



Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Brian Wilsden and the Online
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  AN
  ENGLISH
  GARNER

  INGATHERINGS FROM OUR
  HISTORY AND LITERATURE
  BY EDWARD ARBER, F.S.A.

  '_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.

  ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO.
  2 WHITEHALL GARDENS, WESTMINSTER

  MDCCCXCVII




 Contents of the Eighth Volume.
                                                                 PAGE

  JOHN LYDGATE. _The Siege of Harfleur and the Battle of
  Agincourt._

  (1415.) [Printed c. 1530.]                                       13

  JOHN FOX. _How the Lord CROMWELL helped Archbishop Cranmer's
  Secretary._ (July 1539.)                                         25

  JOHN PROCTOR. _The History of Sir THOMAS WYAT's
    Rebellion._ (Jan.-Feb. 1544.) [Printed Jan. 1555.]             37

  ---- _The True Report of the burning of the Steeple and
  Church of Paul's in London._ (4 June 1561.)                     109

  R. W[ITC]. _Against the wilful inconstancy of his dear foe E.
  T._ (? 1566.) 32

  IS. W._To her unconstant Lover._ (? 1566.)                      227

  W. G. _A Love Letter to an unconstant Maiden._ (? 1566.)        239

  [GEORGE GASCOIGNE.] _The Spoil of Antwerp._ It is better known
    as The Spanish Fury at Antwerp. (Nov. 1576.)                  141

  GEORGE ELLIOT. _A very true Report of the apprehension of that
    arch-Priest EDMUND CAMPION and three other Jesuit Priests._
    (July 1581.)                                                  203

  [MARY.] _The Scottish Queen's Burial at Peterborough._
    (1 August 1587.) [Printed 1589.]                              341

  THEOCRITUS. _Six Idillia._ Translated by E. D. [? Sir
    EDWARD DYER]. (1588.)                                         117

  Rev. RICHARD HAKLUYT and Captain NICHOLAS DOWNTON.
    _The Destruction, Capture, &c., of Portuguese Carracks_
    [Santa Cruz, Madre de Dios, Las Cinque Llagas,] _by
    English seamen_. (1592-1594.)                                 245
  [GILES FLETCHER, LL.D.] _LICIA, or Poems of Love--The
    Rising to the Crown of Richard III._ (Sept. 1593.)            413

  RICHARD HASLETON. _Strange and wonderful things that
    happened to him in his Ten Years' Travels in many foreign
    countries._ (1582-1592.) [Printed 1595.]                      367

  WILLIAM SMITH. _CHLORIS, or the Complaint of the
    passionate despised Shepherd._ (1596.)                        171

  R[OBERT] T[OFTE]. _LAURA_ [_i.e._, Mistress E. CARIL].

    _The Toys of a Traveller, or The Feast of Fancy._ (1597.)     267

  ---- _The Merchant's Daughter of Bristow_ [Bristol]. (? 1600.)  399

  [? THOMAS DELONEY.] _The Spanish Lady's Love._ (? 1600.)        200

  Sir ROBERT CAREY, afterwards Earl of MONMOUTH.
    _Account of the Death of Queen ELIZABETH; and of his ride to
    King JAMES at Edinburgh._ (25th-27th March 1603.) [Printed
    1759.]                                                        476

  T. M. _The true Narration of the Entertainment of his Royal
    Majesty [JAMES I.] from the time of his departure from
    Edinburgh till his receiving at London._ (April-May 1603.)    485

  MICHAEL DRAYTON. _Odes._ (1606, and 1619.)                      527

  ---- _Love's Garland, or Posies for Rings, &c._ (1624.)          97

  THOMAS, third Lord FAIRFAX ['Black TOM'].
    _Short Memorials of some things to be cleared during my
  Command in the Army._ (1645-1650.)                              564

  ---- _A Short Memorial of the Northern Actions, during the
  War there._ (1642-1645.)                                        577

  ---- _CUPID's Posies for Bracelets, Handkerchers, and Rings._
    (1674.)                                                       351

  GEORGE VILLIERS, second Duke of BUCKINGHAM. _An
    Epitaph on THOMAS, third Lord FAIRFAX._ (? 1677)              611

  W. P. _Posies for Rings, or Mottoes fit for Presents._ (1677.)  410

  [Bishop EDWARD COPLESTONE.] _Advice to a young Reviewer: with
    a Specimen of the Art_ [_i.e._, a Mock Criticism of MILTON's
    _L'Allegro_.] (1807.)                                         615

  W. HUNNEMAN. _Old King COLE, his life and death._ (?
    1830-? 1837.)                                                 633




 _FIRST LINES OF POEMS AND STANZAS._

                                  PAGE
  Accept in gree                   273
  After that Harflete               20
  A gallant Master                 401
  A gallant Whistle                121
  A gallant Youth                  399
  A gentle tame                    326
  A' [=Ah] LICIA sigh!             449
  "A King I was                    466
  Alas, wilt thou                  242
  All that this earth              556
  All youthful wights               32
  Also I find that                 230
  A LUCRECE for                    232
  A maiden                         360
  Am I a GORGON?                   179
  Amongst the                      311
  And, after many                  404
  And arm in arm                   408
  And as there                     547
  And by these                     560
  And cast me into                  33
  And cheerfully                   546
  And diversely                    530
  And ere her                      402
  And fain I would                 401
  And feeds him                    536
  "And for myself                  549
  "And if they crown               470
  And if ye list to                558
  And if you cannot                229
  And in her heart                 400
  And in my choice                 533
  And in regions                   547
  "And I a Whistle                 121
  "'And I protest'                 471
  "And I," quoth he                404
  And I, who was                   238
  "And me, not long ago            123
  And now, "Farewell!"             234
  And now he pries                 238
  And now to take                  399
  And raised my                    415
  And since doomed                 535
  And since the Feast              557
  And since the fish               238
  And taking many                  548
  And that great                   562
  And the ambitious                547
  And this whereso                 229
  And Thou, the Genius             174
  And though the                   273
  And thus I end                    36
  And thyself such                 241
  And turning to                   549
  And unto me                      231
  "And wantonly                    535
  And what's                       544
  And when he to our                19
  And when they                    409
  And when you                     233
  And whether Nature               415
  And why not I?                   529
  "An English Friar                407
  An ocean Sea of                  315
  A painter drew                   429
  APOLLO and the                   529
  Are those two stars?             446
  As are the sands                 433
  As Britons that                  531
  As burnished                     289
  As by ENEAS, first               230
  As close as you                  229
  As duty wills                    240
  As his prisoner                  200
  As rocks become,                 300
  As sacrifice                     335
  A she there was                  462
  As those                         530
  "A tempest                       122
  A wise man poor                  108


  Beauty is like                   362
  Behold the                       399
  Being likewise                   185
  Believe it, he                   552
  Between [South]hampton            16
  Beware of fair and               234
  "Blest be the land               404
  "Blest be the time               201
  "Blood and Revenge               474
  Bold are her (_bis_)             459
  Both gems, and                   312
  Bright matchless                 424
  Bring forth your                 557
  Britans, you stay                546
  But, all in vain                 233
  "But as the wolf                 468
  But, at last, there              200
  But did declare                  407
  But ere the                      402
  But heaven shall                 464
  But heavens                      463
  But here, good                    35
  But how shall we                 555
  But if his falsehood             231
  But if I cannot                  232
  But if I seem as yet             127
  But if that every                 32
  But if that thou                  35
  But I'll not                     560
  But let that pass                233
  But let the Poets                133
  But like LEANDER                 237
  But, lo, in happy                553
  "But most of all                 405
  But now, alas                    405
  But now let VENUS                 35
  But now the harvest               33
  But now what                     242
  But of thy                       238
  But of thy heart                 198
  But Plaints and                  463
  But rather than                  232
  But She, good Sir!               559
  But sith thy                     238
  But such as I can                234
  But 'tis dissolved               555
  But wavering                     243
  "But well I know                 126
  But when the                     408
  But will ye not                  235
  By her a kiss                    462


  Can plighted                     240
  Can they that sit                240
  Cease eyes to weep               180
  Changed is my                    291
  Clip me no more                  561
  "Clusters of                     468
  Cold are her lips                459
  COLIN, I know that               199
  COLIN, my dear and               173
  Come forth, fair                 127
  Come, my Love                    359
  "Commend me to that              202
  Condemned he was                 405
  Conflicts as                     543
  Consider these                   243
  Courteous CALLIOPE               175
  _Courteous Lady_                 202
  Coventry that                    561
  Cruel fair Love                  446
  CUPID's _Posies_                 366


  Dear City!                       563
  Death, in a rage                 428
  DIANA shineth                    288
  Die, die, my Hopes               196
  Distance of                      462
  Do not too                       363
  DORIS, I love not                454
  Down from the                    278
  Down in a bed                    461
  "Do you resolve                  464
  Drawn, cunning                   302


  Each beast in                    193
  Each frown of                    364
  "Each little bird                553
  Ease by Disease                   56
  ELSTRED I pity                   466
  EUNICA scorned                   137
  Even as the lamp                 293


  "Fair Bridegroom                 134
  Fair Bristow                     400
  FAIRFAX the                      611
  "Fair Maid," quoth               402
  Fair Maids, my                   366
  Fair matchless                   443
  Fair MAUDLIN                     400
  Fair Shepherdess                 195
  Fair stood the                   548
  Fairest, wear                    365
  Far better had                   292
  Farewell! Adieu!                 243
  "Farewell," quoth                399
  Far more's my                    317
  Fearing of harm                  542
  Feed, silly sheep!               176
  First did I fear                 434
  "For certainty it                555
  "For ere I will                  407
  For every great gun               17
  For God's sake                   560
  For he always did                237
  For help the                      19
  For I, by suit                    32
  For if alone                     445
  For, lo, my careful               33
  "For, look, what                 408
  For only Thee                    274
  For she that                     232
  For to behold my                 286
  For they be such                 529
  For they, for                    231
  For trial shall                  235
  For we, her peers                135
  For when he, by                  230
  "Fortune and I                   466
  Fortune, cross                   275
  Frequent not                      35
  From milk of                     304


  "Gallant Captain                 200
  Give her th' Eoan                532
  Give warmth to                   173
  Glad was her                     460
  GLOUCESTER that Duke             551
  "'GOD bless thee'                472
  GOD that all this                 14
  Gold upon gold                   331
  Good folk, for                   560
  "Grammercy, Sirs!                 15
  "Grant, fairest                  432
  Grant me my                      407
  Grant me, thy                    406
  Great JANUS, I                   532
  Great ordnance                    15
  Great sickness                    20
  Great semptuous                  317
  Great was the                    277


  Had she been                     562
  Half this is of                  555
  Hard are the                     428
  Hark, Lovers!                    300
  Hear how my Sighs                442
  He ne'er seemed                  612
  HENRY the Sixth                  467
  Her bosom full                   533
  Her canopy I'll                  553
  "Here is no place                407
  Her father, he                   409
  Her gentle                       409
  Her loved I                      558
  Her Master                       407
  Her mother takes                 403
  HERO did try                     236
  He sighs, and sobs               405
  He shipped there                  23
  He thinks his hap                237
  "He then replied                 470
  He took his ship                 230
  How did my Heart                 556
  How doth fair                    405
  How durst he                     231
  _How should'st thou_             201
  "How well were I                 405


  "I and the Council               472
  "I called the                    471
  IDEA, in which                   562
  I doubtless cannot                34
  I grant an honour                454
  I had the vow                    559
  "I have a brother           401, 406
  "_I have neither_                201
  I have no Love                   456
  If, aged CHARON                  445
  If April fresh                   302
  If case such hap                 240
  If cruel, thou                   327
  If every woman                    35
  If he be dead in                 447
  "If his shafts                   535
  If in the midst                  285
  If I, poor wretch                 34
  If I somewhile                   297
  If LAURA, thou                   279
  If lovely Lass                   282
  If love, wherein                 313
  If poor thou art                 108
  If sad Complaint                 463
  If scalding                      337
  If SCYLLA had not                235
  If Sea, no other                 283
  If that I die, fair              449
  If those, by hope                464
  If thou art cold                 321
  If thou intend'st                365
  If thus we needs                 555
  If what is heavy                 299
  If whilom, in times              298
  If white's the                   293
  If you so would                  229
  I live, sweet Love               437
  "I'll pawn a calf                120
  "I'll pawn no lamb               120
  "I might have died               435
  I never spent one                 34
  I paid for love                   35
  I pray the leave!                561
  I rather wish                    232
  I saw, sweet LICIA               448
  I send you here                  363
  I sowed both pure                 33
  I speak, fair LICIA              442
  I stood amazed                   432
  I swear, fair                    433
  I that CUPID                     354
  "I then began to                 126
  I think King                     231
  I thrust my hand                  34
  "I will both see                 120
  "I will spend my                 202
  I will, yea, and                 529
  I wish sometimes                 430
  I wrote my sighs                 440
  Immortal fame to                 131
  Inamoured JOVE                   431
  In Ida Vale                      430
  In kenning of                    547
  In King ANTIOCHUS                130
  In LOVE his                      322
  In places far, or                541
  In silver stream                 324
  In Sparta, long                  134
  In such a height                 556
  In tears she                     400
  In the Egean                     276
  In time the                      438
  Into a pleasant                  401
  Into despair it                   34
  "Into the land                   400
  In vasty sea                     338
  It came to me                    555
  It cannot two                    555
  It is a pity you                 361
  It shall suffice                 232
  It told me, "In                  555
  "_It would be a_                 201


  JASON, that came                 230
  Joy of my soul! My               324
  Justly of thee                   288


  King NISUS had a                 236


  Lady, the sun                    284
  Lady, thou                       290
  Lady, what time                  299
  LAURA is fair and                329
  "Leave me not                    201
  Leave off, sweet                 455
  Lest for a heart                 360
  Let THESEUS be!                  231
  "Let us conspire                 464
  "Let's laugh at                  554
  Let your Jests fly               557
  LICIA, my Love                   435
  Like MEMNON's                    448
  Like to the blacksome            276
  Like to the shipman              192
  Little fish, what                237
  "London's Lord                   473
  Long since the                   540
  Loose humour nor                 537
  Lo, thus our                      23
  Loud are my sighs                458
  LOVE and my Love                 426
  LOVE, being blind                279
  LOVE, I repent me                451
  Love is like a                   358
  LOVE, ope my                     311
  "Love this fair                  332
  LOVE was laid                    429
  LOVE, with her hair              427


  Madam, two hearts                555
  Madmen, what gain                130
  "Maidens, why                    534
  Marvel I do not,                 297
  "MAUDLIN", quoth                 406
  Meet are my                      458
  Messengers went                   18
  Most good, most                  538
  Mother, your                     353
  Mournful AMYNTAS                 182
  Muse, bid the Morn               553
  My brother (_bis_)               467
  My brother CLARENCE               17
  My brother died                  468
  My Debtor hath                    33
  "My father                       467
  My fixed faith                   191
  My grief began                   444
  My lips I'll                     553
  My LAURA wonders                 305
  "My Lord," she said              470
  My Love, amazed                  427
  My Love, I cannot                184
  My Love lay                      431
  My Love was                      436
  My Mistress                      332
  "My Mistress                     334
  My mourning                      301
  "My thoughts                463, 468


  Nay, just are they               241
  Nay, then I see                  454
  "Nay," then said our              15
  Never, I think, had              556
  New is my love                   457
  Non convitia                     415
  None dares now                   333
  None stands so                   559
  No art nor force                 105
  No gifts, no gold                241
  No man can be so                 537
  No more a man, as                294
  No more I, for                   552
  No, No; not so, for              241
  No pain like this                464
  No sooner do I                   308
  No sooner had fair               178
  No sooner LAURA                  323
  Nor adamant                      534
  Nor bravery doth                 537
  Nor is he foul                   454
  Nor is 't the Verse              531
  "Nor PELOPS' kingdom             122
  Nor speak I now                  474
  Nor think the                    317
  "Nor weep I now                  466
  Not I, but many                   34
  "Not long this                   469
  Not vouching                     243
  "Now as the sea                  473
  "Now in the Spring               534
  Now may you hear                 231
  "Now two there were              473
  Now were their                   408
  "Now will I walk                 404


  "O CYCLOPS!                      128
  "O DAPHNIS, what a               123
  "O fair, O lovely                135
  O fairest Fair, to               186
  O FAITH, think not               241
  "O GALATEA fair                  126
  "O happy Bridegroom              135
  "O how happy is                  202
  "O husband of the                122
  O JUPITER, and thou              132
  O LOVE leave off                 188
  O NICIAS, there is               125
  O rapture great                  533
  O should a                       243
  "O Sir," she said                405
  "O Sir," the gentle              408
  O sugared talk!                  450
  O that I were sly                309
  O thou self-little               533
  O what a wound                   193
  O wretched                       545
  O yes! O yes!                    560
  Of all that living               130
  Of constant love, I              305
  Of the Siege of                   24
  Of thy streets                   562
  Old King COLE                633-636
  On quicksedge                    330
  "_On the seas are_               202
  "One kiss in two                 554
  One lovely                       307
  Or him that Rome                 531
  Or if DEMOPHOON's                236
  Or if she had                    235
  Or if strewed                    542
  Or if such                       236
  Or if the deeds                  557
  Or if you mind                   228
  Or made posies                   542
  Our King fully                    16
  Our King himself                  20
  Our King landed                   17
  Our King rode forth               21
  Our King sent into                14
  Our King went up                  22
  OVID, within his                 235


  Painter, in lively               325
  Pale are my looks                441
  Pardened of                      320
  Perchance, my words              228
  Perchance, ye                    232
  PHŒBUS had once                  323
  Poets did feign                  444
  Poets have still                 129
  Poitiers and                     549
  "Possessed with                  469
  Priests of APOLLO                556
  Proud is her (_bis_)             458


  Rankle the wound                 285
  Remember thou the                242
  "_Rest you still_                201
  Revoke and call                  242
  Rich Damask                      315
  Rich is the                      306
  Rich statue                      532
  "RIVERS and GREY                 469
  Rivers unto the                  313
  "RIVERS was wise                 469
  Rocked in a cradle               283
  "ROSAMOND was fair               465


  Sad, all alone, not              425
  "Sad Muse! set down              467
  Sad was her joy (_bis_)          460
  ST. GEORGE was seen               22
  Say, CUPID, since                330
  "Say, gentle friend              309
  Scorn not my                     456
  Seated on marble                 294
  Seven are the                    437
  She did her duty                 406
  She falls upon                   401
  She feigned a                    461
  She hath no                      559
  She kindly takes                 401
  She scrat[ched]                  237
  She walks under                  405
  Shoot forth no                   298
  SHORE's Wife, a                  465
  Should faith to                  240
  Should hate his guerdon          240
  Should I envy                    455
  Show me no more                  561
  _Si cœlum patria_                416
  S' impossibly I                  539
  Since then among                 124
  Since thou hast                  291
  Sing Hymns to                    558
  Sing me the Rose!                541
  "Sith you repose                 401
  Small was her (_bis_)            459
  Smile not, fair                  453
  Some in their                    189
  Some shipboys'                   402
  Some use the                     234
  "So did I live                   474
  So his, which                    530
  So, Lady, boldly                 295
  So, Lady, I finding              339
  So shall the                     230
  So that I silly                   33
  So then was DAPHNIS              124
  SOOWTHERN, I long                531
  Strange is this                  335
  Such is the                      314
  Sweet are my                457, 458
  Sweet Bride, good                136
  Sweetheart, my                   361
  Sweet, I protest                 443
  "Sweet LAURA                     327
  "Sweet, love me                  462
  Sweet sang thy                   292
  "Sweet Youth,"                   403


  Take heed, for thou               36
  Take thou not                     36
  Tall was her                     460
  "Telling what he                 535
  Tell me, my dear,                180
  Thanked be JESU!                  19
  Thanks, gentle                   404
  That by the                      530
  That crimson                     319
  That day wherein                 194
  That divided                     542
  That early                       537
  That have a sore                  32
  That I myself                    545
  That instrument                  530
  That ivory hand                  328
  That most                        542
  That Princess, to                562
  That spray to                    533
  That time, fair                  434
  That whilst she                  545
  The beast thus                   140
  The beauty, that                 280
  The bird of Thrace               192
  "The Bishop came                 470
  "The Bishop home                 471
  The Blazing Star                 310
  The blood of fair                314
  The Card'nal went                471
  The Crow makes                   310
  The cruel NERO                   321
  The crystal                      438
  The Druids                       530
  The Duke of YORK                 549
  The dusky cloud                  304
  "The elder son                   469
  The flaming torch                320
  The freedom of                   539
  The Frenchmen threw               21
  The Gentiles used                286
  The golden                       326
  The great guns                    20
  The Grecians                     307
  The hapless                      337
  The heavens                 316, 426
  The heavens begin                331
  The heavens yet                  132
  The Hound, by                    184
  Th' immortal                     316
  The Irish I                      531
  The King at                       15
  The King to                       16
  "The Laws do                     472
  "The lion                        468
  The little fish                  237
  The Macedonian                   295
  The matter of                    228
  The Merchant                     402
  The Muse should                  543
  The night drew                   461
  The night is                     400
  The Normands                      18
  Th' old British                  552
  The old man                      563
  The perils which                 183
  The Phœnix fair                  186
  The Phocean it                   529
  The price that I                  35
  The Primrose                     543
  "The Queen was                   472
  The raging sea                   190
  The red, or white                542
  The Ryme nor mars                543
  The Sea Nymphs                   453
  The ship full                    558
  The silly                        464
  The snakes                       328
  The snow-white                   329
  "The sparrow                     554
  "The Stage is set                465
  The stately lion                 194
  The stranger, that               236
  The swift                        281
  The toiling                      464
  The wildest of                   530
  The World's a City               108
  The young man                    399
  Their course                      16
  Then as the sun                  295
  "Then as the wolf                473
  "Then, at the                    473
  Then bethought                    14
  Then blew the                     22
  Then cast she                    406
  Then doubt me not                274
  Then gives she                   402
  Then hadst thou                  238
  Then more                        470
  Then said our                     19
  "Then send me                    463
  Then she, who                    236
  Then should my                   463
  "Then stay, sweet                461
  Then though a                    339
  "Then wilt thou                  120
  There are no                      34
  "There both the                  122
  Therefore boast                  559
  Therefore buy                    228
  There shone a                    447
  Thereto I wish                   233
  These are no                     241
  These bracelets                  362
  These Lyric                      552
  These waves no                   190
  These weeping                    182
  These words I                    233
  They now to fight                550
  They see thy conscience          241
  Things of most                   364
  This done, as they               402
  This from the                    613
  This girdle                      363
  This heart so                    534
  This little                      363
  This modest she                  462
  This scarf will                  361
  This SCYLLA stole                236
  This while we are                540
  This while our                   550
  Those ceaseless                  532
  Those grim and                   541
  Those parallels                  533
  Thou didst                       237
  Thou glorious Sun                196
  Thou, merry                      290
  Thou stranger                    282
  Though I do part                 275
  Though in the                    540
  Though pale my                   455
  Though they                      187
  Though we be _all_               531
  Though you be                    188
  Through his                      612
  Through thee, not                273
  "Thus Farewell,                  202
  "Thus have I told                474
  Thus is the                      317
  Thus of all as                    24
  Thus of this                      23
  Thus POLYPHEMUS                  128
  Thus sang these                  122
  Thus still You                   539
  Thus, through                    403
  Thus to the sea                  403
  "Thus tyrant                     471
  Thy ancient                      532
  Thy beauty                       175
  Thy friend in                    244
  Thy Love, fair                   453
  Thy _Voyages_                    548
  Till to that                     556
  TIMANTES, when he                339
  "Time-tyrant Fate                466
  "'Tis ever Spring                122
  To give that life                278
  To hear this talk                456
  To him deserving                 537
  To raise his mean                536
  To those that                    531
  "To VULCAN                       535
  To whose, the                    547
  To you, I speak!                 234
  Tread you the                    460
  True are my (_bis_)              457
  Trust not a man                  235
  Turned to a stone                277
  Two winds, one                   308


  Unbare that                      333
  Under this                       611
  Unto an Image                    312
  Unto the fountain                179
  Unto thy favour                  289
  Upon Saint                       551
  Upon this sinful                 536
  Upon triumphant                  280


  WARWICK in blood                 551
  Weary was LOVE                   425
  "Welcome, sweet                  404
  Well it thine age                550
  Were it cemented                 555
  Wer't granted me                 539
  What cruel star                  189
  "What if we call                 121
  What lack you?                   228
  What need I mourn?               178
  What now is                      559
  What should I                    360
  "What then? What                 120
  "What therefore shall            120
  What though                      541
  What time fair                   181
  What time, with                  284
  When all the                     613
  When as her lute                 439
  When as I wish                   441
  When as my LICIA                 439
  When as my Love                  436
  When as the                      547
  When CHLORIS first               198
  When down their                  550
  When first the              303, 450
  When first the sun               303
  When GOD made all                108
  When he had read                 407
  When I did part from             301
  When I did part, my              338
  When I more large                197
  When I, of my                    336
  When M. heard her                406
  When no                          408
  When she had                     408
  When She was                     322
  When she was born                197
  When VENUS first                 139
  When you appear                  287
  Where be the Graces?             557
  Whereby I see that                33
  Wherefore I pray                 233
  Where Nature hath                546
  Which, in his                    548
  Which heart I let                 32
  Which I pour forth               183
  Which life, I pray               233
  Which, six long                  242
  Which unto gods                  242
  "Which we have                    55
  Which vow gave                   242
  Whilst angry JUNO                281
  Whilst foaming                   306
  Whilst this                      545
  "Whistler MENALCAS               120
  White art thou                   334
  White was the                    287
  Who do not know                  187
  Who joys in love?                319
  Who would a [_have_]             243
  Whole showers of                 176
  Whom promise                     536
  Whom the base                    537
  Whose constancy                  537
  Whose constantness               229
  Whose heart hath                 243
  Whose trade if                   230
  Why have ye such                 235
  Will you hear a                  200
  "Wilt thou in singing            120
  With gold and                    325
  With lovely                      119
  With patience                    191
  With Spanish yew                 550
  With that bespake                403
  With thousand                    336
  With trickling                   400
  "Wolf, spare my                  123


  "Ye groves and                   121
  "Ye pleasant                     121
  "Ye Shepherds tell               136
  Ye Virgins, that                 234
  Ye wasteful                      185
  Years, months                    440
  Yet do I hope                    339
  Yet, if I be                     534
  Yet if thou chance                36
  Yet (if you shall                205
  _Yet in a fine_                  536
  Yet many rivers                  541
  "'Yet take my son                472
  Yet these me not                 545
  Yet this Critic                  545
  Yet will you                     540
  You brave heroic                 546
  You Fauns and                    177
  You know I                       229
  You lofty Pines                  177
  You that embrace                 199
  You whom the                     174
  You whose deep wits              174
  Your course                      546
  Yours was so                     556

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

  AN
  ENGLISH GARNER

  _INGATHERINGS_
  FROM OUR
  HISTORY AND LITERATURE

  VOL. VIII.

  JOHN LYDGATE.

  _The Siege of Harfleur and the Battle
  of Agincourt, 1415._

  Hereafter followeth the Battle of Agincourt and the great Siege of
  Rouen, by King HENRY of Monmouth, the Fifth of the name; that
  won Gascony, and Guienne, and Normandy.

  [See Sir HARRIS NICOLAS's _History of the Battle of Agincourt_,
  p. 301, 2nd Ed. 1832, 8vo.


    GOD, that all this world did make
    And died for us upon a tree,
    Save England, for MARY thy Mother's sake!
    As Thou art steadfast GOD in Trinity.
    And save King HENRY's soul, I beseech thee!
    That was full gracious and good withal;
    A courteous Knight and King royal.
    Of HENRY the Fifth, noble man of war,
    Thy deeds may never forgotten be!
    Of Knighthood thou wert the very Loadstar!
    In thy time England flowered in prosperity,
    Thou mortal Mirror of all Chivalry!
    Though thou be not set among the Worthies Nine;
    Yet wast thou a Conqueror in thy time!

    Our King sent into France full rath,
    His Herald that was good and sure.
    He desired his heritage for to have:
    That is Gascony and Guienne and Normandy.
    He bade the Dolphin [Dauphin] deliver. It should be his:
    All that belonged to the first EDWARD
    "And if he say me, Nay!; iwis
    I will get it with dint of sword!"
    But then answered the Dolphin bold,
    By our ambassadors sending again,
    "Methinks that your King is not so old,
    Wars great for to maintain.
    Greet well," he said, "your comely King
    That is both gentle and small;
    A ton full of tennis balls I will him send,
    For to play him therewithal."

    Then bethought our Lords all,
    In France they would no longer abide:
    They took their leave both great and small,
    And home to England gan they ride.
    To our King they told their tale to the end;
    What that the Dolphin did to them say.
    "I will him thank," then said the King,
    "By the grace of GOD, if I may!"

    Yet, by his own mind, this Dolphin bold,
    To our King he sent again hastily;
    And prayed him truce for to hold,
    For JESUS' love that died on a tree.

    "Nay," then said our comely King,
    "For into France will I wind!
    The Dolphin, anger I trust I shall:
    And such a tennis ball I shall him send,
    That shall bear down the high roof of his hall.

    The King at Westminster lay that time,
    And all his Lords every each one;
    And they did set them down to dine:
    "Lordings," he saith, "by St. John!
    To France I think to take my way:
    Of good counsel I you pray,
    What is your will that I shall do?
    Shew me shortly without delay!"
    The Duke of CLARENCE answered soon,
    And said, "My Liege, I counsel you so!"
    And other Lords said, "We think it for the best
    With you to be ready for to go;
    Whiles that our lives may endure and last."

    [Sidenote: 1st August 1415.]

    "Grammercy, Sirs!" the King gan say,
    "Our right, I trust, then shall be won;
    And I will 'quite you if I may:
    Therefore I warn you, both old and young,
    To make you ready without delay
    To Southampton to take your way
    At St. Peter's tide at Lammas;
    For by the grace of GOD, and if I may,
    Over the salt sea I think to pass!"

    Great ordnance of guns the King let make,
    And shipped them at London all at once;
    Bows and arrows in chests were take,
    Spears and bills with iren [_iron_] gunstones;
    And arming daggers made for the nonce:
    With swords and bucklers that were full sure.
    And harness [_armour_] bright that strokes would endure.

    The King to Southampton then did ride
    With his Lords; for no longer would he dwell
    Fifteen hundred fair ships there did him abide,
    With good sails and top-castle.
    Lords of France our King they sold
    For a myllyant [_million_] of gold as I heard say.
    By England little price they told [_reckoned_],
    Therefore their song was "Well a way!"

    Between [South]hampton and the Isle of Wight,
    These goodly ships lay there at road,
    With mastyards across, full seemly of sight.
    Over the haven spread abroad:
    On every pavis [_target_] a cross red;
    The waists decked with serpentines [_cannon_] strong.
    St. George's streamers spread overhead,
    With the Arms of England hanging all along.

    [Sidenote: 7th August 1415.]

    Our King fully hastily to his ship yede,
    And all other Lords of every degree:
    Every ship weighed his anchor in deed,
    With the tide to haste them to the sea.
    They hoisted their sails, sailed aloft:
    A goodly sight it was to see.
    The wind was good, and blew but soft:
    And forth they went in the name of the Trinity.

    Their course they took toward Normandy,
    And passed over in a day and a night.
    So in the second morning early,
    Of that country they had a sight:
    And ever [as] they drew near the coast,
    Of the day glad were they all;
    And when they were at the shore almost,
    Every ship his anchor let fall,
    With their tackles they launched many a long boat
    And over ha[t]ch threw them into the stream;
    A thousand shortly they saw afloat,
    With men of arms that lyth did leme [_? pleasantly did shine_].

    [Sidenote: _It should be_ Clef
    de Caus.]

    [Sidenote: 14th August 1415.]

    Our king landed at Cottaunses [_Contances_] without delay,
    On our Lady's Even [of] the Assumption;
    And to Harflete [_Harfleur_] they took the way
    And mustered fair before the town.
    Our King his banner there did 'splay,
    With standards bright and many [a] pennon:
    And there he pitched his tent adown;
    Full well broidered with armory gay.
    First our comely King's tent with the crown,
    And all other Lords in good array.

    "My brother CLARENCE," the King did say,
    "The towers of the town will I keep
    With her daughters and her maidens gay,
    To wake the Frenchmen of their sleep."
    "'London'," he said, "shall with him meet;
    And my guns that lieth fair upon the green;
    For they shall play with Harflete
    A game of tennis as I ween.
    Go we to game, for God's grace!
    My children be ready every each one."

    For every great gun that there was,
    In his mouth he had a stone.
    The Captain of Harflete soon anon
    Unto our King he sent hastily
    To know what his will was to be done,
    For to come thither with such a meiny?
    "Deliver me the town!" the King said.
    "Nay!" said the Captain, "by God and St DENIS!"
    "Then shall I win it," said our King,
    "By the grace of GOD and his goodness,
    Some hard tennis balls I have hither brought
    Of marble and iren made full round.
    I swear, by JESU that me dear bought,
    They shall beat the walls to the ground."

    Then said the great gun,
    "Hold fellows, we go to game!"
    Thanked be MARY and JESU her son,
    They did the Frenchmen much shame.
    "Fifteen afore," said "London" then;
    Her balls full fair she gan outthrow.
    "Thirty" said the second gun, "I will win and I may."
    There as the wall was most sure,
    They bare it down without nay.
    The "King's Daughter" said "Hearken this play!
    Hearken Maidens now this tide!
    Five and forty we have, it is no nay."
    They beat down the walls on every side.

    The Normands said, "Let us not abide!
    But go we in haste, by one assent!
    Wheresoever the gunstones do glide,
    Our houses in Harfleet are all to rent:
    The Englishmen our bulwarks have brent."
    And women cried, "Alas that ever they were born!"
    The Frenchmen said, "Now be we shent!
    By us now the town is forlorn [_utterly lost_]:
    It is best now therefore
    That we beseech this English King of grace,
    For to assail us no more;
    Lest he destroy us in this place.
    Then will we bid the Dolphin make him ready,
    Or else this town delivered must be."

    [Sidenote: 10th September 1415.]

    [Sidenote: _It should be_ Sir
    LIONEL BRAQUEMONT.]

    [Sidenote: 22nd September 1415.]

    Messengers went forth by and bye,
    And to our King came they:
    The Lord CORGRAUNT certainly,
    For he was Captain of the place,
    And GELAM BOWSER with him did hie,
    With other Lords more and less.
    And when they to our King come where,
    Full lowly set them on their knee:
    "Hail, comely King!" gan they say
    "CHRIST save thee from adversity!
    Of truce we will beseech thee
    Until that it be Sunday noon:
    And if we may not recovered be,
    We will deliver the town."

    Then said our King full soon,
    "I grant you grace in this tide [_time_];
    One of you shall forth anon,
    And the remnant shall with me abide!"
    Their Captain took his next way,
    And to Rouen fast gan he ride.
    The Dolphin he had thought there to find
    But he was gone; he durst not abide.

    For help the Captain besought that tide
    "Harflete is lost for ever and aye;
    The walls be beaten down on every side,
    That we no longer keep it may."
    Of counsel all he did them pray.
    "What is your will that I may do?
    We must ordain the King battle by Sunday,
    Or else deliver him the town!"
    The Lords of Rouen together did rown [_whisper_];
    And bade the town should openly yield.
    The King of England fareth as a lion:
    We will not meet with him in the field!
    The Captain would then no longer abide,
    And towards Harflete came he right;
    For so fast did he ride
    That he was there the same night.

    [Sidenote: 22nd September 1415.]

    And when he to our King did come,
    Lowly he set him on his knee:
    "Hail, comely Prince!" then did he say,
    "The grace of GOD is with thee!
    Here have I brought the keys all
    Of Harflete that is so royal a city.
    All is yours, both chamber and hall;
    And at your will for to be."

    "Thanked be JESU!" said our King,
    "And MARY his mother truly!

    My uncle DORSET, without letting,
    Captain of Harflete shall he be.
    And all that is within the city
    Awhile yet they shall abide,
    To amend the walls in every degree
    That are beaten down on every side:
    And after that, they shall out ride
    To other towns over all.
    Wife nor child shall not there abide:
    But have them forth, both great and small!"
    One and twenty thousand, men might see,
    When they went out, full sore did weep.

    The great guns and ordnance truly
    Were brought into Harflete.

    Great sickness among our host was, in good fay [_faith_],
    Which killed many of our Englishmen:
    There died beyond seven score upon a day;
    Alive there was left but thousands ten.

    Our King himself into the Castle yede,
    And rest him there as long as his will was:
    At the last he said, "Lords, so God me speed!
    Towards Calais I think to pass."

    [Sidenote: _It should be_
    Sir THOMAS
    ERPINGHAM.]

    [Sidenote: It should be_
    Sir GILBERT
    UMFREVILLE.]

    [Sidenote: _It should be_
    Sir WILLIAM
    BOURCHIER.]

    After that Harflete was gotten, that royal city,
    Through the grace of GOD omnipotent;
    Our comely King made him ready soon,
    And towards Calais forth he went.
    "My brother GLOUCESTER _veramente_
    Here will we no longer abide!
    And Cousin of YORK, this is our intent:
    With us forth ye shall, this tide!
    My Cousin HUNTINGDON with us shall ride;
    And the Earl of OXENFORD with you three!
    The Duke of SOUTHFOLK [_SUFFOLK_] by our side
    He shall come forth with his meiny!
    And the Earl of DEVONSHIRE sikerly!
    Sir THOMAS HARPING that never did fail;
    The Lord BROKE that came heartily
    And Sir JOHN of CORNWALL:
    Sir GILBERT UMFREY that would us avail;
    And the Lord CLIFFORD, so GOD me speed!
    Sir WILLIAM BOWSER, that will not fail;
    For all they will help, if it be need."

    [Sidenote: ?8th October 1415.]

    [Sidenote: _It should be_ Somme.]

    Our King rode forth, blessed might he be!
    He spared neither dale nor down;
    By waters great fast rode he,
    Till he came to the water of [the] Seine.

    The Frenchmen threw the bridge adown
    That over the water they might not pass.
    Our King made him ready then;
    And to the town of Turreyn went more and less.
    The Frenchmen, our King about becast
    With Battles strong on every side;
    The Duke of ORLEANS said in haste
    "The King of England shall abide.
    Who gave him leave this way to pass?
    I trust that I shall him beguile
    Full long ere he come to Calais."
    The Duke of BOURBON answered soon
    And swore by God and by St. DENIS
    "We will play them every each one,
    These Lords of England at the tennis;
    Their gentlemen, I swear by St. JOHN!
    And archers we will sell them [in] great plenty:
    And so will we rid [of] them soon,
    Six for a penny of our money."
    Then answered the Duke of BAR,
    Words that were of great pride:
    "By God!" he said, "I will not spare
    Over all the Englishmen for to ride,
    If that they dare us abide:
    We will overthrow them in fere [_company_],
    And take them prisoners in this tide:
    Then come home again to our dinner!"

    HENRY our King that was so good;
    He prepared there full royally:
    Stakes he let [_caused to_] hew in a wood,
    And then set them before his archers verily.
    The Frenchmen our ordnance gan espy.
    They that we ordained for to ride
    Lighted adown, with sorrow truly;
    So on their feet fast gan abide.

    Our King went up upon a hill high
    And looked down to the valleys low:
    He saw where the Frenchmen came hastily
    As thick as ever did hail or snow.
    Then kneeled our King down, in that stound,
    And all his men on every side:
    Every man made a cross and kissed the ground,
    And on their feet fast gan abide.
    Our King said, "Sirs, what time of the day?"
    "My Liege," they said, "it is nigh Prime [9 _a.m._]"
    "Then go we to our journey,
    By the grace of JESU, it is good time:
    For saints that lie in their shrine,
    To GOD for us be praying.
    All the Religious of England, in this time,
    _Ora pro nobis_ for us they sing."

    St. GEORGE was seen over the host:
    Of very truth this sight men did see.
    Down was he sent by the HOLY GHOST,
    To give our King the victory.

    [Sidenote: 25th October 1415.]

    Then blew the trumpets merrily,
    These two Battles [_Armies_] together yede.
    Our archers stood up full heartily,
    And made the Frenchmen fast to bleed.
    Their arrows went fast, without any let,
    And many shot they throughout;
    Through habergeon, breastplate, and bassinet.
    An eleven thousand were slain in that rout [_company_].

    Our gracious King, as I well know,
    That day he fought with his own hand.
    He spared neither high ne low.
    There was never King in no land,
    That ever did better on a day.
    Wherefore England may sing a song:
    _Laus DEO!_ may we say;
    And other prayers ever among.
    The Duke of ORLEANS, without nay,
    That day was taken prisoner.
    The Duke of BOURBON also in fere [_company_]:
    And also the Duke of BAR truly.
    Sir BERGYGAUNTE he gan him yield;
    And other Lords of France many.

    Lo, thus our comely King conquered the field,
    By the grace of God omnipotent,
    He took his prisoners, both old and young,
    And towards Calais forth he went.

    [Sidenote: 16th November 1415.]

    [Sidenote: 22nd November 1415.]

    He shipped there with good intent:
    To Canterbury full fair he passed,
    And offered to St. THOMAS's shrine.
    And through Kent he rode in haste;
    To Eltham he came all in good time.

    [Sidenote: 23rd November 1415.]

    And over Blackheath, as he was riding,
    Of the city of London he was ware.
    "Hail, royal city!" said our King,
    "CHRIST keep thee ever from sorrow and care!"
    And then he gave that noble city his blessing
    He prayed JESU it might well fare!
    To Westminster did he ride,
    And the French prisoners with him also:
    He ransomed them in that tide,
    And again to their country he let them go.

    Thus of this matter I make an end,
    To th'effect of the Battle have I gone:
    For in this book I cannot comprehend
    The greatest battle of all, called the Siege of Rouen.

    For that Siege lasted three years and more,
    And there a rat was [sold] at forty pence
    For in the city the people hungered sore.
    Women and children, for [de]falt of meat, were lore [_lost_];
    And some for pain, bare bones were gnawing,
    That at their breasts had two children sucking.

    Of the Siege of Rouen it to write were pity,
    It is a thing so lamentable:
    Yet every High Feast, our King, of his charity,
    Gave them meat to their bodies comfortable;
    And at the last the town wan, without fable.

