindes,
Which toyle in dede to serve our common use.

Strange tale to tel: all officers be blynde,
And yet their one eye, sharpe as Linceus sight,
That one eye winks, as though it were but blynd,
That other pries and peekes in every place.
Come naked neede? and chance to do amisse?
He shal be sure to drinke upon the whippe.
But privie gaine (that bribing busie wretch)
Can finde the meanes to creepe and cowch so low,
As officers can never see him slyde,
Nor heare the trampling of his stealing steppes.
He comes (I thinke) upon the blinde side stil.

These things (my Lord) my glasse now sets to shew,
Whereas long since all officers were seene
To be men made out of another moulde.
Epamynond , of whome I spake before
(Which was long time an officer in Thebes )
And toylde in peace aswel as fought in warre,
Would never take or bribe or rich reward.
And thus he spake, to such as sought his helpe:
If it be good (quoth he) that you desire,
Then wil I do it for the vertues sake:
If it be badde no bribe can me infecte.
If so it be for this my common weale,
Then am I borne and bound by duetie both
To see it done, withouten furder words.
But if it be unprofitable thing,
And might empaire, offende, or yeld anoy
Unto the state, which I pretende to stay,
Then al the gold (quoth he) that growes on earth
Shal never tempt my free consent thereto.

How many now wil treade Zeleucus steps?
Or who can byde Cambyses cruel dome?
Cruel? nay just (yea softe, and peace, good sir)
For Justice sleepes and Troth is jested out.
O that al kings would ( Alexander like)

Hold evermore, one finger streight stretcht out,
To thrust in eyes of all their master theeves.
But Brutus died without posteritie,
And Marcus Crassus had none issue male,
Cicero slipt unsene out of this world,
With many mo which pleaded romaine pleas
And were content to use their eloquence
In maintenance of matters that were good.
Demosthenes in Athens usde his arte,
(Not for to heape himselfe great hourds of gold)
But stil to stay the towne from deepe deceite
Of Philips wyles, which had besieged it.
Where shal we reade, that any of these foure
Did ever pleade as carelesse of the trial?
Or who can say they builded sumpteously?
Or wroong the weake out of his own by wyles?
They were (I trowe) of noble houses borne,
And yet content to use their best devoire,
In furdering eche honest harmelesse cause.
They did not rowte (like rude unringed swine,)
To roote nobilitie from heritage.
They stoode content with gaine of glorious fame,
(Bycause they had respect to equitie)
To leade a life like true Philosophers.
Of all the bristle bearded Advocates
That ever lovde their fees above the cause,
I cannot see (scarce one) that is so bolde
To shewe his face and fayned Phisnomie
In this my glasse: but if he do (my Lorde)
He shewes himselfe to be by very kinde
A man which meanes at every time and tide,
To do smal right but sure to take no wrong.

And master Merchant, he whose travaile ought
Commodiously to doe his countrie good,
And by his toyle the same for to enriche,
Can finde the meane to make Monopolyes
Of every ware that is accompted strange.
And feeds the vaine of courtiers vaine desires
Until the court have courtiers cast at heele,
Quia non habent vestes Nuptiales.

O painted fooles, whose harebrainde heads must have
More clothes attones than might become a king:
For whom the rocks in forain Realmes must spin,
For whom they carde, for whom they weave their webbes
For whom no wool appeareth fine enough,
(I speake not this by english courtiers
Since english wool was ever thought most worth)
For whom al seas are tossed to and fro,
From whom these purples come from Persia ,
The crimosine and lively red from Inde:
For whom soft silks do sayle from Sericane ,
And all queint costs do come from fardest coasts:
Whiles in meane while, that worthy Emperour,
Which rulde the world and had all welth at wil,
Could be content to tire his wearie wife,
His daughters and his niepces everychone,
To spin and worke the clothes that he should weare,
And never carde for silks or sumpteous cost,
For cloth of gold or tinsel figurie,
For Baudkin, broydrie, cutworks, nor conceits.
He set the shippes of merchantmen on worke,
With bringing home oyle, graine, and savrie salt
And such like wares, as served common use.