    Thus of all as now I make an end:
    To the bliss of heaven, GOD our souls send!

  _Thus endeth the Battle of Agincourt._

  Imprinted at London in Foster lane,
  in Saint Leonard's parish,
  by me JOHN SKOT.

 FINIS

[Illustration]




JOHN FOX, the Martyrologist.

[Sidenote: _The Ecclesiastical History, containing the
Acts and Monuments, &c._ 2nd Ed., II., pp. 1355-6, 1570.]

 _How the Lord CROMWELL helped Archbishop
 CRANMER's Secretary._

 [July 1539.]


[Sidenote: The Archbishop CRANMER disputeth three days in
Parliament against the _Six Articles_.]

MENTION was made before how King HENRY, in the 31st year
[1539-1540] of his reign, caused the _Six Articles_ [31. _Hen. VIII._,
c. 14. _An Act abolishing diversity in opinions_] to pass [in June
1539]; much against the mind, and contrary to the consent of the
Archbishop of CANTERBURY, THOMAS CRANMER: who had disputed
three days against the same in the Parliament House, with great reasons
and authorities. Which _Articles_, after they were granted and passed
by the Parliament, the King, for the singular favour which he ever
bare to CRANMER and reverence to his learning (being desirous
to know what he had said and objected in the Parliament against these
_Articles_; or what could be alleged by Learning against the same)
required a Note of the Archbishop's doings, what he had said and
opposed in the Parliament touching that matter. And this word was
sent to him from the King by CROMWELL and other Lords of
the Parliament, whom the King then sent to dine with him at Lambeth:
somewhat to comfort again his grieved mind and troubled spirits: as
hath been above recited at page 1,298.

[The passage referred to runs thus:

  After the Parliament was finished and that matter
  concluded; the King (considering the constant zeal of
  the Archbishop in defence of his cause; and partly also
  weighing the many authorities and reasons whereby he had
  substantially confirmed the same) sent [in July 1539] the
  Lord CROMWELL (which within a few days after [_or rather
  on 10th June 1540_] was apprehended), the two Dukes of
  NORFOLK and SUFFOLK, and all the Lords of the Parliament,
  to dine with him at Lambeth: where they signified to him,
  That it was the King's pleasure that they all should,
  in His Highness's behalf, cherish comfort and animate
  him as one that, for his travail in that Parliament, had
  declared himself both greatly learned, and also a man
  discreet and wise: and therefore they willed him not
  to be discouraged in anything that was passed in that
  Parliament contrary to his allegations.

  He most humbly thanked, first the King's Highness of his
  singular good affection towards him; and them, for all
  their pains: adding moreover that he so hoped in GOD that
  hereafter his allegations and authorities should take
  place, to the glory of GOD and commodity of the realm.]

[Sidenote: The name of this Secretary was Master RALPH MORICE,
being yet alive [_i.e., in 1570_].]

Whereupon, when this dinner was finished [in July 1539], the next day
after the Archbishop (collecting both his arguments, authorities of
Scripture, and Doctors [_i.e. the Fathers of the Church_] together)
caused his Secretary to write a fair Book thereof for the King, after
this order:

First, the Scriptures were alleged.

Then, the Doctors.

Thirdly, followed the arguments deduced from those Authorities.

This book was written in his Secretary's Chamber [at Lambeth Palace];
where, in a by-chamber, lay the Archbishop's Almoner.

When this Book was fair written, and while the Secretary was gone
to deliver the same unto the Archbishop his Master, who was, as it
chanced, ridden to Croydon; returning back to his chamber, he found his
door shut, and the key carried away to London by the Almoner.

At this season also [it] chanced the father of the said Secretary to
come to the city; by whose occasion it so fell out, that he [RALPH
MORICE] must needs go to London. The Book he could not lay in his
chamber, neither durst he commit it to any other person to keep; being
straitly charged, in any condition, by the Archbishop his master, to be
circumspect thereof: so he determined to go to his father, and to keep
the Book about him.

And so, thrusting the Book under his girdle, he went over [the Thames]
unto Westminster Bridge, with a sculler; where he entered into a wherry
that went to London: wherein were four of the Guard, who meant to land
at Paul's Wharf; and to pass by the King's Highness who was then in his
barge, with a great number of barges and boats about him, then baiting
of bears in the water, over against the Bank [Side in Southwark].

The aforesaid Yeomen of the Guard, when they came against the King's
barge, they durst not pass by towards Paul's Wharf, lest they should be
espied: and therefore entreated the Secretary to go with them to the
Bearbaiting; and they would find the means, being of the Guard, to make
room and to see all the pastime.

The Secretary perceiving no other remedy, assented thereto.

When the wherry came nigh the multitude of boats; they with poleaxes
got the wherry so far that, being encompassed with many other wherries
and boats, there was no refuge if the bear should break loose and come
upon them: as, in very deed, within one _Paternoster_ while, the bear
brake loose; and came into the boat where the Yeomen of the Guard were,
and the said Secretary.

[Sidenote: Tall Yeomen, but ill Keepers.]

The Guard forsook the wherry, and went into another barge; one or two
of them leaping short, so fell into the water.

[Sidenote: A Bearbaiting upon [the] Thames before the King.]

[Sidenote: The Book of Dr CRANMER against the _Six Articles_
lost in the Thames.]

The bear and the dogs so shaked the wherry wherein the Secretary was,
that the boat being full of water sank to the ground; and being also,
as it chanced, an ebbing tide, he sat there in the end of the wherry
up to the middle in water. To whom came the bear and all the dogs. The
bear, seeking as it were aid and succour of him, came back with his
hinder parts upon him; and so, rushing upon him, the Book was loosed
from the Secretary's girdle, and so fell into the Thames out of his
reach.

The flying of the people, after that the bear was loose, from one boat
to another, was so cumbrous that divers persons were thrown into the
Thames: the King commanding certain men, that could swim, to strip
themselves naked; and to help to save them that were in danger.

This pastime so displeased the King, that he bade, "Away, away with the
bear! and let us go all hence!"

The Secretary, perceiving his Book to fleet away in the Thames, called
to the Bearward to take up the Book.

[Sidenote: This Bearward was Princess ELIZABETH's servant.]

[Sidenote: Dr CRANMER's Book against the _Six Articles_
delivered to a Popish Priest.]

When the Bearward had the Book in his custody, being an arrant
<DW7>, far from the religion of his Mistress (for he was the Lady
ELIZABETH's Bearward, now the Queen's Majesty), ere that the
Secretary could come to land, he had delivered the Book to a Priest
of his own affinity in religion standing on the bank: who, reading in
the Book, and perceiving that it was a manifest Refutation of the _Six
Articles_, made much ado; and told the Bearward that whosoever claimed
the Book, should surely be hanged.

Anon, the Secretary came to the Bearward for his Book.

"What," quoth the Bearward, "dare you challenge this Book? Whose
servant be you?"

"I am servant to one of the [Privy] Council," said the Secretary, "and
my Lord of CANTERBURY is my master."

"Yea, marry," quoth the Bearward, "I thought as much. You be like, I
trust, to be both hanged for this Book."

"Well," said he "it is not so evil as you take it: and, I warrant you,
my Lord will avouch the book to the King's Majesty. But I pray you let
me have my Book, and I will give you a crown [_6s., or in present value
about £2_] to drink."

"If you will give me 500 crowns, you shall not have it," quoth the
Bearward.

       *       *       *       *       *

With that the Secretary departed from him: and, understanding the
malicious forwardness of the Bearward, he learned that BLAGE
the Grocer in Cheapside might do much with him. To whom the Secretary
brake this matter, requiring him to send for the Bearward to supper;
and he would pay for the whole charge thereof: and besides that, rather
than he would forego his Book after this sort, the Bearward should have
20s. [_in present value about £6_] to drink.

The supper was prepared. The Bearward was sent for, and came. After
supper, the matter was intreated; and 20s. offered for the Book.

But do what could be done; neither friendship, acquaintance, nor yet
reward of money, could obtain the Book out of his hands: but that the
same should be delivered unto some of the [Privy] Council, that would
not so slightly look on so weighty a matter as to have it redeemed for
a supper, or a piece of money. The honest man, Master BLAGE,
with many good reasons would have persuaded him not to be stiff in
his own conceit: declaring that in the end he should nothing at all
prevail of his purpose, but be laughed to scorn; getting neither penny
nor praise for his travail. He, hearing that, rushed suddenly out of
the doors from his friend Master BLAGE; without any manner of
thanksgiving for his supper: more like a Bearward than like an honest
man.

When the Secretary saw the matter so extremely to be used against him;
he then thought it expedient to fall from any farther practising of
entreaty with the Bearward, as with him that seemed rather to be a bear
himself than master of the beast: determining the next morning to make
the Lord CROMWELL privy of the chance that happened.

       *       *       *       *       *

So, on the next day, as the Lord CROMWELL went to the Court,
the Secretary declared the whole matter unto him; and how he had
offered the Bearward 20s. for the finding thereof.

"Where is the fellow?" quoth the Lord CROMWELL.

"I suppose," said the Secretary, "that he is now in the Court,
attending to deliver the book unto some of the Council."

"Well," said the Lord CROMWELL, "it maketh no matter. Go with
me thither, and I shall get you your book again!"

[Sidenote: The Bearward waiting to give CRANMER's Book to the
Council.]

When the Lord Cromwell came into the Hall of the Court, there stood
the Bearward with the Book in his hand; waiting to have delivered the
same unto Sir ANTHONY BROWNE or unto [STEPHEN GARDINER] the Bishop of
WINCHESTER, as it was reported.

[Sidenote: The Lord CROMWELL getteth the Book from the
Bearward.]

To whom the Lord CROMWELL said, "Come hither, fellow! What
Book hast thou there in thy hand?" and with that snatched the Book out
of his hand: and looking in the Book, said, "I know this hand well
enough. This is your hand," said he to the Secretary.

"But where hadst thou this Book?" quoth the Lord CROMWELL to
the Bearward.

"This Gentleman lost it two days ago in the Thames," said the Bearward.

"Dost thou know whose servant he is?" said the Lord CROMWELL.

"He saith," quoth the Bearward, "that he is my Lord of
CANTERBURY's servant."

"Why then didst thou not deliver to him the Book when he required it?"
said the Lord CROMWELL. "Who made thee so bold as to detain or
withhold any Book or writing from a Councillor's servant, especially
being his Secretary? It is more meet for thee to meddle with thy bears,
than with such writing: and were it not for thy Mistress's sake, I
would set thee fast by the feet, to teach such malapert knaves to
meddle with Councillors' matters. Had not money been well bestowed upon
such a good fellow as this is, that knoweth not a Councillor's man from
a cobbler's man!"

       *       *       *       *       *

And with those words, the Lord CROMWELL went up into the
King's Chamber of Presence, and the Archbishop's Secretary with him:
where he found, in the Chamber, the Lord of CANTERBURY.

[Sidenote: The words of the Lord CROMWELL to the Archbishop
CRANMER.]

To whom he said, "My Lord, I have here found good stuff for you,"
showing to him the paper book that he had in his hand, "ready to
bring both you, and this good fellow your man, to the halter: namely
[_especially_] if the knave Bearward, now in the Hall, might have well
compassed it."

At these words, the Archbishop smiled, and said, "He that lost the Book
is like[ly] to have the worst bargain: for, besides that he was well
washed in the Thames, he must write the Book fair again."

And, at these words, the Lord CROMWELL cast the Book unto the
Secretary, saying, "I pray thee, MORICE, go in hand therewith,
by and bye, with all expedition: for it must serve a turn."

"Surely, my Lord, it somewhat rejoiceth me," quoth the Lord
CROMWELL, "that the varlet might have had of your man 20s. for
the Book: and now I have discharged the matter with never a penny; and
shaken him well up for his overmuch malapertness."

"I know the fellow well enough," quoth the Archbishop, "there is not
a ranker <DW7> within this realm than he is; most unworthy to be a
servant unto so noble a Princess."

       *       *       *       *       *

And so, after humble thanks given to the Lord CROMWELL, the
said MORICE departed with his Book: which, when he again had
fair written it, was delivered to the King's Majesty by the said Lord
CROMWELL, within four days after.

[Illustration]




 R. W[ITC].
 Against the wilful inconstancy of
 his dear foe E. T.

 Which example may justly be a sufficient warning
 for all young Men to beware the feigned
 fidelity of unconstant Maidens.


    ALL youthful wights at liberty,
      whom Love did never thrall;
    I wish that my decay may be
      a warning to you all!

    That have a sore, bred in my breast,
      although it be not strange;
    Yet will it bring me to the grave,
      without some sudden change.

    For I, by suit, have servèd one
      two years and somewhat more,
    And now I can no longer serve;
      my heart it is so sore.

    Which heart I let to Usury,
      through greedy fond desire;
    Not doubting to receive home twain,
      when I would them require.

    But if that every Usurer
      had such good hap as I,
    There would not be so many men
      would use this usury.

    My Debtor hath deceivèd me;
      for she is from me fled:
    And I am left among the briars
      to bring a fool to bed.

    So that I silly [_innocent_] man remain
      each day in doubtful case:
    For Death doth daily lie in wait
      to 'rest me with his mace.

    And cast me into prison strong,
      the door is made of grass:
    And I might bless my hour of birth,
      if it were come to pass.

    For, lo, my careful choice doth choose
      to keep me still in thrall;
    And doth regard my love no more
      than stone that lies in wall.

    Whereby I see that women's hearts
      are made of marble stone:
    I see how careless they can be,
      when pensive men do moan.

    I sowed both pure and perfect seed
      on fair and pleasant ground;
    In hope, though harvest brought some pain,
      some profit might be found.

    But now the harvest ended is;
      and for my faithful seeds,
    And all my pain[s] and labour past,
      I have nought else but weeds.

    I thrust my hand among the thorns,
      in hope the rose to find:
    I pricked my hand, and eke my heart;
      yet left the rose behind.

    Not I, but many more I know
      in love do lack relief:
    But I, as cause doth me compel,
      do wail my pain and grief.

    I doubtless cannot be the first
      that Love hath put to pain:
    Nor yet I shall not be the last
      that Women will disdain.

    If I, poor wretch, should think upon
      the pains that I have past;
    Or if I could recount the cares
      that she hath made me taste:

    Into despair it would me drive,
      and cleave my heart in twain;
    Or else bereave me of my wits,
      to think upon the pain.

    I never spent one day in joy,
      my careful heart doth know;
    Since first I lent my love to her,
      by whom my grief doth grow.

    There are no greater pains assigned
      for damnèd ghosts in hell,
    Than I do suffer for her sake,
      that I do love so well.

    The price that I have paid for love,
      not many men would give:
    But I my bargain shall repent
      as long as I do live.

    I paid for love, and that full dear:
      yet I received right nought.
    I never was so much deceived
      in anything I bought.

    If every woman on her friend
      such pity used to take;
    Then shortly men will run to love,
      as bears unto a stake.

    But now let VENUS fire her forge!
      Let CUPID's shaft be sent!
    They can no more increase my woe:
      for all my love is spent.

    But here, good Reader, thou mayst see
      how Love hath paid my hire!
    To leave me burning in the flame;
      compelled to blow the fire.

    But if that thou, good friend, desire
      to live in happy state:
    Then seek in time to shun mishap!
      _Repentance comes too late!_

    Frequent not women's company;
      but see thou from them swerve!
    For thy reward shall be but small
      whatever thou deserve.

    Take heed, for thou mayst come in thrall
      before that thou beware:
    And when thou art entanglèd once,
      thou canst not fly the snare.

    Take thou not this to be a jest;
      but think it to be true!
    Before thou prove, as I have done:
      lest proof do make thee rue.

    Yet if thou chance to place thy love;
      take heed What thou dost say!
    And see thou place thy talk in print,
      or else beware a fray!

    And thus I end: not doubting but
      these words may well suffice
    To warn thy greedy heart of harm,
      and ease thy roving eyes.

          Ease by Disease
          hath made me to halt:
          Time hath so turned
          my sugar to salt.

    R. WITC


 FINIS.

 Imprinted at London, by RICHARD JONES.




  [Illustration]

  The History of Wyat's
  Rebellion:

  With the order and manner
  of resisting the same.

  WHEREUNTO, IN THE END, IS ADDED

  An earnest Conference with
  the degenerate and seditious
  rebels for the search of
  the Cause of their
  daily disorder.

  Made and compiled by
  JOHN PROCTOR.

  [SECOND EDITION.]

  _Mense Januarii, anno 1555._


  [In WYAT's Rebellion, there was as much a social strife
  as a political conflict. Like the Rebellions of the
  previous reign, it was largely a rising of the Masses
  against the Classes. The Kentish Gentlemen and their
  dependents were mostly Horsemen, and went for Queen MARY.
  The Kentish commons were chiefly Footmen, and many of
  them went for WYAT.

  This Rebellion was nipped in the bud, because the Kentish
  commons were prevented from joining hands with the lower
  classes of London. Had they been able to do so, it would
  have been the days of WAT TYLER over again.

  It is clear that, as stated at page 66, WYAT thought
  that the Footmen opposed to him would come over to his
  side. This is probably the reason why the action at
  Hyde Park Corner was so indecisive, see pages 87 to 89.
  Lord PEMBROKE could not trust his Footmen; so only the
  Horsemen fought there against WYAT.

  PROCTOR was undoubtedly an affectionately loyal subject
  of Queen MARY, and magnifies her herein upon every
  possible occasion. He says himself at p. 44, that he has
  "not fully set forth the whole case, all as it was." He
  wrote too soon after the event to do so in print.

  At Vol. IV., pp. 88-93, of this Series, we have given a
  Protestant account of this Rising by EDWARD UNDERHILL,
  the "Hot Gospeller": and at pp. 112-142 of the same
  Volume will be found Fox's account of the Imprisonment
  of the Princess ELIZABETH, which was occasioned by this
  Rebellion; though WYAT, with his dying breath, cleared
  her of all knowledge of it.

  All these narratives should be compared with the account
  in Professor FROUDE's _History_.]




[Illustration]

  _To the most excellent and most virtuous Lady, our most
  gracious Sovereign, MARY, by the grace of GOD,
  Queen of England, France, Naples, Hierusalem, and
  Ireland; Defender of the Faith; Princess of Spain,
  and Sicily; Archduchess of Austria; Duchess of
  Milan, Burgundy, and Brabant; Countess of Hapsburg,
  Flanders, and Tyrol;
  your Majesty's most faithful, loving, and
  obedient subject, JOHN PROCTOR, wisheth
  all grace, long peace, quiet reign,
  from GOD the Father,
  the Son, and the
  HOLY GHOST_.


IT hath been allowed, most gracious Sovereign, for a necessary policy
in all Ages, as stories do witness, that the flagitious enterprises of
the wicked, which have at any time attempted with traitorous force to
subvert or alter the Public State of their countries, as also the wise
and virtuous policies of the good practised to preserve the Common Weal
and to repel the enemies of the same, should by writing be committed
to eternal memory. Partly that they of that Age in whose time such
things happened might by the oft reading conceive a certain gladness in
considering with themselves, and beholding as it were in a glass, from
what calamity and extreme ruin, by what policy and wisdom, their native
countries were delivered; besides the great misery and peril they
themselves have escaped: partly for a doctrine and a monition serving
both for the present and future time. But chiefly and principally
that the traitors themselves (who, through hatred to their Prince or
country, shall, either of their own malicious disposition be stirred;
or else by other perverse counsel thereunto induced) may always have
before their eyes the miserable end that happeneth as just reward to
all such caytives [_caitiffs_] as, either of ambition not satisfied
with their own state will seek preposterously to aspire to honour; or
of malice to their Prince, will enter into that horrible crime of Privy
Conspiracy or Open Rebellion.

The industry of Writers doth sufficiently declare in a number of
stories that conspiracy and treason hath always turned to the authors
a wretched and miserable end: and if their persons happen at any time
to escape temporal punishment, as rarely they have done; yet their
names, specially of the notorious and principal offenders, have been
always had in such vile and odible detestation in all Ages and among
all nations as, for the same, they have been ever after abhorred of all
good men.

These general considerations, moving others to indict [_endite_]
and pen stories, moved me also to gather together and to register
for memory the marvellous practice of WYAT his detestable
Rebellion; little inferior to the most dangerous reported in any
history, either for desperate courage in the author, or for the
monstrous end purposed by his Rebellion.

Yet I thought nothing less at the beginning than to publish the same
at this time, or at this Age: minding only to gather notes thereof,
where the truth might be best known, for the which I made earnest and
diligent investigation; and to leave them to be published by others
hereafter, to the behoof of our posterity.

But hearing the sundry tales thereof, far dissonant in the utterance,
and many of them as far wide from truth, fashioned from the speakers
to advance, or deprave, as they fantased [_favoured_] the parties; and
understanding besides what notable infamy sprang of this Rebellion
to the whole country of Kent, and to every member of the same, where
sundry and many of them, to mine own knowledge, shewed themselves most
faithful and worthy subjects, as by the story [it]self shall evidently
appear, which either of haste or of purpose were omitted in a printed
book late[ly] set forth at Canterbury.[1] I thought these to be special
considerations whereby I ought, of duty to my country [_County_],
to compile and digest such notes as I had gathered concerning that
Rebellion, in some form or fashion of History; and to publish the same
in this Age, and at this present, contrary to my first intent: as well
that the very truth of that rebellious enterprise might be thoroughly
known, as that also the Shire where that vile Rebellion was practised
might, by opening the full truth in some part, be delivered from the
infamy which, as by report I hear, is made so general in other Shires
as though very few of Kent were free from WYAT's conspiracy.

Most humbly beseeching your Highness to take this my travail in so
good and gracious part; as of your Grace's benign and gentle nature
it hath pleased you to accept my former books dedicated unto your
Highness. Whereby I mind nothing less than to excuse, or accuse, any
affectionately [_partially_]; but to set forth each man's doings truly
according to their demerits: that by the contemplation hereof both
the good may be encouraged in the execution of perfect obedience and
unspotted loyalty; and the wicked restrained from the hateful practice
of such detestable purposes.

  The Blessed Trinity preserve your Highness!

[Illustration]




 _To the Loving Reader._


THE safe and sure recordation of pains and perils past hath present
delectation, saith TULLY. For things, were they never so bitter and
unpleasant in the execution, being after in peace and security renewed
by report or chronicle, are both plausible [_praiseworthy_] and
profitable, whether they touched ourselves or others.

Being thus in this point persuaded, loving Reader, I thought it a
travail neither unpleasant for thee, nor unthankful for me, to contrive
the late Rebellion practised by WYAT in form of a Chronicle,
as thou seest. Whereby as I mean not to please the evil, nor displease
the good; so I much desire to amend the one by setting before his
eye the lamentable Image of hateful Rebellion, for the increase of
obedience; and to help the other by setting forth the unspotted loyalty
of such as adventurously and faithfully served in this dangerous time,
for the increase of knowledge and policy the better to repress the like
dangers, if any hereafter happen.

And further, although hereby I covet not to renew a fear of a danger
past, yet would I gladly increase a care and study in every good man's
heart to avoid a like danger that may happen, and most times happeneth;
when a danger with much difficulty avoided is not sufficient warning to
beware of the next.

I have forborne to touch any man by name, WYAT only except;
and a few others which the story would not permit to be left out.
Yet take me not that I mean to excuse any man's fault thereby. For
what, should I shew myself so ungrate or unnatural unto my natural
countrymen; as namely to blaze them to the World whom, either their
own good hap or the Queen's surpassing mercy, would to be covered at
this time?

And although I touch some by name, terming them in certain places
"traitors and rebels," just titles of their deserts: yet, GOD is my
witness!, I do it not of malice or envy to any of their persons. I
never hated any of them; no, not WYAT himself! whom, although
he was utterly unknown unto me, yet for the sundry and singular gifts
wherewith he was largely endued, I had him in great admiration. And
now I rather pity his unhappy case than malice his person: and do much
lament that so many good and commendable qualities were abused in the
service of cursed Heresy; whose reward was never other than shameful
confusion, by one way or other, to all that followed her ways.

Finally, if thou suppose I have not fully set forth the whole case,
all as it was, I shall not againsay it; neither thought I it necessary
so to do; but rather so much as for this time might be both plausible
[_praiseworthy_] and profitable, and should satisfy such points as in
the _Dedicatory Epistle_ to the Queen's Majesty are expressed.

Hereafter it may be that further be said touching this matter. In
mean time thou hast no just cause, I trust, to be offended with this
my present enterprise, either for the manner of handling or for the
matter herein handled: the one having sufficient perspicuity and
plainness, the other full truth; for which I have made such diligent
investigation, as I have found it and have herein expressed the same,
especially so much as concerneth Kent.

  _Vale!_




[Illustration]

 _WYAT's Rebellion:
 with the order and manner of
 resisting the same._


[Sidenote: The dangerous nature of Heresy.]

[Sidenote: Heresy the special ground of WYAT's Rebellion.]

[Sidenote: Rebellion, the only refuge of heretics.]

WHAT a restless evil Heresy is! ever travailing to bring forth
mischief! never ceasing to protrude all those in whose hearts she is
received to confusion! By what plausible allurements at her entry, she
catcheth favourable entertainment! With what ways of craft and subtilty
she dilateth her dominion! and finally how, of course, she toileth to
be supported by Faction, Sedition, and Rebellion! to the great peril
of subversion of that State where, as a plague, she happeneth to
find habitation: as well the lamentable history of the Bohemians and
Germans, with all others treating of like enterprises by heretics, as
also WYAT's late conspiracy practised with open force, doth
plenteously declare. Who, as it should evidently seem by the trade of
his life and the late disclosing of himself, was so fervently affected
to heresy, although he laboured by false persuasion otherwise to have
 it; that, burning inwardly with a prepensed treason in his
breast for the continuance of the same within the realm, he persuaded
to himself such an impossibility therein (the Queen's Highness
prospering and bearing the sceptre of high governance) as could by no
means be brought about without rebellion: the only refuge, as I said,
that indurate heretics have always sought, for maintenance of their
heresy; living under a Catholic Prince.

[Sidenote: WYAT persuaded that the Queen and Heresy could not
reign together.]

[Sidenote: WYAT's repair to London to stir others to his
Rebellion.]

He therefore, being thus inflamed, could no longer contain, but
immediately upon the beginning of the Queen's most happy reign,
forsaking his habitation in the country, went to London of purpose to
stir [HENRY GREY], the Duke of SUFFOLK and his brethren, with others
of power in further countries [_Counties_], whom he knew to be like
affected to heresies and consequently to burn in sembable desire for
continuance of the same: leaving nevertheless such behind him in Kent,
to solicit his and their unhappy case; whom he knew so much addicted
thereunto as, in his absence, for their diligence in such a ministry
needed no overseer.

[Sidenote: WYAT's return into Kent.]

He remained in London till he thought himself thoroughly furnished
every way, and everywhere within the realm, to attempt his determined
enterprise; when apt time should serve. Which done, he returned into
Kent: not of purpose then to proceed; but, understanding his strength,
practised there by his agents to set things in order, and so to
return to London; abiding the time appointed therefore by him and his
complices.

[Sidenote: WYAT preventeth the time.]

But, so it befell, in the mean time, that, at his being in the country,
the [Privy] Council committed a Gentleman of that Shire to ward, one to
WYAT above all others most dear: whereby the common bruit grew
that he, (suspecting his secrets to be revealed, and upon that occasion
to be sent for by the Council) felt himself, as it were for his own
surety, compelled to anticipate his time. But whether that were the
cause or no, doubtful it is.

[Sidenote: The first day of WYAT's stir, at Maidstone.]

But certain it was that WYAT, then proceeding in his
detestable purpose, armed himself and as many as he could: and, giving
intelligence of his determination to his complices, as well at London
as elsewhere, the Thursday after, at Maidstone, in the market time,
being the 25th day of January [1554], in the first year of the Queen's
reign, by Proclamation in writing, published his devilish pretence.

[Sidenote: The cause why WYAT made not Religion the outward
pretence of his Rebellion.]

[Sidenote: The colour of WYAT's Rebellion.]

And considering with himself that to make the pretence of his Rebellion
to be the restoring or continuance of the new and newly-forged Religion
was neither agreeable to the nature of Heresy (which always defendeth
itself by the name and countenance of other matter more plausible);
neither so apt to further his wicked purpose, being not a case so
general to allure all sorts to take part with him: he determined to
speak no word of Religion, but to make the only colour [_pretence_] of
his commotion, only to withstand Strangers [_i.e. the Spaniards_], and
to advance Liberty.

[Sidenote: WYAT's preparative to his Rebellion.]

For as he made his full reckoning that such as accorded with him in
religion would wholly join with him in that rebellion; so he trusted
that the Catholics for the most part would gladly embrace that quarrel
against the Strangers; whose name he took to become odible to all sorts
by the seditious and malicious report which he and his had maliciously
imagined and blown abroad against that nation, as a preparative to
their abominable treason.

His Proclamation therefore published at Maidstone, and so in other
places, persuaded that quarrel to be taken in hand in the defence
of the realm from overrunning by Strangers and for the advancement
of Liberty: where, in very deed, his only and very matter was the
continuance of heresy: as by his own words at sundry times shall
hereafter appear.

[Sidenote: WYAT's untrue persuasions to further his Rebellion.]

And to the end the people should not think that he alone, with a few
other mean Gentlemen, had taken that traitorous enterprise in hand
without comfort or aid of higher powers, he untruly and maliciously
added further to his Proclamation, by persuasion to the people:

That all the Nobility of the realm and the whole [Privy] Council (one
or two only except) were agreeable to his pretensed treason, and would
with all their power and strength further the same; (which he found
most untrue, to his subversion): and That the Lord ABERGAVENNY, [Sir
THOMAS CHEYNEY,] the Lord Warden [of the Cinque Ports], Sir ROBERT
SOUTHWELL, High Sheriff, with all other Gentlemen would join with him
in this enterprise, and set their foot by his, to repel the Strangers.

[Sidenote: How WYAT's untrue persuasions abused the people.]

This Proclamation and such annexed persuasions made at Maidstone on
the market day, and in other parts of the Shire, had so wrought in the
hearts of the people that divers (which before hated him, and he
them) were now, as it seemed, upon this occasion, mutually reconciled;
and said unto him, "Sir, is your quarrel only to defend us from
overrunning by Strangers and to advance Liberty; and not against the
Queen?"

[Sidenote: The nature of a heretic is to say one thing and think
another.]

"No," quod WYAT, "we mind nothing less than any wise to touch
her Grace; but to serve her and honour her, according to our duties."

"Well," quod they, "give us then your hand. We will stick to you to
death in this quarrel!"

That done, there came to him one other, of good wealth, saying, "Sir,"
quod he, "they say I love potage well. I will sell all my spoons, and
all the plate in my house rather than your purpose shall quail; and
sup my potage with my mouth [see p. 72]. I trust," quod he, "you will
restore the right religion again."

[Sidenote: WYAT's own words to prove Heresy to be the ground
of his Rebellion.]

"Whist!" quod WYAT, "you may not so much as name religion,
for that will withdraw from us the hearts of many. You must only make
your quarrel for overrunning by Strangers. And yet to thee, be it said
in counsel, as unto my friend, we mind _only_ the restitution of GOD's
Word. But no words!"

By these his words it appeared that his principal intent was not to
keep out Strangers, which commonly do not invade to our hindrance but
by rebellion amongst ourselves; nor to advance Liberty, which ever
decayeth through treason: but to advance Heresy, the Lady Regent of his
life and doings.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The apprehension of
Master CHRISTOPHER ROPER by the rebels.]

[Sidenote: Master CHRISTOPHER ROPER's words to WYAT.]

This same Thursday [25th January 1554] as WYAT, THOMAS
ISLEY, and others were occupied at Maidstone with Proclamations to
stir the people and such like; so were others his confederates occupied
in like manner by Proclamations at Milton, Ashford, and other towns in
the east parts of the Shire. Through whose allurements, the multitude
were grown so earnestly affected to WYAT's purpose that they
suffered Master CHRISTOPHER ROPER, a man of good worship and
so esteemed of them, to be taken of WYAT's ministers, and carried out of
the market place, without any manner of rescue: for that he, having his
heart and eye full fixed upon the Queen, not only withstood the reading
of WYAT's traitorous Proclamation at Milton; but also in the same
place proclaimed him and all his, traitors. And being roughly charged
therewith by WYAT and others his gallants, when he was brought
to Rochester, he answered, "This tongue spake it, and doth now avow it."

[Sidenote: The apprehension of Master TUCKE and Master
DORREL.]

They suffered Master TUCKE also, and Master DORREL
of Calehill, being Gentlemen of good worship and Justices of Peace, to
be taken out of their houses by the rebels; and conveyed, without any
manner of rescue, in the day time, to Rochester, being twenty miles
distant: where they, with Master ROPER, were kept as prisoners
in great danger of life.

       *       *       *       *       *

In like manner, Sir HENRY ISLEY, ANTHONY KNEVET,
WILLIAM KNEVET, with others, were at Tonbridge, Sevenoaks,
and other towns in the west parts of the Shire, stirring the people by
alarms, drums, and Proclamations.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: How WYAT wrote to the Sheriff of his intent to
stir.]

Now ye shall understand that the evening afore [24th January 1554] the
publishing his pretence at Maidstone, WYAT sent a letter, by one THOMAS
MONDE, a man of much honesty, to Sir ROBERT SOUTHWELL, being Sheriff of
the Shire: unto whom long before, as I can understand, he had neither
spoken nor written other than in defiance; they being in contention for
matters of religion as it was said. Nevertheless to serve his purpose,
dissembling his great malice and haughty courage, he wrote a letter to
him of such effect as followeth:


_The effect of WYAT's letter to
Sir ROBERT SOUTHWELL, Sheriff of Kent._

AFTER hearty commendations. There hath been between
you and me many quarrels and grudges, and I ever the
sufferer; and yet have you sought the end which is now
friendly offered unto you, if you be willing to receive
it.

But whatsoever private quarrel you have to me, I doubt not but your
wisdom is too much, seeing so many perils at hand to us both (this
pretensed Marriage [_of King PHILIP to Queen MARY_] taking effect), to
dissent from us in so necessary a purpose as wherein we now determine
to enter for the common wealth of the whole realm. And that you may the
better understand our pretence, I send you the copy of our Proclamation
comprehending the sum and effect of our meaning: whereunto if the
common wealth shall find you an enemy, say not hereafter but that you
were friendly warned.

We forbear to write to the Lord ABERGAVENNY; for what you
may do with him, if you list, we know.

       *       *       *       *       *

The style of WYAT's Proclamation.


 _A Proclamation agreed unto by THOMAS
 WYAT, GEORGE   HARPER, HENRY ISLEY,
 Knights; and by divers of the best
 of the Shire; sent unto the
 commons of the same._

[Sidenote: WYAT's false presumption of _the best of the
Shire_.]

[Sidenote: Because.]

[Sidenote: Such Councillors he meaneth, as would favour
heresy, &c.]

FORASMUCH as it is now spread abroad, and certainly pronounced by
[STEPHEN GARDINER, Bishop of WINCHESTER] the Lord Chancellor and others
of the [Privy] Council, of the Queen's determinate pleasure to marry
with a Stranger, &c. We therefore write unto you, because you be our
friends, and because you be Englishmen, that you will join with us, as
we will with you unto death, in this behalf; protesting unto you before
GOD, that no earthly cause could move us unto this enterprise but this
alone: wherein we seek no harm to the Queen, but better counsel and
Councillors; which also we would have foreborne in all other matters,
saving only in this. For herein lieth the health and wealth of us all.

[Sidenote: Lo, loud lie!]

For trial hereof and manifest proof of this intended
purpose, lo now, even at hand, Spaniards be now already
arrived at Dover, at one passage, to the number of a
hundred, passing upward to London in companies of ten,
four, and six, with harness [_armour_] harquebusses and
morians [_helmets_] with match light[ed]; the foremost
company whereof be already at Rochester.

We shall require you therefore to repair to such places
as the bearers hereof shall pronounce unto you, there
to assemble and determine what may be best for the
advancement of Liberty and common wealth in this behalf,
and to bring with you such aid as you may.

 _The end of WYAT's Proclamation._

       *       *       *       *       *

The messenger that brought the letter, with the Proclamation, from
WYAT to the Sheriff, being not privy to the contents thereof
and having charge, upon his life, to return an answer with all speed,
importuned the Sheriff so much therefore (although he saw him greatly
busied in giving advertisement throughout the Shire of WYAT's
traitorous determination) as he nevertheless (to satisfy the messenger,
whom he knew to be a right honest man; notwithstanding his diligence
was abused in so lewd a message), made him answer out of hand as
followeth:

       *       *       *       *       *

 _The Sheriff's answer to the Messenger
 that brought WYAT's letter._

"NEIGHBOUR MONDE, rather to satisfy your importunity than to answer
WYAT's letter, whom in this case I disdain to answer, or to speak with
you apart coming from a traitor, you may say unto him, That as indeed I
have been desirous of his friendship for neighbourhood's sake, so have
I much more desired his reformation in divers points of great disorder:
whereby he certainly knew, as well by my speech to himself as other
means coming to his knowledge, that I have sithens the beginning of the
Queen's reign holden him and some of his colleges [_colleagues_] in
this conspiracy vehemently suspected for like matters as now they have
attempted.

"Wherein seeing he hath not deceived me, but by opening himself
hath manifestly verified mine opinion conceived of him; I purpose
not to purchase his friendship so dear[ly] as for the game of him
to lose myself and my posterity in perpetual infamy. And if such
things which his fond [_foolish_] head hath weighed for perils, to
the condemnation of the whole wisdom of the realm (they allowing the
same for good), had been indeed as perilous as he with others, for
want of due consideration, deemeth them: his duty had been to have
opened his opinion therein as a humble and reverent petitioner to the
Queen's Highness, or to some of her Grace's Council. But to press his
Sovereign, in any suit or upon any occasion, with weapon and armour,
by stirring her subjects to rebellion; that is, and always hath been,
accounted the part of the most arrogant and presumptuous traitors: and
so do I note him and his mates, as you may tell them; and shall, GOD
willing, provide for them accordingly.

"Now good man MONDE, it shall be in your choice whether you will carry
this message or no. But, as your friend, I shall advise you to seek out
better company."

The messenger excusing himself by ignorance, departed to WYAT with
answer: and, soon after, returned to the Sheriff; under whom he served
the Queen very faithfully.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Sheriff being made privy, as ye have heard, by WYAT to his
traitorous pretence the night before he stirred; and wanting no good
will, as it should seem, with the help of the Lord ABERGAVENNY who was
as forward as he, to have resisted the reading of WYAT's Proclamation
at Maidstone the day following and to disperse his force, sent for
Gentlemen and yeomen in all haste to that end.

But before he could gather Power meet to attempt the repressing of such
a force (sundry of his neighbours of greatest possessions, and towns
most populous, which should have been his chief aid, being contrary
bent), WYAT accompanied with a force well armed and weaponed marched
to Rochester the same Thursday [25th January 1554]; HARPER and others
meeting him in the way. Where fortifying the east parts of the town,
and breaking up the bridge towards the west; he abode the coming of his
appointed strength: suffering all passengers to pass quietly through
the town, to London, or to the sea; taking nothing from them but only
their weapons.

And being the Friday [26th January] all day at Rochester, and not
hearing from ISLEY, the town of Tonbridge, and other his conjurates of
the west part of the Shire; he addressed an earnest letter the Saturday
morning [27th January] to ISLEY, the KNEVETS, and others, with the town
of Tonbridge, requiring them to accelerate their coming unto him.

[Sidenote: The rifling of Sir HENRY SIDNEY his armour.]

According whereunto ISLEY, the KNEVETS, with others, being newly
returned from Penshurst (where they rifled Sir HENRY SIDNEY [of] his
armour; he being attendant upon the Queen's Highness as a faithful
subject), perceiving WYAT to long for their coming, resolved to observe
their promise and march forwards that night towards WYAT.

But understanding that the Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, and GEORGE
CLARKE had now gathered a force, and were prest to encounter them:
first ere they departed out of the town, they thought it good by some
kind of Proclamation, to alienate the people's hearts from them; as
they did in the manner following:

 _The copy of the Proclamation made at Tonbridge,
 by Sir HENRY ISLEY, ANTONY KNEVET
 and his brother, with others._

YOU shall understand that HENRY [NEVILLE] Lord ABERGAVENNY, ROBERT
SOUTHWELL Knight, GEORGE CLARKE Gentleman, have most traitorously, to
the disturbance of the common wealth, stirred and raised up the Queen's
most loving subjects of this realm to defend the most wicked and
devilish enterprise of certain of the wicked and perverse Councillors,
to the utter confusion of this her Grace's realm, and the perpetual
servitude of all the Queen's most loving subjects. In consideration
whereof, we Sir THOMAS WYAT Knight, Sir GEORGE HARPER Knight, Sir HENRY
ISLEY Knight, ANTONY KNEVET Esquire, with all the faithful Gentlemen
of Kent and trusty commons of the same, do pronounce the said HENRY
Lord ABERGAVENNY, ROBERT SOUTHWELL and GEORGE CLARKE Gentleman, to be
traitors to GOD, the Crown, and the common wealth.

This done, with all speed calling their company together by noise of
drums, and leaving their direct way to Rochester, for that they would
not come under the wing of the Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff, they
marched that night [27th January] to Sevenoaks. Taking order with such
as were left behind in the town [of Tonbridge], that they should be in
a readiness to come whensoever they should be sent for by WYAT; and
that by no ways they should believe any tales. "For," quod they, "the
Council will now send abroad flying lies and tales to discredit us and
discomfort you: for it is their policy."

ANTONY KNEVET, after he was lept to his horse, took one by the hand,
and said, "Fare you well. And if you hap to hear that I am taken, never
believe it: for undoubtedly I will either die in the field or achieve
my purpose." But within four and twenty hours he brake his promise, and
ran away no faster than his legs could carry him.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The Herald's coming to Rochester.]

Well, I shall now leave them marching to Sevenoaks; and return to WYAT
at Rochester. This present Saturday [27th January] came unto him from
the Queen's Highness a Herald and a trumpeter.

WYAT, at the sound of the trumpet, came to the bridge, where the Herald
was with his coat armour carrying the Arms of England on his back. But
WYAT, without using any reverence to him either for his coat or office,
would not suffer him to come into the town to declare his message; and
[the Herald] pressing to come in, he offered to strike him: whereupon
the Herald stayed and did his message there, so that only WYAT with
a few with him heard it. Which, as men could gather by the report of
them that heard it, was promise of pardon to as many as would retire to
their houses within four and twenty hours after the Proclamation, and
become good subjects. But WYAT would not suffer his soldiers in anywise
to hear it, nor any other Proclamation coming from the Queen.

[Sidenote: The Lord Warden's greeting to WYAT.]

In the mean time also, Sir THOMAS CHEYNEY, Lord Warden, being a
most faithful and noble subject, had sent him such salutations as of
honour ought to be used to a traitor. And being very desirous to be
doing with him, and to prove on his body what in words of greeting he
had affirmed, felt yet by his discretion and long experience great
causes of stay. For WYAT desired nothing more than his coming forth;
persuading [himself] that he wanted no friends about him, nor any
others that would take in hand to repress him with force gathered in
that Shire. And, undoubtedly, doubtful were the hearts of the people,
and marvellously bent to favour WYAT and his purpose; as by daily
events appeared.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff who, the Saturday [27th January]
next after WYAT's stir, were at Malling in the way towards Rochester
(where WYAT lay); having with them a company of well appointed
subjects. In whom notwithstanding for the more part they had good
opinion of trustiness and honesty: yet having the general case of the
people's disposition in their eye; and not without cause suspecting in
their Band, amongst so many faithful and good, some such to be, upon
trust of whose trustless and brittle aid it were no good policy to
adventure far--pondering therewith that this illusion of the people,
whereby they were so far drawn from their right course and duty, grew
chiefly by such crafty and false persuasions as WYAT and his mates
had set forth in sundry parts of the Shire, by way of Proclamation in
writing: wherein, amongst other gross lies they had set forth also
matters of untruth to discredit the Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff;
as WYAT, in his persuasions, that they would join with him; and ISLEY,
in his Proclamation that they had traitorously assembled the Queen's
loving subjects against her Grace and the realm.

It seemed unto them very good and necessary to spend some time at
Malling in advising and lessening [_lessoning_] the multitude; and by
way of exhortation to impugn those traitorous Proclamations, and refell
such gross and false lies therein contained; and finally to dissuade
the people, which, that day being market day, were assembled to a great
number of all sorts, from the traitors and their attempts.

And accordingly the Sheriff had penned an Exhortation to that purpose,
which was pronounced out of writing in Malling; and sent after by him
into other parts. The hearing whereof did undoubtedly much move the
people, as after shall appear.

I shall report the same in substance truly; howbeit not fully in the
same form and manner as I found it, and as it was penned and pronounced
by the Sheriff: who, in the utterance and setting forth thereof, spared
not to speak plainly and touch sharply, as then the present time and
case employed vehement occasion.

  _An Exhortation made by Sir ROBERT SOUTHWELL
  Knight, Sheriff of Kent, at Malling, the Satur-
  day being the 27th day of January, and
  market day there, to a great assembly
  of people; refelling and confuting
  WYAT and his complices'
  traitorous Proclama-
  tions. WYAT being
  at Rochester,
  four miles
  distant._

LOVING neighbours and friends. Where of late there hath been most
pestilent and traitorous Proclamations, as ye have heard, set forth
by THOMAS WYAT, GEORGE HARPER, HENRY ISLEY, and others, as most arrant
traitors to the Queen and the realm; some of them the Queen's ancient
enemies aforetime, and double traitors: yet notwithstanding accounting
themselves to be the best of the Shire in their Proclamations; and
in the same reputing and pronouncing others as traitors whom ye can
witness to have been, from time to time, true and faithful subjects
to the Queen and this our common weal, as the Lord ABERGAVENNY here
present, myself, and other Gentlemen now prest and ready with you,
according to our duty, to serve our noble Queen. I shall need to spend
the less time to declare unto you how evil they be, or how evil their
enterprise is that they have taken in hand: forasmuch as this their
arrogant presumption and presumptuous pride in advancing themselves
so far from all truth, and in depraving of others so maliciously for
executing their bounden duty, ought abundantly to persuade what they
be, to all of consideration, without further circumstance.

"But forasmuch as in their Proclamations they fill the ears of the
Queen's liege people with gross and manifest lies to stir them against
her Grace, in the utterance whereof they use this demonstration,
"Lo!" signifying some notable thing near at hand, for credit worthy
impression in their memory, as:--

  'Lo, a great number of Strangers be now arrived at Dover
  in harness [_armour_] with harquebusses morians and
  matchlight.'

"I say unto you, neighbours and friends, upon pain to be torn in pieces
with your hands, that it is untrue; and a manifest lie invented by them
to provoke and irritate the Queen's simple people to join with them in
their traitorous enterprise. And therefore I have perfect hope that
you, being afore time abused with their crafty and deceitful treason,
will not now once again (having experience of their former evil) be
trapped, for any persuasion, in so heinous a snare as this most vile
and horrible crime of treason.

"Do you not see and note that, as in the beginning of the Queen's
most gracious reign, some of them sought to deprive her Grace of her
princely estate and rightful dignity, minding to advance thereunto the
Lady JANE, daughter to the Duke of SUFFOLK; so are they and others
newly confedered [_confederated_] with the Duke and his brethren, being
in arms at this present for the same purpose, and daily looking for aid
of these traitors and others of their conspiracy: as by the Queen's
most gracious letters, signed with her own hand, and ready to be read
here, may plainly appear unto you? And will you now nevertheless aid
them any ways, or sit still whilst they go about thus wrongfully and
traitorously to depose their, and our, most gracious Sovereign Lady and
Queen! the comfort of us all! the stay of us all! the only safeguard of
us all! to whom can no displeasure or danger chance, but the same must
double [_doubly_] redound to all and every of us!

"No, friends and neighbours, I trust never to live to see you so far
abused. They go about to blear you with matters of Strangers, as though
they should come to overrun you and us also. He seemeth very blind, and
willingly blinded, that will have his sight dimmed with such a fond
[_foolish_] mist! For if they meant to resist Strangers, as they mind
nothing less: they would then prepare to go to the sea coasts; and
not to the Queen's most royal person, with such a company in arms and
weapon[s].

"Ye can consider, I trust, this noble Gentleman, the Lord
ABERGAVENNY here present, being of an ancient and great
parentage, born among you; and such other Gentlemen as you see here,
which be no strangers unto you; myself also, although a poor Gentleman
(who I trust at no time hath abused you), hath somewhat to lose as well
as they; and would be as loth to be overrun with Strangers as they; if
any such thing were meant. But for that we know most certainly that
there is meant no manner of evil to us by those Strangers; but rather
aid profit and comfort against other strangers, our ancient enemies
[_the French_]; with whom they, as most arrant and degenerate traitors,
do indeed unkindly and unnaturally join: we, in her Grace's defence,
will spend both life and what we have beside, to the uttermost penny,
against them.

 "Well, I can no more now say unto you, but (understanding the
Queen's Highness, as a most merciful Princess, to be once again
determined to pardon as many as, by their traitorous and deceitful
Proclamations and other illusions, were allured to this last treason;
so they repair to their habitations within four and twenty hours
after her Grace's Proclamation read, and become true subjects to her
Grace) to advise such as hath taken part with those traitors, or have
withdrawn themselves (contrary to their allegiance) from aiding and
serving of their Sovereign, according to their duties, against her
enemies, thankfully to accept and embrace her most gracious pardon;
and use means of themselves to apprehend those arrant and principal
traitors, and make a present of them to the Queen's Highness; or
leave them to themselves, as most detestable traitors: who being
once so graciously and mercifully forgiven could not but carry the
clemency of the same in their hearts to the furtherance of all
obedience whiles they lived, if there had been any spark of grace in
them.

"And further I have to say unto you that as these traitors, by their
Proclamations without authority, have moved you to stir against the
Queen your Sovereign; and appointed you places where to meet and
consult for the furtherance of their traitorous purpose and to bring
with you such aid as you can: so shall I require you, and in her
Grace's name charge you that be here present, not to come there; but
that you, and such as be absent, taking knowledge hereby, repair to
such places as I, the Queen's Sheriff and Officer, shall appoint
you, with such aid as you can bring for the better service of the
Queen and the Shire: where you shall be assured to receive comfort,
thanks, and honesty to the end of your lives and your posterity. And
the other way but endless shame and utter undoing to you and yours;
which shall be worst to yourselves, and yet a great grief to us your
neighbours: whose advice in all other your private causes you have
been content to follow; and now in this weightiest that hath, or may,
happen to you will refuse us, and follow them that hath ever abused
you to your and their utter confusion.

  At Malling, the 27th of January [1554], _anno Mariæ
  primo_. GOD save Queen MARY and all her well willers!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Sheriff reading this Exhortation, caused one BARRAM, a Gentleman
and servant to the Lord ABERGAVENNY, to pronounce it, as he read it,
so loud and so distinctly as the people assembled round about him,
to a very great number, in manner of a ring, might easily hear and
understand every word proceeding from BARRAM: who of his own head
cried out unto them, "You may not so much as lift up your finger
against your King or Queen!"

And after the people had heard the Sheriff's Exhortation; and cried
"GOD save Queen MARY!" which they did most heartily, spending therein a
convenient time; the Sheriff used these words unto them:

[Sidenote: The Sheriff's speech to the multitude.]

"Masters," quod he, "although I alone did speak unto you; yet what
words were spoken to you by me were also spoken to you by the Lord
ABERGAVENNY and all the Gentlemen here present: in whose persons I then
spake; and now require at your hands a plain and resolute answer. Will
you now therefore join with such as you see evidently to be arrant
traitors; or else with the Lord ABERGAVENNY and such Gentlemen as you
see here present, that will live and die with you in defence of our
rightful Queen against these traitors?"

[Sidenote: The people's answer to the Sheriff.]

The people with one voice defied WYAT and his complices as arrant
traitors, and said that they now well espied they had but abused
them. Wherefore in defence of Queen MARY, they would die upon them:
expressing their minds with such earnest shouts and cries as shewed to
proceed unfeignedly from their hearts; which after was confirmed by a
better experience the day following, as ye shall anon hear.

[Sidenote: WYAT's promise of BARRAM's reward.]

But by the way ye shall understand that WYAT hearing of this
Proclamation, said, "I know that BARRAM well; but yet I never took
him to have so wide a throat. If I live, I may happen to make him
crow a higher note in another place." What trow you should then have
become of the author?

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The Duke of NORFOLK and Sir HENRY JERNINGHAM's coming to
Gravesend.]

In the Sunday following [28th January 1554], the Lord ABERGAVENNY,
the Sheriff, and the rest of the Gentlemen were determined to have
marched in the morning early towards Rochester, to have aided the
Duke of NORFOLK and Sir HENRY JERNINGHAM Captain of the Guard, then
being at Gravesend, towards WYAT; with a certain Band [_Regiment_]
of White Coats, to the number of 600, sent unto them from London;
whereof BRET and others were their Captains.

[Sidenote: ROGER APPULTON and THOMAS SWAN trusty Gentlemen.]

ROGER APPULTON Gentleman was also at Gravesend with the Duke,
attendant to serve: wherein likewise was THOMAS SWAN Gentleman.

[Sidenote: The Lord ABERGAVENNY sets the watch in person.]

This Saturday [27th January] at night, the Lord ABERGAVENNY
suspecting WYAT and his complices (living within four miles of
them; and being so much provoked in that they were, in the day, so
rightly set forth in their colours [_illusions_] at Malling) would,
for revenge, work some annoyance to them or his Band that night,
either by a _camasado_ [_night attack_] or by some other means; did
therefore, to prevent the same, set a strong watch in the market
place at Malling and other parts of entry into the town: and gave the
watch-word himself before he would take any rest.

[Sidenote: A larom at Malling.]

 But between one and two of the clock in the night, when everybody
was taken to rest save the watch, there happened a larom [_an
alarm_], sundry crying, "Treason! Treason! We are all betrayed!" in
such sort that such as were in their beds or newly risen thought
verily that, either WYAT with his Band had been in the town, or very
near.

The thing was so sudden and happened in such a time as men not
acquainted with like matters were so amazed that some of them knew
not well what to do: and yet in the end it proved to [be] nothing.

[Sidenote: A meaning of the rebels to burn Master GEORGE CLARKE's
house.]

For it grew by a messenger that came, very late in the night,
desiring to speak with the Lord ABERGAVENNY or Master Sheriff, to
give them certain advertisement, That Sir HENRY ISLEY, the two
KNEVETS, and certain others, with 500 Wealdish men [_i.e._, _from the
Weald of Kent_] were at Sevenoaks; and would march in the morning
early from thence towards Rochester, for the aid of WYAT against the
Duke of NORFOLK: and in their way, burn and destroy the house of
GEORGE CLARKE aforesaid.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whereupon the Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff, by the advice of the
Gentlemen before named, for that the said CLARKE had been a painful
[_painstaking_] and serviceable Gentleman, changed their purposed
journey from Rochester, to encounter with ISLEY and his Band, to cut
them [off] from WYAT and save CLARKE from spoil.

[Sidenote: The marching of the Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff to
encounter ISLEY.]

[Sidenote: Wrotham Heath.]

[Sidenote: Barrow Green.]

 And so, in the morning early, being Sunday [28th January 1554],
the Lord ABERGAVENNY; the Sheriff; WARRAM SENTLEGER, RICHARD
COVERT, THOMAS ROYDON, ANTONY WELDON, HENRY BARNEY, GEORGE CLARKE,
JOHN DODGE, THOMAS WATTON, HUGH CATLYN, THOMAS HENLEY, CHRISTOPHER
DORREL, HUGH CARTWRIGHT, JOHN SYBIL, Esquires; JOHN CLARKE, DARSIE
of Wrotham, THOMAS CHAPMAN, JAMES BARRAM, JASPER IDEN, JOHN LAMBE,
WALTER HERONDEN, WALTER TAYLOR, JOHN RAYNOLDES, THOMAS TUTTESHAM,
JOHN ALLEN, and THOMAS HOLDICHE, Gentlemen; with yeomen to the number
of 600 or thereabouts; marched out of Malling in order till they
came to Wrotham Heath: where they might easily hear the sound of the
traitor's drums; and so, making haste, pursued them till they came to
a place called Barrow Green [_Borough Green_] through which lay their
right and ready way that the traitors should take, marching from
Sevenoaks towards Master CLARKE.

The Lord ABERGAVENNY, being very glad that he had prevented
[_anticipated_] them in winning the Green, sent out spials [_spies_]
to understand their nearness, and to discrive [_ascertain_] their
number: reposing themselves there till the return of his spials:
who at their coming said, That he needed not to take further pains
to pursue them, for they were at hand, coming towards him as fast
as they could march. Which was glad tidings to the Lord ABERGAVENNY
and his Band. And taking order forthwith to set his men in array;
he determined to abide their coming, and there to take or give the
overthrow.

[Sidenote: The shrinking of the rebels.]

Which the traitors understanding, Whether it was for that they
misliked the match, or the place to fight; whiles the Lord
ABERGAVENNY and his Band were busy in placing themselves; they shrank
as secretly as they could by a bye-way. And were so far gone before
the Lord ABERGAVENNY understood thereof by his spials; as for doubt
[_fear_] of overtaking them afore their coming to Rochester, he was
driven to make such haste for the overtaking of them as divers of his
footmen were far behind at the onset giving.


[Sidenote: The displaying of the rebel's Ensigns.]

[Sidenote: The rebel's overtaken.]

[Sidenote: Blacksoll Field.]

[Sidenote: The Skirmish.]

The first sight that the Lord ABERGAVENNY could have of them, after
they forsook their purposed way, was as they ascended Wrotham Hill,
directly over [against] Yaldarn, Master PECKHAM's house. Where
they, thinking to have great advantage by the winning of the Hill,
displayed their Ensigns bravely: seeming to be in great ruff. But
it was not long after ere their courage was abated. For the Lord
ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, and the rest of the Gentlemen, with such
other of the Queen's true and faithful subjects, as with great
pains taking to climb the Hill and to hold way with the Horsemen,
overtook the rebels at a field called Blacksoll Field in the parish
of Wrotham, a mile distant from the very top of the Hill; where the
Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, the Gentlemen aforenamed, and others
the Queen's true and faithful subjects, handled them so hot and so
fiercely that, after a small shot with long bows by the traitors, and
a fierce brag shewed by some of the Horsemen, they took their flight
away as fast as they could. Yet of them were taken prisoners above
three score.

[Sidenote: The chase of the Horsemen.]

In this conflict WARRAM SENTLEGER, who brought with him a good
company of soldiers and [was] always a serviceable Gentleman, also
GEORGE CLARKE, ANTONY WELDON, and RICHARD CLARKE did very honestly
behave themselves. WILLIAM SENTLEGER, hearing of a fray towards
between the Queen's true subjects and the traitors, came to the
Lord ABERGAVENNY into the field, with all haste, not an hour before
the Skirmish; who with the rest of the Gentlemen, with certain of
the Lord ABERGAVENNY's and [the] Sheriff's servants, being all well
horsed, served faithfully: and from thence chased the Horsemen till
they came to a wood called Hartley Wood, four miles distant from the
place where the onset began.

The Queen's true subjects did so much abhor their treason, and had
the traitors in such detestation, as with great difficulty any
escaped with life that were taken prisoners; and yet were they all
very well armed and weaponed, and had also great advantage by the
place of fight. Sir HENRY ISLEY lay all that night in the Wood, and
fled after into Hampshire. The two KNEVETS, being well horsed, were
so hastily pursued as they were driven to leave their horses, and
creep into the Wood; and for haste to rip their boots from their legs
and run away in the vampage of their hose. The chase continued so
long as night came on before it was full finished.

 Thus were ISLEY, the KNEVETS, and their Band overthrown by the
faithful service of divers Gentlemen and yeomen serving under the
Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff; whose forwardness courage and
wisdom in this traitorous broil no doubt was very much praiseworthy;
as well for their speedy acceleration of their strength which
(considering how they were every way [en]compassed with the traitors)
was no small matter in so little space; and for their wise and
politic handling also in keeping them together from WYAT, who
marvellously and by sundry ways sought to allure them away. For had
not they, in their own persons, to the encouraging of their company
adventured far; and by their wisdom, discretion and great charge,
politically handled the matter: some think that WYAT had been at
London before he was looked for by any good man, with no small
train; whose journey was greatly hindered, and his company very much
discomfited by this repulse given to ISLEY and his Band. Where,
amongst other things, GOD's secret hand was greatly felt, to the
great comfort and present aid of true subjects against the traitors:
who having such advantage of the place, as indeed they had, were like
rather to give, than receive, so foul an overthrow. But this it is,
you see, to serve in a true cause; and her whom GOD so favoureth that
he will not suffer the malice and rage of her enemies at any time to
prevail against her: to whom he hath given so many notable victories
and so miraculous that her enemies might seem rather to have been
overthrown _Spiritu DEI_ than vanquished _humano robore_.

[Sidenote: Thanksgiving to GOD for victory.]

The Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, and the Gentlemen with them, after
they had given humble thanks to GOD for the victory, which they did
very reverently in the Field, and taken order for the prisoners,
were driven to divide themselves for want of harborough [_lodging_]
and vittaile [_victuals_] for the soldiers, that had well deserved
both. The Lord ABERGAVENNY and certain with him went to Wrotham. The
Sheriff and certain with him to Otford, where they had much to do to
get vittaile for their soldiers.

[Sidenote: THOMAS DORRELL of Scotney the younger.]

 The Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff (suspecting that some of those
Gentlemen lately discomfited in this Skirmish would not long tarry in
the realm, but make shift to pass the seas; yea, by spial [_spies_],
understanding that WYAT himself with some of his company thereunto
bent) devised to lay [_warn_] the country [round] about, that they
might not escape. And considering that they would not do it at Dover,
nor in that coast [_district_]; they knowing [Sir JOHN CHEYNEY] the
Lord Warden to have such watch unto them: but rather, for sundry
respects, at Rye, or more southward. And having great proof of THOMAS
DORRELL the younger his fidelity; he returned the same DORRELL,
being newly come unto him with 80 men well appointed, into Sussex:
giving him strait charge that, consulting with Sir JOHN GUILDFORD,
they should, both day and night, set a sure watch for the passing of
any that way to the seacoast; and further to take such order as no
munition, fish, wine, or other vittaile coming out of these parts,
should pass to the relief of the traitors.

[Sidenote: HARPER's running away from WYAT.]

ANTONY KNEVET, notwithstanding great and strait watch laid round
about the country by the Sheriff for the apprehension of him and
others that fled, arrived that Sunday [28th January 1554] at night
late at Rochester: where his news was so joyful that HARPER forthwith
found the mean[s] to rid himself out of their company, without any
leave taking; and ran to the Duke of NORFOLK. To whom he seemed so
greatly to lament his treason, that the Duke, pitying his case, the
rather for the long acquaintance between them in times past, received
him to grace. But, within a day after, he ran from the Duke and
returned to his old mate; as hereafter shall appear.

[Sidenote: WYAT bewailing his case with tears.]

[Sidenote: WYAT's coat of fence quilted with angels.]

[Sidenote: WYAT's practice to fly by sea.]

WYAT hearing of ISLEY his overthrow, and understanding by the
proceeding at Malling the day before, that those things set forth
in his Proclamations whereby he thought his strength at home to be
most surely knit unto him, were now become rather a weakening than
otherwise; the people there being ready to fall from him for his so
abusing of them: he fell into so great extreme anguish and sorrow, as
writing a letter of expostulation to some of his familiars abroad, in
reprehension of their infidelity in that they sticked not to him so
fast as they promised, he bedewed the paper whereupon he wrote with
tears issuing so abundantly from his eyes as it would bear no ink.
And so leaving to write, calling for a privy coat [of armour] that he
had quilted with angels [_a gold coin of the value of 10s._] not long
afore; which might serve both for his defence, and [also be] a refuge
for his necessity being in another country: he practised with such as
were near unto him, where they might have ready passage, and most for
their surety to take the sea. "For England," said he, "is no place
for us to rest in."

His company also shrank from him as fast as they could devise means
to escape: whereunto THOMAS ISLEY and others had a greater respect
than himself; he seeming to take care for nothing but how he might
safely convey himself [away]; being well friended, it was thought,
with some of the ship-masters.

[Sidenote: WYAT mated.]

Thus was WYAT so mated by the Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, and
their Band as he was at his wits' end, as ye have heard: and chiefly
by keeping him from that, which by spial about him they afterwards
understood him specially to desire; which was offer of battle. He
and his being fully persuaded that there could be no great force
raised against him in the Shire; whereof the most part should not be
his when it should come to the shew. Wherein although he might be
deceived, as indeed he was; yet his quarrel, with the disposition of
the people thereunto well considered, with the end of his travail
which could be but spoil and ravin (ready means and lures to draw the
careless multitude unto him): it seemed to the Lord ABERGAVENNY and
such as served with him, better policy for to weary WYAT, and weaken
him by the cutting away of his strength from him; than to offer him
battle till the Duke of NORFOLK's coming: whom the Lord ABERGAVENNY
and the Sheriff knew to be at hand towards WYAT; unto whom they and
all the Gentlemen of their Band, after their Skirmish with ISLEY,
made the haste possible they might.

       *       *       *       *       *

 But before their coming, the case was wonderfully changed, to the
great discomfort of all the Queen's true subjects: and that came
to pass that [_which_] of all men was least feared. For who was it
that suspected such cruel and malicious disposition to remain in any
English heart towards his country, in any subject's thought towards
his Sovereign, that, receiving her Grace's armour weapons and money,
would have played so traitorous a part as these Captains did with
their Band? It is so strange a case as the world never saw. It is
so malicious a part as the Jew would not have done the like, having
received his hire to serve.

[Sidenote: The Duke's marching from Stroud to Rochester.]

[Sidenote: The names of the Gentlemen serving under the Duke.]

So it was that the noble Duke, being an ancient and worthy Captain
(and yet, by long imprisonment, so diswonted from the knowlege of
our malicious World and the iniquity of our Time, as he suspecting
nothing less than that which followed; but judging every man to
accord with him in desire to serve truly, marched forth the Monday
[29th January 1554], about ten of the clock in the morning, from
Gravesend to Stroud towards Rochester; and about four of the clock
in the afternoon of the same day, he arrived at Stroud, near unto
Rochester: having with him the Captain of the Guard; MAURICE
GRIFFITH, now Bishop of Rochester; Sir EDWARD BRAYE, Sir JOHN FOGGE,
Knights; JOHN COVERTE, ROGER APPULTON, Esquires; and THOMAS SWAN,
Gentleman: with certain of the Guard, and others, to the number of
200 or thereabout.

[Sidenote: BRET, Chief Captain of the White Coats.]

Besides BRET and other five Captains: who, with their Band, being
600, all in white coats, tarried behind at a hill called Spittle
[_Hospital_] Hill, near unto Stroud; whiles the Duke went to Stroud
to see the planting of the ordnance. Which being ready charged and
bent upon the town of Rochester; and perceiving WYAT and the other
traitors, by hanging out their flags upon the bridge wall, to be in
great bravery; which considering the miserable state they were in the
night before, could not be, had they not received some new comfort by
some traitorous mean[s]: the Duke commanded one of the pieces to be
fired for shot into Rochester.

And, as the gunner was firing the piece, Sir EDWARD BRAY's eldest
son came in all haste to the Duke saying, "Sir, did I not tell your
Grace, this morning, that yonder false wretches would deceive you?"

"How know you that?" quod the Duke.

"Why, Sir," quod BRAYE, "you may see them, as false traitors [ready]
bent against you."

[Sidenote: The revolt of the Captains of the White Coats and their
Band.]

 And immediately BRET and other Captains of the White Coats with
their Band, being upon the Hill and at the back of the Duke, made
great and loud shouts sundry times, crying "We are all Englishmen! We
are all Englishmen!": fashioning themselves in array, ready bent with
their weapons to set upon the Duke, if he had made any resistance.

Whereupon the Duke and the Captain of the Guard commanded the pieces
that were bent upon the town, to be turned upon BRET and his Band.
But, upon further consideration, the shot was spared: and the Duke's
Grace with the Captain of the Guard Sir HENRY JERNINGHAM, considering
(not without bleeding hearts) their chief strength thus turned upon
them, so that they were now environed both behind and before with
traitorous enemies, shifted themselves away; as did also their
company.

[Sidenote: HARPER returned to his old mate.]

After whose departure, WYAT, accompanied with two or three and not
many more, came out of Rochester half a mile from the town at the
least, to meet the six Captains of the White Coats. Amongst whom was
HARPER, notwithstanding his crouching and kneeling before the Duke;
and fair promises that he would undertake that WYAT should have
yielded. Who, footing afore the other Captains, with his sword drawn,
said to WYAT, "I promised you good turn, and say not now but I have
paid it."

Who had seen the embracing, clipping, and congratulation used at this
meeting from traitor to traitor, might justly wonder thereat. Shortly
after they had well clawed one another, they went together like
themselves into Rochester.

       *       *       *       *       *

When this, of all other most infortunate chance[s], came to the
knowledge of the Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, and their friends;
they were not a little troubled with the strangeness of the case:
much doubting that the people, which before seemed brought to good
frame, would be impaired by this alteration; and such as were afore
evil disposed would not be greatly amended thereby.

[Sidenote: The Sheriff's being at Maidstone.]

 The Sheriff, being the same night at Maidstone, that had come
the same day from Otford, fourteen miles distant, to meet THOMAS
GUILDFORD, STEVEN DORRELL, EDWARD HORDEN, JOHN ROBARTES, and JOHN
FINCH, Esquires, to march towards the Duke. And in the morning, so
far from any mistrust of that which followed the same day [Monday,
29th January 1554], as having no sure place to convey the prisoners,
taken the day before in the Skirmish with ISLEY, he left the chiefest
and trustiest of his servants and friends, both Gentlemen and yeomen,
of all his Band at Malling, for the safeguard of the prisoners; where
also lay the Lord ABERGAVENNY and his Band: doubting [_fearing_] that
ISLEY and the rest that escaped would have made some means that night
to have recovered the prisoners; sundry of whom, being men of good
wealth  and well friended, and [at that moment] living within four miles of
WYAT.

[Sidenote: The Sheriff's secret return to Malling.]

Upon these news, whether it were for the absence [from Maidstone] of
the Lord ABERGAVENNY and his strength, or mistrusting false measure
in the town [of Maidstone], or moved with example of the revolt of
the White Coats: he thought, it should seem, Maidstone no meet place
for him to make any abode; nor yet good policy, all parts considered,
to disclose the time of his removing. But judging plainly himself the
only mark of these parts whereat the traitors shot; or falling any
ways into their hands, so newly after the case of the Duke, one part
of the tragedy to be then ended: he returned to his strength; giving
knowledge to the Gentlemen remaining in Maidstone to repair to his
house for consultation, What was to be done for the redubbing of that
unhappy chance?

In which consultation there did rise so many different opinions; some
saying, They would to the Queen; and some, to the Earl of PEMBROKE
being her Grace's Lieutenant: that the Sheriff, without further
debating, intreating the Lord ABERGAVENNY and certain Gentlemen to
remain and entertain such of their Bands as they could hold till his
return, which he promised should be without delay, [and then] went to
the [Privy] Council for knowledge of their pleasure; where he tarried
uneth [_scarcely_] two hours, but returned in post the same night [to
Malling]. And at his coming, the Lord ABERGAVENNY and he assembled as
many of their force as they could call together.

       *       *       *       *       *

The traitors and their friends were grown as men revived from death
to life, flattering themselves that a thing so far above men's
expectation could not have happened to them so fortunately but by
GOD's miraculous provision, as favouring greatly their case: and so
it blew abroad, as well by wind as by writing; the more part of the
people being ready to believe it, as the case, in the heads of the
multitude, was wonderfully changed both for strength and opinion.

 [Sidenote: WYAT's advertisement to the Duke of SUFFOLK.]

WYAT advertised by his letter the Duke of SUFFOLK of his victory "by
GOD's provision" as he termed it: whose letter was intercepted in
Essex, as the messenger passed the ferry, by a servant of Sir ROBERT
SOUTHWELL's; and brought to the Council.

He wrote also to the Duke of NORFOLK, but in another style; his
letters being open and importing such matter as follloweth:

[Sidenote: WYAT's letter to the Duke of NORFOLK.]

  "Be it known to all men, and especially to the Duke of
  NORFOLK, that I have taken nothing in hand but what I
  will maintain with the expense of my life; which, before
  it depart out of my body, shall be sold full dear, &c."

 [Sidenote: An Invective against the Neuters.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Such of those parts as hung in the wind, as Neuters, (whereof
were no small number that had lurked in caves all the tempest,
watching but where should come the victory, that for example of the
evil were nothing inferior to the arrantest traitors but rather for
a number of respects much worse), began to appear very cheerful,
giving themselves great thanks for handling the matter so finely,
that conveying themselves out of the way by their policy could avoid
charge and peril so wittily. And as they met with such as had served
faithfully, with whom they durst be frank, they spared not to open
their mouths largely, pouring out such language as could be but
lamentable, or rather odible, to every true ear, to understand any
subject so far perverted from his allegiance and duty that, for gain
or security of their own persons, would rejoice in sitting still as
indifferent where the Crown is a party; or to persuade security to
themselves, be they never in so strong a hold, where their Sovereign
is in peril. Which, all things rightly weighed, seemed a strange
persuasion to account either gain or saving in sparing some part of
the accidents by sitting still to adventure the loss of the principal
whereupon life and the whole dependeth; or by affecting a little
corruption inordinately, to lose both honest fame and good opinion
of his country [_County_]; which every honest man ought to seek to
preserve as tenderly as the well-doing of himself and his whole
posterity.

Thus may we evidently see the divers effects of divers inclinations
according to truth and untruth of perfect obedience prevailing in
men's hearts. These Neuters, or counterfeits (that would be neither
open foes nor adventurous friends; but as wily vultures, hovering
in the wind to catch and gripe some part of the prey, although they
would no part of the fray) persuaded themselves to save that which
in their opinion the true hearty subject should lose by giving such
adventure; that was security of body and goods. Which grant they
saved; yet, in the just judgment of the honest, they deserved thereby
the same blot of infamy that is due to the open enemies.

On the other side, the true and faithful, whose hearts and hands such
dim colour [_illusion_] of unthankful policy could not withhold from
the utterance of needful service in such general case of danger,
thought it rather a gain to adventure body and goods; whereby either
to preserve the head and the whole, which was cruelly pursued; or at
least by defence of the same to purchase unto them and their names
the honest opinion of unspotted members, and the immortality of good
fame wherewith truth always rewardeth unfeigned service. For such
an incomparable virtue is faithful loyalty, so much abhorring all
corruptible allurements, that whose hearts she hath in governance;
with such, neither savour of gain nor hope of security, neither
persuasion of friendship ne other enticement, can so much prevail
as, for any respect, they will digress from the right course of true
service. Where the contrary, wanting that perfection (to taste of
Fortune's corruptible members, whereafter they gape; to obtain quiet
to the restive carcase, and lucre to themselves, the thing they only
seek), are easily drawn to run a clean contrary race.

 The naughty [_worthless_] brood therefore of Counterfeits, of all
others not tolerable in a common weal, are specially to be looked
to in their beginning; lest their evil example by long sufferance
grow to such a precedent at the last, that the common saying "Good
to sleep in a whole skin," being espied to escape without danger of
reprehension, be taken for a policy; and thereby outweigh the just
peize [_weight_] of bounden duty.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: A consultation of the rebels after the revolt of the White
Coats.]

After this most unhappy chance, the traitors with their new adjuncts
fell to a great and solemn council that same night at Rochester
for their proceeding in their pretensed [_intended_] treason. In
discourse whereof proceeded such unfitting talk, as well towards
the Queen's Highness as her honourable Council, tending to the
alteration of the whole State, as abhorred the ears of some of the
self traitors; that, understanding by that talk the end of their
purpose, whereof before they were ignorant, wished themselves under
the earth for being so unhappy as to be so much as acquainted with so
damnable an enterprise. Such an opinion had they, as they deemed very
few Councillors, or Officers of authority or of Nobility, within the
realm worthy the places whereunto they were called: and persuading
great choice to be amongst themselves for the supplying of that want,
such overweening had they of themselves and made so sure a reckoning
of the victory, as they disposed the honourable Offices of the Realm
among themselves.

WYAT thought himself now so sure of the victory as seeing him that
offered "to sell his spoons and all the plate that he had rather than
his purpose should quail, and sup his pottage with his mouth" [_p._
48], warranted him, That he should eat his pottage with silver, as
he did. England, when good counsel should stand it in most available
steed, needed no better counsellors than such as they were, if they
had half the wit they thought themselves to have, coupled with grace
and honesty. But what they had indeed, their acts declare plainly to
their own confusion; as it hath always, and ever hereafter shall, to
as many as be of like disposition.

 One of them, that had some wit indeed, although he wanted grace,
perceiving by their talk in what fond [_foolish_] frenzy they were
entered; to interrupt them therein, he said, That such matters were
good to be treated of at further opportunity: but for the present
it were meet to devise upon their next journey [_expedition_]; and
whether it should be good policy in them, minding to march towards
London, to leave the Lord ABERGAVENNY and the Sheriff at liberty
(that annoyed their friends, and by all likelihood would not so cease
as they may or dare) at their back, being left at large.

[Sidenote: A device to apprehend the Sheriff.]

One of them, taking upon him first to answer, thought nothing more
necessary than their sequestration: and if his advice might have
been heard in the beginning [of the Rebellion], the Sheriff should
have been in hold, as I have heard, before anything should have been
attempted.

[Sidenote: The misreckoning of the rebels upon London.]

But the Captains to the White Coats (meet counsellors for such an
enterprise!), having the spoil of London in their eyes, would not
dispute that was past: but for the present they persuaded clean
contrary to the former opinion; saying That their going about the
apprehension of the Sheriff should be but a loss of time. "For
London," said they, "longed sore[ly] for their coming; which they
could by no means protract without breeding great peril and weakness
to themselves." And having London at their commandment, whereof they
were in no manner of doubt, if it were not lost by their sloth; their
revenge to the Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, with others [of] their
enemies, would easily follow.

WYAT, savouring full well their disposition, and understanding
their meaning by their arguments, and knowing also that without his
assenting thereto he could not long have their company, yielded to
their counsel.

And so, being out of measure exalted into haughty courage and pride
by the revolt of the White Coats, he marched the day after, being
Tuesday [30th January 1554], in great pomp and glory, carrying with
him six pieces of ordnance which they had gotten of the Queen's,
besides their own, to Cowling Castle, a hold of the Lord COBHAM's,
four miles distant from Rochester; and not much out of their way
towards London: where the Lord COBHAM was.

[Sidenote: The assault of Cowling Castle.]

WYAT at his coming to Cowling Castle, bent his ordnance against the
gate; and with great and sundry shots and fire brake and burned up a
way through the gate. The Lord COBHAM defended his Castle as stoutly
as any man might do, having so few against so great a number; and
so little munition; [he] himself discharging his gun at such as
approached the gate right hardily. And in that assault two of his own
men were slain.

After this assault, and talk with the Lord COBHAM, WYAT marched to
Gravesend; where he reposed that night.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: WYAT's marching to Dartford.]

From Gravesend, he and his Band marched, the Wednesday next after
[31st January 1554], to Dartford, where he reposed that night.

[Sidenote: The coming of the Master of the Horse and Sir THOMAS
CORNWALLIS to WYAT.]

Whither came Sir EDWARD HASTINGS, Master of the Queen's Horse, and
Sir THOMAS CORNWALLIS Knights, both of her Grace's honourable Privy
Council, sent from the Queen to WYAT to understand the cause of his
commotion; and also, as it was said, finding any repentant submission
in him, to promise pardon, or at the least great hope thereof.

[Sidenote: Pride.]

WYAT, understanding [of] their coming and taking with him certain of
his Band, went to the west end of the town, where he had planted his
ordnance; and at the [a]lighting of Master HASTINGS and Sir THOMAS
CORNWALLIS from their horses, WYAT, having a partisan [_halberd_] in
his hand, advanced himself somewhat afore such Gentlemen as were with
him; and, using but little reverence due from a subject to [Privy]
Councillors, traced near them.

To whom, the Master of the Horse spake in substance as followeth:

"The Queen's Majesty requireth to understand the very cause
wherefore you have thus gathered together in arms her liege people,
which is the part of a traitor; and yet, in your Proclamations and
persuasions, you call yourself a true subject: which cannot stand
together."

"I am no traitor," quod WYAT, "and the cause whereof I have gathered
the people is to defend the realm from our overrunning by Strangers;
which follows, this Marriage taking place."

"Why," quod the Queen's Agents, "there be no Strangers yet come
whom either for power or number ye need to suspect. But if this be
your only quarrel, because, ye mislike the Marriage: will ye come
to communication touching that case? and the Queen, of her gracious
goodness, is content ye shall be heard."

[Sidenote: WYAT's arrogant answer.]

To whom WYAT shaped such answer as clearly might declare his
malicious intent and traitorous heart to the Queen's own person and
royal estate. "I yield thereto," quod WYAT, "but for my surety I will
rather be trusted than trust. And therefore I demand the custody of
the Tower, and [of] her Grace in the Tower; the displacing of certain
Councillors, and placing others in their rooms as to me shall seem
best."

Upon this lewd answer, long and stout conference was between them:
insomuch that the Master of the Horse said unto him, with a stout
courage, "WYAT, before thou shalt have that thy traitorous demand
granted, thou shalt die and 20,000 with thee!"

Shortly after, the Master of the Horse with Master CORNWALLIS,
finding him an arrant traitor and desperately set to all mischief,
returned to the Queen's Majesty.

The common people being with him, and calling to their remembrance
how WYAT, in all appearance, made his whole matter of stir for
Strangers, and no ways against the Queen; and perceiving how
unreverently he used himself as well to the Queen's Herald at
Rochester as to the Privy Council[lors] at Dartford; and considering
within themselves also that he would suffer none of the Queen's
Proclamations to be read among them: their hearts began to rise
against him. And among themselves sundry of them much murmured,
wishing with the loss of all they had they had never been acquainted
with WYAT nor his doings; and indeed sought as many ways as they
could to be rid of him.

[Sidenote: A crafty policy.]

Which perceived by WYAT and his mates, they devised a bruit
[_rumour_] to be sounded in his Band, that the Lord ABERGAVENNY and
the Sheriff did cause to be hanged as many as they could take, coming
from WYAT's Band: wherewith the people, standing in a great maze what
to do, were wonderfully perplexed.

       *       *       *       *       *

 The Queen understanding by the Master of the Horse and Sir
THOMAS CORNWALLIS the arrogancy of WYAT, and notwithstanding that
she perceived her merciful inclination rather to provoke him than
otherwise: yet seemed she nothing willing, even then, by violence and
force, as she easily might, to suppress him: but yet a longer time
to suffer and abide, if by delay and mercy her enemy might be won to
reconciliation.

[Sidenote: The suit of the Nobles to the Queen.]

The Nobility (which were at that time with her Grace, perceiving
such surmounting mercy rather to increase than any ways to abate
courage and malice in the insolent and proud heart of the traitors;
and further understanding that the traitors deemed the contation or
forbearing to proceed rather of debility or fear than of mercy and
clemency) counselled with her Grace that, with her gracious leave and
licence, they might set upon him and his Band before he should pass
Blackheath: declaring that to suffer such an arrogant traitor, being
but a mean member, to approach thus contemptuously so near her royal
person, as it were in defiance of her Grace and her true subjects,
should greatly redound to their dishonours in the opinion of all
faithful men throughout the world.

[Sidenote: The Queen's answer to the Nobles.]

The Queen gave them all most hearty and loving thanks saying That
she nothing doubted of their true hearts towards her: yet was she
loth to make any proof or trial thereof in such quarrel as should be
with loss of blood. "For to repress them with violence, and subdue
them by the sword could not have so happy success but many of my poor
subjects" quod she, "should dearly bye [_abide_] it with the loss
of their lives." Wherefore she determined to suffer as long as she
might; and to forbear that practice till there were no other hope ne
remedy. For albeit in the capital traitors there could be but great
default: yet in the multitude she was persuaded to be no malice,
but only misled by their Captains; and rather seduced by ignorance
than upon any evil purpose meant to her Grace. Wherefore she desired
them to be contented: for she was fully determined to continue her
merciful sufferance and other her gentle means so long as she might;
and [to] vanquish her enemies without the sword, if any sparkle of
obedience or natural zeal remain in their hearts. Notwithstanding,
she required them to prepare and retain their force in a readiness,
if their [_the rebels'_] stony hearts should drive her to use
extremity.