Yea for my life, those merchants were not woont
To lend their wares at reasonable rate,
(To gaine no more but Cento por cento )
To teach yong men the trade to sel browne paper,
Yea Morrice bells, and byllets too sometimes,
To make their coyne a net to catch yong frye.
To binde such babes in father Derbies bands,
To stay their steps by statute Staples staffe,
To rule yong roysters with Recognisance ,
To read Arithmeticke once every day,
In Woodstreat, Bredstreat, and in Pultery
(Where such schoolmaisters keepe their counting house)
To fede on bones when flesh and fell is gon,
To keepe their byrds ful close in caytives cage,
(Who being brought to libertie at large
Might sing perchaunce, abroade, when sunne doth shine
Of their mishaps & how their fethers fel)
Until the canker may their corpse consume.

These knackes (my lord) I cannot cal to minde,
Bycause they shewe not in my glasse of steele.
But holla: here, I see a wondrous sight,
I see a swarme of Saints within my glasse:
Beholde, behold, I see a swarme in deede
Of holy Saints, which walke in comely wise,
Not deckt in robes, nor garnished with gold,
But some unshod, yea some ful thinly clothde,
And yet they seme so heavenly for to see,
As if their eyes were al of Diamonds,
Their face of Rubies, Saphires, and Jacincts,
Their comly beards and heare of silver wiers.
And to be short, they seeme Angelycall.
What should they be, (my Lord) what should they be?

O gratious God, I see now what they be.
These be my priests, which pray for evry state,
These be my priests, devorced from the world,
And wedded yet, to heaven and holynesse,
Which are not proude, nor covet to be riche.
Which go not gay, nor fede on daintie foode,
Which envie not, nor knowe what malice meanes,
Which loth all lust, disdayning drunkenesse,
Which cannot faine, which hate hypocrisie.
Which never sawe Sir Simonies deceits.
Which preach of peace, which carpe contentions,
Which loyter not but labour al the yeare,
Which thunder threts of gods most grevous wrath,
And yet do teach that mercie is in store.

Lo these (my Lord) be my good praying priests,
Descended from, Melchysedec by line,
Cosens to Paule, to Peter, James, and John,
These be my priests, the seasning of the earth,
Which wil not leese their Savrinesse, I trowe.

Not one of these (for twentie hundreth groats)
Wil teach the text that byddes him take a wife,
And yet be combred with a concubine.

Not one of these wil reade the holy write
Which doth forbid all greedy usurie,
And yet receive a shilling for a pounde.

Not one of these wil preach of patience,
And yet be found as angry as a waspe.

Not one of these can be content to sit
In Taverns, Innes, or Alehouses all day,
But spends his time devoutly at his booke.

Not one of these will rayle at rulers wrongs,
And yet be blotted with extortion.

Not one of these, wil paint out worldly pride,
And he himselfe as gallaunt as he dare.

Not one of these rebuketh avarice,
And yet procureth proude pluralities.

Not one of these reproveth vanitie
(Whiles he him selfe, with hauke upon his fist
And houndes at heele) doth quite forget his text.

Not one of these corrects contentions
For trifling things: and yet will sue for tythes.

Not one of these (not one of these my Lord)
Will be ashamde to do even as he teacheth.

My priests have learnt to pray unto the Lord,
And yet they trust not in their lyplabour.

My priests can fast and use al abstinence
From vice and sinne, and yet refuse no meats.

My priests can give in charitable wise,
And love also to do good almes dedes,
Although they trust not in their owne deserts.

My priests can place all penaunce in the hart,
Without regard of outward ceremonies.

My priestes can keepe their temples undefyled,
And yet defie all Superstition.

Lo now my Lorde, what thinke you by my priests?
Although they were the last that shewed themselves,
I saide at first their office was to pray,
And since the time is such even now a dayes
As hath great nede of prayers truely prayde,
Come forth my priests, and I wil bydde your beades,
I wil presume (although I be no priest)
To bide you pray as Paule and Peter prayde.

Then pray my priests, yea pray to god himselfe,
That he vouchsafe (even for his Christes sake)
To give his word free passage here on earth,
And that his church (which now is Militant)
May soone be sene triumphant over all,
And that he deigne to ende this wicked world,
Which walloweth stil in Sinks of filthy sinne.