 But her Highness doubting [_fearing_] that London, being her
Chamber and a city holden of dear price in her princely heart, might,
by WYAT and such ruffens [_ruffians_] as were with him, be in danger
of spoil, to the utter ruin of the same: her Highness therefore, as
a most tender and loving Governess, went the same day [31st January
1554] in her royal person to the Guild Hall to foresee those perils.

[Sidenote: The Queen's speech in the Guild Hall in London.]

Where, among other matter proceeding from her incomparable wisdom,
her Grace declared how she had sent that day two of her Privy Council
to the traitor WYAT: desirous rather to quiet their tumult by mercy
than by the justice of the sword to vanquish: whose most godly heart
fraight[ed] with all mercy and clemency, abhorred from all effusion
of blood.

Her Highness also there shewed the insolent and proud answer returned
from WYAT: whereat the faithful citizens were much offended; and
in plain terms defied him as a most rank traitor, with all his
conjurates.

And touching the Marriage, her Highness affirmed that nothing was
done herein by herself alone, but with consent and advisement of the
whole Council, upon deliberate consultation, that this conjunction
and Second Marriage should greatly advance this realm (whereunto she
was first married) to much honour, quiet, and gain.

"For," quod her Grace, "I am already married to this Common Weal and
the faithful members of the same; the spousal ring whereof I have on
my finger: which never hitherto was, nor hereafter shall be, left
off. Protesting unto you nothing to be more acceptable to my heart,
nor more answerable to my will, than your advancement in wealth and
welfare, with the furtherance of GOD's glory." And to declare her
tender and princely heart towards them, she promised constantly not
to depart from them, although by her Council she had been much moved
to the contrary: but would remain near and prest to adventure the
spense [_shedding_] of her royal blood in defence of them.

Such matter passed from her besides as did so wonderfully enamour the
hearts of the hearers as it was a world to hear with what shouts they
exalted the honour and magnanimity of Queen MARY.

[Sidenote: A malepert Artificer.]

 This done her Grace returned towards Whitehall, and passing through
the streets, being full of people pressing to behold her Grace
wherein they had singular delight and pleasure, one amongst all, most
impudent of all others, stepped forward saying, "Your Grace may do
well to make your Foreward [_Vanguard_] in battle, of your Bishops
and Priests: for they be trusty, and will not deceive you!"

For which words, he was commanded to Newgate: who deserved to be
hanged at the next bough, for example to all others, so impudently
and arrogantly to assault his Sovereign and Queen with such seditious
and traitorous language. The voice went that he was a Hosier. Out of
all doubt, he was a traitor and a heretic; whose heart was wholly in
WYAT's bosom, although his body were absent. For it was not possible
any faithful subject, or true Christian, to utter such shameless
speech to his liege Lady and Princess as he did then. But such is the
fruit of heresy, Contempt of GOD and man; as by daily experience is
seen.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: WYAT's marching to Deptford strand.]

The Thursday next after [1st February 1554], WYAT having fourteen
Ensigns in his Band and not past four thousand men, although they
were accounted of a far greater number, marched to Deptford strand,
eight miles from Dartford and within four miles of London. Where,
upon such advertisement as he received by espial of the Queen's being
in the Guild Hall and the order of the people to her, he remained
that night and the next whole day: divers of his own company doubting
[_suspecting_] by his longer tarrying there than he did in other
places, with other presumptions, that he would have passed the water
[_i.e. the Thames_] into Essex.

[Sidenote: The departure of Master CHRISTOPHER ROPER and Master
DORREL from WYAT.]

His prisoners, as Master CHRISTOPHER ROPER, GEORGE DORREL of Calehill
[and] JOHN TUCKE Esquires, who were kept very straitly, being sickly
and having within the town no convenient harborough or attendance,
were licensed by WYAT, upon promise of their worship to be true
prisoners, to provide for themselves out from the town, where they
best might. But they, thinking no part of their worship stained in
breaking promise with a traitor, sought ways to escape; and came no
more at him.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: WYAT's marching to Southwark.]

 On the Saturday following [3rd February 1554], very early, WYAT
marched to Southwark: where approaching the Gate at London Bridge
foot, [he] called for the opening of the same; which he found not so
ready as he looked for.

After he had been a little while in Southwark, divers of the soldiers
went to Winchester Place [_the town residence of the Bishop of
WINCHESTER_]. Where one of them, being a Gentleman, began to shew his
game before all the cards were full[y] dealed; I mean, to rifle and
spoil: which indeed was the determinate end of their purpose; but the
time was not yet come, nor they come to the place, where they should
begin it.

Whereunto WYAT, having further respect than the young Gentleman had,
shewed himself, with stern and fiery visage, so much to be offended
with his doings that he made divers believe that he would have hanged
him upon the wharf. Which whereof it grew, either of hatred to the
evil, or of policy to purchase credit for a further mischief, as well
the nature and course of rebellion, as also WYAT's own words, may
easily let us understand.

Who, the Monday [22nd January 1554] next afore this stir, devising
with two of his friends for the execution of his pretensed
[_intended_] purpose; one of them at length said unto him, "I have no
doubt but you shall be able to assemble a great force: but how you
shall be able to continue the same with you, having not sufficient
treasure and money, the only bait wherewith the multitude is holden,
I stand much in doubt."

"What then?" quod WYAT.

"Marry," said the other, "methinketh a good way for your provision
thereof, after your force is once gathered, that ye apprehend [Sir
JOHN CHEYNEY] the Lord Warden, the Lord ABERGAVENNY, Sir ROBERT
SOUTHWELL, Sir THOMAS MOYLE, with others; of whose hearts and
affections towards you and your case you stand in doubt: whereby ye
shall not only have them in safety which are most like[ly] within
the Shire to withstand your enterprise; but also provide you both
treasure and money, which they want not, for the relief of your Band."

[Sidenote: WYAT's reckoning of the spoil of the Tower and London.]

 "Ah," quod WYAT, "is this the best counsel ye can give? If we
pretend to keep out Strangers, and begin our quarrel with the spoil
of our own country [_County_] men; what will the whole realm, trow
ye, then deem of us? Nay, your advice is naught; and your way, the
next way to accelerate our confusion. For if we will go forwards in
our matter and make the best of it to our purpose, Spoil and Tyranny
may not be our guides. We must, by all means, devise, and all little
enough, to continue good opinion in the heads of the multitude of
some plausible [_praiseworthy_] end to succeed by our stir: otherwise
we undo ourselves. For perceiving at our entry that our minds run of
spoil: who will not rather resist us, and abide the adventure of that
whereof we bear them in hand; than to be in certain to be spoiled by
us? And I see no cause why you should doubt of money; seeing ye know
that such Gentlemen as are confedered with us, keeping appointment;
their soldiers shall come ready furnished to bear their own charges
for nine days: and our hap shall be very hard if we be not at London
shortly after we stir; and that with so great a company as shall be
out of danger to be stopped by any of the Shire upon such a sudden,
or letted [_hindered_] of entry into London finding half the friends
there as we think to have. And being once in London, and having the
Tower in our hands; I trust you think we shall not lack money long
after if any be to be had there, or in the Aldermen's coffers."

To that said another, that had spoken as yet never a word, "I know
Commoners in London that have more ready money than some of the
Aldermen."

"Soft," quod WYAT, "I pray you in any wise forbear all such talk till
we come to the place where we would be. In mean time let us work
secretly; and by all tokens and signs shew ourselves to favour and
maintain our pretence of Strangers only."

Such and the like communication was between WYAT and two others the
Monday [22nd January] before his rising. Whereby it is evident that
their final intent was to advance themselves by spoil of other men's
goods: although they pretended otherwise.

And to colour [_make pretence of_] the same, WYAT so fell out with
this Gentleman for rifling the Lord Chancellor's House [_i.e., the
House in Southwark of STEPHEN GARDINER, Bishop of WINCHESTER_,] that
he made a number believe he would have hanged him out of hand: had
not BRET and others entreated for him.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The Lord WILLIAM HOWARD, Admiral of England.]

[Sidenote: WYAT's coming into the Porter's Lodge at the Bridge foot.]

[Sidenote: Care away.]

When they had lien in Southwark a day or two, and found themselves
deceived in London: which (by the great diligence and politic
handling of that worthy and faithful Knight, the Lord WILLIAM HOWARD,
Admiral of England, that had the special charge thereof; with the
aid of Sir THOMAS WIGHT, Knight, Mayor of London, his brethren [the
Aldermen] and citizens) was so well preserved as the traitors thereby
were disappointed of that they looked most certainly for--WYAT, as a
man desperate and setting all at sixe[s] and seven, adventuring the
breaking down of a wall out of a house joining to the Gate at the
Bridge foot, whereby he might enter into the leads over the Gate,
came down into the Lodge about eleven of the clock in the night:
where he found the Porter in a slumber; [and] his wife with others
waking, watching a coal.

But seeing WYAT, they began suddenly to start as greatly amazed.

"Whist!" quod WYAT, "as you love your lives, sit you still! You shall
have no hurt!"

Glad were they of that warranty, pardye! What should they do, people
better accustomed with the tankard of beer to pass forth the night,
than acquainted with target and spear to endure the fight.

WYAT and a few with him went forth as far as the Drawbridge [in the
middle of London Bridge]: on the further side whereof he saw the Lord
Admiral, the Lord Mayor, Sir ANDREW JUDD, and one or two others in
consultation for ordering of the Bridge: whereunto he gave diligent
ear a good time, and [was] not seen. At length [he] conceived by
their talk more than he could digest; and, perceiving the great
ordnance there bent, returned, saying to his mates, "This place is
too hot for us."

       *       *       *       *       *

And when he was come to his colleges [_colleagues_], and declared
upon his exploit what he had heard and seen; they then all together
fell to a new council what was to be done.

[Sidenote: The rebels at their wits' end.]

Some would then return to Greenwich, and so pass the water into Essex
(whereby their company as they thought should increase), and enter
into London by Ald Gate.

And some would to Kingston-upon-Thames, and so further west[ward].

And some, of the which WYAT himself was chief, would return into
Kent to meet with the Lord ABERGAVENNY, the Sheriff, Sir THOMAS
MOYLE, Sir THOMAS KEMP, Sir THOMAS FINCH, that were at Rochester,
coming on WYAT's back with a great company well appointed: falsely
persuading himself that he should find among them more friends than
enemies. But whether his desire to return into Kent grew upon hope he
had to find aid there; or whether it was to shift himself away; it
was much doubted of his own company. And some of them that knew him
well, except they were much deceived, reported not long before their
execution, that his desire to retire into Kent was only to shift
himself over the sea.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The Lord Warden's being at Rochester towards WYAT.]

The Lord Warden [Sir JOHN CHEYNEY] being now come to Rochester, as
ye heard, and very honourably furnished with horse and men well
appointed, to no small number, entering into consultation with such
Gentlemen as were there, for the better proceeding in their service,
shewed a great desire to accelerate the onset upon the traitors: lest
malice should impute both his former and present stay rather to want
of forwardness than to good policy. Wherefore he desired to pursue
after them with all expedition.

[Sidenote: The Earl of PEMBROKE, the Queen's Lieutenant.]

 Whereunto the Gentlemen, being then in arms with him, said, "As
for your Lordship's contation [_delay_] hitherto, it shall be
weighed not as fools by fancy and malice deem; but as wise men shall
measure it by their discretion of wisdom. We see not but unadvised
hardiness [_rashness_] and preproperous [? _preposterous_] haste in
most matters have these two companions: Error in the beginning, and
Repentance in the end. And for this our case, whoso understandeth the
same cannot but confess your Lordship's deliberate forbearing to have
proceeded of great wisdom, as wherein haste could little prevail.
And whereas your Lordship is so desirous to pursue after WYAT and
his Band, you see how they have lien in Southwark and within four
miles of London these four days [Thursday 1st, to Sunday 4th February
1554]; and yet not meddled with by the Queen's army, being so near:
which is neither for want of men, nor of forwardness in that noble
Gentleman, the Earl of PEMBROKE, the Queen's Lieutenant; but upon
great policy and further respect no doubt than we seem to conceive.

"Wherefore your Lordship may do better to pause, and first to
advertise the Queen's Majesty and the Lord Lieutenant [the Earl of
PEMBROKE] both what your Lordship, upon grave and deep consideration,
hath conceived in this doubtful time, and also in what readiness your
Lordship is, and other Gentlemen with you: whose pleasures known, we
may then happily proceed in service; both with good contentation to
them above [us], and best surety for ourselves. Otherwise if fortune
should not favour our journey [_expedition_], there may be thought in
us more impotent will to haste than provident policy to speed. And
danger hereby can none follow, our enemies lying between her Grace's
army and us: considering withal that London is so well furnished, and
so willing to resist their entry."

Whereupon the Lord Warden went in post to the Queen; leaving the Lord
ABERGAVENNY and the rest of the Gentlemen with his and their Bands
until his return: which was very shortly after. [See Vol. IV. p. 92.]

 Who, according to his first purpose, with the rest of the
Gentlemen, marched forth towards WYAT. Which who had seen so well
appointed, and with what willing hearts they went; and had known
withal the faithful dealing of sundry Gentlemen besides in other
parts of the Shire, ought to say, That notwithstanding there were
many evil; yet were there many worthy, Gentlemen and honest faithful
yeomen in Kent, free from WYAT's conspiracy: and that the same
[would] receive some injury at his hand that, taking upon him to set
forth any Chronicle, should name only four Gentlemen of this Shire
to be workers against WYAT. For though every man pursued him not in
the beginning, many of them dwelling far from him: yet were they as
well occupied where they were, and as much towards WYAT's confusion,
by staying and withholding [a] great force, through their earnest
persuasions and labour, that else would have been with WYAT.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now to return to WYAT: whom in this meantime BRET and the other
Captains espying to have a desire to be gone, dissembling the
knowledge thereof, [they] wrought all the secret means they could
devise to stay his going; as having the weight of their lives
depending upon this enterprise as well as he.

One of them, by agreement in their consultation, said to him: "You
see," quod he, "with what difficulty you keep your soldiers here:
notwithstanding they be in a town where they are in a manner as pent
in, and thereby the more uneasy to get away; being so narrowly looked
to. And now if you shall leave the town and retire into Kent, as
some of your company suspect you will, whereby they and all others
shall judge you to be in despair of the aid of London; the hope
whereof hath been hitherto the greatest occasion of stay of such as
be already here, and the comfort for the coming of others to the
increase of your power: you may assure yourself that such as be here
will not tarry long after with you, finding time to escape as they
shall easily enough, being at large; nor such as be absent will have
haste to repair unto you, when they shall perceive you to be in
despair of London. And so you shall weaken yourself, to the comfort
of your enemies and discomfort of your friends."

BRET, under colour [_pretence_] of singular affection to WYAT,
devising an apt occasion to avoid suspicion (which wanted not among
them), required to speak with him apart; and having him alone, said:

[Sidenote: BRET's words to WYAT.]

"It shall not be amiss that, for your own surety, you have in
remembrance the effect of the several Proclamations made at Dartford:
the one by Master WILLIAM ROPER, wherein you were betraitored; the
other by Master APPULTON, which, as I hear, was also made at London
and in other parts of the realm, wherein is promised the inheritance
of One Hundred Pounds [in] land to such as can apprehend and present
you to the Queen.

"Now what fantasies may grow into the heads of your own fellows,
for the safeguard of themselves; of whom you have had already some
experience, it is to be doubted: or what may grow in the heads of
your soldiers when, failing of the aid of London, they shall be in
despair of your enterprise, it is also to be doubted. On the other
part, when such of Kent, on whom it seemeth you repose some trust,
shall hear of your retire: their disposition perhaps will be much
changed. And therefore it standeth you in hand to look to the matter
substantially."

[Sidenote: Trustless traitors!]

WYAT (having the same confidence in BRET, that BRET would WYAT to
have had in others; remembering his most deceitful treason to the
Queen, contrary to the trust reposed in him for the conduct of the
White Coats; and feeling his grief doubled, and his desire to convey
himself away so much the more increased, by BRET's secret talk with
him); as a stricken deer, wandereth aside, all alone complaining with
himself [of] his most unhappy fate.

And soon after calling THOMAS ISLEY unto him, said, "Ah, cousin
ISLEY, in what extreme misery are we? The revolt of these Captains
with the White Coats seemed a benefit in the beginning; and as a
thing sent by GOD for our good, and to comfort us forward in our
enterprise: which I now feel to our confusion. Ah, cousin, this it is
to enter such a quarrel, which notwithstanding we now see must have a
ruthful end; yet of necessity we must prosecute the same."

[Sidenote: WYAT's marching to Kingston.]

WYAT as desperate (finding others to accord with BRET's opinion, upon
his conference with them: by whom for direction of his traitorous
journey [_expedition_] he was chiefly advised; although for this
shifting away there were others whom he better trusted) marched, the
Tuesday being Shrove Tuesday [6th February 1554], out of Southwark
to Kingston upon Thames, ten miles distant; where they arrived about
four of the clock in the afternoon.

[Sidenote: WYAT's passage at Kingston.]

And finding thirty feet or thereabouts of the bridge taken
away, saving the posts that were left standing; WYAT practiced
[_bargained_] with two mariners to swim over to convey a barge unto
him. Which the mariners, tempted with great promises of preferment,
did. Wherein WYAT and certain with him were conveyed over: who, in
the time that the number of the soldiers baited [_lunched_] in the
town, caused the bridge to be trimmed with ladders planks and beams,
the same tied together with ropes and boards as, by ten of the clock
in the night, [it] was in such plight that both his ordnance and Band
of men might pass over without peril.

And so, about eleven of the clock in the same night, WYAT with his
Band, without either resistance or peril, marched over the bridge
towards London; having such a loving heart in his body to the Queen
as before day he meant to have been at the Court Gate [of Whitehall].
Which he could never have attempted, having any sparkle of that good
zeal in his breast to the Queen's surety as, to further his treason,
he outwardly pretended to the World; considering the danger that
might have grown, by the fear thereof, to her Grace.

But, as GOD would, partly by weariness of his soldiers, and partly by
the breach [_break down_] of the wheels that carried his ordnance;
it was nine of the clock of the day following, being Ash Wednesday
[7th February 1554], before he came so far as Hyde Park: where his
courage, being tofore as ye have heard not very lusty, began now
utterly to die; beholding as it were before his face the present bane
and confusion whereunto his malicious intent was shaped.

Yet desperation being his lewd guide, he marcheth forward; and
cometh within the power of Sir WILLIAM HERBERT, Earl of PEMBROKE;
being, that day, the Queen's Lieutenant General in the field. Who
yet (with divers other Noblemen and faithful subjects, being then
in arms with him prest and ready to receive so impudent a race of
traitorous rebels to their deserved breakfast) understanding, partly
by sure spial, partly by their own view, that the rebels exceeded
not the number of four thousand, and most of them naked [_unarmed_],
void of all policy and skill; considering withal that they could not
set upon WYAT and his whole Band but great effusion of blood should
follow, the Queen's army being so greedy to be revenged and the other
so impotent to resist, determined rather by policy to achieve the
victory than by bloodshed to confound the rebels. Wherein they should
please GOD, answer the Queen's merciful expectation, and purchase
unto themselves most renown and honour of that day's service.

Upon these resolutions, they permitted WYAT with the fore part of his
Band to pass quietly along; and through between the Queen's Majesty's
Horsemen: the Lord CLINTON being Marshal of the Field and Captain of
the barbed horses and Demi-lances on the south side; JACK of MUSGRAVE
being Captain of the Light Horsemen on the north side. The great
ordnance being charged to shoot full upon the breast of the rebels
coming eastward: the Earl of PEMBROKE with the Main Battle of footmen
as well for handguns, morishpikes, bows, and bills, standing in
goodly array on the north-east side, behind the said great ordnance,
ready to set upon the rebels in the face coming towards Holborn.

       *       *       *       *       *

WYAT, coming in the forefront of his Band, perceiving that he was
thus beset with horsemen on both sides, the great ordnance and the
footmen before his face north-eastward; so that he could no ways
escape, but necessarily must fall into their hands, although for
policy he was suffered and a great part of his men to pass so far
quietly and without resistance through the Horsemen--he suddenly
forsook his way intended through Holborn; and, with might and main,
as fast as they could, he and his mates ran down underneath the
Park Wall of brick adjoining to the Queen's Manor House, called St.
James's.

The Lord CLINTON, observing his time; first with his Demi-lances
brake their array, and divided WYAT's Band in two parts. Then came
the Light Horsemen, who so hardly pursued the tail of his Band, that
they slew many, hurt more, and took most of them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Whilst the said Horsemen were thus in fight with the tail of his
Band; WYAT himself and 500 men or thereabouts peked [_pushed_] on
still all along under St. James's Park Wall until he came to Charing
Cross: where divers of the Queen's Household servants and others
fought with them, and in the end killed 16 of the rebels.

Nevertheless WYAT, having escaped with a part of his company,
marching along in battle [ar]ray, entered into Fleet street, and came
over Fleet Bridge towards Lud Gate.

And although no man resisted his passage through the streets
thus far: yet, when at length he perceived that he had no help of
friends at London and the suburbs as he looked for, [he] left his men
standing still in battle array; and rode back as far as the Temple
Bar Gate, with a naked [_drawn_] sword in his hands the hilts upward,
as some report.

At which Gate, he would have gone through towards Charing Cross, to
the residue of his men: but he was then stopped by force, of the
Queen's true subjects; who would not suffer him to pass without
Temple Bar.

At length came one Sir MAURICE BERKELEY Knight unto him, and required
him to consider that he could not prevail in this wicked purpose; and
that his men were all taken and slain in the Field: and therefore
willed him to cease off from any further occasion of bloodshed;
exhorting him to yield himself prisoner, and to stand to the Queen's
mercy.

Which to do, WYAT refused; and said That he would rather be slain
than yield to any man.

And yet, nevertheless, as it chanced, there came a Herald of Arms
immediately, riding in the Queen's Coat Armour to this place: to
his Coat shortly after WYAT submitted himself prisoner; and so went
to the Court at Westminster, and there was brought before the Privy
Council; and shortly after, within one hour, sent from thence to the
Tower of London [a] prisoner.

       *       *       *       *       *

Amongst other things this is to be remembered, that whiles the said
WYAT and certain of his men, as aforesaid, were coming thus towards
Fleet street; a certain Captain of the said rebels, with divers of
his soldiers, returned from Charing Cross down to the Court Gate at
Whitehall, and gave a larum [_an alarm_] before the Gate: and shot
divers arrows into the said Court, the Gate being open. Insomuch that
one Master NICHOLAS ROCKEWOOD, being a Gentleman of Lincoln's Inn and
in armour at the said Court Gate, was shot through his nose with an
arrow by the rebels. [_See EDWARD UNDERHILL's account of this fright
at_ Vol. IV., p. 92.]

For the coming of the said rebels was not looked for that way: but
[it was] thought that the Queen's army should have joined battle with
them in the Field; according to promise made by the said WYAT on his
behalf: who promised that he would come to the Queen's Foot Battle
[_Infantry_], and fight with them pike against pike and man to man.
Which, when it came to the very point, he refused; and shrank [by]
a bye way by Saint James's Park Wall for his refuge, as you have
heard before: where many of them were slain by Horsemen, so that they
came not nigh the Queen's power of the Foot Battle. Which increased
some desperate boldness in the despairing rebels: not without great
discomfiture to all the Court and the city of London; perceiving that
he was himself, and so many rebels with him, come through the Queen's
army thus far.

Whereupon grew great admiration [_wonderment_] amongst them that knew
not their doings in the Field: how for policy, and to avoid much
manslaughter, WYAT was suffered purposely to pass along. Insomuch
divers timorous and cold hearted soldiers came to the Queen, crying,
"All is lost! Away! Away! A barge! A barge!"

Yet her Grace never changed her cheer, nor removed one foot out of
the House: but asked for the Lord of PEMBROKE, in whom her Grace had
worthily reposed great confidence.

Answer being made, That he was in the Field.

"Well then," quod her Grace, "fall to prayer! and I warrant you, we
shall hear better news anon. For my Lord will not deceive me, I know
well. If he would, GOD will not: in whom my chief trust is, who will
not deceive me." And indeed, shortly after, news came all of victory,
[and] how that WYAT was taken.

       *       *       *       *       *

This day [7th February 1554], the Judges in the Common Place
[_Common Pleas_] at Westminster sat in armour. The Mayor, Aldermen,
and the householders of the city, by four of the clock in the
morning, were in armour: the Lord WILLIAM HOWARD, High Admiral, being
amongst them. Who, as I have tofore said, was by the Queen's Majesty
appointed Captain General and Lieutentant for the time, to confer in
counsel and join in execution with the Lord Mayor and his Brethren
[the Aldermen] for the sure and speedy guarding and warding of the
city: to the preservation whereof the Queen's Grace had special
regard. The Gates were diligently watched; every Gate with 100 men:
Moor Gate being closed up and rampired.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus was this wily heretic and open traitor WYAT, and his complices,
brought to their confusion; and to the end which never missed all
such malicious[ly] disposed wretches. Partly by the wisdom and policy
of him that was armed in the Field, the worthy Earl of PEMBROKE; but
chiefly by the mighty hand of GOD, at the contemplation of her high
merits and virtues; who remaining in the closet of stedfast hope and
confidence, being appointed with the armour of faith, fought with
ardent and continual prayer, in perfect devotion, under the banner
and ensign of GOD: who indeed alone gave this victory, and alone
without policy or might of man overthrew her enemies; yet so that
he therewith declared his special favour and pleasure towards his
servant, that noble Knight, the Earl of PEMBROKE, in appointing him
chief champion this day to defend his chosen and elect Virgin; whose
faith hath not been wavering in his Catholic religion nor his truth
and service doubtful at any time towards his Prince.

       *       *       *       *       *

WYAT, as is said, was committed to the Tower. So were divers other
Gentlemen: as, soon after, was HENRY GREY Duke of SUFFOLK and his two
brethren.

[Sidenote: The Duke of SUFFOLK's apprehension by the Earl of
HASTINGS.]

The Duke, being so hardly pursued by the Lord HASTINGS, Earl of
HUNTINGDON, was by him apprehended in Leicestershire. Whereby he
declared himself, as well in honour and unspotted loyalty as in
parentage and patrimony, to succeed his great grandfather the Lord
HASTINGS; whose fidelity and stedfast truth towards King EDWARD IV.
and his children, the Chronicles report to his immortal honour.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of the common people there was such a number taken in the chase by
the Earl of PEMBROKE that besides the usual gaols, sundry churches in
London were made places for their safeguard, till order was taken for
their enlargement.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Duke [of SUFFOLK] was arraigned by his Peers, and by verdict
found guilty of Treason, before the Duke of NORFOLK, being Lord
Constable, and that day his Judge. Both he, and his brother THOMAS,
at several days, made their end at Tower Hill, by loss of their heads.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sundry others of WYAT's complices, being arraigned, and condemned
upon their confession of treason, suffered in divers parts of the
Shire, as:

HENRY ISLEY Knight, THOMAS ISLEY his brother, and WALTER MENTEL, at
Maidstone; where WYAT first displayed his standard.

ANTHONY KNEVET, WILLIAM his brother, with another of the MANTELS, at
Sevenoaks.

BRET, at Rochester, hanging in chains.

And of the common sort very few were executed, save only of the White
Coats; that, to say truth, deserved it trebly.

WYAT himself, last of all, was arraigned at Westminster; the Earl
of SUSSEX, Sir EDWARD HASTINGS, and Sir THOMAS CORNWALLIS being his
Judges: where and before whom, he most earnestly craved life; not by
plea of his matter or justifying of himself, but by earnest suit, in
humble submission, for the Queen's mercy.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: WYAT's words at his arraignment.]

It seemeth not amiss here to make report of such special words as by
him were uttered at his arraignment: which I myself heard, standing
not ten feet from him at that time. By the which words may appear
both what he himself thought of his doings, how much he misliked the
same, and also how penitent and sorrowful he was therefor.


 _Certain-words proceeding from WYAT at his arraignment._

MY Lords, I must confess myself guilty; as, in the end, truth must
enforce me to say: and that I am justly plagued for my sins, which
most grievously I have committed against GOD; who hath suffered me to
fall into this beastly brutishness and horrible offence of treason.
And lo, in me the like end; as all such that have attempted like
enterprizes, from the beginning have had. For peruse the Chronicles
throughout, and you shall find that rebellion never from the
beginning prospered. For the love of GOD, all you Gentlemen that be
here present remember! and be here taught by the examples past, and
also by this my present infelicity and heinous offence!

"O most miserable, mischievous, brutish, and beastly furious
imagination of mine! For I thought that by the marriage of the
Prince of Spain, this realm should have been in danger: and that
I, that have lived a free born man, should, with my country, have
been brought to bondage and servitude by aliens and Strangers. Which
brutish beastliness then seemed reason; and wrought so far and to
such effect as it led me to the practice and use of this committed
treason: that now understanding the great commodity honour and surety
which this realm shall receive by this marriage; if it shall please
the Queen to be merciful to me there is no man living that shall be
more trusty and faithful to serve her Grace; no, nor more ready to
die at her Highness's foot, whatsoever the quarrel be."

Thus far touching WYAT's words at his arraignment, I thought not
superfluous here to report, to the end that all others blindly fallen
into the same error, would by the example of WYAT rise also to
repentance; as well confessing to the World with open voice their
detestable mischief, as also from the very heart with tears detesting
the same; as, in utterance of the former words, he plentifully did.

       *       *       *       *       *

He lost his head at Tower Hill; and his body, divided, was set up in
divers parts about London.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: Of such as did penance by wearing halters before the
Queen.]

Other poor men, being taken in WYAT's Band, and kept a time in
divers churches and prisons without the city [of London], kneeling
all, with halters about their necks, before the Queen's Highness at
Whitehall; her Grace mercifully pardoned, to the number of 600: who
immediately thereupon, with great shouts, casting their halters up
into the air, cried "GOD save your Grace! GOD save your Grace!"

Howbeit sundry of them that did wear halters afore the Queen's
Highness were afterwards, by means, called before the Justices in the
country to be arraigned: but her Grace, being moved thereof by the
Sheriff, would them to be no further vexed.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus have ye heard of WYAT's end, and [of] some of his complices:
by whose lamentable tragedy, and others of like sort that happened
in our Age, not only we, but such as shall succeed us, may be
abundantly taught to foresee what it is to enter into rebellion. For
neither could WYAT with his stoutness, nor yet with the pretence
of his quarrel  with a meaning to defend his country
from overrunning by Strangers, nor yet through the aid of sundry
conspirators of great power, ne by any other policy, prevail.

       *       *       *       *       *

Six of the Gentlemen that were offenders were pardoned, going to
their execution, by the Queen's clemency, at Rochester: as were also
all the others of the whole Kentish Gentlemen remitted; a few of the
rankest excepted, that, only for example, suffered.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Queen's Highness, not long after, sent out her Commission
to Sir THOMAS MOYLE, Sir JOHN GUILDFORD, Sir THOMAS KEMP; WARRAM
SENTLEGER, THOMAS ROYDON, CHRISTOPHER ROPER, GEORGE DORRELL of
Calehill, GEORGE FANE, JOHN TUCKE, JOHN ROBARTS, THOMAS LOVELACE,
JOHN LEONARD, Esquires; with others: not only to bail and set at
large such as were in prison in the country [_County of Kent_] for
that offence, being of no small number; but also to compound [_fine_]
with the offenders, according to the quality of their offences.
Which manner of order, being not heard of in the like case, or at
the least very rarely, declared a singular clemency and benignity in
the Queen: that, being followed so cruelly, would yet be so moved
with pity as to vouchsafe to answer them with so much lenity, in the
executing of so few, in comparison to so great a number and so large
a cause; being all in her Grace's mercy to dispose at her pleasure.
And besides [to] suffer the rest to escape with so small abashment
of their countenance [_small amount of fine_] after so heinous [an]
offence.

       *       *       *       *       *

He that shall peruse this Story diligently, and consider all parts
thereof exactly, with remembrance of things past since the beginning
of the Queen's most happy reign, must of force recognize, of what
condition soever he be, the magnificence mercy and fortitude of
this most noble Princess, as from time to time with such patience
to endure so great malice of her own subjects, with such lenity to
forbear the revenge of so intolerable outrage, with such mercy in
the end to pardon and remit so heinous and great offenders. Happy
was it with those heinous offenders that her Grace's most worthy and
honourable Council were so agreeable to her virtuous inclination! as
inclined rather to pursue merciful pardon for continuance of life
than to prosecute revenge by execution of death.

It is to be wished by all good men with one assent that, provoked
with so great clemency, these degenerates reform themselves! and
forbear thus to attempt so gracious a Princess! unto whom, by GOD's
authority, the sword is not vainly committed; lest thereby they
procure to themselves damnation in seeking by such outrage their own
death and confusion. From the desire whereof we see, by a number of
evident arguments, the Queen's Highness and her honourable Council to
be so far as, by all means they can imagine, they seek to eschew that
they by most wilful and malicious means follow to their subversion.


[The following are omitted for want of space.]

_An earnest Conference with the Degenerates
 and Seditious, for the search of the cause
 of their great disorder._

 _A Table [or Index]._


 Imprinted at London by ROBERT CALEY within the
 Precinct of the late dissolved House of the
 Grey Friars, now converted to a Hospital
 called Christ's Hospital
 [_The present Blue Coat
 School_],
 The 10th day of January 1555.


 _Cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum._

    [Footnote 1: This account of WYAT's Rebellion, printed by
     JOHN MICHEL at Canterbury, has apparently perished.--E. A.]

[Illustration]




[Illustration]

  Love's Garland:

  _OR_

  Posies for Rings, Handkerchers, and
  Gloves; and such pretty Tokens that
  Lovers send their Loves.

  _Read, Skan, then Judge._

  _LONDON_

  Printed by N. O. for JOHN SPENCER, and
  are to be sold at his shop on London
  Bridge.  1624.

[Illustration]




[Illustration]




 _Love's Garland._


    1.
    _The Posy of a Handkercher from a young Man to his Love._
    LOVE is a chain whose links of gold,
    Two hearts within one bosom hold.

    2.
    _Another signifying the mutual love that should be between
    Man and Wife._
    In love this good doth still remain,
    Though both do give, yet both doth gain.

    3.
    _Another from a doubtful Lover._
    By CUPID's bow, by weal or woe!

    4.
    _A Posy sent with a Pair of Gloves, showing what a young Man should
    most respect in his choice._
    I love thy Beauty, Virtue most!
    For Virtue's found when Beauty's lost.

    5.
    _A Posy of a Ring, from a crossed Lover._
    No hap so hard as love debarred!

    6.
    _Another._
    A happy breast where love doth rest!

    7.
    All perfect love is from above.
    The sight of this deserves a kiss.

    8.
    _A young man to his Love, wrought in a Scarf._
    A constant heart within a woman's breast,
    Is Ophir gold within an ivory chest.

    9.
    _Her kind Answer._
    Of such a treasure then are thou possesst,
    For thou hast such a heart in such a breast.

    10.
    _The Posy of a Ring._
    To me till death, as dear as breath.

    11.
    _Another._
    In thee a flame, in me the same.

    12.
    Where once I choose, I ne'er refuse.

    13.
    _Another._
    No cross so strange, my love to change.

    14.
    _The Posy of a Handkercher from a young Man to his Love._
    Pray take me kindly, Mistress! kiss me too!
    My master swears he'll do as much for you!

    15.
    _A passionate Lover's Posy._
    Till that from thee I hope to gain:
    All sweet is sour; all pleasure, pain!

    16.
    _Another of the same cut._
    Thy love, my light; disdain, my night.

    17.
    _Another._
    Tell my Mistress that a Lover
    True as Love itself, doth love her.

    18.
    _Another where the Lover doth protest and request._
    Hand, heart, and all I have, is thine!
    Hand, heart, and all thou hast, be mine!

    19.
    _Another._
    As you find me, mind me!

    20.
    _The Posy of a young Man to his Love showing the simplicity and
    truth of Love._
    Two hands, two feet, two ears, two eyes:
    One tongue, one heart, where true love lies.

    21.
    _Another from a Lover, far from his Love._
    Though from mine eye; yet from my heart,
    No distance e'er can make thee part!

    22.
    _Another of the same mark._
    Though absence may annoy:
    To me, 'tis a double joy.

    23.
    _A Posy in a Ring._
    Be true to me, as I to thee.

    24.
    _Another._
    God above increase our love!

    25.
    _Another._
    All thine is mine.

    26.
    _Another._
    Ne'er joy in heart that seeks to part.

    27.
    _Another sent with a pair of Bracelets._
    Fair as VENUS; as DIANA
    Chaste and pure is my SUSANNA.

    28.
    _The Posy of a young Man to his Love, shewing what a Woman should
    be._
    If Woman should to Man be woe,
    She should not be what GOD did make her:
    That was to be a helper; so
    GOD then did give, Man now doth take her.

    29.
    _The Posy of a Maid cast off, expressing how light[ly] she takes
    it._
    Tell him that had my heart in chase,
    And now at other games doth fly:
    Green Sickness ne'er shall spoil my face;
    Nor puling "Heigh Ho's!" wet mine eye!

    30.
    _The Posy of a Ring._
    I do rejoice in thee my choice.

    31.
    _A Posy of a scornful Lover._
    Since thy hot love so quickly's done:
    Do thou but go, I'll strive to run!

    32.
    _A Posy shewing Man and Wife to be one._
    Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone;
    From one made two are two made one.

    33.

    _Posies for Rings._
    As true to thee, as death to me.

    34.
    _Another._
    If thou deny, I wish to die.

    35.
    _Another._
    In trust, be just.

    36.
    _Another._
    I live if "I [_Ay_]": If "No," I die.

    37.
    _Another._
    No bitter smart can change my heart!

    38.
    _Another._
    Rather die than faith deny!

    39.
    _Another._
    Not lust, but love; as time shall prove.

    40.
    _Another._
    To love as I do thee,
    Is to love none but me.

    41.
    _A Posy sent by a young Man to his Love in a Handkercher, in which
    was wrought the fashion of a Heart with wings._
    Of all bad things, a heart with wings is still the worst;
    And he that meets with one so fleet, of all's accurst.

    42.
    _The Maiden's reply in a Handkercher, in which was the shape of a
    Heart with an arrow through it._
    A flying Heart, a piercing dart doth well deserve:
    So be it with me, if I from thee shall ever swerve!

    43.
    Thou mine, I thine.

    44.
    _Another._
    Be true to me as I to thee.

    45.
    _A young Maid to her Love in a Scarf._
    She that of all doth love thee dearest,
    Doth send thee this; which as thou wearest
    And oft dost look on, think on me!
    As I by thine do think on thee.

    46.
    _From a young Man to his Love wrought in a Silk Girdle_.
    Till death divide, whate'er betide!

    47.
    _Another._
    The World's a Lottery! My prize
    A love that's fair, as chaste, as wise.

    48.
    _A young Man to his Love, describing the power and ever
    flourishing virtue of Love._
    Love till Doomsday in his prime;
    Like APOLLO robed in gold:
    Though it have been as long as Time;
    Yet still is young, though Time be old.

    49.
    _Another._
    My promise past shall ever last.

    50.
    _From a young man to his Love shewing that Virtue and Beauty
    should be together._
    Thy beauty much, thy virtue such, my heart hath fired:
    The first alone is worse than none; but both, admired.

    51.
    _The Posy of a pitiful Lover writ in a Riband Carnation three
    pennies broad, and wound about a fair branch of Rosemary; upon which
    he wittily plays thus_:
    Rosemary, ROSE, I send to thee;
    In hope that thou wilt marry me.
    Nothing can be sweet, ROSE!
    More sweeter unto HARRY,
    Than marry ROSE:
    Sweeter than this Rosemary.

    52.
    _The Sweet Reply, in a conceit of the same cut, sent by
    ROSE, with a vial of Rosewater of her making._
    Thy sweet commands again, my sweetest HARRY!
    My sweet Rosewater for thy sweet Rosemary:
    By which, sweet HAL, sweet ROSE doth let thee see,
    Thy love's as sweet to her as hers to thee.

    53.
    _A wanton Lover's wish sent in a Handkercher with a Cupid wrought
    in the middle._
    To me by far more fair is my fair ANNE
    Than sweet-cheeked LEDA, with her silver swan:
    That I ne'er saw, but have the picture seen;
    And wished myself between thine arms, sweet NAN.

    54.
    _For a Ring._
    Desire like fire doth still aspire.

    55.
    _A Posy sent with a pair of Bracelets._
    Mine eye did see, my heart did choose;
    True love doth bind till death doth loose.

    56.
    _Another sent with a silk Girdle._
    Accept of this, my heart withal;
    My love is great, though this be small.

    57.
    _Another sent with a rich pair of Gloves._
    This for a certain truth true love approves.
    "The heart's not where it lives, but where it loves."

    58.
    _For Rings._
    Heart's content can ne'er repent.

    59.
    _Another._
    My heart and I until I die.

    60.
    Not two but one till life be gone.

    61.
    _A Lover's conceit upon a Bracelet and Partlet_ [neck-kerchief, or
    ruff]; _sent with a pair of amber Bracelets._
    Bracelets I'll give, embrace let's ever!
    Let Partlets go, for part let's never.

    62.
    Love ever, or love never.

    63.
    _A Posy sent by a young Man to his Love, with a Looking Glass._
    Be true as fair, then past compare!

    64.
    _For a Ring._
    A woman kind, all joy of mind.

    65.
    As I to thee, so wish to me!

    66.
    _A drooping Lover's conceit, playing upon the word._
    Hard and Heart in sound are near;
    And both within thy breast I fear.

    67.
    _Her coy and nipping Reply, in his own invention._
    The sound's as near in Brace and Brass,
    In Hose and Horse, in Ace and Ass.

    68.
    _The Posy of a young Man, sent with a Scarf._
    For one and love, some say are blind:
    I say they see, if thou prove kind.

    69.
    _The Posy of a Handkercher._
    Love and Wine in this degree,
    The elder better still they be:
    So our long suit then shall be true,
    "Change not thy old Love for a new!"

    70.
    _A Posy sent by a young Maiden to her Love, plaited in a Bracelet
    of her own hair._
    When this about thine arm doth rest,
    Remember her that loves thee best!

    71.
   _Another from a young Man to his Love protesting constancy._
    To thee as constant as the sun to day:
    Till from this light, I must be forced away.

    72.
   _A Posy sent with a silk Girdle._
    VENUS naked in her chamber,
    Wounds more deep than MARS in armour.

    73.
    _The Maid's Answer._
    If such a wound you fear;
    Take heed you come not there!

    74.
    _A drooping Lover's Posy, sent with a pair of Gloves._
    'Tween hope and sad despair I sail;
    Thy help I crave!
    My grief the sea, thy breath the sail
    May sink or save.

    75.
    _Another of the same kind._
    Hope and despair attend me still:
    Hope strives to save; despair, to kill!

    76.
    Lust loves to range:
    Love knows no change.

    77.
    Thine mine, mine thine.

    78.
    Both must be one, or one be none.

    79.
    Love ever, or love never!

    80.
    _A neglected Lover, to his Mistress._
      'Tis true as old, "Hot Love, soon cold!"

    81.
    _Another expressing the power of Love._

    Who is't withstands,
    When Love commands?

    82.
    _Short Posies for Rings in prose._
     The loadstone of Love is love.

    83.
    Be true to the end!

    84.
    I live in hope.

    85.
    I like my choice.

    86.
    No change in Virtue's choice!

    87.
    Keep me in mind!

    88.
    Desire hath no rest.

    89.
    I present, thee absent.

    90.
    Not the gift but the giver.

    91.
    Be firm in faith!

    92.
    This and myself.

    93.
    I choose thee, not to change.

    94.
    Advisèd choice admits no change.

    95.
    Accept my goodwill!

    96.
    I love no lack.

    97.
    The heart lives where it loves.

    98.
    Not me, nor mine; but ours.

    99.
    Thy [?], my wish.

    100.
    Love is the bond of Peace.

    101.
    No life to Love!

    102.
    Remember this, and give a kiss!

    103.
    Thy love I crave, mine thou shalt have.

 _Good Counsel._
    If poor thou art, yet patient bide!
    For after ebb may come a tide:
    Yet at full sea, keep water store!
    That afterward thou want no more.

 _On the World._
    The World's a City furnishèd with spacious streets:
    And Death's the Market Place; whereat all creatures meet.

    When GOD made all, he made all good; So Woman was, if she
    had stood: Though Woman was the cause of fall; Yet JESUS'
    blood made amends for all.

 _On a Good Woman._
    A wise man poor is like a Sacred Book that's never read.
    To himself he lives, though to the World seems dead:
    Yet this Age counts more of a golden fool
    Than of a thread-bare Saint, nursed up in Wisdom's School.

FINIS.




  The True Report
  of the burning of the Steeple
  and Church of Paul's
  in London.


 _Jeremiah_ xviii. [7, 8.]

 I will speak suddenly against a Nation, or against a Kingdom,
 to pluck it up, and to root it out, and destroy it. But if that
 Nation against whom I have pronounced, turn from their
 wickedness; I will repent of the plague that I
 thought to bring upon them.

  Imprinted at London, at the
  West end of Paul's Church, at
  the sign of the _Hedgehog_,
  by William Seres.

  _Cum privilegio ad imprimendum solum.
  Anno 1561, the 10th of June._




[Illustration]




 _The True Report of the burning of the
 Steeple and Church of
 Paul's in London._


ON Wednesday, being the 4th day of June in the year of our Lord 1561
(and in the 3rd year of the reign of our Sovereign Lady ELIZABETH,
by the Grace of God, Queen of England France and Ireland, Defender
of the Faith, &c.), between one and two of the clock at afternoon,
was seen a marvellous great fiery lightning; and immediately ensued
a most terrible hideous crack of thunder, such as seldom hath been
heard; and that, by estimation of sense, directly over the city of
London. At which instant, the corner of a turret of the Steeple of
St Martin's Church within Lud Gate was torn; and divers great stones
casten down; and a hole broken through the roof and timber of the
said Church by the fall of the same stones.

For divers persons (in time of the said tempest, being on the river
of Thames; and others being in the fields near adjoining to the city)
affirmed that they saw a long and spear-pointed flame of fire, as
it were, run through the top of the broche [_or spire_] or shaft of
Paul's Steeple; from the East, westward. And some of the parish of St
Martin's, then being in the street, did feel a marvellous strong air
or whirlwind, with a smell like brimstone, coming from Paul's Church;
and withal heard a rush of the stones which fell from their Steeple
into the Church.

Between four and five of the clock, a smoke was espied by divers to
break out under the bowl of the said shaft of Paul's; and namely
[_particularly_] by PETER JOHNSON, Principal Registrar to the Bishop
of LONDON; who immediately brought word to the Bishop's House.

But, suddenly after, as it were in a moment, the flame brake forth in
a circle, like a garland, round about the broche, about two yards,
to the estimation of sight, under the bowl of the said shaft; and
increased in such wise that, within a quarter of an hour, or little
more, the Cross and the Eagle on the top fell down upon the South
cross Ile [_Aisle_].

       *       *       *       *       *

The Lord Mayor being sent for, and his Bretheren [the Aldermen], came
with all speed possible; and had a short consultation, as in such a
case might be, with the Bishop of LONDON and others, for the best way
of remedy. And thither came also [Sir NICHOLAS BACON] the Lord Keeper
of the Great Seal, and [WILLIAM PAULET, Marquis of WINCHESTER] the
Lord Treasurer: who, by their wisdom and authority, directed as good
order as in so great confusion could possibly be.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some there were, pretending experience in wars, that counselled the
remnant of the Steeple to be shot down with cannons; which counsel
was not liked, as most perilous both for the dispersing [of] the
fire, and [the] destruction of houses and people.

Others (perceiving the Steeple to be past all recovery; considering
the hugeness of the fire, and the dropping of the lead) thought best
to get ladders, and scale the Church; and with axes to hew down a
space of the roof of the Church to stay the fire, at the least to
save some part of the said Church: which was concluded [_decided
upon_]. But before the ladders and buckets could be brought, and
things put in any order (and especially because the Church was of
such height that they could not scale it, and no sufficient number
of axes could be had: the labourers also being troubled with the
multitude of idle gazers); the most part of the highest roof of the
Church was on fire.

First, the fall of the Cross and Eagle fired the South cross Ile
[_Aisle_]; which Ile was first consumed. The beams and brands of the
Steeple fell down on every side, and fired the other three parts:
that is to say, the Chancel or Quire, the North Ile, and the body of
the Church. So that, in one hour's space, the broche [_or spire_] of
the Steeple was burnt down to the battlements; and the most part of
the highest roof of the Church likewise consumed.

       *       *       *       *       *

The state of the Steeple and Church seeming both desperate; my Lord
Mayor was advised, by one Master WINTER of the Admiralty [_i.e.
Admiral Sir WILLIAM WINTER_], to convert the most part of his care
and provision to preserve the Bishop's Palace adjoining to the
north-west end of the Church; lest from that House, being large, the
fire might spread to the streets adjoining. Whereupon the ladders,
buckets, and labourers were commanded thither; and, by great labour
and diligence, a piece of the roof of the North Ile was cut down, and
the fire so stayed: and, by much water, that part quenched; and the
said Bishop's House preserved.

       *       *       *       *       *

It pleased GOD also, at the same time, both to turn, and calm, the
wind: which afore was vehement; and continued still high and great in
other parts without the city.

There were above 500 persons that laboured in carrying and filling
water, &c. Divers substantial citizens took pains as if they had been
labourers; so did also divers and sundry Gentlemen, whose names were
not known to the Writer hereof: but amongst others, the said Master
WINTER, and one Master STRANGUISH, did both take notable pains in
their own persons; and also much directed and encouraged others, and
that not without great danger to themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the evening, came the Lord CLINTON, [the] Lord Admiral, from the
Court at Greenwich; whom the Queen's Majesty (as soon as the rage
of the fire was espied by Her Majesty and others in the Court, of
the pitiful inclination and love that her gracious Highness did bear
both to the said Church and the city) sent to assist my Lord Mayor,
for the suppressing of the fire: who, with his wisdom authority and
diligent travail, did very much good therein.

About ten of the clock, the fierceness of the fire was past, the
timber being fallen and lying burning upon the vaults of stone; the
vaults yet (GOD be thanked!) standing unperished. So as only the
timber of the whole Church was consumed, and the lead molten: saving
the most part of the two low Iles of the Quire, and a piece of the
North Ile, and another small piece of the South Ile in the body of
the Church.

Notwithstanding all which, it pleased the merciful GOD, in his wrath,
to remember his mercy; and to enclose the harm of this most fierce
and terrible fire within the walls of this one Church: not extending
any part of his wrath in this fire upon the rest of the city, which
to all reason and sense of man was subject to utter destruction. For
in the whole city, without the Church, no stick was kindled surely.
Notwithstanding that, in divers parts and streets, and within the
houses both adjoining and of a good distance, as in Fleet Street
and Newgate Market, by the violence of the fire, burning coals of
great bigness fell down almost as thick as hailstones; and flaws of
lead were blown abroad into the gardens without the city, like flaws
of snow in breadth: without hurt (GOD be thanked!) to any house or
person.

       *       *       *       *       *

Many fond talks go abroad of the original cause of this. Some say,
It was negligence of plumbers: whereas, by due examination, it is
proved that no plumbers or other workmen laboured in the Church for
six months before. Others suspect that it was done by some wicked
practice of wild fire or gunpowder: but no just suspicions thereof,
by any examination, can be found hitherto. Some suspect Conjurors and
Sorcerers, whereof there is also no great likelihood: and if it had
been wrought that way; yet could not the Devil have done it without
GOD's permission, and to some purpose of his unsearchable judgments,
as appeareth in the story of JOB.

       *       *       *       *       *

The true cause, as it seemeth, was the tempest, by GOD's sufferance.
For it cannot be otherwise gathered, but that, at the said great
and terrible thunderclap, when St Martin's Steeple was torn, the
lightning (which by natural order smiteth the highest) did first
smite the top of Paul's Steeple; and entering in at the small holes,
which have always remained open for building scaffolds to the works,
and finding the timber very old and dry, did kindle the same: and so
the fire increasing, grew to a flame, and wrought the effect which
followed; most terrible then to behold, and now most lamentable to
look upon.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Sunday following, being the 8th day of June [1561], the reverend
[Father] in GOD [JAMES PILKINGTON] Bishop of DURHAM, at St Paul's
Cross, made a learned and fruitful Sermon; exhorting the auditory to
a general repentance, and namely [_especially_] to humble obedience
to the laws and Superior Powers, which virtue is much decayed in
these our days: seeming to have intelligence from the Queen's
Highness, that Her Majesty intendeth more severity of laws shall be
executed against persons disobedient, as well in causes of Religion
as Civil; to the great rejoicing of his auditors.

He exhorted also his audience to take this as a general warning to
the whole realm, and namely [_especially_] to the city of London, of
some greater plague to follow if amendment of life in all [e]states
did not ensue. He much reproved those persons which would assign the
cause of this wrath of GOD to any particular [e]state of men; or
that were diligent to look into other men's lives, and could see no
faults in themselves: but wished that every man would descend into
himself and say with DAVID, _Ego sum qui peccavi_. "I am he that hath
sinned." And so forth to that effect, very godly.

He also not only reproved the profanation of the said Church
of Paul's, of long time heretofore abused [_in Paul's Walk_] by
walking, jangling, brawling, fighting, bargaining, &c., namely
[_particularly_] in Sermon and Service time: but also answered by
the way to the objections of such evil-tongued persons which do
impute this token of GOD's deserved ire to alteration, or rather,
Reformation of Religion; declaring out of ancient records and
histories the like, yea, and greater matters, [that] had befallen in
the time of superstition and ignorance.

For, in the 1st year of King STEPHEN [1135-6 A.D.] not only the said
Church of Paul's was burnt: but also a great part of the city: that
is to say, from London Bridge to St Clement's [Church] without Temple
Bar, was by fire consumed.

And in the days of King HENRY VI., the Steeple of Paul's was also
fired by lightning: although it was then stayed by diligence of the
citizens; the fire being then, by likelihood, not so fierce.

Many other such like common calamities he rehearsed, which happened
in other countries, both nigh to this realm and far off, where the
Church of Rome hath most authority. And therefore [he] concluded
the surest way to be, that every man should judge examine and amend
himself; and embrace believe and truly follow the Word of GOD; and
earnestly to pray to GOD to turn away from us his deserved wrath
and indignation; whereof this his terrible work is a most certain
warning, if we repent not unfeignedly.

The which GOD grant may come to pass in all estates and degrees,
to the glory of His name, and to our endless comfort in CHRIST our
Saviour. Amen.

  GOD save the Queen.

[Illustration]




  [Illustration]

  SIX IDILLIA,

  THAT IS,

  SIX SMALL, OR PETTY, POEMS,
  OR ÆGLOGUES,

  chosen out of the right famous Sicilian Poet

  THEOCRITUS,

  And translated into English verse.

  _Dum defluat amnis._

  [Illustration]

  PRINTED

  At Oxford by IOSEPH BARNES.

  1588.


  E. D.

  Libenter hic, et omnis exantlabitur
  Labor, in tuæ spem gratiæ.
  [HORACE, _Epodes_ i. 23-24.]




 SIX IDILLIA

 chosen out of the famous Sicilian Poet

 THEOCRITUS,

 and translated into English verse.


 THE EIGHTH IDILLION.

 Argument.

 MENALCAS a Shepherd and DAPHNIS a Neatherd, two
 Sicilian Lads, contending who should sing best, pawn their Whistles;
 and choose a Goatherd to be their Judge: who giveth sentence on
 DAPHNIS his side. The thing is imagined to be done in the
 Isle of Sicily, by the sea-shore. Of whose singing, this Idillion is
 called _Bucoliastæ_, that is, "Singers of a Neatherd's Song."


 _BUCOLIASTÆ._

 DAPHNIS, MENALCAS, Goatherd.

  WITH lovely Neatherd DAPHNIS on the hills, they say,
  Shepherd MENALCAS met upon a summer's day:
  Both youthful striplings, both had yellow heads of hair;
  In whistling both, and both in singing skilful were.

 MENALCAS first, beholding DAPHNIS, thus bespake:

 MENALCAS.

    "Wilt thou in singing, Neatherd DAPHNIS, undertake
  To strive with me? For I affirm that, at my will,
  I can thee pass!" Thus DAPHNIS answered on the hill.

 DAPHNIS.

    "Whistler MENALCAS, thou shalt never me excel
  In singing, though to death with singing thou should'st swell!"

 MENALCAS.

  "Then wilt thou see, and something for the victor wage?"

 DAPHNIS.

  "I will both see, and something for the victor gage!"

 MENALCAS.

  "What therefore shall we pawn, that for us may be fit?"

 DAPHNIS.

  "I'll pawn a calf; a wennell lamb lay thou to it!"

 MENALCAS.

    "I'll pawn no lamb: for both my Sire and Mother fell
  Are very hard; and all my sheep at e'en they tell."

 DAPHNIS.

  "What then? What shall he gain that wins the victory?"

 MENALCAS.

    "A gallant Whistle which I made with notes thrice three,
  Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above;
  This will I lay! My father's things I will not move!"

 DAPHNIS.

    "And I a Whistle have with notes thrice three a row,
  Joined with white wax, both e'en below and e'en above.
  I lately framed it: for this finger yet doth ache
  With pricking, which a splinter of the reed did make.
  But who shall be our Judge, and give us audience?"

 MENALCAS.

    "What if we call this Goatherd here, not far from hence,
  Whose dog doth bark hard by the kids?" The lusty boys
  Did call him, and the Goatherd came to hear their toys.
  The lusty boys did sing, the Goatherd judgment gave.
  MENALCAS first, by lot, unto his Whistle brave,
  Did sing a Neatherd's Song; and Neatherd DAPHNIS then
  Did sing, by course: but first MENALCAS thus began:

 MENALCAS.

    "Ye Groves and Brooks divine, if on his reed
  MENALCAS ever sang a pleasant Lay;
  Fat me these lambs! If DAPHNIS here will feed
  His calves, let him have pasture too I pray!"

 DAPHNIS.

    "Ye pleasant Springs and Plants, would DAPHNIS had
  As sweet a voice as have the nightingales!
  Feed me this herd! and if the Shepherd's lad
  MENALCAS comes, let him have all the dales!"

 MENALCAS.

    "'Tis ever Spring; there meads are ever gay;
  There strout the bags; there sheep are fatly fed,
  When DAPHNE comes! Go she away;
  Then both the Shepherd there, and grass are dead."

 DAPHNIS.

    "There both the ewes, and goats, bring forth their twins;
  There bees do fill their hives; there oaks are high;
  Where MILO treads! When he away begins
  To go, both Neatherd and the neat wax dry."

 MENALCAS.

    "O husband of the goats! O wood so high!
  O kids! come to this brook, for he is there!
  Thou with the broken horns tell MILO shy,
  That PROTEUS kept sea-calves, though god he were."

 DAPHNIS.

    "Nor PELOPS' kingdom may I crave, nor gold;
  Nor to outrun the winds upon a lea:
  But in this cave I'll sing, with thee in hold,
  Both looking on my sheep, and on the sea."

 MENALCAS.

    "A tempest marreth trees; and drought, a spring:
  Snares unto fowls, to beasts nets, are a smart;
  Love spoils a man. O JOVE, alone his sting
  I have not felt; for thou a lover art!"

  Thus sang these boys, by course, with voices strong;
  MENALCAS then began a latter song:

 MENALCAS.

    "Wolf, spare my kids! and spare my fruitful sheep!
  And hurt me not! though but a lad, these flocks I guide.
  Lampur my dog, art thou indeed so sound asleep?
  Thou should'st not sleep while thou art by thy master's side!
  My sheep, fear not to eat the tender grass at will!
  Nor when it springeth up again, see that you fail!
  Go to, and feed apace, and all your bellies fill!
  That part your lambs may have; and part, my milking pail."

  Then DAPHNIS in his turn sweetly began to sing:

 DAPHNIS.

    "And me, not long ago, fair DAPHNE whistly eyed
  As I drove by; and said, I was a paragon:
  Nor then indeed to her I churlishly replied;
  But, looking on the ground, my way still held I on.
  Sweet is a cow-calf's voice, and sweet her breath doth smell;
  A bull calf, and a cow, do low full pleasantly.
  'Tis sweet in summer by a spring abroad to dwell!
  Acorns become the oak; apples, the apple-tree;
  And calves, the kine; and kine, the Neatherd much set out."

  Thus sung these youths. The Goatherd thus did end the
  doubt:

 Goatherd.

    "O DAPHNIS, what a dulcet mouth and voice thou hast!
  'Tis sweeter thee to hear than honey-combs to taste!
  Take thee these Pipes, for thou in singing dost excel!
  If me, a Goatherd, thou wilt teach to sing so well;
  This broken-hornèd goat, on thee bestow I will!
  Which to the very brim, the pail doth ever fill."

    So then was DAPHNIS glad, and lept and clapt his hands;
  And danced as doth a fawn, when by the dam he stands.
  MENALCAS grieved, the thing his mind did much dismay:
  And sad as Bride he was, upon the marriage day.

  Since then among the Shepherds, DAPHNIS chief was had!
  And took a Nymph to wife when he was but a lad.

  DAPHNIS his Emblem.

  _Me tamen urit Amor._

  MENALCAS his Emblem.

  _At hæc DAPHNE forsan probet._

  Goatherd's Emblem.

  _Est minor nemo nisi comparatus._

[Illustration]




 THE ELEVENTH IDILLION.

 Argument.

 THEOCRITUS wrote this Idillion to NICIAS a learned
 Physician: wherein he sheweth--by the example of POLYPHEMUS
 a giant in Sicily, of the race of the CYCLOPS, who loved the
 Water Nymph GALATEA--that there is no medicine so sovereign
 against Love as is Poetry. Of whose Love Song, as this Idillion, is
 termed CYCLOPS; so he was called CYCLOPS, because he
 had but one eye, that stood like a circle in the midst of his forehead.


 _CYCLOPS._

      O NICIAS, there is no other remedy for Love,
    With ointing, or with sprinkling on, that ever I could prove,
    Beside the Muses nine! This pleasant medicine of the mind
    Grows among men; and seems but lite, yet very hard to find:
    As well I wote you know; who are in physic such a Leech,
    And of the Muses so beloved. The cause of this my speech
    A CYCLOPS is, who lived here with us right wealthily;
    That ancient POLYPHEM, when first he loved GALATE
    (When, with a bristled beard, his chin and cheeks first clothed were):
    He loved her not with roses, apples, or with curlèd hair;
    But with the Furies' rage. All other things he little plied.
    Full often to their fold, from pastures green, without a guide,
    His sheep returnèd home: when all the while he singing lay
    In honour of his Love, and on the shore consumed away
    From morning until night; sick of the wound, fast by the heart,
    Which mighty VENUS gave, and in his liver stuck the dart.

    For which, this remedy he found, that sitting oftentimes
    Upon a rock and looking on the sea, he sang these rhymes:

      "O GALATEA fair, why dost thou shun thy lover true?
    More tender than a lamb, more white than cheese when it is new,
    More wanton than a calf, more sharp than grapes unripe, I find.
    You use to come when pleasant sleep, my senses all do bind:
    But you are gone again when pleasant sleep doth leave mine eye;
    And as a sheep you run, that on the plain a wolf doth spy.

      "I then began to love thee, GALATE, when first of all
    You, with my mother, came to gather leaves of crowtoe [_hyacinth_]
     small
    Upon our hill; when I, as Usher, squired you all the way.
    Nor when I saw thee first, nor afterwards, nor at this day,
    Since then could I refrain: but you, by Jove! nought set thereby!

      "But well I know, fair Nymph, the very cause why thus you fly.
    Because upon my front, one only brow, with bristles strong
    From one ear to the other ear is stretchèd all along:
    'Neath which, one eye; and on my lips, a hugy nose, there stands.
    Yet I, this such a one, a thousand sheep feed on these lands;
    And pleasant milk I drink, which from the strouting bags is presst.
    Nor want I cheese in summer, nor in autumn of the best,
    Nor yet in winter time. My cheese racks ever laden are;
    And better can I pipe than any CYCLOPS may compare.
    O apple sweet! of thee, and of myself I use to sing,
    And that at midnight oft. For thee! eleven fawns up I bring,
    All great with young: and four bears' whelps, I nourish up for thee!
    But come thou hither first, and thou shalt have them all of me.
    And let the bluish  sea beat on the shore so nigh,
    The night with me in cave, thou shalt consume more pleasantly!
    There are the shady bays, and there tall cypress trees do sprout:
    And there is ivy black, and fertile vines are all about.
    Cool water there I have, distilled of the whitest snow,
    A drink divine, which out of woody Etna mount doth flow.
    In these respects, who in the sea and waves would rather be?

      "But if I seem as yet too rough and savage unto thee,
    Great store of oaken wood I have, and never-quenchèd fire;
    And I can well endure my soul to burn with thy desire,
    With this my only eye, than which I nothing think more trim:
    Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with fins to swim!
    That I might dive to thee; that I thy dainty hand might kiss,
    If lips thou wouldst not let. Then would I lilies bring iwis,
    And tender poppy-toe that bears a top like rattles red,
    And these in summer time: but others are in winter bred,
    So that I cannot bring them all at once. Now certainly
    I'll learn to swim of some or other stranger passing by,
    That I may know what pleasure 'tis in waters deep to dwell.

      "Come forth, fair GALATE! and once got out, forget thee well
    (As I do, sitting on this rock) home to return again!            }
    But feed my sheep with me, and for to milk them take the pain!   }
    And cheese to press, and in the milk the rennet sharp to strain! }
    My mother only wrongeth me; and her I blame, for she
    Spake never yet to thee one good, or lovely, word of me:
    And that, although she daily sees how I away do pine.
    But I will say, 'My head and feet do ache,' that she may whine,
    And sorrow at the heart: because my heart with grief is swoll'n.

      "O CYCLOPS, CYCLOPS! whither is thy wit and reason flown?
    If thou would'st baskets make; and cut down brouzing from the tree,
    And bring it to thy lambs, a great deal wiser thou should'st be!
    Go, coy some present Nymph! Why dost thou follow flying wind?
    Perhaps another GALATE, and fairer, thou shalt find!
    For many Maidens in the evening tide with me will play,          }
    And all do sweetly laugh, when I stand heark'ning what they say: }
    And I somebody seem, and in the earth do bear a sway."           }

    Thus POLYPHEMUS singing, fed his raging love of old;
  Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.

  POLYPHEM's Emblem.

  _Ubi Dictamum inveniam?_

[Illustration]




 THE SIXTEENTH IDILLION.


 Argument.

 The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, and
 THEOCRITUS wrote it to HIERO, King of Syracuse
 in Sicily. Wherein he reproveth the nigardise of Princes and Great
 Men towards the Learned, and namely [_especially_] Poets: in whose
 power it is to make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end, he
 praiseth HIERO; and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered by
 his prowess from the invasions of the Carthaginians. This Idillion is
 named HIERO in respect of the person to whom it was written;
 or _Charites_, that is, "Graces," in respect of the matter whereof it
 treateth.


 _CHARITES, or HIERO._

      POETS have still this care, and still the Muses have this care;
    To magnify the gods with Songs, and men that worthy are.
    The Muses they are goddesses, and gods with praise they crown;
    But we are mortal men, and mortal men let us renown!
      But who, of all the men under the cope of heaven that dwell,
    By opening of his doors, our Graces entertains so well
    That unrewarded quite he doth not send them back again?
    They in a chafe, all barefoot, home to me return with pain:
    And me they greatly blame, &c. That they went for nought they grudge;
    And all too weary, in the bottom of an empty hutch,
    Laying their heads upon their knees full cold, they still remain:
    Where they do poorly dwell, because they home returned in vain.

      Of all that living are, who loves a man that speaketh well?
    I know not one. For now a days for deeds that do excel
    Men care not to be praised: but all are overcome with gain.     }
    For every man looks round, with hand in bosom, whence amain     }
    Coin he may get: whose rust rubbed off, he will not give again. }
    But straightway thus he says, "The leg is further than the knee,
    Let me have gold enough; the gods to Poets pay their fee!"
    Who would another hear, "Enough for all, one HOMER is;
    Of poets he is Prince: yet gets he nought of me iwis!"

      Madmen, what gain is this, to hoard up bags of gold within?
    This is not money's use, nor hath to wise men ever been!
    But part is due unto ourselves, part to the Poet's pen;
    And many kinsfolk must be pleasured, and many men:
    And often to the gods thou must do solemn sacrifice.
    Nor must thou keep a sparing house: but when, in friendly wise,
    Thou hast receivèd strangers at thy board; when they will thence,
    Let them depart! But chiefly Poets must thou reverence!
    That after thou art hidden in thy grave, thou mayest hear well!
    Nor basely mayest thou mourn when thou in Acheron dost dwell!
    Like to some ditcher vile, whose hands with work are hard and dry;
    Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary.

      In King ANTIOCHUS his Court, and King ALEVAS' too
    To distribute the monthly bread a many had to do.
    The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stalls

    '<DW41> oxen lowed; and shepherds kept, in the Cranonian dales,
    Infinite flocks to bear the hospital [_hospitable_] CREONDAN's charge.}
    No pleasure should these men enjoy of their expenses large,           }
    When once their souls they had embarked in the Infernal Barge;        }
    But leaving all this wealth behind, in wretched misery
    Among the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie:
    Had not SIMONIDES the Chian Poet, with his pen
    And with his lute of many strings so famous made these men
    To all posterity. The very horses were renowned;
    Which, from their races swift returned, with olive garlands crowned.
      Whoever should have known the Lycian Princes and their race,
    Or them of Troy, of CIGNUS [_CYCNUS_] with his woman's <DW52> face:
    Had not the Poets sung the famous Wars of them of old?
      Nor yet ULYSSES (who, for ten years space on seas was rolled,
    By sundry sorts of men; and who at last went down to Hell
    As yet alive; and from the CYCLOPS' den escapèd well)
    Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deep
    Swineherd EUMÆUS, and PHILÆTUS who had to keep
    A herd of neat; LAERTES eke himself had been unknown--
    If far and wide their names, great HOMER's verses had not blown.

      Immortal fame to mortal men, the Muses nine do give:
    But dead men's wealth is spent and quite consumed of them that live.
    But all one pain[s] it is, to number waves upon the banks,
    Whereof great store, the wind from sea doth blow to land in ranks;
    Or for to wash a brick with water clear till it be white:

    As for to move a man whom avarice doth once delight.
    Therefore "Adieu!" to such a one for me! and let him have
    Huge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave!
    But I, Goodwill of Men, and Honour, will prefer before
    A many mules of price, or many horses kept in store.
    Therefore I ask, To whom shall I be welcome with my train
    Of Muses nine? whose ways are hard, if JOVE guides not the rein.

      The heavens yet have not left to roll both months and years on
    reels;
    And many horses yet shall turn about the Chariot's wheels:
    The man shall rise that shall have need of me to set him out;
    Doing such deeds of arms as AJAX, or ACHILLES stout,
    Did in the field of Simois, where ILUS' bones do rest.
    And now the Carthaginians, inhabiting the West,
    Who in the utmost end of Liby' dwell, in arms are prest:
    And now the Syracuseans their spears do carry in the rest;
    Whose left arms laden are with targets made of willow tree.
    'Mongst whom King HIERO, the ancient Worthies' match, I see
    In armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.

      O JUPITER, and thou MINERVA fierce in fight,
    And thou PROSERPINA (who, with thy mother, has renown
    By Lysimelia streams, in Ephyra that wealthy town),
    Out of our island drive our enemies, our bitter fate,
    Along the Sardine sea! that death of friends they may relate
    Unto their children and their wives! and that the towns opprest
    By enemies, of th'old inhabitants may be possesst!
    That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleat
    By thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neat
    As to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring traveller!
    Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopper

    Watching the shepherds by their flocks, in boughs close singing lies!
    And let the spiders spread their slender webs in armories;
    So that of War, the very name may not be heard again!

    But let the Poets strive, King HIERO's glory for to strain
    Beyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places where
    SEMIRAMIS did build those stately walls, and rule did bear.
    'Mongst whom, I will be one: for many other men beside,
    JOVE's daughters love; whose study still shall be, both far and wide,
    Sicilian Arethusa, with the people, to advance;
    And warlike HIERO. Ye Graces! (who keep resiance [_residence_]
    In the Thessalian Mount Orchomenus; to Thebes of old
    So hateful, though of you beloved) to stay I will be bold,
    Where I am bid to come: and I with them will still remain,
    That shall invite me to their house, with all my Muses' train.
    Nor you, will I forsake! For what to men can lovely be
    Without your company? The Graces always be with me!


 Emblem.

 _Si nihil attuleris, ibis HOMERE foras._

[Illustration]




 THE EIGHTEENTH IDILLION.


 Argument.

 Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are brought in singing, in the evening,
 at the chamber door of MENELAUS and HELENA on their
 Wedding Day. And first they prettily jest with the Bridegroom, then
 they praise HELENA, last they wish them both joy of their
 marriage. Therefore this Idillion is entitled _HELEN's
 Epithalamion_, that is "HELEN's Wedding Song."


 _HELEN's Epithalamion._

    IN Sparta, long ago, where MENELAUS wore the crown,
    Twelve noble Virgins, daughters to the greatest in the town,
    All dight upon their hair in crowtoe [_hyacinth_] garlands fresh and
      green,
    Danced at the chamber door of HELENA the Queen:
    What time this MENELAUS, the younger son of ATREUS,
    Did marry with this lovely daughter of Prince TYNDARUS;
    And therewithal, at eve, a Wedding Song they jointly sang,
    With such a shuffling of their feet that all the palace rang.

      "Fair Bridegroom, do you sleep? Hath slumber all your limbs
        possesst?                                                      }
    What, are you drowsy? or hath wine your body so oppresst           }
    That you are gone to bed? For if you needs would take your rest,   }
    You should have ta'en a season meet. Mean time, till it be day,
    Suffer the Bride with us, and with her mother dear, to play!
    For, MENELAUS, She, at evening and at morning tide,
    From day to day, and year to year, shall be thy loving Bride.

      "O happy Bridegroom, sure some honest man did sneeze to thee,
    When thou to Sparta came, to meet with such a one as She!
    Among the demi-gods thou only art accounted meet                  }
    To be the Son-in-law to JOVE! for underneath one sheet            }
    His daughter lies with thee! Of all that tread on ground with feet}
    There is not such a one in Greece! Now sure some goodly thing
    She will thee bear; if it be like the mother that she bring.

      For we, her peers in age, whose course of life is e'en the same;
    Who, at Eurotas' streams, like men, are oilèd to the game:
    And four times sixty Maids, of all the women youth we are;
    Of these none wants a fault, if her with HELEN we compare.
    Like as the rising morn shews a grateful lightening,
    When sacred night is past; and Winter now lets loose the Spring:
    So glittering HELEN shined among her Maids, lusty and tall.
    As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all;
    Or in a garden is a cypress tree; or in a trace,
    A steed of Thessaly; so She to Sparta was a grace.
    No damsel with such works as She, her baskets used to fill;
    Nor in a divers  web, a woof of greater skill
    Doth cut off from the loom; nor any hath such Songs and Lays
    Unto her dainty harp, in DIAN's and MINERVA's praise,
    As HELEN hath: in whose bright eyes all Loves and Graces be.

      "O fair, O lovely Maid! a Matron is now made of thee!
    But we will, every Spring, unto the leaves in meadow go
    To gather garlands sweet; and there, not with a little woe,
    Will often think of thee, O HELEN! as the suckling lambs
    Desire the strouting bags and presence of their tender dams.
    We all betimes for thee, a wreath of melitoe will knit;
    And on a shady plane for thee will safely fasten it.
    And all betimes for thee, under a shady plane below,
    Out of a silver box the sweetest ointment will bestow.
    And letters shall be written in the bark that men may see,
    And read, DO HUMBLE REVERENCE, FOR I AM HELEN's TREE!

      "Sweet Bride, good night! and thou, O happy Bridegroom,
        now good night!
    LATONA send your happy issue! who is most of might
    In helping youth; and blissful VENUS send you equal love
    Betwixt you both! and JOVE give lasting riches from above,
    Which from your noble selves, unto your noble imps may fall!
    Sleep on, and breathe into your breasts desires mutual!
    But in the morning, wake! Forget it not in any wise!
    And we will then return; as soon as any one shall rise
    And in the chamber stir, and first of all lift up the head!
    HYMEN! O HYMEN! now be gladsome at this marriage bed!"


 Emblem.

 _Usque adeo latet utilitas._




 THE TWENTY-FIRST IDILLION.


 Argument.

 A Neatherd is brought chafing that EUNICA, a Maid of
 the city, disdained to kiss him. Whereby it is thought that
 THEOCRITUS seemeth to check them that think this kind of
 writing in Poetry to be too base and rustical. And therefore this Poem
 is termed _Neatherd_.


 _NEATHERD._

    EUNICA scorned me, when her I would have sweetly kist
    And railing at me said, "Go with a mischief, where thou list!
    Thinkest thou, a wretched Neatherd, me to kiss! I have no will
    After the country guise to smouch! Of city lips I skill!
    My lovely mouth, so much as in thy dream, thou shalt not touch!
    How dost thou look! How dost thou talk! How play'st thou the slouch!
    How daintily thou speak'st! What Courting words thou bringest out!
    How soft a beard thou hast! How fair thy locks hang round about!
    Thy lips are like a sick man's lips! thy hands, so black they be!
    And rankly thou dost smell! Away, lest thou defilest me!"
      Having thus said, she spattered on her bosom twice or thrice;
    And, still beholding me from top to toe in scornful wise,
    She muttered with her lips; and with her eyes she looked aside,
    And of her beauty wondrous coy she was; her mouth she wryed,
    And proudly mocked me to my face. My blood boiled in each vein,
    And red I wox for grief as doth the rose with dewy rain.
    Thus leaving me, away she flang! Since when, it vexeth me
    That I should be so scorned of such a filthy drab as She.

      "Ye shepherds, tell me true, am not I as fair as any swan?
    Hath of a sudden any god made me another man?
    For well I wot, before a comely grace in me did shine,
    Like ivy round about a tree, and decked this beard of mine.
    My crispèd locks, like parsley, on my temples wont to spread;
    And on my eyebrows black a milk white forehead glisterèd:
    More seemly were mine eyes than are MINERVA's eyes, I know.
    My mouth for sweetness passèd cheese; and from my mouth did flow
    A voice more sweet than honey-combs. Sweet is my Roundelay
    When on the whistle, flute, or pipe, or cornet I do play.
    And all the women on our hills do say that I am fair,
    And all do love me well: but these that breathe the city air
    Did never love me yet. And why? The cause is this I know.
    That I a Neatherd am. They hear not how in vales below,
    Fair BACCHUS kept a herd of beasts. Nor can these nice ones tell
    How VENUS, raving for a Neatherd's love, with him did dwell
    Upon the hills of Phrygia; and how she loved again
    ADONIS in the woods, and mourned in woods when he was slain.
    Who was ENDYMION? Was he not a Neatherd? Yet the Moon
    Did love this Neatherd so, that, from the heavens descending soon,
    She came to Latmos grove where with the dainty lad she lay.
    And RHEA, thou a Neatherd dost bewail! and thou, all day,
    O mighty JUPITER! but for a shepherd's boy didst stray!
    EUNICA only, deigned not a Neatherd for to love:
    Better, forsooth, than CYBEL, VENUS, or the Moon above!
    And VENUS, thou hereafter must not love thy fair ADONE
    In city, nor on hill! but all the night must sleep alone!"


 Emblem.

 _Habitarunt Dii quoque sylvas._




THE THIRTY-FIRST IDILLION.


 Argument.

 The conceit of this Idillion is very delicate. Wherein it is imagined
 how VENUS did send for the Boar who in hunting slew
 ADONIS, a dainty youth whom she loved: and how the Boar
 answering for himself that he slew him against his will, as being
 enamoured on him, and thinking only to kiss his naked thigh; she
 forgave him. The Poet's drift is to shew the power of Love, not only
 in men, but also in brute beasts: although in the last two verses,
 by the burning of the Boar's amorous teeth, he intimateth that
 extravagant and unorderly passions are to be restrained by reason.


_ADONIS._

    WHEN VENUS first did see
    ADONIS dead to be;
    With woeful tattered hair
    And cheeks so wan and sear,
    The wingèd Loves she bade,
    The Boar should straight be had.
    Forthwith like birds they fly,
    And through the wood they hie;
    The woeful beast they find,
    And him with cords they bind.
    One with a rope before
    Doth lead the captive Boar:
    Another on his back
    Doth make his bow to crack.
    The beast went wretchedly,
    For VENUS horribly
    He feared; who thus him curst:
      "Of all the beasts the worst,
    Didst thou this thigh so wound?
    Didst thou my Love confound?"

      The beast thus spake in fear
    "VENUS, to thee I swear!
    By thee, and husband thine,
    And by these bands of mine,
    And by these hunters all,
    Thy husband fair and tall,
    I mindèd not to kill!
    But, as an image still,
    I him beheld for love:
    Which made me forward shove
    His thigh, that naked was;
    Thinking to kiss, alas,
    And that hath hurt me thus.
      "Wherefore these teeth, VENUS!
    Or punish, or cut out:
    Why bear I in my snout
    These needless teeth about!
    If these may not suffice;
    Cut off my chaps likewise!"
      To ruth he VENUS moves,
    And she commands the Loves,
    His bands for to untie.
      After he came not nigh
    The wood; but at her will
    He followed VENUS still.
    And coming to the fire,
    He burnt up his desire.


 Emblem.

 _Raris forma viris, secula prospice,
 Impunita fuit._

 FINIS.




 The Spoil
 of
 Antwerp.

 _Faithfully reported by a
 true Englishman, who was
 present at the same._

  November 1576.

  _Seen and allowed._

  Printed at London by RICHARD JONES.


  [The first thing here is to settle the authorship of this
  anonymous tract; which was also anonymously entered at
  Stationers' Hall, probably from political reasons. From
  internal evidence at pp. 149, 155, 161, it is clear that
  the Writer was _not_ one of the Fellowship of the English
  Merchant Adventurers in Antwerp; but was an Englishman
  who had arrived in that city on the 22nd October 1576.
  Who this Writer was would seem to be clearly settled by
  the following extracts from documents in the State Paper
  Office, London.


 S. P. _Foreign. Eliz._ Vols. 139-140.

 915. _GEORGE GASCOIGNE to Lord BURGHLEY_.

 From Paris, 15 September 1576.

The troubles and news of Flanders have set all the soldiers of this
realm in a triumph....

But now I mean to become an eyed-witness of the stir in Flanders; and
from thence your honour shall shortly (GOD willing) hear of me.

 951. _GEORGE GASCOIGNE to Lord BURGHLEY._
 From Paris, 7 October 1576.

Whereof I trust shortly to understand more, for to-morrow (GOD willing)
I go towards the Low Countries; and mean to spend a month, [or] two, or
three, as your Honours shall like, in those parts.

For I mean to spend this winter (or as long as shall be thought meet)
in service of my country. I beseech your Honour to confer with Master
Secretary [Sir FRANCIS WALSINGHAM] who can more at large make
you privy to my intent.

 955. _Sir AMIAS PAULET, Ambassador for England in France, to
 Sir FRANCIS WALSINGHAM._

From Paris, 12 October 1576.

Master GASCOIGNE is departed towards Flanders; having prayed
me to recommend him unto you by my letters, and also to convey these
letters enclosed unto you.

  If this GEORGE GASCOIGNE, who, as his handwriting shows,
  is doubtless the Soldier-Poet, left Paris on the 8th
  October, he could very well have come to Antwerp, as the
  Writer of this narrative states, at page 149, he did, by
  the 22nd of that month.

  GASCOIGNE the Poet was a very tall man, so that he was
  called "long GEORGE." This he seems to refer to at page
  155, where he says, "I got up like a tall fellow."

  For further confirmation of GASCOIGNE being the Author,
  see pp. 164-6.

  2. The best Plan of Antwerp, about the time of the
  Spanish Fury, that we have met with, is that of GEORGE
  BRAUN's _Civitates Orbis Terrarum_, Vol. I., Plan 17.