Eke pray my priests, for Princes and for Kings,
Emperours, Monarks, Duks, and all estates,
Which sway the sworde of royal government
(Of whom our Queene, which lives without compare,
Must be the chiefe in bydding of my beades,
Else I deserve to lese both beades and bones)
That God give light unto their noble mindes
To maintaine truth, and therwith stil to wey
That here they reigne not onely for themselves,
And that they be but slaves to common welth,
Since al their toyles and all their broken sleeps
Shal scant suffize, to hold it stil upright.

Tell some (in Spaine ) how close they kepe their closets,
How selde the winde doth blow upon their cheeks,
While as (mene while) their sunburnt sutours sterve
And pine before their processe be preferrde.
Then pray (my priests) that god will give his grace
To such a prince, his fault in time to mende.

Tel some (in France ) how much they love to dance,
While sutours daunce attendaunce at the dore.
Yet pray (my priests) for prayers princes mende.

Tel some (in Portugale ) how colde they be,
In setting forth of right religion:
Which more esteme the present pleasures here,
Then stablishing of God his holy worde.
And pray (my Priests) least god such princes spit
And vomit them out of his angrie mouth.
Tel some ( Italian ) princes, how they winke
At stinking stewes, and say they are (forsooth)
A remedy to quench foule filthy luste:
When as in dede they be the sinkes of sinne.
And pray (my priests) that God wil not impute
Such wilful facts unto such princes charge,
When he himselfe commaundeth every man
To do none ill, that good may growe therby.

And pray likewise, for all that rulers be
By kings commaundes as their lieftenants here,
Al magistrates, al councellours, and all
That sit in office or Authoritie.
Pray, pray, (my priests) that neither love nor mede
Do sway their minds from furdering of right,
That they be not too saintish nor too sowre,
But beare the bridle evenly betwene both,
That stil they stoppe one eare to heare him speake
Which is accused, absent as he is:
That evermore, they mark what moode doth move
The mouth which makes the information,
That faults forpaste (so that they be not huge,
Nor do exceed the bonds of loyaltie)
Do never quench their charitable minde,
When as they see repentance hold the reines
Of heady youth, which wont to runne astray.
That malice make no mansion in their minds,
Nor envy frete to see how vertue clymes.
The greater Birth, the greater glory sure,
If deeds mainteine their auncestors degree.

Eke pray (my Priests) for them and for yourselves,
For Bishops, Prelats, Archdeanes, deanes, and Priests
And al that preach, or otherwise professe
Gods holy word, and take the cure of soules.
Pray pray that you and every one of you
May walke upright in your vocation.
And that you shine like lamps of perfect life,
To lende a light and lanterne to our feete.

Say therwithal that some (I see them, I,
Wheras they fling in Flaunders all afarre,
For why my glasse wil shew them as they be)
Do neither care for God nor yet for devill,
So libertie may launch about at large.

And some again (I see them wel enough
And note their names, in Liegelande where they lurke)
Under pretence of holy humble harts
Would plucke adowne al princely Dyademe .
Pray, pray (my priests) for these, they touch you neere.

Shrinke not to say that some do (Romainelike)
Esteme their pall and habyte overmuche.
And therfore pray (my priests) lest pride prevaile.

Pray that the soules of sundrie damned gosts
Do not come in and bring good evidence
Before the God, which judgeth al mens thoughts,
Of some whose welth made them neglect their charge
Til secret sinnes (untoucht) infecte their flocks
And bredde a scab, which brought the shep to bane.

Some other ranne before the greedy woolfe,
And left the folde unfended from the fox,
Which durst nor barke nor bawle for both theyr eares.
Then pray (my priests) that such no more do so.