  3. All the dates in the following narrative are Old Style.

  4. It is to be specially noted that Antwerp was a
  Roman Catholic city that had never, _in the least
  way possible_, rebelled against PHILIP II.; and that
  its awful destruction was made, without the least
  provocation, by the soldiers of its Sovereign, that
  should have protected it. Its only crime was its great
  wealth. 5,000 merchants met in its Bourse, or Exchange,
  every week. It was then the Venice of the North, with
  about 125,000 inhabitants.

  The following extract will explain the general position
  of affairs in Flanders about this time.


 S. P. _Foreign. Eliz._ Vol. 140.

 1,021. _Dr [THOMAS] WILSON [Ambassador for
 England in Flanders] to the Privy Council._

 19 November 1576.

And except despair drive the Prince [of ORANGE], I do not think that
ever he will yield that to [the Duke of ANJOU, the] Monsieur [of
France] which he hath in his power; being now in better case since
these late troubles than ever he was before: having Zierikzee and
Haarlem again; and Tergoes also, which he never had before.

There are in the Spaniards' possession, Antwerp; Lierre, 8 English
miles from thence; [Den]dermonde, 18 miles distant; and Maestricht, 50
miles distant; and more they have not in their power....

The States, so far as I can understand, have none other intention, but
that the Spaniards may be sent out of the country; and then they offer
to live in all obedience to their King and Sovereign. The Spaniards
will not depart except the King expressly command them. In the mean
season, they do mind nothing but spoil and ravin.]

 (_Continued at page 164._)




[The following Preface occurs in the Bodleian copy of this Tract.]


 _To the Reader._

I shall earnestly require thee, gentle Reader, to correct the errors
passed and escaped in printing of this pamphlet according to this
Table.[2]

And furthermore to understand that this victory was obtained with
loss of but five hundred Spaniards, or six [hundred] at the most; of
whom I heard no man of name recounted [as killed] saving only Don
EMANUEL.

Thus much, for haste, I had forgotten in this treaty [_treatise_];
and therefore thought meet to place it here in the beginning. And
therewithal to advertise thee, that these outrages and disordered
cruelties done to our Nation proceeded but from the common soldiers:
neither was there any of the Twelve which entered the English House
[_see pp._ 161, 164], a man of any charge or reputation. So that I
hope, these extremities notwithstanding, the King their master will
take such good order for redress thereof as our countrymen, in the
end, shall rest satisfied with reason; and the amity between our most
gracious Sovereign and him shall remain also firm and unviolate: the
which I pray GOD speedily to grant for the benefit of this realm. Amen.




 _The Spoil of Antwerp._


SINCE my hap was to be present at so piteous a spectacle as the Sacking
and Spoil of Antwerp, a lamentable example which hath already filled
all Europe with dreadful news of great calamity, I have thought good,
for the benefit of my country, to publish a true report thereof. The
which may as well serve for profitable example unto all estates of
such condition[s] as suffered in the same: as also answer all honest
expectations with a mean truth set down between the extreme surmises
of sundry doubtful minds; and increased by the manifold light tales
which have been engendered by fearful or affectionate [_prejudiced_]
rehearsals.

And therewithal if the wickedness used in the said town do seem unto
the well disposed Reader, a sufficient cause of GOD's so just a scourge
and plague; and yet the fury of the vanquishers do also seem more
barbarous and cruel than may become a good Christian conqueror: let
these my few words become a forewarning on both hands; and let them
stand as a lantern of light between two perilous rocks; that both
amending the one, and detesting the other, we may gather fire out of
the flint and honey out of the thistle.

To that end, all stories and Chronicles are written; and to that end
I presume to publish this Pamphlet; protesting that neither malice to
the one side, nor partial affection to the other, shall make my pen to
swerve any iote [_jot_ or _iota_] from truth of that which I will set
down, and saw executed.

For if I were disposed to write maliciously against the vanquishers:
their former barbarous cruelty, insolences, rapes, spoils, incests, and
sacrileges committed in sundry other places, might yield me sufficient
matter without the lawful remembrance of this their late Stratagem. Or
if I would undertake to move a general compassion by blazing abroad
the miseries and calamities of the vanquished: their long sustained
injuries and yokes of untollerable bondage, their continual broils in
war, their doubtful dreads in peace, their accusations without cause,
and condemnations without proof, might enable a dumb stone to talk of
their troubles, and fetch brinish tears out of the most craggy rock to
lament and bewail the burning houses of so near neighbours.

But as I said before, mine only intent is to set down a plain truth,
for the satisfying of such as have hitherto been carried about with
doubtful reports; and for a profitable example unto all such as,
being subject to like imperfections, might fall thereby into the like
calamities.

       *       *       *       *       *

And to make the matter more perspicuous; I must derive the beginning of
this Discourse a little beyond the beginning of the Massacre: that the
cause being partially opened, the effect may be the more plainly seen.

       *       *       *       *       *

It is then to be understood that the Sacking and Spoil of Antwerp hath
been, by all likelihood, long pretended [_designed_] by the Spaniards:
and that they have done nothing else but lie in wait continually,
to find any least quarrel to put the same in execution. For proof
whereof, their notable Rebellion and Mutiny began in the same [city,
on 26th April 1574]; when their watch-word was _Fuora villiacco_!
[This is apparently old Spanish for _Out with the townsfolk!_] might
sufficiently bewray their malicious and cruel intent. And though it
were then smoothly  over [_explained away_] and subtilly
appeased by the crafty devisers of the same: yet the coals of the
choler, being but raked up in the embers of false semblance, have
now found out the wicked winds of wiliness and wrath; which meeting
together have kindled such a flame as gave open way to their detestable
devices.

For the Estates of the Low Countries, being over-wearied with the
intolerable burden of their tyrannies; and having taken arms to
withstand their malice and rebellious mutinies: the town of Antwerp,
being left open and subject unto the Citadel, did yet remain quiet; and
entered not into any martial action.

Whereat the Spaniards (being much moved; and having not yet opportunity
to work their will so colourably [_with a sufficient pretence_] as they
wished) bestowed certain cannon shot out of the said Castle, and slew
certain innocent souls; with some other small harm and damage done
to the edifices: thinking thereby to harden the hearts of the poor
Flemings, and to make them take arms for their just defence; whiles
they thereby might take occasion to execute their unjust pretence. And
this was done on the 19th, or 20th, of October [1576] last.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now to answer all objections; I doubt not but it will be alleged that
the Castle bestowed the said cannon shot at the town; because they of
the town did not shoot at the Prince of ORANGE's ships, which
lay within sight thereof: but alas it is easy to find a staff when a
man would beat a dog.

For the truth is, that those ships did no greater hurt either to the
town or Castle than friendly to waft up [_convoy_] all manner of grain
and victuals for the sustenance of the said town: which even then began
to want such provisions by reason that the said Spaniards had built a
Fort on [the] Flanders side upon the same river [_the Scheldt_]; and
thereby stopped all such as brought victual to the said town; burning
and destroying the country near adjoining, and using all terror to the
poor people, to the intent that Antwerp might lack provision[s].

       *       *       *       *       *

And about the same time also, the Spaniards cut off a bridge, which
was the open passage between Antwerp and Machlen [_Malines_], at a
village called Walem [_Waelhem_], a manifest proof of their plain
intent to distress the said town, and to shut up the same from the rest
of Brabant: since they were walled in with the river on the one side;
and on that other the Spanish horsemen occupied all the country, and so
terrified the poor people as they durst not bring their commodities to
the same.

All this notwithstanding, the chief rulers of the said town of Antwerp
appeased the people; and put up [with] these injuries until they might
be better able to redress them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after, the Spaniards, assisted by the treason of certain High
Duches [_Germans_], entered the town of Maestricht upon a sudden; and
put the same to sack: killing and destroying great numbers of innocent
people therein. A thing to be noted. For that Maestricht had never
revolted; but stood quiet under their garrisons, as faithful subjects
to their King [PHILIP II]: and the one half thereof pertained
also unto the Bishop of LIEGE, who had yet meddled nothing at
all in these actions.

       *       *       *       *       *

The chief rulers and people of Antwerp (perceiving thereby the
cruel intent of the Spaniards; and doubting [_fearing_] their Duche
[_German_] garrison, which was of the Count OBERSTEIN's
Regiment, as they were also which betrayed Maestricht) began to abandon
the town, leaving their houses and goods behind them; and sought to
withdraw themselves into some place of safer abode.

Whereat the Estates, being moved with compassion, and doubting that
the town would shortly be left desolate, levied a Power of 3,000
Footmen and 800 or 1,000 Horsemen [_mostly Walloons and Germans_]; and
sent the same, under the conduct of the Marquis D'HAVRÉ, the young
Count [PHILIP] D'EGMONT, Monsieur DE CAPRES, Monsieur DE BERSELLE [or
BERSELEN], Monsieur _de Gogines_, and other Nobles and Gentlemen, to
succour and defend the town of Antwerp against the cruel pretence
[_designs_] of the said Spaniards.

And they came before the Gates thereof, on Friday the 2nd of this
instant [November 1576], at a Port on the east or south-east side
thereof, called Kipdorp Port. Whereat the Spaniards, being enraged,
discharged sundry shot of great artillery from the Castle; but to small
purpose.

At last, Monsieur [FRÉDÉRIC PERRENOT, Sieur] DE
CHAMPAGNEY, who was Governor of the town, and the Count
OBERSTEIN, which was Colonel of the garrison, demanded of the
States' [troops], Wherefore they approached the town in such order?

Who answered, That they came to enter the same as friends, and to
entrench and defend it from the Spaniards: protesting further, That
they would offer no manner of violent damage or injury to the persons
or goods of any such as inhabited the same.

Hereupon the said Monsieur [the Sieur] DE CHAMPAGNEY and Count
OBERSTEIN went out unto them, and conferred more privately together by
the space of one hour: and returned into the town, leaving the Estates'
Power at a village called Borgherhout.

       *       *       *       *       *

On the morrow, being the 3rd of this instant [November 1576], they were
permitted to enter, and came into the town: 21 Ensigns of Footmen and 6
Cornets of Horsemen.

Immediately after their entry, the inhabitants brought them sacks of
wool and other such provision; wherewith they approached the Yard or
plain ground which lieth before the Castle: and, placing the same at
the ends of five streets which lie open unto the said Castle Yard
[_Esplanade_], entrenched under them with such expedition that in less
than five hours those streets' ends were all reasonably well fortified
from the Castle, for any sudden [attack].

       *       *       *       *       *

At this time and twelve days before [_i.e. from 22nd October_ 1576], I
was in the said town of Antwerp, upon certain private affairs of mine
own; so that I was enforced to become an eyed-witness [see page 142] of
their Entry [_i.e. of the States' troops_] and all that they did: as
also afterwards--for all the Gates were kept fast shut, and I could not
depart--to behold the pitiful Stratagem which followed.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Castle thundered with shot at the town: but it was a very misty
day; so that they could neither find their marks very well, not yet see
how the streets' ends were entrenched.

It was a strange thing to see the willingness of the inhabitants, and
how soon many hands had despatched a very great piece of work. For,
before midnight, they had made the trenches as high as the length of
a pike; and had begun one trench for a Counterskarf [_Counterscarp_]
between all those streets and the Castle Yard: the which they perfected
unto the half way from St George's Churchyard unto the water's side by
St Michael's; and there left from work, meaning to have perfected it
the next day.

That Counterscarf had been to much purpose, if it had been finished:
as shall appear by a Model [_Plan_] of the whole place which I have
annexed to this treaty [_treatise_]; by view whereof the skillful
Reader may plainly perceive the execution of every particularity.[3]

       *       *       *       *       *

These things thus begun and set in forwardness; it is to be noted that
the Spaniards (having intelligence of the States' Power, when it set
forward from Brussels; and perceiving that it bent towards Antwerp) had
sent to Maestricht, Lierre, and Alost to draw all the Power that could
be made, unto the Castle of Antwerp. So that on Sunday, the 4th of
this instant [November 1576], in the morning, they all met at the said
Castle. And their Powers, as far as I could gather, were these:

There came from Maestricht, very near to 1,000 Horsemen, led by
ALONZO DE VARGAS who is the General of the Horsemen; and
500 Footmen or more, governed by the Camp Master, FRANCESCO DE
VALDEZ.

There came from Lierre, 500 Footmen or more, governed by the Camp
Master, JULIANO DE ROMERO.

There came from Alost, 2,000 Footmen, which were the same that rebelled
for their pay and other unreasonable demands, immediately after the
Winning of Zierikzee [_J. DE RODAS, at page 168, states that these
2,000 soldiers were_ "desperate men."] These had none other conductor
than their _Electo_ [or _Eletto, i.e., their elected Chief; at this
time a man named NAVARETTE_], after the manner of such as mutiny and
rebel: but were of sundry Companies, as Don EMANUEL's, and others.
Nevertheless I have been so bold in the Model [_Plan_] as to set down
the said Don EMANUEL, for their leader: both because I think that,
their mutiny notwithstanding, he led them at the exploit; and also
because he was slain amongst them at their entry.

Thus the number of [the] Spaniards was 4,000 or thereabouts; besides
some help that they had of the garrison within the Castle. And besides,
1,000 High Almains [_Germans_] or more; which came from Maestricht,
Lierre, and those parts. And they were of three sundry Regiments:

CHARLES FUGGER's, POLWILLER's, and FRONDSBERGER's: but they were led
all by CHARLES FUGGER. So that the whole force of the Spaniards and
their complices was 5,000 and upwards.

The which assembled and met at the Castle, on the said 4th day [of
November 1576], about ten of the clock before dinner: and, as I have
heard credibly reported, would neither stay to refresh themselves,
having marched all night and the day before; nor yet to confer of
anything but only of the order how they should issue and assail:
protesting and vowing neither to eat nor drink until they might eat and
drink at liberty and pleasure in Antwerp: the which vow they performed,
contrary to all men's reason and expectation.

       *       *       *       *       *

Their order of entry into the Castle Yard [_Esplanade_], and their
approach to the trenches I did not see: for I could not get out of
the town; neither did I think it reasonable to be _Hospes in aliena
republica curiosus_.

Yet, as I heard it rehearsed by sundry of themselves, I will also here
rehearse it for a truth:

The Horsemen and Footmen which came from Maestricht and Lierre, came
through a village on the east side of the town called Borgerhout about
ten of the clock before noon, as beforesaid. The Governor and Estates,
being thereof advertised, sent out presently part of their Horsemen and
Footmen to discover and take knowledge of them. But before they could
issue out of the Gates, the Spaniards were passed on the south-east
side of the town ditch, and entered at a Gate which standeth on the
Counterscarf of the Castle Yard [_Esplanade_], called the Windmill
Port. There entered the Horsemen and all the Footmen; saving the High
Almains [_Germans_] who marched round about the Castle, by a village
called Kiel; and, trailing their pikes on the ground after them, came
in at a small Postern on the Brayes by the river, and on the west side
of the Castle.

Those which came from Alost, came through the said village called Kiel,
and so, through the Castle, [and] issued out of the same at the Fore
Gate, which standeth towards the town.

Being thus passed, and entered into the Castle Yard, about eleven of
the clock; they of Alost and of the Castle cast themselves into four
Squadrons; they of Maestricht and Lierre into two Squadrons, and their
Horsemen into a Troop behind them; and the High Almains [_Germans_]
into a Squadron or Battalion by the river's side.

       *       *       *       *       *

Being thus ordered, and appointment given where every Squadron should
charge and endure; they cast off certain Loose Shot [_Skirmishers_]
from every Squadron, and attacked the Scarmouch [? _Piquet_]. The which
continued not one hour; before they drew their Squadrons so near unto
the Counterscarf and Trenches, that they brake and charged _pell mell_.

The Castle had, all this while, played at the town and trenches with
thundering shot: but now, upon a signal given, ceased to shoot any
more, for fear to hurt their own men; wherein I noted their good order,
which wanted no direction, in their greatest fury.

The Walloons and Almains [_Germans_] which served in the Trenches,
defended all this while very stoutly. And the Spaniards with their
Almains continued the charge with such valour, that in fine they won
the Counterscarf, and presently scaled the Trenches with great fury.
The Walloons and Almains, having long resisted without any fresh relief
or supply, many of them in this meanwhile being slain and hurt, were
not able any longer to repulse the Spaniards: so that they entered the
Trenches about twelve of the clock, and presently pursued their victory
down every street.

In their chase, as fast as they gained any cross street, they flanked
the same with their Musquet[eer]s until they saw no longer resistance
of any Power; and they proceeded in chase, executing all such as they
overtook. In this good order they charged and entered; in this good
order they proceeded; and in as good order, their lackays and pages
followed with firebrands and wild fire, setting the houses on fire in
every place where their masters had entered.

The Walloons and Almains which were to defend the town [_being chiefly
those commanded by the Marquis d'HAVRÉ_] being grown into
some security by reason that their Trenches were so high as seemed
invincible; and, lacking sufficient generals or directors, were found
as far out of order as the Spaniards were to be honoured for the good
order and direction which they kept.

For those which came to supply and relieve the Trenches came straggling
and loose. Some came from the furthest side of the town. Some, that
were nearer, came very fearfully! and many, out of their lodgings, from
drinking and carousing; who would scarcely believe that any conflict
was begun, when the Spaniards now met them in the streets to put them
out of doubt that they dallied not.

To conclude, their carelessness and lack of foresight was such that
they never had a _Corps du Gard_ [Block House] to supply and relieve
their Trenches; but only one in the Market Place of the town, which was
a good quarter of a mile from their fortifications: and that also was
of Almains [_Germans commanded by that double-dyed traitor CORNELIS VAN
EINDEN, or VAN ENDE_]; who, when they spied the Spaniards, did gently
kneel down, letting their pikes fall, and crying, _O liebe Spaniarden!
O liebe Spaniarden!_ ["O dear Spaniards!" _That is, VAN EINDEN
traitorously joined with the invading Spaniards._]

       *       *       *       *       *

Now I have set down the order of their entry, approach, charge, and
assault, together with their proceeding in victory; and that by
credible report, both of the Spaniards themselves and of others who
served in their company: let me also say a little of that which I saw
executed.

       *       *       *       *       *

I was lodged in the English House, _ut supra_: and had not gone abroad
that morning by reason of weighty business which I had in hand the same
day. At dinner time [_which was then about 11 a.m._], the Merchantmen
of my country, which came out of the town and dined in my chamber, told
me, That a hot scarmouch [_skirmish_] was begun in the Castle Yard, and
that the fury thereof still increased. About the midst of dinner, news
came, That the shot was so thick, as neither ground, houses, nor people
could be discerned for the smoke thereof: and before dinner were fully
ended, That the Spaniards were like[ly] to win the Trenches.

Whereat I stept from the table, and went hastily up into a high tower
of the said English House: from whence I might discover fire in four or
five places of the town towards the Castle Yard; and thereby I was well
assured that the Spaniards indeed were entered within the Trenches.

So that I came down, and took my cloak and sword, to see the certainty
thereof: and as I passed towards the Bourse [_Exchange_] I met many;
but I overtook none. And those which I met were no townsmen, but
soldiers: nether walked they as men which use traffic, but ran as men
which are in fear.

Whereat, being somewhat grieved, and seeing the townsmen stand every
man before his door with such weapons as they had; I demanded of one of
them, What it meant?

Who answered me in these words, _Helas, Monsieur, il n'y a point
d'ordre; et voilà la ruine de cette ville!_ [Alas, Sir, there is no
order; and behold the ruin of this town!]

_Ayez courage, mon ami!_ [Have courage, my friend!], quoth I; and so
went onwards yet towards the Bourse: meeting all the way more and more
[of those] which mended their pace.

At last, a Walloon Trumpeter on horseback, who seemed to be but a boy
of years, drew his sword, and laid about him, crying _Où est ce que
vous enfuyez, canaille? Faisons tête, pour l'honeur de la patrie!_
[Where are you flying to, rascals? Make head, for the honour of our
country!] Wherewith fifty or threescore of them turned head, and went
backwards towards the Bourse.

The which encouraged me, _par compagnie_, to proceed.

But alas, this comfort endured but a while. For by that time I came on
the farther side of the Bourse, I might see a great troop coming in
greater haste, with their heads as close together as a school of young
fry or a flock of sheep; who met me, on the farther side of the Bourse,
towards the Market Place: and, having their leaders foremost (for I
knew them by their javelins, boar spears, and staves), [they] bare me
over backwards; and ran over my belly and my face, [a] long time before
I could recover on foot.

At last, when I was up, I looked on every side, and seeing them run so
fast, began thus to bethink me, "What, in God's name, do I hear? which
have no interest in this action; since they who came to defend this
town are content to leave it at large, and shift for themselves."

And whilst I stood thus musing, another flock of flyers came so fast
that they bare me on my nose, and ran as many over my back, as erst
had marched over my stomach. In fine, I got up like a tall fellow; and
went with them for company: but their haste was such as I could never
overtake them until I came at a broad cross street, which lieth between
the English House and the said Bourse.

There I overtook some of them grovelling on the ground, and groaning
for the last gasp; and some others which turned backwards to avoid the
tickling of the Spanish Musquets [_Musketeers_]: who had gotten the
ends of the said broad cross street, and flanked it both ways. And
there I stayed a while till, hearing the shot increase and fearing to
be surprised with such as might follow in tail of us; I gave adventure
to pass through the said cross street: and, without vaunt be it spoken,
passed through five hundred shots before I could recover the English
House.

       *       *       *       *       *

At my coming thither, I found many of the Merchants standing before
the gate: whom I would not discomfort nor dismay but said, That the
Spaniards had once entered the town, and that I hoped they were gone
back again.

Nevertheless I went to the Governor: and privily persuaded him to draw
in the company; and to shut up the gates.

The which he consented unto: and desired me, because I was somewhat
better acquainted with such matters than the Merchants, to take charge
of the key.

I took it willingly, but before I could well shut and bar the gate, the
Spaniards were now come forwards into the same street; and passing by
the door, called to come in; bestowing five or six musquet shot at the
gate, where I answered them; whereof one came very near my nose, and
piercing through the gate, strake one of the Merchants on the head,
without any great or dangerous hurt. But the heat of the pursuit was
yet such, that they could not attend the spoil; but passed on in chase
to the New Town, where they slew infinite numbers of people: and, by
three of the clock, or before, returned victors; having slain, or put
to flight, all their enemies.

       *       *       *       *       *

And now, to keep promise and to speak without partiality, I must needs
confess that it was the greatest victory, and the roundliest executed,
that hath been seen, read, or heard of, in our Age: and that it was a
thing miraculous to consider how Trenches of such a height should be
entered, passed over, and won, both by Footmen and Horsemen.

For immediately after that the Footmen were gotten in, the Horsemen
found means to follow: and being, many of them, Harquebussiers on
horseback, did pass by their own Footmen in the streets; and much
hastened both the flight of the Walloons, and made the way opener unto
speedy executioners.

But whosoever will therein most extoll the Spaniards for their valour
and order, must therewith confess that it was the very ordinance of GOD
for a just plague and scourge unto the town. For otherwise it passeth
all men's capacity to conceive how it should be possible.

And yet the disorder and lack of foresight in the Walloons did
great[ly] help to augment the Spanish glory and boast.

       *       *       *       *       *

To conclude. The Count D'OBERSTEIN was drowned in the
New Town. The Marquis D'HAVRÉ and [Sieur DE]
CHAMPAGNEY escaped out of the said New Town, and recovered the
Prince of ORANGE's ships.

Only the young Count [PHILIP] of EGMONT was taken,
fighting by St Michael's. Monsieur DE CAPRES and Monsieur
DE GOGINES were also taken. But I heard of none that fought
stoutly, saving only the said Count of EGMONT; whom the
Colonel VERDUGO, a Spaniard of an honourable compassion and
good mind, did save: with great danger to himself in defending the
Count.

In this conflict there were slain 600 Spaniards, or thereabouts. And
on the Thursday next following [8th November 1576], a view of the
dead bodies in the town being taken, it was esteemed at 17,000 men,
women, and children. [_This would be apart from those drowned in the
Scheldt._] A pitiful massacre, though GOD gave victory to the Spaniards.

And surely, as their valiance was to be much commended; so yet I can
much discommend their barbarous cruelty in many respects. For methinks
that as when GOD giveth abundance of wealth, the owner ought yet to
have regard on whom he bestow it: even so, when GOD giveth a great and
miraculous victory, the conquerors ought to have great regard unto
their execution. And though some, which favour the Spanish faction,
will alledge sundry reasons to the contrary: yet, when the blood is
cold and the fury over, methinks that a true Christian heart should
stand content with victory; and refrain to provoke GOD's wrath by [the]
shedding of innocent blood.

These things I rehearse the rather, because they neither spared _Age
nor Sex, Time nor Place, Person nor Country, Profession nor Religion,
Young nor Old, Rich nor Poor, Strong nor Feeble_: but, without any
mercy, did tyrannously triumph, when there was neither man nor means to
resist them.

For _Age and Sex, Young and Old_; they slew great numbers of young
children; but many more women more than four score years of age.

For _Time and Place_; their fury was as great ten days after the
victory, as at the time of their entry; and as great respect they had
to the Church and Churchyard, for all their hypocritical boasting of
the Catholic Religion, as the butcher had to his shambles or slaughter
house.

For _Person and Country_, they spared neither friend nor foe, Portugese
nor Turk.

For _Profession and Religion_, the Jesuits must give their ready coin;
and all other Religious Houses, both coin and plate: with all short
ends that were good and portable.

The _Rich_ was spoiled because he had; and the _Poor_ were hanged
because they had nothing. Neither _Strength_ could prevail to make
resistance, nor _Weakness_ move pity for to refrain their horrible
cruelty.

And this was not only done when the chase was hot; but, as I erst
said, when the blood was cold; and they [were] now victors without
resistance.

       *       *       *       *       *

I refrain to rehearse the heaps of dead carcases which lay at every
Trench where they entered; the thickness whereof did in many places
exceed the height of a man.

I forbear also to recount the huge numbers drowned in the New Town:
where a man might behold as many sundry shapes and forms of man's
motion at [the] time of death as ever MICHAEL ANGELO did
portray in his Tables of Doomsday [_Picture of the Last Judgment_].

I list not to reckon the infinite number of poor Almains [_Germans_],
who lay burned in their armour. Some [with] the entrails scorched out,
and all the rest of the body free. Some [with] their head and shoulders
burnt off; so that you might look down into the bulk and breast, and
there take an anatomy of the secrets of Nature. Some [were] standing
upon their waist; being burnt off by the thighs. And some no more but
the very top of the brain taken off with fire; whiles the rest of the
body did abide unspeakable torments.

I set not down the ugly and filthy polluting of every street with the
gore and carcases of horses; neither do I complain that the one lacked
burial, and the other flaying, until the air, corrupted with their
carion, infected all that yet remained alive in the town.

And why should I describe the particularity of every such annoyance
as commonly happens both in camps and castles where martial feats are
managed?

But I may not pass over with silence the wilful burning and destroying
of the stately Town House, and all the muniments and records of the
city: neither can I refrain to tell their shameful rapes and outrageous
forces presented unto sundry honest dames and virgins.

It is also a ruthful remembrance, that a poor English Merchant, who
was but a servant, having once redeemed his master's goods for 300
crowns, was yet hanged until he were half dead, because he had not
200 more to give them. And the halter being cut down, and he come to
himself again; [he] besought them on knees, with bitter tears, to give
him leave to seek and try his credit and friends in the town, for the
rest of their unreasonable demand. At his return, because he sped not,
as indeed no money was then to be had, they hung him again outright:
and afterwards, of exceeding courtesy, procured the Friars Minor to
bury him.

To conclude. Of the 17,000 carcases which were viewed on the Thursday:
I think, in conscience, 5,000, or few less, were massacred after their
victory; because they had not ready money wherewith to ransom their
goods at such prices as they pleased to set on them. At least, all
the World will bear me witness, that ten days after, whosoever was
but pointed at, and named to be a Walloon, was immediately massacred
without further audience or trial.

 For mine own part, it is well known that I did often escape very
 narrowly; because I was taken for a Walloon. And on Sunday, the 11th
 of this instant [November 1576], which was the day before I gat out of
 the town, I saw three poor souls murdered in my presence, because they
 were pointed [at] to be Walloons: and it was well proved, immediately
 [after], that one of them was a poor artificer, who had dwelt in the
 town eight years before, and [had] never managed arms, but truly
 followed his occupation.

 Furthermore, the seed of these and other barbarous facts brought forth
 this crop and fruit, That, within three days, Antwerp, which was one
 of the richest towns in Europe, had now no money nor treasure to be
 found therein, but only in the hands of murderers and strumpets. For
 every Don DIEGO must walk, jetting up and down the streets, with his
 harlot by him, in her chain and bracelets of gold. And the notable
 Bourse, which was wont to be a safe assembly for merchants and men of
 all honest trades, had now none other merchandise therein but as many
 dicing tables as might be placed round about it, all the day long.

Men will boast of the Spaniards, that they are the best and most
orderly soldiers in the World: but, sure[ly], if this be their order, I
had rather be accounted a _Besoigner_ [French for _an indigent beggar_]
than a brave soldier in such a Band: neither must we think, although
it hath pleased GOD (for some secret cause only known to his divine
Majesty) to yield Antwerp and Maestricht thus into their hands; that he
will spare to punish this their outrageous cruelty, when his good will
and pleasure shall be to do the same. For surely their boasting and
bragging of iniquity is over great to escape long unscourged.

       *       *       *       *       *

I have talked with sundry of them; and demanded, Why they would command
that the Town House should be burned?

And their answer was, Because it was the place of assembly where all
evil counsels were contrived.

As though it were just that the stocks and stones should suffer for the
offence of men. But such is their obstinate mind and arrogancy that, if
they might have their will, they would altogether raze and destroy the
towns, until no one stone were left upon another. Neither doth their
stubborn blindness suffer them to perceive that in so doing they should
much endamage the King their Master; whom they boast so faithfully to
honour, serve, and obey.

       *       *       *       *       *

As for the injuries done by them unto our own Nation particularly; I
will thus set down as much as I know.

We were quiet in the House appointed for the Mansion of
English Merchants, under safe Conduct, Protection, and Placard
[_Placcaet=Proclamation_] of their King: having neither meddled any way
in these actions; nor by any means assisted the Estates of the country
with money, munition, or any kind of aid. Yea, the Governor [THOMAS
HETON] and Merchants, foreseeing the danger of the time, had often
demanded passport[s] of the King's Governors and Officers to depart.

And all these, with sundry other allegations, we propounded and
protested unto them before they entered the English House; desiring to
be there protected, according to our Privileges and Grants from the
King their Master; and that they would suffer us there to remain, free
from all outrage spoil or ransom, until we might make our estate known
unto [SANCHO D'AVILA] the Castellan [of Antwerp Castle] and
other Head Officers which served there for the said King.

All which notwithstanding; they threatened to fire the House unless
we would open the doors: and, being once suffered to enter, demanded
presently the ransom of 12,000 crowns of the Governor. Which sum, being
not indeed in the House, neither yet one-third part of the same; they
spared not with naked swords and daggers to menace the Governor, and
violently to present him death; because he had not wherewith to content
their greedy minds.

I will not boast of any help afforded by me in that distress: but I
thank the Lord GOD! who made me an instrument to appease their devilish
furies. And I think that the Governor and all the Company will confess
that I used mine uttermost skill and aid for the safeguard of their
lives, as well as [of] mine own.

But in the end, all eloquence notwithstanding; the Governor [THOMAS
HETON], being a comely aged man and a person whose hoary hairs
might move pity and procure reverence in any good mind; especially the
uprightness of his dealing considered: they enforced him, with great
danger, to bring forth all the money, plate, and jewels which were in
the House; and to prepare the remnant of 12,000 crowns at such days and
times as they pleased to appoint.

And of the rest of our Nation, which had their goods remaining in their
several pack-houses and lodgings elsewhere in the town; they took such
pity that four they slew, and divers others they most cruelly and
dangerously hurt: spoiling and ransoming them to the uttermost value
that might be made, or esteemed, of all their goods. Yea, a certain
one, they enforced to ransom his goods twice; yea, thrice: and, all
that notwithstanding, took the said goods violently from them at the
last.

And all these injuries being opened unto their chief Governors in time
convenient; and whiles yet the whole sum, set for [the] several ransoms
of our countrymen and the English House in general, were not half paid;
so that justice and good order might partly have qualified the former
rigours proferred by the soldiers: the said Governors were as slow and
deaf, as the others were quick and light, of hearing to find the bottom
of every bag in the town. So that it seemeth they were fully agreed in
all things: or, if any contention were, the same was but [a] strife
who, or which, of them might do greatest wrongs. Keeping the said
Governor and Merchants there still, without grant of passport or safe
conduct, when there are scarcely any victuals to be had for any money
in the town; nor yet the said Merchants have any money to buy it, where
it is. And as for credit; neither credit nor pawn can now find coin in
Antwerp.

In these distresses, I left them the 12th of this instant November
1576; when I parted from them: not as one who was hasty to leave and
abandon them in such misery; but to solicit their rueful causes here,
and to deliver the same unto Her Majesty and [the Privy] Council in
such sort as I beheld it there.

       *       *       *       *       *

And this is, in effect, the whole truth of the Sacking and Spoil of so
famous a town. Wherein is to be noted--that the Spaniards and their
faction being but 5,000; the Trenches made against them of such height
as seemed invincible; the Power within the town, 15,000 or 16,000
able fighting men well armed, I mean the townsmen ready armed being
counted: it was charged, entered, and won in three hours; and before
six hours passed over, every house therein sacked, or ransomed at the
uttermost value.

The which victory (being miraculous and past man's capacity to
comprehend how it should be possible) I must needs attribute unto
GOD's just wrath poured upon the inhabitants for their iniquity, more
than to the manhood and force of the Spaniards. And yet I mean not to
rob them of their deserved glory; but to confess that both their order
and valour in charging and entering was famous: and had they kept half
so good order, or shewed the tenth part of such manly courage, in
using their victory and parting of their spoil; I must then needs have
said that CÆSAR had never any such soldiers. And this must I
needs say for them that, as their continual training in service doth
make them expert in all warlike stratagem[s]; so their daily trade
in spoiling hath made them the cunningest ransackers of houses, and
the best able to bring a spoil unto a quick market, of any soldiers or
master thieves that ever I heard of.

But I leave the scanning of their deeds unto GOD, who will bridle their
insolency when he thinketh good and convenient. And let us also learn,
out of this rueful tragedy, to detest and avoid those sins and proud
enormities which caused the wrath of GOD to be so furiously kindled and
bent against the town of Antwerp.

Let us also, if ever we should be driven to like occasion, which GOD
forbid! learn to look better about us for good order and direction; the
lack whereof was their overthrow. For surely the inhabitants lacked but
good guides and leaders: for (having none other order appointed, but to
stand every man armed in readiness before his door) they died there,
many of them, fighting manfully; when the Wallooners and High Duches
[_Germans_] fled beastly.

Let us also learn to detest the horrible cruelties of the Spaniards,
in all executions of warlike stratagems; lest the dishonour of such
beastly deeds might bedim the honour wherewith English soldiers have
always been endowed in their victories.

And finally let us pray to GOD for grace to amend our lives, and
for power and foresight to withstand the malice of our enemies:
that remaining and continuing in the peaceable protection of our
most gracious Sovereign, we may give Him the glory; and all due and
loyal obedience unto Her Majesty, whom GOD now and ever prospect and
preserve. Amen.

  Written the 25th day of November 1576,
  by a true Englishman, who was
  present at this piteous Massacre,
  _ut supra_.

       *       *       *       *       *

(Continued from page 143.)


  5. The following illustrative documents, now in the State
  Paper Office, London, carry on the story of the Spanish
  Fury to a somewhat later date.

  The spelling of the word GASCON is so important, that we
  took the opinion of several experts at the State Paper
  Office upon it. They were all unanimous that the word is
  written GASCON, and not GASTON as printed in Volume 140
  of the _Calendar_ of those _Foreign State Papers_. That
  being so and the Christian name being given as GEORGE:
  it is clear that THOMAS HETON, in the flurry in which
  he wrote the _Memorial_ from the Company, wrote GEORGE
  GASCON phonetically for GEORGE GASCOIGNE.

  6. The next two documents are the letters which the
  Soldier-Poet brought to England, when he got out of
  Antwerp on 12th November 1576, as stated at page 162.

 S. P. _Foreign. Eliz._ Vol. 140.


 1,009. _THOMAS HETON to Sir FRANCIS WALSINGHAM_.
 From Antwerp, 10 November 1576.

Right Honourable, the 3rd of this month the States' men, Horsemen and
Footmen, entered this town with consent: and on the morrow, which was
Sunday the 4th of this present, the Spaniards with certain Almains, out
of the Castle, entered the town and drave away the States' Power and
they fled as they could: the town [being] put to sack, with a pitiful
slaughter and a miserable spoil.

Our House [was] entered by Twelve Spaniards, soldiers, who put me and
the rest of the Company in great fear. We were put to ransom first at
12,000 crowns; and since it is grown one way and [an]other to 3,000
more: and what the Company have lost, that had their chambers and
pack-houses in the town in burghers' houses, at this present, I know
not; but they are spoiled of all.

In the name of the Company there is a letter written to the honourable
[Privy] Council of our state [_See next document_] most humbly
beseeching that their Honours would be a mean[s] for us to Her Majesty,
as to their Honours in this case they shall think good.

If we might have had passport[s] when I required it, first of the
States, then of Monsieur [DE] CHAMPAGNEY Governor of this town, and
after of the Lords of this town, as both by the Intercourse [of 1507]
and Privileges we ought in right to have had; then had we avoided this
great peril of life and miserable spoil which we have sustained.

And now I most humbly beseech you to move my good Lords that some
[persons and money] may be sent over for our comfort, that we may be
permitted to pass out of this town in person, and [also] such goods
as we have remaining. For in this town we shall lack both victuals
and fuel; and also be daily in fear of the like spoil that we have
sustained.

And thus, what for the great peril that I have sustained, and the
burden and charge of my Office; I must crave pardon though my writing
be not as it should be.

I do perceive they [_the Spaniards_] stand here in doubt how Her
Majesty will take this doing to us.

The Lord send me and my wife into England, if it be his good will.


 At Antwerp, the 10th of November 1576.

 THOMAS HETON.


 1,010 _The Merchant Adventurers to the Privy Council._
From Antwerp, [10] November 1576.

Right Honourable our good and gracious Lords, &c. In all humbleness
these are showing to your Honours that in respect of the troubles all
over this country, and especially the danger in this town of Antwerp;
such of our Society as are here remaining did purpose, and some
attempted, to have, in due time, removed from this place both their
persons and goods; some by water and some by land, as well towards
England as for Duchland [_Germany_.] And being letted [_hindered_] of
their purpose and attempts both the ways, and not suffered to pass
their goods out of this town; whereupon [they] sought to have had
free passage and passport here, according to the Intercourse and Safe
Conduct.

But after many delays, from time to time; the 3rd day of this month,
our requests were plainly denied, either to be granted, or by writing
answered.

So as, the 4th day, we are fallen into great peril of our lives; divers
of our Company being hurt, and some slain. And by sacking of this town
ever since, we are not only spoiled of our money and goods that were in
private houses thereof; but also we are further forced, for ransom and
safeguard of our persons and goods within the principal House of our
residence here, to answer and content the Spanish soldiers and others
who, in the Fury, entered our said House, accounting charges, above the
sum of £5,000 Flemish.

Towards furniture [_furnishing_] whereof, we have been constrained to
give them all the money and plate that was in our said House; and also
to use our credit for so much as we could get besides. And yet all
accounted and delivered to them doth not discharge the one half of the
sum; and for the rest we have given them Bills payable at a month, and
some part at two months: so as now we have not money to provide for our
needful sustentation.

Wherefore we most humbly beseech your good Lordships and Honours, of
your accustomed clemencies, to have compassion upon us; and to be means
to our most gracious Sovereign Lady, the Queen's Majesty, that speedy
order may be given for our relief, and release out of this place: where
presently [_at present_] we are void of money and credit; and shortly
are like[ly] to be void of sustenance, and not able to get it for money.

The discourse of these tragedies we omit, and refer the same to be
reported to your Lordships by this bringer, Master GEORGE GASCON; whose
humanity, in this time of trouble, we, for our parts, have experimented.

And so leaving the further and due consideration of our case unto your
Right Honourable wisdoms and clemencies; we beseech Almighty GOD to
preserve your good Lordships and Honours in long health and felicity.

  Written at Antwerp, this [10th] day of November 1576,
    By your Lordships' and Honours'
      Most bound and obedient.
    The Governor and Fellowship of the
    English Merchant Adventurers in Antwerp,
        THOMAS HETON.


  7. In 1602, an anonymously written Play, based on this
  Narrative, was published in London, under the title, _A
  larum for London, or the Siege of Antwerp_, in 4to.

  8. Five days after GASCOIGNE got out of Antwerp; the
  English Ambassador was there. No doubt he helped our
  Merchant Adventurers in their dire extremity.

  JERONIMO DE RODAS, or RODA, was the supreme villain in
  command of the troops that had sacked the town; as SANCHO
  D'AVILA was in charge of Antwerp Castle. Doctor WILSON
  thus reports a conversation that he had with RODAS on
  the 17th November 1576, thirteen days after the massacre
  began. This gives us the Spanish view of the matter; and
  also such miserable excuse as they could possibly offer
  for their villany, which however is no excuse at all.

  We must remember that it would be the Ambassador's policy
  to keep fair with RODAS, who was master of the situation
  for the moment.


 S. P. _Foreign. Eliz._ Vol. 140.
 1,021. _Dr THOMAS WILSON to the Privy Council._
 19 November 1576.

And now, if it please your Honours, I am to declare my coming to RODAS,
who did send unto me a Safe Conduct for me and mine, upon a letter that
I did write to him from Ghent the 10th of this month: and the 17th of
the same, I did speak with him; immediately after my coming to Antwerp.

And, delivering my Letters of Credit, [I] made him acquainted with all
that I did at Brussels; and that my coming [to Flanders] was for the
King's benefit and honour: assuring him that if either the Estates
would alienate this country [of Flanders] to any foreign Prince, or
would convert it to themselves in prejudice of the King [PHILIP II.];
Her Majesty would employ all her force to withstand such attempts.

These speeches he liked very well: and was persuaded, even by plain
demonstration before my departure, that my coming was to none other
end; as it was not indeed.

Hereupon he declared unto me at large, the whole doings at Brussels,
the Mutinies made by the Spaniards at Alost and elsewhere after their
victory had at Zierikzee; and blamed greatly the young heads at
Brussels, and the fury of the people to use the King's Council, and to
break up the door of his Palace, in such sort as they did: [_RODAS was
very nearly made prisoner in the Palace at Brussels_ _on 5th September
1576, by the Seigneur DE HÈZE:_] clearing the Council from all
intention of evil to the town, or people, of Brussels; making a very
great discourse unto me of this matter.

"Well," quoth I, "you are well revenged of the people by your late
victory here in Antwerp; which hath been very bloody."

"Can you blame us?" quoth he. "Is it not natural to withstand force
with force; and to kill rather than to be killed? and not to lose the
King's piece committed to our charge?"

All this I granted: and praised the Spaniards for their valiant
courage; that, being so few, could, with policy and manhood, overcome
so many.

"But now," quoth I, "I pray you give me leave to speak a little. After
you were lords of the town--which you got wholly and quietly within two
hours after your issuing forth--what did you mean, to continue still
killing, without mercy, people of all sorts that did bear no armour
at all; and to murder them in their houses? to fire the chiefest and
fairest part of the city, after you were in full and quiet possession
of all? And not contented to spoil the whole town, but to ransom those
that were spoiled? And to spare no Nation: although they did bear no
arms at all; nor yet were dealers in any practice at all against the
King's Ministers, or the Spaniards?"

His answer was, That the fury of the soldiers could not be stayed: and
that it grieved him much when the city was on fire; and [that there]
was no sparing to kill, when all were conquered. The soldiers of Alost
were adventurers, had no Captains, desperate persons: and would not be
ruled by any Proclamation or commandment that could be given or made.

"Well," quoth I, "if the Fury could not be stayed; yet the Ransoming
might be forbidden; which is an act against the Law of all Nations."
And therefore I required him, in the name of the Queen's Majesty, to
command restitution to be made to the English Nation....

To conclude, he told me, That he would be glad to do what he might for
restitution; but he thought it would be hard. For that which is to be
paid with Bills, which for the Company amounteth to 5,000 crowns, at
the month's end: the same [Bills], he saith, shall be discharged; and
the bonds cancelled. Further he hath promised to grant a Safe Conduct
for all English Merchants to go (with their goods remaining, ships, and
merchandizes), without danger, withersoever they will: not aiding, or
abetting, the King's enemies.

  9. We next give the opinion of the Sieur DE CHAMPAGNEY as
  to how the massacre came about.

  In the following January, he was in England: and then
  presented a long Memorial in French, to our Privy
  Council; in which occurs the following reference to the
  Spanish Fury.


 S. P. _Foreign. Eliz._ Vol. 142.

 1,029. _The Sieur DE CHAMPAGNEY's Declaration._

 At London, in January 1577.

That he undertook the Government of Antwerp most unwillingly, at the
express desire and command of the King of Spain. That, during his
Government, he did all in his power to restrain the excesses of the
Spaniards in the Citadel; so far as to incur their odium and hatred.
That he was unable to prevent the sack of the town, owing to the
treachery of the Almain Colonels [_VAN EINDEN &c._] of the only troops
under his command; who would not suffer the burghers to arm in their
defence.

  10. EDWARD GRIMESTON, in his _General History of the
  Netherlands to 1608_ (which is mainly based on J. F. LE
  PETIT's _Chronique_, printed at Dordrecht in 1601) gives
  the following account of the destruction of Antwerp
  Castle, which had been built by the Duke of ALVA.

The inhabitants of Antwerp being still in fear, by reason of their
Castle, so long as the war was thus wavering, fearing they should
be, at some time, again surprised (terming it a den of thieves, an
invention of men full of cruelty, a nest of tyranny, a receptacle of
all filthy villany abomination and wickedness) obtained leave of the
States to dismantle it towards the town.

The which the burghers began the 28th of August [1577], with such
spleen as there was neither great nor small (wives children,
gentlewomen, and burghers; and all in general) but would pull down a
piece of it; men, women, and servants going thither, with their Ensigns
displayed, having many victuallers on the plain before the Castle [_the
Esplanade_]; so as it seemed a camp. And although the masons' work was
great, strong, and thick; yet were they not long in beating it down on
that side.

Soon after, in imitation of that of Antwerp, followed the dismantling
of the Castles of Ghent, Utrecht, Valenciennes, Bethune, Lille, Aire,
and others; and the Citadel of Arras was laid open towards the town.
p. 647.]

    [Footnote 2: The necessary corrections have been herein made.--E.A.]

    [Footnote 3: This Plan of Antwerp at the time of the
    Spanish Fury, drawn up from the instructions of GEORGE
    GASCOIGNE, is wanting in every copy of this Narrative
    that we have met with. We have strenuously searched
    for it in every direction; but without success. Its
    disappearance is a great loss.--E.A.]




[Illustration: CHLORIS,
 or
 The Complaint of the
 passionate despised
 Shepherd.

 By WILLIAM SMITH.

[Illustration]

 _Imprinted at London_,
 by EDMUND BOLLIFANT.
 1596.]


 _To the most excellent and learned
 Shepherd COLIN CLOUT_
 [i.e. EDMUND SPENSER].


      COLIN, my dear and most entire beloved,
    My Muse audacious stoops her pitch to thee!
    Desiring that thy patience be not moved
    By these rude lines, written here you see.
      Fain would my Muse, whom cruel Love hath wronged,
    Shroud her love-labours under thy protection!
    And I myself, with ardent zeal, have longed
    That thou mightst know, to thee my true affection.
      Therefore, good COLIN, graciously accept
    A few sad Sonnets which my Muse hath framed:
    Though they but newly from the shell are crept,
    Suffer them not by envy to be blamed!
      But, underneath the shadow of thy wings,
      Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things!

      Give warmth to these young-hatchèd orphan things!
    Which, chill with cold, to thee for succour creep.
    They of my study are the budding springs:
    Longer I cannot them in silence keep.
      They will be gadding! sore against my mind.
    But, courteous Shepherd, if they run astray,
    Conduct them, that they may the pathway find:
    And teach them how the Mean observe they may!
      Thou shalt them ken by their discording notes!
    Their weeds are plain, such as poor shepherds wear;
    Unshapen, torn, and ragged are their coats:
    Yet forth they wandering are, devoid of fear.
      They which have tasted of the Muses' spring,
      I hope, will smile upon the tunes they sing.

    W. SMITH.

 FINIS.


 _To all Shepherds in general._

      YOU whom the World admires for rarest style,
    You which have sung the Sonnets of True Love,
    Upon my maiden verse with favour smile!
    Whose weak-penned Muse, to fly too soon doth prove:
    Before her feathers have their full perfection,
    She soars aloft, pricked on by blind affection.

      You whose deep wits, ingine, and industry,
    The everlasting palm of praise have won!
    You paragons of learned Poesy
    Favour these mists! which fall before you sun:
    Intentions leading to a more effect,
    If you them grace but with your mild aspect.

      And Thou, the Genius of my ill tuned note!
    Whose beauty urgèd hath my rustic vein,
    Through mighty oceans of despair to float;
    That I in rhyme thy cruelty complain:
    Vouchsafe to read these lines both harsh and bad!
    Nuntiates of Woe, with sorrow being clad.

    W. SMITH.




 CHLORIS.


 SONNET I.

    COURTEOUS CALLIOPE, vouchsafe to lend
    Thy helping hand to my untunèd Song!
    And grace these Lines, which I to write pretend,
    Compelled by love which doth poor CORIN wrong.
    And those, thy sacred Sisters, I beseech,
    Which on Parnassus' Mount do ever dwell,
    To shield my country Muse and rural speech
    By their divine authority and spell.
      Lastly to thee, O PAN, the shepherds' King;
    And you swift footed Dryades, I call!
    Attend to hear a swain in verse to sing
    Sonnets of her that keeps his heart in thrall!
      O CHLORIS, weigh the task I undertake!
      Thy beauty, subject of my Song I make.


 SONNET II.

      THY beauty, subject of my Song I make;
    O fairest Fair! on whom depends my life:
    Refuse not then the task I undertake
    To please thy rage, and to appease my strife!
    But with one smile remunerate my toil;
    None other guerdon I, of thee desire.
    Give not my lowly Muse new-hatched the foil,
    But warmth; that she may at the length aspire
      Unto the temples of thy star-bright Eyes;
    Upon whose round orbs perfect Beauty sits:
    From whence such glorious crystal Beams arise
    As best my CHLORIS' seemly Face befits.
      Which Eyes, which Beauty, which bright crystal Beam,
      Which Face of thine, hath made my love extreme.


 SONNET III.

    FEED, silly sheep! although your keeper pineth;
    Yet, like to TANTALUS, doth see his food.
    Skip you and leap! now bright APOLLO shineth
    Whilst I bewail my sorrows in yon wood:
    Where woeful PHILOMELA doth record
    (And sings with notes of sad and dire lament),
    The tragedy wrought by her sister's Lord.
    I'll bear a part in her black discontent!
      That pipe, which erst was wont to make you glee,
    Upon these downs whereon you careless graze,
    Shall to her mournful music tunèd be!
    Let not my plaints, poor lambkins, you amaze!
      There, underneath that dark and dusky bower,
      Whole showers of Tears to CHLORIS I will pour!


 SONNET IV.

      WHOLE showers of Tears to CHLORIS I will pour
    As true oblations of my sincere love.
    If that will not suffice, most fairest Flower!
    Then shall my Sighs, thee to pity move.
      If neither Tears nor Sighs can ought prevail;
    My streaming Blood thine anger shall appease!
    This hand of mine by vigour shall assail
    To tear my heart asunder, thee to please!
      Celestial powers, on you I invocate!
    You know the chaste affections of my mind!
    I never did my faith yet violate!
    Why should my CHLORIS then be so unkind?
      That neither Tears, nor Sighs, nor streaming Blood
      Can unto mercy move her cruel mood.


 SONNET V.

      YOU Fauns and Silvans, when my CHLORIS brings
    Her flocks to water in your pleasant plains,
    Solicit her to pity CORIN's stings!
    The smart whereof, for her, he still sustains.
      For she is ruthless of my woeful song.
    My oaten reed she not delights to hear.
    O CHLORIS! CHLORIS! CORIN thou dost wrong;
    Who loves thee better than his own heart dear.
      The flames of Etna are not half so hot
    As is the fire which thy disdain hath bred.
    Ah, cruel Fates! why do you then besot
    Poor CORIN's soul with love? when love is fled!
      Either cause cruel CHLORIS to relent,
      Or let me die upon the wound she sent!


 SONNET VI.

      YOU lofty Pines, co-partners of my woe,
    When CHLORIS sitteth underneath your shade;
    To her those sighs and tears, I pray you show,
    Whilst you attending, I for her have made.
      Whilst you attending droppèd have sweet balm,
    In token that you pity my distress:
    ZEPHIRUS hath your stately boughs made calm;
    Whilst I, to you my sorrows did express.
      The neighbour mountains bendèd have their tops,
    When they have heard my rueful melody;
    And Elves, in rings about me leap and hop,
    To frame my passions to their jollity.
      Resounding echoes, from their obscure caves
      Reiterate what most my fancy craves.


 SONNET VII.

      WHAT need I mourn? seeing PAN, our sacred King,
    Was, of that Nymph, fair SYRINX coy, disdained.
    The World's great Light, which comforteth each
    thing,
    All comfortless for DAPHNE's sake remained.
      If gods can find no help to heal the sore
    Made by LOVE's shafts, which pointed are with fire;
    Unhappy CORIN, then thy chance deplore!
    Since they despair by wanting their desire.
      I am not PAN, though I a shepherd be;
    Yet is my Love as fair as SYRINX was.
    My Song cannot with PHŒBUS's tunes agree;
    Yet CHLORIS doth his DAPHNE far surpass.
      How much more fair, by so much more unkind
      Than SYRINX coy, or DAPHNE, I her find.


 SONNET VIII.

      NO sooner had fair PHŒBUS trimmed his car,
    Being newly arisen from AURORA's bed;
    But I, in whom Despair and Hope did war,
    My unpenned flock unto the mountains led.
      Tripping upon the snow-soft downs I spied
    Three Nymphs, more fairer than those Beauties Three
    Which did appear to PARIS on Mount Ide.
    Coming more near, my goddess I there see.
      For She, the field Nymphs oftentimes doth haunt,
    To hunt with them the fierce and savage boar:
    And having sported, Virelays they chant;
    Whilst I, unhappy, helpless cares deplore.
      There did I call to her, ah, too unkind!
      But tiger-like, of me she had no mind.


 SONNET IX.

    UNTO the fountain, where fair DIANA chaste
    The proud ACTEON turnèd to a hart,
    I drave my flock that water sweet to taste;
    'Cause from the welkin, PHŒBUS 'gan depart.
      There did I see the Nymph whom I admire.
    Remembering her locks; of which the yellow hue
    Made blush the beauties of her curlèd wire.
    Which JOVE himself with wonder well might view.
      Then red with ire, her tresses she berent;
    And weeping hid the beauty of her face:
    Whilst I, amazèd at her discontent,
    With tears and sighs do humbly sue for grace.
      But she, regarding neither tears nor moan,
      Flies from the fountain, leaving me alone.


 SONNET X.

    AM I a GORGON? that she doth me fly!
    Or was I hatchèd in the river Nile?
    Or doth my CHLORIS stand in doubt that I,
    With Siren songs, do seek her to beguile?
      If any one of these she can object
    'Gainst me, which chaste affectèd love protest;
    Then might my fortunes by her frowns be checked:
    And blameless She from scandal free might rest.
      But seeing I am no hideous monster born;
    But have that shape which other men do bear:
    Which form great JUPITER did never scorn
    Amongst his subjects here on earth to wear.
      Why should she then that soul with sorrow fill
      Which vowèd hath to love and serve her still?


 SONNET XI.

    TELL me, my dear, what moves thy ruthless mind
    To be so cruel, seeing thou art so fair?
    Did Nature frame thy beauty so unkind;
    Or dost thou scorn to pity my despair?
      O no, it was not Nature's ornament,
    But wingèd LOVE's impartial cruel wound,
    Which in my heart is ever permanent,
    Until my CHLORIS makes me whole and sound.
      O glorious Love-God, think on my heart's grief!
    Let not thy vassal pine through deep disdain!
    By wounding CHLORIS, I shall find relief;
    If thou impart to her some of my pain.
      She doth thy temples and thy shrines abject!
      They with AMINTA's flowers by me are decked.


 SONNET XII.

    CEASE eyes to weep, sith none bemoans your weeping!
    Leave off, good Muse, to sound the cruel name
    Of my love's Queen! which hath my heart in keeping;
    Yet of my love doth make a jesting game.
      Long hath my sufferance laboured to enforce
    One pearl of pity from her pretty eyes;
    Whilst I, with restless oceans of remorse,
    Bedew the banks where my fair CHLORIS lies,
      Where my fair CHLORIS bathes her tender skin;
    And doth triumph to see such rivers fall
    From those moist springs, which never dry have been
    Since she their honour hath detained in thrall.
      And still she scorns one favouring smile to show
      Unto those waves proceeding from my woe.


_A Dream._

 SONNET XIII.

    WHAT time fair TITAN in the zenith sat
    And equally the fixèd poles did heat;
    When to my flock my daily woes I chat,
    And underneath a broad beech took my seat:
    The dreaming god, which MORPHEUS Poets call,
    Augmenting fuel to my Etna's fire,
    With sleep possessing my weak senses all,
    In apparitions makes my hopes aspire.
      Methought I saw the Nymph I would embrace,
    With arms abroad, coming to me for help:
    A lust-led Satyr having her in chase;
    Which after her, about the fields, did yelp.
    I seeing my Love in perplexed plight,
    A sturdy bat from off an oak I reft;
    And with the ravisher continued fight
    Till breathless I upon the earth him left.
    Then when my coy Nymph saw her breathless foe,
    With kisses kind she gratifies my pain;
    Protesting never rigour more to show.
    Happy was I this good hap to obtain.
      But drowsy slumbers, flying to their cell,
    My sudden joy convertèd was to bale.
    My wontèd sorrows still with me do dwell.
    I lookèd round about on hill and dale:
    But I could neither my fair CHLORIS view;
    Not yet the Satyr, which erst while I slew.


 SONNET XIV.

    MOURNFUL AMYNTAS, thou didst pine with care,
    Because the Fates, by their untimely doom,
    Of life bereft thy loving PHILLIS fair;
    When thy love's Spring did first begin to bloom.
      My care doth countervail that care of thine;
    And yet my CHLORIS draws her angry breath:
    My hopes, still hoping, hopeless now repine;
    For living, She doth add to me but death.
      Thy PHILLIS dying, lovèd thee full dear.
    My CHLORIS living, hates poor CORIN's love.
    Thus doth my woe as great as thine appear;
    Though sundry accents both our sorrows move.
      Thy swan-like Song did shew thy dying anguish:
      These weeping Truce-men shew I living languish.


 SONNET XV.

    THESE weeping Truce-men shew I living languish;
    My woeful wailings tell my discontent:
    Yet CHLORIS nought esteemeth of mine anguish;
    My thrilling throbs, her heart cannot relent.
      My kids to hear the rhymes and roundelays,
    Which I, on wasteful hills, was wont to sing,
    Did more delight than lark in summer days:
    Whole echo made the neighbour groves to ring.
      But now my flock, all drooping, bleats and cries;
    Because my Pipe, the author of their sport,
    All rent, and torn, and unrespected, lies:
    Their lamentations do my cares consort.
      They cease to feed, and listen to the plaint;
      Which I pour forth unto a cruel Saint.


 SONNET XVI.

    WHICH I pour forth unto a cruel Saint,
    Who merciless my prayers doth attend:
    Who tiger-like doth pity my complaint;
    And never unto my woes will lend.
      But still false hope despairing life deludes;
    And tells my fancy I shall grace obtain.
    But CHLORIS fair, my orisons concludes
    With fearful frowns, presagers of my pain.
      Thus do I spend the weary wandering day,
    Oppressèd with a chaos of heart's grief:
    Thus I consume the obscure night away,
    Neglecting sleep which brings all cares relief.
      Thus I pass my lingering life in woe:
      But when my bliss will come, I do not know!


 SONNET XVII.

    THE perils which LEANDER took in hand,
    Fair HERO's love and favour to obtain;
    When, void of fear, securely leaving land,
    Through Hellespont he swam to Cestos main:
      His dangers should not counterpoise my toil.
    If my dear Love would once but pity show,
    To quench these flames which in my breast do broil,
    Or dry these springs which from mine eyes do flow;
      Not only Hellespont, but ocean seas,
    For her sweet sake, to ford I would attempt!
    So that my travails would her ire appease;
    My soul, from thrall and languish to exempt.
      O what is't not, poor I, would undertake;
      If labour could my peace with CHLORIS make?


 SONNET XVIII.

    MY Love, I cannot thy rare beauties place
    Under those forms which many Writers use.
    Some like to stones, compare their Mistress' face.
    Some in the name of flowers do love abuse.
      Some make their love a goldsmith's shop to be,
    Where orient pearls and precious stones abound.
    In my conceit these far do disagree
    The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound.
      O CHLORIS, thou dost imitate thyself!
    Self's imitating passeth precious stones
    Or all the Eastern Indian golden pelf,
    Thy red and white, with purest fair atones,
      Matchless for beauty Nature hath thee framed:
      Only "unkind" and "cruel" thou art named.


 SONNET XIX.

    THE Hound, by eating grass, doth find relief:
    For, being sick, it is his choicest meat.
    The wounded Hart doth ease his pain and grief;
    If he, the herb _Dictamion_ may eat.
      The loathsome Snake renews his sight again,
    When he casts off his withered coat and hue.
    The sky-bred Eagle fresh age doth obtain
    When he, his beak decayèd doth renew.
      I worse than these, whose sore no salve can cure;
    Whose grief, no herb, nor plant, nor tree can ease:
    Remediless, I still must pain endure
    Till I, my CHLORIS's furious mood can please.
      She, like the scorpion, gave to me a wound;
      And, like the scorpion, she must make me sound.


 SONNET XX.

    YE wasteful woods, bear witness of my woe!
    Wherein my plaints did oftentimes abound.
    Ye, careless birds, my sorrows well do know!
    They, in your songs, were wont to make a sound.
      Thou, pleasant spring, canst record likewise bear.
    Of my designs and sad disparagement!
    When thy transparent billows mingled were
    With those downfalls which from mine eyes were sent.
      The echo of my still-lamenting cries,
    From hollow vaults, in treble voice resoundeth;
    And then into the empty air it flies,
    And back again from whence it came reboundeth.
      That Nymph, unto my clamours doth reply,
      "Being likewise scorned in love, as well as I."


 SONNET XXI.

    "BEING likewise scorned in love as well as I"
    By that self-loving Boy; which did disdain
    To hear her, after him for love to cry:
    For which in dens obscure she doth remain.
      Yet doth she answer to each speech and word
    And renders back the last of what we speak.
    But 'specially, if she might have her choice,
    She of "Unkindness" would her talk forth break.
      She loves to hear of Love's most sacred name;
    Although, poor Nymph, in love she was despised:
    And ever since she hides her head for shame,
    That her true meaning was so lightly prized.
      She, pitying me, part of my woes doth hear;
      As you, good Shepherds, list'ning now shall hear.


 SONNET XXII.

    O FAIREST Fair, to thee I make my plaint,         my plaint,
    To thee from whom my cause of grief doth spring:  doth spring:
    Attentive be unto the groans, sweet Saint!        sweet Saint!
    Which unto thee in doleful tunes I sing.          I sing.
      My mournful Muse doth always speak of thee.     of thee.
    My love is pure, O do not it disdain!             disdain!
    With bitter sorrow still oppress not me;          not me;
    But mildly look upon me which complain.           which complain.
      Kill not my true-affecting thoughts; but give   but give
    Such precious balm of comfort to my heart,        my heart,
    That casting off despair, in hope to live,        hope to live,
    I may find help at length to ease my smart.       to ease my smart.
      So shall you add such courage to my love,       my love,
      That fortune false, my faith shall not remove.  shall not remove.


 SONNET XXIII.

    THE Phœnix fair which rich Arabia breeds,
    When wasting time expires her tragedy;
    No more on PHŒBUS' radiant rayes she feeds:
    But heapeth up great store of spicery;
      And on a lofty tow'ring cedar tree,
    With heavenly substance, she herself consumes.
    From whence she young again appears to be,
    Out of the cinders of her peerless plumes.
      So I, which long have frièd in love's flame,
    The fire, not made of spice, but sighs and tears,
    Revive again, in hope Disdain to shame,
    And put to flight the author of my fears.
      Her eyes revive decaying life in me;
      Though they augmentors of my thraldom be.


 SONNET XXIV.

    THOUGH they augmentors of my thraldom be:
    For her I live, and her I love and none else.
    O then, fair eyes, look mildly upon me!
    Who poor, despised, forlorn, must live alone else:
      And, like AMYNTAS, haunt the desert cells
    (And moneyless there breathe out thy cruelty)
    Where none but Care and Melancholy dwell.
    I, for revenge, to NEMESIS will cry!
      If that will not prevail; my wandering ghost,
    Which breathless here this love-scorched trunk shall leave,
    Shall unto thee, with tragic tidings post!
    How thy disdain did life from soul bereave.
      Then, all too late, my death thou wilt repent!
      When murder's guilt, thy conscience shall torment.


 SONNET XXV.

    WHO doth not know that LOVE is triumphant,
    Sitting upon the throne of majesty?
    The gods themselves, his cruel darts do daunt:
    And he, blind boy, smiles at their misery!
      LOVE made great JOVE ofttimes transform his shape.
    LOVE made the fierce ALCIDES stoop at last.
    ACHILLES, stout and bold, could not escape
    The direful doom which LOVE upon him cast.
      LOVE made LEANDER pass the dreadful flood,
    Which Cestos from Abydos doth divide.
    LOVE made a chaos where proud Ilion stood.
    Through LOVE the Carthaginian DIDO died.
      Thus may we see how LOVE doth rule and reign;
      Bringing those under, which his power disdain.


 SONNET XXVI.

    THOUGH you be fair and beautiful withal;
    And I am black, for which you me despise:
    Know that your beauty subject is to fall!
    Though you esteem it at so high a price.
      And time may come when that whereof you boast,
    Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament,
    Shall withered be by winter's raging frost;
    When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent.
      Then wilt thou mourn! when none shall thee respect.
    Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears!
    Then, pitiless, each one will thee neglect;
    When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs.
      Then wilt thou think upon poor CORIN's case!
      Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace.


 SONNET XXVII.

    O LOVE, leave off with sorrows to torment me!
    Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee!
    The breach is made; I give thee leave to enter!
    Thee to resist, great god, I dare not venture!
      Restless desire doth aggravate my anguish;
    Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish:
    Be not too cruel, in thy conquest gained!
    Thy deadly shafts have victory obtained!
      Batter no more my Fort with fierce affection;
    But shield me, captive, under thy protection!

    [_Two lines wanting._]

      I yield to thee, O Love, thou art the stronger!
      Raise then thy siege, and trouble me no longer!


 SONNET XXVIII.

    WHAT cruel star, or fate, had dominion
    When I was born? that thus my love is crossed.
    Or from what planet had I derivation?
    That thus my life in seas of woe is crossed.
      Doth any live that ever hath such hap,
    That all their actions are of none effect?
    Whom Fortune never dandled in her lap;
    But, as an abject, still doth me reject.
      Ah, fickle Dame! and yet thou constant art
    My daily grief and anguish to increase!
    And to augment the troubles of my heart;
    Thou, of these bonds will never me release!
      So that thy darlings, me to be may know,
      The true Idea of all Worldly Woe.


 SONNET XXIX.

    SOME in their hearts, their Mistress's colours bear;
    Some hath her gloves; some other hath her garters;
    Some in a bracelet wear her golden hair;
    And some with kisses seal their loving charters:
      But I, which never favour reapèd yet,
    Nor had one pleasant look from her fair brow;
    Content myself in silent shade to sit,
    In hope at length my cares to overplow.
      Meanwhile mine eyes shall feed on her fair face!
    My sighs shall tell to her my sad designs!
    My painful pen shall ever sue for grace!
    To help my heart, which languishing now pines.
      And I will triumph still amidst my woe,
      Till mercy shall my sorrows overflow.


 SONNET XXX.

    THE raging sea, within his limits lies;
    And with an ebb, his flowing doth discharge:
    The rivers, when beyond their bounds they rise,
    Themselves do empty in the ocean large:
      But my love's sea, which never limit keepeth;
    Which never ebbs, but always ever floweth,
    In liquid salt unto my CHLORIS weepeth;
    Yet frustrate are the tears which he bestoweth.
      This sea, which first was but a little spring,
    Is now so great, and far beyond all reason,
    That it a deluge to my thoughts doth bring;
    Which overwhelmèd hath my joying season.
      So hard and dry is my Saint's cruel mind;
      These waves no way in her to sink can find.


 SONNET XXXI.

    THESE waves no way in her to sink can find;
    To penetrate the pith of contemplation.
    These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind,
    Nor move her heart on me to take compassion.
      O then, poor CORIN, scorned and quite despised,
    Loathe now to live! since life procures my woe.
    Enough thou hast thy heart anatomised,
    For her sweet sake which will no pretty show.
      But as cold winter's storms and nipping frosts
    Can never change sweet AMARANTHUS' hue;
    So, though my love and life by her are crossed,
    My heart shall still be constant firm and true!
      Although ERINNYES hinder HYMEN's rites,
      My fixèd faith against oblivion fights.


 SONNET XXXII.

    MY fixèd faith against oblivion fights;
    And I cannot forget her, pretty Elf!
    Although she cruel be unto my plights;
    Yet let me rather clean forget myself,
      Than her sweet name out of my mind should go:
    Which is th' elixir of my pining soul;
    From whence the essence of my life doth flow.
    Whose beauty rare, my senses all control;
      Themselves most happy evermore accounting
    That such a Nymph is Queen of their affection:
    With ravished rage, they to the skies are mounting;
    Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection.
      But still do joy amidst their misery;
      With patience bearing LOVE's captivity.


 SONNET XXXIII.

    WITH patience bearing LOVE's captivity,
    Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging;
    These homely Lines, abjects of Poesy,
    For liberty and for their ransom pledging:
      And being free, they solemnly do vow
    Under his banner ever arms to bear
    Against those rebels, which do disallow
    That Love, of Bliss should be the sovereign Heir.
      And CHLORIS, if these weeping Truce-men may
    One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain,
    In recompense of their sad heavy Lay;
    Poor CORIN shall thy faithful friend remain.
      And what I say, I ever will approve,
      "No joy may be comparèd to thy love!"


 SONNET XXXIV.

    THE bird of Thrace, which doth bewail her rape
    And murdered ITIS eaten by his Sire,
    When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape;
    She sets her breast against a thorny briar.
     Because care-charmer Sleep should not disturb
    The tragic tale which to the night she tells;
    She doth her rest and quietness thus curb,
    Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells.
     Even so I wake; and waking, wail all night.
    CHLORIS' unkindness, slumbers doth expel.
    I need not thorns, sweet sleep to put to flight.
    Her cruelty, my golden rest doth quell:
      That day and night to me are only one;
      Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs, and moan.


 SONNET XXXV.

    LIKE to the shipman, in his brittle boat,
    Tossed aloft by the unconstant wind;
    By dangerous rocks and whirling gulfs doth float,
    Hoping, at length, the wishèd Port to find:
      So doth my love in stormy billows sail,
    And passing the gaping SCYLLA's waves,
    In hope at length with CHLORIS to prevail;
    And win that prize which most my fancy craves.
      Which unto me of value will be more
    Than was that rich and wealthy Golden Fleece;
    Which JASON stout, from Colchos island bore,
    With wind in sails, unto the shore of Greece,
      More rich, more rare, more worth her love I prize;
      Than all the wealth which under heaven lies.


 SONNET XXXVI.

    O WHAT a wound, and what a deadly stroke,
    Doth CUPID give to us, perplexed lovers!
    Which cleaves, more fast than ivy doth to oak,
    Unto our hearts where he his might discovers.
      Though warlike MARS were armèd at all points
    With that tried coat which fiery VULCAN made;
    LOVE's shafts did penetrate his steelèd joints,
    And in his breast in streaming gore did wade.
      So pitiless is this fell conqueror,
    That in his Mother's paps his arrows stuck!
    Such is his rage! that he doth not defer
    To wound those orbs, from whence he life did suck.
      Then sith no mercy he shews to his mother;
      We meekly must his force and rigour smother.


 SONNET XXXVII.

    EACH beast in field doth wish the morning light.
    The birds to HESPER pleasant Lays do sing.
    The wanton kids, well fed, rejoice in night;
    Being likewise glad when day begins to spring.
      But night, nor day, are welcome unto me:
    Both can bear witness of my lamentation.
    All day, sad sighing CORIN you shall see;
    All night he spends in tears and exclamation.
      Thus still I live, although I take no rest;
    But living look as one that is a dying:
    Thus my sad soul, with care and grief opprest,
    Seems as a ghost to Styx and Lethe flying.
      Thus hath fond love bereft my youthful years
      Of all good hap, before old age appears.


 SONNET XXXVIII.

    THAT day wherein mine eyes cannot her see,
    Which is the essence of their crystal sight;
    Both blind, obscure, and dim that day they be,
    And are debarrèd of fair heaven's light.
      That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her;
    Hearing, that day, is from me quite bereft.
    That day wherein to touch I come not near her;
    That day no sense of touching I have left.
      That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell,
    Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth;
    Smelling, that day, disdains with me to dwell.
    Only weak hope, my pining carcase feedeth.
      But burst, poor heart! Thou hast no better hope,
      Since all thy senses have no further scope.


 SONNET XXXIX.

    THE stately lion and the furious bear,
    The skill of man doth alter from their kind;
    For where before they wild and savage were,
    By Art, both tame and meek you shall them find.
      The elephant, although a mighty beast,
    A man may rule according to his skill.
    The lusty horse obeyeth our behest,
    For with the curb, you may him guide at will.
      Although the flint most hard contains the fire,
    By force we do his virtue soon obtain:
    For with a steel you shall have your desire.
    Thus man may all things by industry gain.
      Only a woman, if she list not love;
      No art, nor force, can unto pity move!


 SONNET XL.

    NO art nor force can unto pity move
    Her stony heart, that makes my heart to pant:
    No pleading passions of my extreme love
    Can mollify her mind of adamant.
      Ah, cruel sex, and foe to all mankind!
    Either you love, or else you hate, too much!
    A glist'ring show of gold in you we find;
    And yet you prove but copper in the touch.
      But why? O why, do I so far digress?
    Nature you made of pure and fairest mould,
    The pomp and glory of Man to depress;
    And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold:
      Which by experience now too well I prove,
      There is no pain unto the pains of love.


 SONNET XLI.

    FAIR Shepherdess, when as these rustic lines
    Come to thy sight, weigh but with what affection
    Thy servile doth depaint his sad designs;
    Which to redress, of thee he makes election.
      If so you scorn, you kill; if you seem coy,
    You wound poor CORIN to the very heart;
    If that you smile, you shall increase his joy;
    If these you like, you banish do all smart:
      And this I do protest, most fairest Fair,
    My Muse shall never cease that hill to climb,
    To which the learned Muses do repair!
    And all to deify thy name in rhyme.
      And never none shall write with truer mind
      As by all proof and trial you shall find.


 SONNET XLII.

   DIE, die my Hopes! for you do but augment
   The burning accents of my deep despair;
   Disdain and scorn, your downfall do consent:
   Tell to the World, She is unkind, yet fair.
     O Eyes, close up those ever-running fountains!
   For pitiless are all the tears you shed;
   Wherewith you watered have both dales and mountains.
   I see, I see remorse from her is fled.
     Pack hence, ye Sighs, into the empty air!
   Into the air that none your sound may hear.
   Sith cruel CHLORIS hath of you no care
   (Although she once esteemèd you full dear);
     Let sable night all your disgraces cover:
     Yet truer sighs were never sighed by lover.


 SONNET XLIII.

    THOU glorious Sun (from whence my lesser light
    The substance of his crystal shine doth borrow)
    Let these my moans find favour in thy sight,
    And with remorse extinguish now my sorrow!
      Renew those lamps which thy disdain hath quenched,
    As PHŒBUS doth his sister PHŒBE's shine:
    Consider how thy CORIN, being drenched
    In seas of woe, to thee his plaints incline!
      And at thy feet, with tears, doth sue for grace;
    Which art the goddess of his chaste desire.
    Let not thy frowns, these labours poor deface!
    Although aloft they at the first aspire.
      And time shall come, as yet unknown to men,
      When I more large thy praises forth shall pen.


 SONNET XLIV.

    WHEN I more large thy praises forth shall show,
    That all the World thy beauty shall admire;
    Desiring that most sacred Nymph to know,
    Which hath the Shepherd's fancy set on fire.
      Till then, my dear, let these thine eyes content
    Till then, fair Love, think if I merit favour!
    Till then, O let thy merciful assent
    Relish my hopes with some comforting savour!
      So shall you add such courage to my Muse,
    That she shall climb the steep Parnassus' Hill:
    That learned Poets shall my deeds peruse,
    When I from thence obtainèd have more skill.
      And what I sing shall always be of thee,
      As long as life, or breath, remains in me.


 SONNET XLV.

    WHEN she was born, whom I entirely love,
    Th' immortal gods, her birth-rites forth to grace,
    Descending from their glorious seat above;
    They did on her, these several virtues place:
      First SATURN gave to her Sobriety;
    JOVE then enduèd her with Comeliness;
    And SOL with Wisdom did her beautify;
    MERCURY with Wit and Knowledge did her bless;
      VENUS with Beauty did all parts bedeck;
    LUNA therewith did Modesty combine;
    DIANA chaste, all loose desires did check;
    And like a lamp in clearness she doth shine.
      But MARS, according to his stubborn kind,
      No virtue gave; but a disdainful mind.


 SONNET XLVI.

    WHEN CHLORIS first, with her heart-robbing eye,
    Enchanted had my silly senses all;
    I little did respect LOVE's cruelty:
    I never thought his snares should me enthrall.
      But since her tresses have entangled me,
    My pining flock did never hear me sing
    Those jolly notes, which erst did make them glee;
    Nor do my kids about me leap and spring
      As they were wont: but when they hear my cry;
    They likewise cry, and fill the air with bleating.
    Then do my sheep upon the cold earth lie,
    And feed no more. My griefs they are repeating.
      O CHLORIS, if thou then sawest them and me,
      I am sure thou would'st both pity them and me!


 SONNET XLVII.

    BUT of thy heart too cruel I thee tell,
    Which hath tormented my young budding age;
    And doth, (unless your mildness, passions quell)
    My utter ruin near at hand presage.
      Instead of blood, which wont was to display
    His ruddy red upon my hairless face;
    By over-grieving, that is fled away:
    Pale dying colour there hath taken place.
      Those curlèd locks, which thou wast wont to twist,
    Unkempt, unshorn, and out of order been;
    Since my disgrace, I had of them no list.
    Since when, these eyes no joyful day have seen:
      Nor never shall, till you renew again
      The mutual love which did possess us twain.


 SONNET XLVIII.

    YOU that embrace enchanting Poesy,
    Be gracious to perplexèd CORIN's lines!
    You that do feel Love's proud authority,
    Help me to sing my sighs and sad designs!
      CHLORIS, requite not faithful love with scorn!
    But, as thou oughtest, have commiseration.
    I have enough anatomized and torn
    My heart, thereof to make a pure oblation.
      Likewise consider how thy CORIN prizeth
    Thy parts above each absolute perfection!
    How he, of every precious thing deviseth,
    To make thee Sovereign! Grant me then affection!
      Else thus I prize thee, CHLORIS is alone
      More hard than gold, or pearl, or precious stone.


 SONNET XLIX.

    COLIN, I know that, in thy lofty wit,
    Thou wilt but laugh at these my youthful lines;
    Content I am, they should in silence sit,
    Obscured from light to sing their sad designs.
      But that it pleasèd thy grave Shepherdhood,
    The Patron of my maiden verse to be;
    When I in doubt of raging envy stood:
    And now I weigh not who shall _CHLORIS_ see!
      For fruit before it comes to full perfection
    But blossoms is, as every man doth know:
    So these, being blooms, and under thy protection,
    In time I hope to ripeness more will grow.
      And so I leave thee to thy worthy Muse;
      Desiring thee, all faults here to excuse.


  FINIS.




[? THOMAS DELONEY.]

[See Vol. VII., p. 36.]

_The Spanish Lady's Love._

 This Ballad was entered at Stationers' Hall in June 1603, and again on
 14th Dec. 1624. [ARBER. _Transcript, &c._ III. 237; IV. 132.]
 It was probably occasioned by some incident at the Winning of Cadiz,
 in 1596, described at Vol. VII., pp. 80-93 of this Series.


THE FIRST PART.

    WILL you hear a Spanish Lady, how she wooed an Englishman?
    Garments gay, as rich as may be, bedecked with jewels, had she on:
            Of a comely countenance and grace was she;
            Both by birth and parentage of high degree.

    As his prisoner there, he kept her; in his hands her life did lie.
    CUPID's bands did tie them faster by the liking of an eye.
            In his courteous company was all her joy:
            To favour him in anything she was not coy.

    But, at last, there came commandment for to set all Ladies free,
    With their jewels still adornèd: none to do them injury.
            "O then," said this Lady gay, "Full woe is me!
            O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

    "Gallant Captain, take some pity on a woman in distress;
    Leave me not within this city, for to die in heaviness!
            Thou has set, this present day, my body free;
            But my heart in prison still remains with thee!"

    "_How shouldst thou, fair Lady, love me; whom thou know'st thy
      country's foe?
    Thy fair words make me suspect thee. Serpents lie where flowers
      grow!_"
            "All the harm I think on thee, most courteous Knight,
            God grant upon my head the same may fully light!

    "Blest be the time and season that thou came on Spanish ground!
    If you may our foes be termed, gentle foes we have you found:
            With our city, you have won our hearts each one;
            Then to your country, bear away that is your own!"


THE SECOND PART.

    "_REST you still, most gallant Lady, rest you still and weep no more!
    Of fair flowers you have plenty. Spain doth yield you wondrous store.
            Spaniards fraught with jealousy we oft do find;
            But Englishmen throughout the world are counted kind._"

    "Leave me not unto a Spaniard! Thou alone enjoy'st my heart!
    I am lovely, young, and tender. Love is likewise my desert.
            Still to save thee, day and night my mind is pressed:
            The Wife of every Englishman is counted blessed."

    "_It would be a shame, fair Lady, for to bear a Woman hence;
    English soldiers never carry any such without offence._"
            "I will quickly change myself, if it be so;
            And like a Page will follow thee, where'er thou go."

    "_I have neither gold nor silver to maintain thee in this case:
    And to travel is great charges, as you know, in every place._"
            "My chains and jewels every one shall be thy own!
            And eke a hundred pounds in gold that lies unknown."

    "_On the seas are many dangers. Many storms do there arise,
    Which will be, to Ladies dreadful; and force tears from watery eyes._"
            "Well in worth, I shall endure extremity:
            For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee!"

    "_Courteous Lady, leave this folly! Here comes all that breeds
      the strife.
    I, in England, have already a sweet woman to my Wife.
            I will not falsify my vow for gold, nor gain;
            Nor yet for all the fairest Dames that live in Spain!_"

    "O how happy is that woman that enjoys so true a friend!
    Many happy days GOD send her! and of my suit I'll make an end.
            On my knees, I pardon crave for my offence;
            Which Love and true Affection did first commence.

    "Commend me to that gallant Lady! Bear to her this Chain of Gold,
    With these Bracelets for a token! grieving I was so bold.
            All my jewels, in like sort, take thou with thee!
            For they are fitting for thy Wife: but not for me.

    "I will spend my days in prayer! Love and all her laws defy!
    In a Nunnery I will shroud me, far from any company!
            But ere my prayer have an end; be sure of this,
            To pray for thee and for thy Love, I will not miss.