Pray for the nources, of our noble Realme,
I meane the worthy Universities,
(And Cantabridge shal have the dignitie,
Wherof I was unworthy member once)
That they bring up their babes in decent wise:
That Philosophy smel no secret smoke
Which Magike makes in wicked mysteries:
That Logike leape not over every stile,
Before he come a furlong neare the hedge,
With curious Quids to maintain argument.
That Sophistrie do not deceive it selfe,
That Cosmography keepe his compasse wel,
And such as be Historiographers
Trust not to much in every tatlyng tong,
Nor blynded be by partialitie.
That Phisicke thrive not over fast by murder:
That Numbring men in al their evens and odds
Do not forget that only Unitie
Unmeasurable, infinite, and one.
That Geometrie measure not so long,
Til all their measures out of measure be:
That Musike with his heavenly harmonie
Do not allure a heavenly minde from heaven,
Nor set mens thoughts in worldly melodie,
Til heavenly Hierarchies be quite forgot:
That Rhetorick learne not to overreache:
That Poetrie presume not for to preache,
And bite mens faults with Satyres corosives,
Yet pamper up hir owne with pultesses:
Or that she dote not uppon Erato ,
Which should invoke the good Caliope:
That Astrologie looke not over high,
And light (meane while) in every pudled pit:
That Grammer grudge not at our english tong,
Bycause it stands by Monosyllaba ,
And cannot be declind as others are.
Pray thus (my priests) for universities.
And if I have forgotten any Arte,
Which hath bene taught or exercised there,
Pray you to god, the good be not abusde
With glorious shewe of overloding skill.

Now these be past (my priests) yet shal you pray
For common people, eche in his degree,
That God vouchsafe to graunt them al his grace.
Where should I now beginne to bidde my beades?
Or who shal first be put in common place?
My wittes be wearie and my eyes are dymme,
I cannot see who best deserves the roome,
Stand forth good Peerce , thou plowman by thy name,
Yet so the Sayler saith I do him wrong:
That one contends his paines are without peare,
That other saith that none be like to his,
In dede they labour both exceedingly.
But since I see no shipman that can live
Without the plough, and yet I many see
(Which live by lande) that never sawe the seas:
Therfore I say, stand forth Peerce plowman first,
Thou winst the roome by verie worthinesse.

Behold him (priests) & though he stink of sweat
Disdaine him not: for shal I tel you what?
Such clime to heaven before the shaven crownes.
But how? forsooth, with true humilytie.
Not that they hoord their grain when it is cheape,
Nor that they kill the calfe to have the milke,
Nor that they set debate betwene their lords,
By earing up the balks that part their bounds:
Nor for because they can both crowche & creep
(The guilefulst men that ever God yet made)
When as they meane most mischiefe and deceite,
Nor that they can crie out on landelordes lowde,
And say they racke their rents an ace to high,
When they themselves do sel their landlords lambe
For greater price then ewe was wont be worth.
I see you Peerce , my glasse was lately scowrde.
But for they feed with frutes of their gret paines
Both King and Knight and priests in cloyster pent:
Therefore I say that sooner some of them
Shal scale the walles which leade us up to heaven,
Than cornfed beasts whose bellie is their God,
Although they preach of more perfection.

And yet (my priests) pray you to God for Peerce ,
As Peerce can pinch it out for him and you.
And if you have a Paternoster spare
Then shal you pray for Saylers (God them send
More mind of him when as they come to lande,
For towarde shipwracke many men can pray)
That they once learne to speake without a lye,
And meane good faith without blaspheming othes:
That they forget to steale from every fraight,
And for to forge false cockets, free to passe:
That manners make them give their betters place
And use good words, though deeds be nothing gay.

But here me thinks, my priests begin to frowne,
And say that thus they shal be overchargde,
To pray for al which seme to do amisse:
And one I heare, more saucie than the rest,
Which asketh me when shal our prayers end?

I tel thee (priest) when shoomakers make shoes,
That are wel sowed, with never a stitch amisse,
And use no crafte in uttring of the same:
When Taylours steale no stuffe from gentlemen,
When Tanners are with Corriers wel agreede,
And both so dresse their hydes that we go dry:
When Cutlers leave to sel olde rustie blades,
And hide no crackes with soder nor deceit:
When tinkers make no more holes than they founde,
When thatchers thinke their wages worth their worke,
When colliers put no dust into their sacks,
When maltemen make us drinke no firmentie,
When Davie Diker diggs and dallies not,
When smithes shoo horses as they would be shod,
When millers toll not with a golden thumbe,
When bakers make not barme beare price of wheat,
When brewers put no bagage in their beere,
When butchers blowe not over al their fleshe,
When horsecorsers beguile no friends with Jades,
When weavers weight is found in huswives web.
(But why dwel I so long among these lowts?)
When mercers make more bones to swere and lye,
When vintners mix no water with their wine,
When printers passe none errours in their bookes,
When hatters use to bye none olde cast robes,
When goldsmithes get no gains by sodred crownes,
When upholsters sel fethers without dust,
When pewterers infect no Tin with leade,
When drapers draw no gaines by giving day,
When perchmentiers put in no ferret Silke,
When Surgeons heale al wounds without delay.
(Tush these are toys, but yet my glas sheweth al).

When purveyours provide not for themselves,
When Takers take no brybes nor use no brags,
When customers, conceale no covine usde,
When Searchers see al corners in a shippe,
(And spie no pens by any sight they see)
When shrives do serve all processe as they ought,
When baylifes strain none other thing but strays,
When auditours their counters cannot change,
When proude surveyours take no parting pens,
When Silver sticks not on the Tellers fingers,
And when receivers pay as they receive,
When al these folke have quite forgotten fraude.

(Againe (my priests) a little by your leave)
When Sicophants can finde no place in courte,
But are espied for Ecchoes as they are,
When roysters ruffle not above their rule,
Nor colour crafte by swearing precious coles:
When Fencers fees are like to apes rewards,
A peece of breade and therwithal a bobbe:
When Lays lives not like a ladies peare,
Nor useth art in dying of hir heare.
When al these things are ordred as they ought,
And see themselves within my glasse of steele,
Even then (my priests) may you make holyday,
And pray no more but ordinarie prayers.

And yet therin, I pray you (my good priests)
Pray stil for me and for my Glasse of steele,
That it (nor I) do any minde offend
Bycause we shew all colours in their kinde.
And pray for me, that (since my hap is such
To see men so) I may perceive myselfe.
O worthy words to ende my worthlesse verse,
Pray for me Priests, I pray you pray for me.

FINIS

Tam Marti, quam Mercurio

EPILOGUS

Alas (my lord) my hast was al to hote,
I shut my glasse before you gasde your fill,
And at a glimse my seely selfe have spied
A stranger trowpe than any yet were sene:
Beholde (my lord) what monsters muster here,
With Angels face and harmefull helish harts,
With smyling lookes and depe deceitful thoughts,
With tender skinnes and stony cruel mindes,
With stealing steppes, yet forward feete to fraude.
Behold, behold, they never stande content,
With God, with kinde, with any helpe of Arte,
But curle their locks with bodkins & with braids,
But dye their heare with sundry subtill sleights,
But paint and slicke til fayrest face be foule,
But bumbast, bolster, frisle, and perfume:
They marre with muske the balme which nature made,
And dig for death in dellicatest dishes.
The yonger sorte come pyping on apace,
In whistles made of fine enticing wood,
Til they have caught the birds for whom they bryded.
The elder sorte go stately stalking on,
And on their backs they beare both land and fee,
Castles and Towres, revenewes and receits,
Lordships and manours, fines, yea fermes and al.
What should these be? (speake you my lovely lord)
They be not men: for why? they have no beards.
They be no boyes, which weare such side long gowns.
They be no Gods, for al their gallant glosse.
They be no divels, (I trow) which seme so saintish.
What be they? women? masking in mens weedes?
With dutchkin dublets and with Jerkins jaggde?
With Spanish spangs and ruffes fet out of France,
With high copt hattes and fethers flaunt a flaunt?
They be so sure even Wo to Men in dede.
Nay then (my lord) let shut the glasse apace,
High time it were for my pore Muse to winke,
Since al the hands, al paper, pen, and inke,
Which ever yet this wretched world possest,
Cannot describe this Sex in colours dewe:
No no (my lord) we gased have inough,
(And I too much, God pardon me therfore)
Better loke of than loke an ace to farre:
And better mumme than meddle overmuch.
But if my Glasse do like my lovely lord,
We wil espie, some sunny Sommers day,
To loke againe and see some semely sights.
Meane while, my Muse right humbly doth besech
That my good lorde accept this ventrous verse,
Until my braines may better stuffe devise.

FINIS:

Tan Marti, quam Mercurio