    "Thus Farewell, most gallant Captain! Farewell to my heart's content!
    Count not Spanish Ladies wanton; though to thee my mind was bent.
            Joy and true prosperity remain with thee!"
            "_The like fall unto thy share, most fair Lady!_"




  A very true Report of the apprehension
  and taking of that arch-<DW7> EDMUND
  CAMPION, the Pope his right hand; with
  Three other lewd Jesuit Priests, and
  divers other Lay people, most
  seditious persons of like sort.

  Containing also a controlment of a most untrue former
  book set out by one A. M., _alias_ ANTHONY MUNDAY,
  concerning the same: as is to be proved and justified
  by GEORGE ELLIOT, one of the Ordinary
  Yeomen of Her Majesty's Chamber,

  Author of this Book, and chiefest cause of the
  finding of the said lewd and seditious people, great
  enemies to GOD, their loving Prince,
  and country.

  _Veritas non quærit angulos._

  Imprinted at London at the _Three Cranes_ in the
  Vintry by THOMAS DAWSON.

  1581.


[The _Edinburgh Review_ of April 1891, in an article on _The Baffling
of the Jesuits_, states

"Until Father PARSONS landed at Dover on June 11 [and Father CAMPION
on June 25], 1580; no Jesuit had ever been seen in England. IGNATIUS
LOYOLA had been dead just twenty-five years, and two of his associates
in founding the Society of JESUS were still alive. LOYOLA during his
lifetime had admitted only a single Englishman into the order, a lad of
nineteen, of whom we know nothing but that his name was THOMAS LITH,
and that he was admitted to the novitiate in June 1555. During the next
ten years, six more Englishmen entered the order, two of them being
men of some mark--JASPER HEYWOOD, formerly Fellow of All Souls'; and
THOMAS DARBYSHIRE, who had been Archdeacon of Essex and a Canon of St
Paul's. In the next decade, about the same number of English recruits
joined the society; three, and three only, were scholars of any
reputation--PARSONS, CAMPION, and HENRY GARNET. When the Jesuit Mission
to England started, there were not thirty English Jesuits in the world."

  At Vol. I., p. 130, is a letter written from Goa, 10 Nov.
  1579, by THOMAS STEVENS, one of these English Jesuits.

  The arrest and execution of EDMUND CAMPION--in Latin,
  EDMUNDUS CAMPIANUS--was one of the most important events
  in our political history during the year 1581. It made
  a profound impression throughout Western Europe, and
  occasioned the publication of many tracts in various
  languages. For further information on this subject, the
  Reader is referred to _EDMUND CAMPION, A Biography_,
  by RICHARD SIMPSON, London, 1867-8; and also to Mr
  JOSEPH GILLOW's _Biographical Dictionary of the English
  Catholics_, now in progress.

   The following account of the arrest by the man who made
  it, is printed from a copy of the extremely rare original
  edition that is now in Lambeth Palace Library [Press
  Mark, xxx. 8. 17.]. It was printed [? privately printed]
  in 1581; but it was not entered at Stationers' Hall. It
  was clearly produced before the execution of CAMPION, on
  the 1st of December of that year; to which there is no
  allusion in it; but apparently not very much earlier, for
  the Writer says at page 217, "Some men may marvel that I
  would be silent so long."

  By this act of patriotism; GEORGE ELLIOT earned the
  titles, among the Roman Catholics, of JUDAS ELLIOT,
  and of ELLIOT ISCARIOT. It is however only fair to him
  to state what moved him to go hunting after Priests,
  Jesuits, etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

 ANTHONY MUNDAY, in his _Discovery of EDMUND CAMPION
 and his Confederates, &c._, published on 29th January 1582, in giving
 an account of CAMPION's trial, states:

GEORGE ELLIOT, one of the Ordinary Yeomen of Her Majesty's
Chamber, upon his oath, gave forth in evidence, as followeth:

That he, living here in England among certain of that sect, fell
in acquaintance with one PAYNE, a Priest; who gave him to
understand of a horrible treason intended against Her Majesty and the
State, which he did expect shortly to happen.

The order, how, and after what manner, in brief is thus:

That there should be levied a certain company of armed men; which, on a
sudden, should enterprise a most monstrous attempt. A certain company
of these armed men should be prepared against Her Majesty, as many
against my L[ord] of L[EICESTER], as many against my L[ord] T[reasurer,
Lord BURGHLEY], as many against Sir F[RANCIS] W[ALSINGHAM], and divers
others whose names he doth not well remember.

[Sidenote: Meaning the Queen of Scots. [A.M.]]

The deaths of these noble personages should be presently fulfilled: and
Her Majesty used in such sort as [neither] modesty nor duty will suffer
me to rehearse. But this should be the general cry everywhere, "Queen
MARY! Queen MARY!"

It was also appointed and agreed upon, Who should have this Man
of Honour's room, and who should have that Office. Everything was
determined. There wanted nothing but the coming over of such Priests
and others as were long looked for. [p. 72.]

Upon this report, the aforenamed GEORGE ELLIOT took occasion
to question with this PAYNE, How they could find in their
hearts to attempt an act of so great cruelty; considering how high an
offence it should be to GOD, besides great danger might arise thereby.

[Sidenote: A most traitorous and villanous answer. Of every true
subject to be read with due reverence of the person. [A.M.]]

Whereto PAYNE made answer, That the killing [of] Her Majesty
was no offence to GOD, nor the uttermost cruelty they could use to her,
nor [to] any that took her part: but that they might as lawfully do it
as to a brute beast. And himself would be one of the foremost in the
executing [of] this villanous and most traitorous action.

  In _Lansd. MS._ 32, No. 60, in the British Museum, there
  is a paper to the same effect, signed by G. E. [GEORGE
  ELLIOT]. It is headed _Certain Notes and Remembrances
  concerning a Reconciliation, &c._; and bears marginal
  notes by Lord BURGHLEY.

  It will probably be new to most readers that ELLIOT's
  arrest of CAMPION was a pure matter of accident. ELLIOT
  went to Lyford Manor House more particularly in search of
  PAYNE the Priest, and found CAMPION there by chance. The
  Jesuit had been secretly, but securely, wandering through
  the land from one Roman Catholic household to another,
  for more than a year; despite the _utmost_ efforts of the
  English Government to put their hands on him: and at last
  he becomes their prisoner almost by a pure accident.

  CAMPION was lodged in the Tower on the 22nd July 1581.
  Two days later, ANTHONY MUNDAY's _Brief Discourse of the
  taking of EDMUND CAMPION &c._, was entered at Stationers'
  Hall [ARBER, _Transcript &c._, II. 397]. It was therefore
  very hurriedly written, and mainly from information
  supplied by Master HUMPHREY FOSTER, High Sheriff of
  Berkshire: who, being himself a Roman Catholic, had been
  very slack at the capture of CAMPION [p. 214]; but who,
  for his own protection, puts a better face on things in
  MUNDAY's hurriedly written _Discourse, &c._ See pages
  207, 215, 217.

  It is as a reply to this tract of MUNDAY's, that ELLIOT
  wrote the following Text in 1581. In February 1582, they
  were however good friends again; as will be seen at page
  223.]




_To the Christian Reader, GEORGE ELLIOT wisheth all due
reverence._


SOME experience, Christian Reader, that I have gathered by keeping
company with such seditious people as CAMPION and his associates are,
partly moveth me to write this book; and partly I am urged thereunto
(although my wisdom and skill be very slender to set down and pen
matter of less moment than this) for that I (being one of the Two in
Commission at that time from Her Highness's most honourable Privy
Council for the apprehending of the said seditious CAMPION and such
like; and the chiefest cause of the finding out of the said lewd
people, as hereafter more at large appeareth) do think it a great abuse
that the most part of Her Majesty's loving subjects shall be seduced to
believe an untruth; and myself and he which was in Commission with me
(whose name is DAVID JENKINS, one of the Messengers of Her Majesty's
Chamber) very vilely slandered with a book set out by one ANTHONY
MUNDAY concerning the apprehension of the said lewd people--which, for
the truth thereof, is almost as far different from truth as darkness
from light; and as contrary to truth as an egg is contrary in likeness
to an oyster.

And therefore considering I am able to report a truth for the manner
of the finding and taking of the said seditious persons; although fine
skill be far from me to paint it out: hoping the wise will bear with
my want therein, and esteem a true tale, be it never so bluntly told,
rather than a lie, be it never so finely handled--I have emboldened
myself to take this treatise in hand; wherein, God willing, I will
describe nothing but truth; as by the sequel shall appear. Which is
this:

That about four years past [?1578], the Devil (being a crafty fox
and chief Patron doubtless of the Pope's Prelacy; having divers and
many Officers and inferior substitutes to the Pope, his chief Vicar;
and intending by them to increase the kingdom of this Antichrist)
dispersed his said Officers in divers places of this realm: where,
like vagrant persons (refusing to live within the lawful government of
their country) they lead a loose life; wandering and running hither
and thither, from shire to shire and country [_County_] to country,
with such store of Romish relics, Popish pelf, trifles, and trash as
were able to make any Christian heart, that hath seen the trial of such
practices as I have done, even for sorrow to bleed. Only thereby to
draw the Queen's Majesty's subjects their hearts and faiths both from
GOD and Her Highness; as namely, by delivering unto them _Bulls_ from
Rome, _Pardons, Indulgences_, Medals, _Agnus DEI_, hallowed grains and
beads, crucifixes, painted pictures, and such other paltry: every part
whereof they will not let [_stop_] to say to be matters very necessary
for salvation.

By reason whereof, most loving Reader, I myself, about that time
[1578], by the space of one quarter of a year together, was deeply
bewitched and drawn into their darkness, as the blindest bayard of
them all. But at the last, even then (by GOD's great goodness, mighty
providence, and especial grace) all their enchantments, witchcrafts,
sorceries, devilish devices and practices were so broken and untied in
me; and the brightness of GOD's divine majesty shining so surely in my
heart and conscience: that I perceived all their doings to be, as they
are indeed, only shows without substance, manifest errors and deceitful
juggling casts, and none others.

Notwithstanding I determined with myself, for certain causes which I
omit, to sound the depth of their devilish drifts, if I might; and the
rather therefore used and frequented their company: whereby appeared
unto me not a few of their ungracious and villanous false hearts,
faiths, and disloyal minds, slanderous words, and most vile treasons
towards my most excellent and noble mistress, the Queen's Majesty, and
towards divers of her most honourable Privy Council; in such sort as
many times did make mine eyes to gush out with tears for very sorrow
and fear to think of it.

Wherefore, lately [_about 14th May 1581_], I made my humble submission
unto the Right Honourable Her Highness's Privy Council, for my unlawful
living as aforesaid. At whose hands I found such honourable dealing,
and by their means such mercy from Her Majesty, that I wish with all my
heart all the <DW7>s, which are subjects born to Her Highness, to run
the same course that I have done: and then should they easily see what
difference there is between the good and merciful dealing of our most
gracious loving and natural Prince; and the great treacheries of that
great enemy to our country, the Pope. For Her Highness freely forgiveth
offenders; but the Pope pardoneth for money. Her Grace's hands are
continually full of mercy, ready to deliver enough freely to any that
will desire and deserve it: and the Pope his great clutches and fists
are ready to deliver nothing but devilish devices and paltry stuff of
his own making, to set country and country together by the ears; and
yet for these, hath he money.

Truly it is a most lamentable case that ever any Christian should be
seduced and drawn from the true worshipping of GOD, and their duty to
their Prince and country; as many are by the Pope and his Satanical
crew. I beseech GOD turn their hearts, and grant us all amendment;
which can neither be too timely, if it were presently; nor never too
late, whensoever it shall happen: unless wilfully they proceed in
their dealings, which GOD forbid. For _humanum est errare, perseverare
belluinum_.

Shortly after my submission and reconciliation, as aforesaid, it
pleased my Lords of Her Highness's most honourable Privy Council to
grant the Commission that I before spake of, to myself and to the said
DAVID JENKINS, for the apprehension of certain lewd Jesuit
Priests and other seditious persons of like sort, wheresoever we should
happen to find them within England. Whereupon we determined a certain
voyage [_journey_]: in which EDMUND CAMPION the aforesaid
Jesuit and others were by us taken and brought to the Tower of London,
in manner as hereafter followeth.


_The true manner of taking of EDMUND CAMPION and his
associates._


IT happened that after the receipt of our Commission aforesaid, we
consulted between ourselves, What way were best to take first? For we
were utterly ignorant where, or in what place, certainly to find out
the said CAMPION, or his compeers. And our consultation was
shortly determined: for the greatest part of our travail and dealings
in this service did lie chiefly upon mine own determination, by reason
of mine acquaintance and knowledge of divers of [the] like sect.

It then presently came to my remembrance of certain acquaintance which
I once had with one THOMAS COOPER a Cook, who, in November [1578] was
two years, served Master THOMAS ROPER of [Orpington in] Kent; where,
at that time, I in like manner served: and both of us, about the same
month [November 1578], departed the said Master ROPER his service; I
into Essex, and the said COOPER to Lyford in Berkshire, to one Master
YATE. From whence, within one half year after [_before May 1579_], I
was advertised in Essex, that the said Cook was placed in service; and
that the said Master YATE was a very earnest <DW7>, and one that gave
great entertainment to any of that sect.

Which tale, being told me in Essex two years before [1579] we entered
[on] this journey, by GOD's great goodness, came to my memory but even
the day before [13th July 1581] we set forth. Hereof I informed the
said DAVID JENKINS, being my fellow in Commission, and told
him it would be our best way to go thither first: for that it was not
meant that we should go to any place but where indeed I either had
acquaintance; or by some means possible in our journey, could get
acquaintance. And told him we would dispose of our journey in such sort
as we might come to the said Master YATE's upon the Sunday
about eight of the clock in the morning: "where," said I, "if we find
the said Cook, and that there be any Mass to be said there that day,
or any massing Priest in the house; the Cook, for old acquaintance and
for that he supposeth me to be a <DW7>, will bring me to the sight
thereof."

And upon this determination, we set from London [on Friday] the 14th
day of July last; and came to the said Master YATE's house,
the 16th of the same month, being Sunday, about the hour aforesaid.

Where, without the gates of the same house, we espied one of the
servants of the house, who most likely seemed, by reason of his lying
aloof, to be as it were a Scout Watcher, that they within might
accomplish their secret matters more safely.

I called the said servant, and enquired of him for the said THOMAS
COOPER the Cook.

Who answered, That he could not well tell, whether he were within or
not.

I prayed him that he would friend me so much as to see; and told him my
name.

The said servant did so, it seemed; for the Cook came forth presently
unto us where we sat still upon horseback. And after a few such
speeches, as betwixt friend and friend when they have been long
asunder, were passed; still sitting upon our horses, I told him That I
had longed to see him; and that I was then travelling into Derbyshire
to see my friends, and came so far out of my way to see him. And said
I, "Now I have seen you, my mind is well satisfied; and so fare you
well!"

"No," saith he, "that shall you not do before dinner."

I made the matter very earnest to be gone; and he, more earnest and
importune to stay me. But in truth I was as willing to stay as he to
have me.

And so, perforce, there was no remedy but stay we must. And having
lighted from horseback; and being by him brought into the house, and so
into the buttery, and there caused to drink: presently after, the said
Cook came and whispered with me, and asked, Whether my friend (meaning
the said JENKINS) were within the Church or not? Therein
meaning, Whether he were a <DW7> or no?

To which I answered, "He was not; but yet," said I, "he is a very
honest man, and one that wisheth well that way."

Then said the Cook to me, "Will you go up?" By which speech, I knew he
would bring me to a Mass.

And I answered him and said, "Yea, for God's sake, that let me do: for
seeing I must needs tarry, let me take something with me that is good."

[Sidenote: Some men blame me for dissembling the matter as I did:
but to do my Prince and country service, I hold it lawful to use any
reasonable policy. For the Field is not always won by strength.]

And so we left JENKINS in the buttery; and I was brought by the Cook
through the hall, the dining parlour, and two or three other odd
rooms, and then into a fair large chamber: where there was, at the same
instant, one Priest, called SATWELL, saying Mass; two other Priests
kneeling by, whereof one was CAMPION, and the other called PETERS alias
COLLINGTON [_or rather_ COLLETON]; three Nuns, and 37 other people.

When SATWELL had finished his Mass; then CAMPION he
invested himself to say Mass, and so he did: and at the end thereof,
made holy bread and delivered it to the people there, to every one
some, together with holy water; whereof he gave me part also.

[Sidenote: I had once my Commission in my hand to have dealt with
them myself alone in the Chamber. If I had, I pray you judge what had
happened unto me.]

And then was there a chair set in the chamber something beneath the
Altar, wherein the said CAMPION did sit down; and there made
a Sermon very nigh an hour long: the effect of his text being, as I
remember, "That Christ wept over Jerusalem, &c." And so applied the
same to this our country of England for that the Pope his authority and
doctrine did not so flourish here as the same CAMPION desired.

At the end of which Sermon, I gat down unto the said JENKINS
so soon as I could. For during the time that the Masses and the Sermon
were made, JENKINS remained still beneath in the buttery or
hall; not knowing of any such matter until I gave him some intelligence
[of] what I had seen.

And so we departed, with as convenient expedition as we might, and
came to one Master FETTIPLACE, a Justice of the Peace in the
said country [_County_]: whom we made privy of our doings therein; and
required him that, according to the tenour of our Commission, he would
take sufficient Power and with us thither.

Whereupon the said Justice of Peace, within one quarter of an hour, put
himself in a readiness, with forty or fifty men very well weaponed: who
went, in great haste, together with the said Master FETTIPLACE
and us, to the said Master YATE his house.

Where, at our coming upon the sudden, being about one of the clock in
the afternoon of the same day, before we knocked at the gates which
were then (as before they were continually accustomed to be) fast
shut (the house being moated round about; within which moat was great
store of fruit trees and other trees, with thick hedge rows: so that
the danger for fear of losing of the said CAMPION and his
associates was the more doubted); we beset the house with our men round
about the moat in the best sort we could devise: and then knocked at
the gates, and were presently heard and espied; but kept out by the
space of half an hour.

In which time, as it seemeth, they had hidden CAMPION and the
other two Priests in a very secret place within the said house; and had
made reasonable purveyance for him as hereafter is mentioned: and then
they let us into the house.

[Sidenote: One Nun got away in country maid's apparel.]

[Sidenote: Mistress YATE proferred us a good sum of money to
have given over the search.]

Where came presently to our sight, Mrs YATE, the good wife
of the house; five Gentlemen, one Gentlewoman, and three Nuns: the
Nuns being then disguised in Gentlewomen's apparel, not like unto that
they heard Mass in. All which I well remembered to have seen, the same
morning, at the Masses and Sermon aforesaid: yet every one of them a
great while denied it. And especially the said Mistress YATE;
who could not be content only to make a plain denial of the said Masses
and the Priests: but, with great and horrible oaths, forsware the same,
betaking herself to the Devil if any such there were; in such sort as,
if I had not seen them with mine own eyes, I should have believed her.

[Sidenote: Master YATE was then, as he is still, in prison in
Reading, for Papistry.]

But knowing certainly that these were but bare excuses, and that we
should find the said CAMPION and his compeers if we made
narrow search; I eftsoons put Master FETTIPLACE in remembrance
of our Commission: and so he, myself, and the said JENKINS Her
Majesty's Messenger, went to searching the house; where we found many
secret corners.

Continuing the search, although with no small toil, in the orchards,
hedges, and ditches, within the moat and divers other places; at
the last [we] found out Master EDWARD YATE, brother to the
good man of the house, and two countrymen called WEBLIN
and MANSFIELD, fast locked together in a pigeon house: but
we could not find, at that time, CAMPION and the other two
Priests whom we specially sought for.

It drew then something towards evening, and doubting lest we were not
strong enough; we sent our Commission to one Master FOSTER,
High Sheriff of Berkshire; and to one Master WISEMAN, a
Justice of Peace within the same County; for some further aid at their
hands.

The said Master WISEMAN came with very good speed unto us the
same evening, with ten or twelve of his own men, very able men and well
appointed: but the said Master FOSTER could not be found, as
the messenger that went for him returned us answer.

And so the said house was beset the same night with at the least three
score men well weaponed; who watched the same very diligently.

And the next day, being Monday [17th July 1581], in the morning very
early, came one Master CHRISTOPHER LYDCOT, a Justice of Peace
of the same shire, with a great sort [_company_] of his own men, all
very well appointed: who, together with his men, shewed such earnest
loyal and forward service in those affairs as was no small comfort and
encouragement to all those which were present, and did bear true hearts
and good wills to Her Majesty.

The same morning, began a fresh search for the said Priests; which
continued with very great labour until about ten of the clock in the
forenoon of the same day: but the said Priests could not be found, and
every man [was] almost persuaded that they were not there.

[Sidenote: Master LYDCOT was then hard by.]

Yet still searching, although in effect clean void of any hope for
finding of them, the said DAVID JENKINS, by GOD's great goodness,
espied a certain secret place,[4] which he quickly found to be hollow;
and with a pin of iron which he had in his hand much like unto a harrow
tine, he forthwith did break a hole into the said place: where then
presently he perceived the said Priests lying all close together upon
a bed, of purpose there laid for them; where they had bread, meat, and
drink sufficient to have relieved them three or four days together.

The said JENKINS then called very loudly, and said, "I have
found the traitors!"; and presently company enough was with him: who
there saw the said Priests [that], when there was no remedy for them
but _nolens volens_, courteously yielded themselves.

Shortly after came one Master READE, another Justice of the
Peace of the said shire, to be assistant in these affairs.

[Sidenote: First myself rode post to the Court; and, after me, the said
Messenger.]

Of all which matters, news was immediately carried in great haste to
the Lords of the Privy Council: who gave further Commission that the
said Priests and certain others their associates should be brought to
the Court under the conduction of myself and the said JENKINS;
with commandment to the Sheriff to deliver us sufficient aid forth of
his shire, for the safe bringing up of the said people.

After that the rumour and noise for the finding out of the said
CAMPION, SATWELL, and PETERS _alias_ COLLINGTON, was in the said house
something assuaged; and that the sight of them was to the people there
no great novelty: then was the said High Sheriff sent for once again;
who all that while had not been seen in this service. But then came,
and received into his charge the said Priests and certain others from
that day until Thursday following.

[Sidenote: ANTHONY MUNDAY saith, The Sheriff and his men gave
him instructions for the setting out of the said untrue book.]

The fourth Priest which was by us brought up to the Tower, whose name
is WILLIAM FILBIE, was not taken with the said CAMPION and the rest
in the said house: but was apprehended and taken in our watch [_on
the 17th_], by chance, in coming to the said house to speak with the
said PETERS [_or_ COLLETON], as he said; and thereupon [was] delivered
likewise in charge to the Sheriff, with the rest.

Upon Thursday, the 20th day of July last [1581], we set forwards from
the said Master YATE his house towards the Court, with our
said charge; being assisted by the said Master LYDCOT and
Master WISEMAN, and a great sort [_company_] of their men; who
never left us until we came to the Tower of London. There were besides,
that guarded us thither, 50 or 60 Horsemen; very able men and well
appointed: which we received by the said Sheriff his appointment.

We went that day to Henley upon Thames, where we lodged that night.

And about midnight we were put into great fear by reason of a very
great cry and noise that the said FILBIE made in his sleep;
which wakened the most that were that night in the house, and that in
such sort that every man almost thought that some of the prisoners had
been broken from us and escaped; although there was in and about the
same house a very strong watch appointed and charged for the same. The
aforesaid Master LYDCOT was the first that came unto them: and
when the matter was examined, it was found no more but that the said
FILBIE was in a dream; and, as he said, he verily thought one
to be a ripping down his body and taking out his bowels.

The next day, being Friday [21st July 1581], we set forward from
Henley. And by the way received commandment by a Pursuivant from
the Lords of the Privy Council, that we should stay that night at
Colebrook; and the next day after, being Saturday, to bring them
through the city of London unto the Tower, and there to deliver them
into the charge of Sir OWEN HOPTON Knight, Her Majesty's
Lieutenant of the same; which accordingly we did.

And this is, in effect, the true discourse [of] that was used in the
apprehension of the said CAMPION and his associates.

Some men may marvel that I would be silent so long for the setting
out of the manner of their takings; considering I find myself
aggrieved with the same untrue report set out before by the said A.
M[UNDAY]. In good faith I meant nothing less than to take any
such matter in hand, if so great an untruth had not been published
against us that were doers in those affairs; and besides hitherto
divers other weightier business has partly hindered me therein.

But now at the last, although very late, I have rudely set down the
verity in this matter: thinking it better to tell a true tale by
leisure, than a lie in haste; as the said A. M., by his former book,
hath done to his own discredit, the deluding of Her Majesty's liege
people, and the slander of some which have intermeddled in the said
cause.

[Illustration]

The names of those that were taken and brought up to the Tower of
London, as aforesaid.

  1. EDWARD CAMPION,                   Jesuit and Priest.

  2. THOMAS SATWELL [_alias_ FOORD], }
  3. JOHN PETERS _alias_ COLLINGTON  }           Priests.
    [_or more properly_ COLLETON],   }
  4. WILLIAM FILBIE,                 }

  5. EDWARD YATE,                    }
  6. EDWARD KEYNES,                  }
  7. HUMPHREY KEYNES,                }
  8. JOHN COTTON,                    }         Gentlemen.
  9. WILLIAM ILSLEY [_or_ HILDESLEY],}
  10. JOHN JACOB [_or_ JAMES],       }

  11. JOHN MANSFIELD,                }     Husbandmen and
  12. WILLIAM WEBLIN [_or_ WEBLEY],  } Neighbours thereby.


SINCE the committing of the persons before-named to the Tower as
aforesaid, there hath been, for my service done in those and such like
affairs, no small nor few brags, threatenings, curses, and evil wishes
given out against me by such as, if they were known, deserve both
little liberty and small favour.

[Sidenote: CAMPION, when he first saw me after his
apprehension, said unto me, That my service done in the taking of him
would be unfortunate to me. And in our journey towards the Tower, he
advised me to get out of England for the safety of my body.]

Some of my friends have doubted [_feared_] lest that sort of lewd
people would do their good wills to hurt me by some secret device, as
conjuration, witchcraft, or such like; the which I rather think to be
true, for that, shortly after the foresaid business ended, it pleased
GOD to visit me with some sickness after I was gone to bed at night;
which indeed for two or three hours handled me something hardly. But,
GOD I take to witness, I never was of that opinion that it came to me
by any other means but only by riding post two or three journies about
the business aforesaid.

Yet, within one day or two after my sickness, there came to a
neighbour's house [to] where I lodged in Southwark, one Mistress
BEYSAUNT, a widow, whose abode is most about St. Mary Overies,
and at the last by report smelleth of Papistry, and asked the good wife
of the house for me, and what she had lately heard of me.

She answered, She knew me not; nor nothing she had heard of me.

[Sidenote: It seemeth she was privy to some secret practice against me.]

Then said Mistress BEYSAUNT, "The very truth is, it is he
that took CAMPION and the rest of the company that are in the
Tower; and was the cause that Master ROPER and divers other
good men are troubled: and the last day," saith she, "he did fall mad
in the street, and was carried so into his lodging; and is not like[ly]
to escape with life. I pray you inquire further of him, and let me have
knowledge thereof."

So that hereby I may plainly see that the <DW7>s take great care for
me: but whether it be for my weal or woe, and what her meaning was,
let the world judge. But let the Devil, the Pope, and them do what they
can; my faith standeth so sure on CHRIST JESUS my Saviour,
that through him I defy them all.

There hath been great murmuring and grudging against me about the
committing of the aforesaid Master THOMAS ROPER; and many
faults have been found for the same.

What I did therein I mean not here to recite: but my dealings in those
causes are known to such as before whom I think the fault finders dare
not shew their faces. But whatsoever I did against him, I would have
done against mine own father; the case standing as it did. Yet such
find-faults, to make the matter seem more odious to the World against
me, do not stick to report and say, That the said Master ROPER
hath brought me up from my childhood to this day at his only charges.
Which is so false as GOD is true. For although I was his servant; I
continued with him, in all, not past one year.

       *       *       *       *       *

But to conclude. A great number of such like untruths have been
published against me, and no few bold brags; as report goeth. I could
name some if I would: but I let them pass; unless I be commanded to the
contrary by such as have authority to deal with me therein. GOD grant
them amendment, I mean not towards myself; or else make their doings
known in such sort as they may have their deservings; or at least be
put to the mercy of Her Majesty: to whose Highness, JESUS send
long life, a prosperous reign, with all joy and felicity!

GEORGE ELLIOT.

Imprinted at London at the _Three Cranes_ in the Vintry,
by THOMAS DAWSON.

1581.


   On 12 March 1582, there was entered for publication at
  Stationers' Hall [ARBER, _Transcript &c._, II. 408.] _A
  brief Answer made unto two seditious Pamphlets_. By A. M.
  [ANTHONY MUNDAY.] The _Preface to the Reader_ is however
  dated "From Barbican, the 22 of March 1582."

  We give here the beginning of this _Answer_; the side
  notes being, of course, the comments of ANTHONY MUNDAY.

[Sidenote: Not for their religion; but for High Treason. [A.M.]]

NOT long after I had published [on 22 January 1582] my book called _The
Discovery of CAMPION_; there came unto my hands a seditious
pamphlet in the French tongue, intituled _The History of the Death
which the Reverend Father, Master EDMUND CAMPION Priest, of
the Society of the name of JESUS, and others have suffered
in England for the Catholic, or Romish, religion or faith, the 1st
December 1581_; adding underneath _Translated out of English into
French_.

When I had thoroughly perused this book, noting the traitorous effects
and slanderous speeches therein contained, receiving the judgment
likewise of divers learned and godly men: as well to correct the
manifest untruths wherewith this pamphlet is notably stuffed, as also
that the godly and virtuous may discern their apparent impudency and
wicked nature; I resolved myself to shape a brief _Answer_ to such a
shameless libel; myself being therein untruly and maliciously abused.

[Sidenote: The manner of the aforesaid traitorous book. [A.M.]]

First, our nameless historiographer, because he would aim his course
after some odd manner of conveyance, taketh occasion to begin his book
with the taking of CAMPION, his bringing to the Tower, what
happened in his time of stay there, and lastly his martyrdom (as he
termeth it) with two other holy and devout Priests; and, in this manner
continuing his unadvised labour, he beginneth as hereafter followeth:

[Sidenote: To build upon hearsay proveth but a slender foundation.
[A.M.]]

_GEORGE ELLIOT (sometime servant to Master THOMAS
ROPER; and since belonging to a Gentlewoman, the widow of Sir
WILLIAM PETRE: in whose service he made show to be a sound
and good Catholic) not long since committed a murder, as men say: for
which offence, fearing the danger that was like[ly] to ensue, he went
and submitted himself to one of the chief Lords in the Court; and, the
better to win his favour, on his own behalf promised to deliver into
his hands the Father EDMUND CAMPION._

_This promise, saith he, was received; and unto the said
GEORGE and an Officer, was delivered Commission to take and
apprehend the said EDMUND CAMPION._

_Then went they on their way, and coming into Berkshire to [the] house
of one Master YATE; GEORGE ELLIOT met with the Cook of the house with
whom he was very well acquainted, because they had before both served
one Master._

[Sidenote: His Master was then in the gaol at Reading. Judge then how
CAMPION could be within "with his Master." [A.M.]]

_The Cook, thinking no ill, began to tell him many things; and that
Father CAMPION was in the house with his Master._

_Upon which report, GEORGE sent his fellow to the Justice, who
was a very great Calvinist. And he in mean while was brought into the
house by the said Cook: where, like another JUDAS, traitor
and disloyal, he first attended the sacrifice of the Mass which was
celebrated that day by the Father EDMUND, as also a Sermon
which he made. In which time behold a good man came running, willing
them to take heed of a present treason._

_Scantly was all carried away that had served for the Mass and the
Sermon; but the Justice was there arrived with [a] very great force,
besetting the house round about, that none should escape away._

_After very diligent search through all the chambers and other
more secret places; they were determined to return, as not finding
anything, until they were advertised (either by GEORGE, who
had understood it of the Cook; or by some other) of a certain corner,
more dark and subtle; where they found the Father EDMUND and
two other Priests hidden: who, the same day, with Gentlemen and other
persons, were sent up to London; a spectacle of great joy unto their
adversaries._

This much of our French historian's words, I thought good in this
place to set down: because the disproof thereto annexed may discover
what truth all they of this sect frequent in any of their actions.

[Sidenote: By that which followeth, written by GEORGE ELLIOT
himself; consider the truth of this report. [A.M.]]

This aforenamed GEORGE ELLIOT came home unto my lodging [? in
Barbican, see page 221; and in February 1582]; where I shewed him the
slanders that were used of him in the French book.

Whereupon, taking good advice, and noting the circumstances that
so highly touched him; upon his conscience, he delivereth this
unreprovable Answer.


 _GEORGE ELLIOT his Answer, to clear himself of the former
 untrue Objections._

ABOUT three years since [? 1578] it was my fortune to serve Master
THOMAS ROPER of [Orpington in] Kent. With whom I had not stayed past
eleven weeks, but PAYNE the Priest (of whom mention is made [see page
205] in the _Discovery of CAMPION_ set forth by the Author of this book
[_i.e._ ANTHONY MUNDAY]) inticed me [in November 1578] from thence to
serve my Lady PETRE, to whom the said PAYNE served craftily as Steward
of her house.

[Sidenote: Who frequenteth their company shall find all their dealings
disloyal and traitorous. [A.M.]]

With her I continued almost two years [? Nov. 1578-Nov. 1580]. In
which time, being myself bent somewhat to that religion, frequenting
the company of a number of <DW7>s, I perceived their dealings to be,
as they are indeed, full of wicked treasons and unnatural dispositions,
too bad to be named. The conceit whereof (examining first my duty to
GOD, next my love to my Princess [_Sovereign_], and last the care
of my country,) by the grace and permission of GOD, offered me so
great disliking of their dealings that, so warily and conveniently
as I might, I weaned my affection from their abominable infection:
nevertheless using their companies still, for that it gave me the
better occasion to see into the depth of their horrible inventions.

From my Lady PETRE, in November was twelvemonth [1580], by
entreaty I came to Master ROPER's again. With whom I continued
till Whitsuntide last [14th May 1581], when my conscience hardly
digesting such a weighty burden as with their devices and practices it
was very sore ladened; I was constrained to give over that slavish kind
of life, and humbly committed my reconciliation to the Right Honourable
and my good Lord, the Earl of LEICESTER: to whom I made known
the grievous estate of my life which, for the space of four years, I
had endured amongst them.

Now whereas it hath pleased my adversary to set down that I

  _committed a murder, and to avoid the danger of law
  offered to the aforesaid my good Lord to deliver unto him
  EDMUND CAMPION, thereby to obtain my pardon._

[Sidenote: It is very unlike[ly] that he, which never saw
CAMPION in all his life, nor knew where he was, could make any
promise to bring him forth. [A.M.]]

How untrue this is, his Honour very well knoweth; and so do a number
more besides. For, in truth, I neither, as then, knew CAMPION,
had never seen him in all my life, nor knew where or in what place he
was, it is very unlike[ly] then I should make him any such promise. But
that he may learn another time to order his matters with more truth and
discretion; I will set down both how I went, with what Commission, and
to what intent: and then let him have judgment according to the credit
of his Work:

       *       *       *       *       *

When I had revealed the traitorous speeches of PAYNE the Priest (how,
and after what manner, you may read in the book [by ANTHONY MUNDAY]
before expressed [see page 205]) I was demanded, If I knew where he was
at that time?

I could not make any certain answer.

Whereupon I was demanded again, If I would do my endeavour to search
him out?

Whereto, according to my bounden duty, I agreed right willingly.

[Sidenote: I saw the Warrant myself; and neither was CAMPION,
PAYNE, or any one named therein: but _all Priests, Jesuits,
and such seditious persons._ [A.M.]]

Then was I appointed, in company with DAVID JENKINS, one of the
Messengers of Her Majesty's Chamber; and to us was delivered a Warrant
to take and apprehend, not any one man, but _all Priests, Jesuits, and
such like seditions persons_, as in our journey we should meet withal.
Neither was CAMPION, PAYNE, or any one man named in the Warrant: for
that as the one was judged hard to be found; so it was uncertain where
to find him [that] I knew well enough.

Wherefore remembering, when I served Master ROPER, that
there was one THOMAS COOPER a Cook, who served him likewise,
and also knew the aforesaid PAYNE; to him I thought good to
go, because I had understanding that he dwelt at Lyford in Berkshire
with one Master YATE who was a very earnest <DW7> and gave
great entertainment to all of that sect: thinking as it might so
fall out that we either might find the said PAYNE there,
or else understand where he was. And considering the generality
[_comprehensiveness_] of our Warrant, some other Priests might chance
to be there; in respect that he was such a host for all of that
disposition.

When we came to Lyford, and had talked with this aforesaid THOMAS
COOPER; we were framing ourselves to depart thence, not having
been within the house at all. But he desiring us to stay dinner, we
alighted and went in with him; he not telling me that

  _CAMPION was there with his Master_

for he [_Master YATE_] was then in the gaol at Reading; or any
other Priest: though it hath pleased our nameless Author to write so.

[Sidenote: A holy kind of Church, whereof the Devil is Vicar. [A.M.]]

When we were within the house, this COOPER brought us into the
buttery: where he, whispering me in the ear, demanded, If my fellow
were within the Church or no? as much to say as, Whether he was a
<DW7> or no?

I answered, "He was not; yet nevertheless," quoth I, "he is a very
honest man, and one that wisheth well that way."

Then said the Cook, "Will you go up?"

Hereby I understood that he would bring me to a Mass. Whereto I
consenting, leaving DAVID JENKINS in the buttery, he brought me up:
where, after one SATWELL alias FOORD had said Mass, CAMPION prepared
himself to say Mass. And there was the first time that ever I saw
CAMPION in all my life: not having heard by any that he was there in
the house, before I was brought up into the chamber.

       *       *       *       *       *

As concerning how he was taken, how he was brought up to London, and
how all things passed in that service; I have already set down in my
book imprinted: which conferring with his false report, you shall find
it as much to differ as truth doth from falsehood.

This have I thought good here to set down, in the reproof of him who
hath published such a manifest untruth: and as concerning what I have
reported to be spoken by PAYNE, I am ready at all times to
justify it with my death, that they are his words according as he spake
them.

  By me GEORGE ELLIOT.

[Illustration]

    [Footnote 4: In MUNDAY's _Brief Discourse, &c._ [24 July 1581]
    there is a description of this "secret place"; which may be correct as
    to its situation in the Manor House at Lyford:

    A chamber, near the top of the house; which was but very simple:
    having in it a large great shelf with divers tools and instruments
    both upon it, and hanging by it; which they judged to belong to
    some crossbow maker. The simpleness of the place caused them to use
    small suspicion in it: and [they] were departing out again; but one
    in the company, by good hap, espied a chink in the wall of boards
    whereto this shelf was fastened, and through the same he perceived
    some light. Drawing his dagger, he smit a great hole in it; and saw
    there was a room behind it: whereat the rest stayed, searching for
    some entrance into it; which by pulling down a shelf they found,
    being a little hole for one to creep in at.]




The Copy of a Letter lately written
in metre by a young Gentlewoman
to her inconstant Lover.

WITH

An Admonition to all young Gentlewomen
and to all other Maids in general,
to beware of Men's flattery.

BY

Is. W.

NEWLY JOINED TO

A Love Letter sent by a Bachelor,
a most faithful Lover, to an inconstant
and faithless Maiden.

Imprinted at London

by Richard Jones; dwelling in the
upper end of Fleet lane,
at the sign of the
_Spread Eagle_.


_The Printer to the Reader._

    WHAT lack you, Master mine?
      some trifle that is true?
    Why then, this same will serve your turn;
      the which is also new.

    Or if you mind to read
      some Fables that be feigned:
    Buy this same book! and ye shall find
      such in the same contained.

    Perchance, my words be thought
      uncredible to you;
    Because I say this Treatise is
      both false and also true.

    The matter of itself
      is true, as many know:
    And in the same, some feignèd tales
      the Author doth bestow.

    Therefore buy this same book
      of him that here doth dwell;
    And you, I know, will say you have
      bestowed your money well.

    Farewell.




Is. W.


_To her unconstant Lover._

    AS close as you your wedding kept,
      yet now the truth I hear:
    Which you, ere now, might me have told.
      What need you "Nay!" to swear?

    You know I always wished you well;
      so will I during life!
    But sith you shall a Husband be;
      GOD send you a good Wife!

    And this, whereso you shall become,
      full boldly may you boast:
    That once you had as true a Love
      as dwelt in any coast.

    Whose constantness had never quailed,
      if you had not begun:
    And yet it is not so far past,
      but might again be won.

    If you so would, yea and not change
      so long as life should last:
    But if that needs you marry must;
      then Farewell! Hope is past!

    And if you cannot be content
      to lead a single life,
    Although the same right quiet be:
      then take me to your Wife!

    So shall the promises be kept
      that you so firmly made:
    Now choose, Whether ye will be true,
      or be of SINON's trade?

    Whose trade if that you long shall use,
      it shall your kindred stain!
    Example take by many a one,
      whose falsehood now is plain.

    As by ENEAS, first of all,
      who did poor DIDO leave;
    Causing the Queen by his untruth,
      with sword her heart to cleave.

    Also I find that THESEUS did
      his faithful Love forsake;
    Stealing away within the night,
      before she did awake.

    JASON, that came of noble race
      two Ladies did beguile:
    I muse how he durst show his face
      to them that knew his wile.

    For when he, by MEDEA's art,
      had got the Fleece of Gold;
    And also had of her, that time,
      all kinds of things he would:

    He took his ship, and fled away;
      regarding not the vows
    That he did make so faithfully
      unto his loving Spouse.

    How durst he trust the surging seas,
      knowing himself forsworn?
    Why did he 'scape safe to land
      before the ship was torn?

    I think King ÆOLUS stayed the winds,
      and NEPTUNE ruled the sea;
    Then might he boldly pass the waves:
      no perils could him slay.

    But if his falsehood had to them
      been manifest before;
    They would have rent the ship as soon
      as he had gone from shore.

    Now may you hear how falseness is
      made manifest in time;
    Although they that commit the same
      think it a venial crime.

    For they, for their unfaithfulness,
      did get perpetual fame.
    Fame! Wherefore did I term it so?
      I should have called it shame.

    Let THESEUS be! let JASON pass!
      let PARIS also 'scape,
    That brought destruction unto Troy,
      all through the Grecian rape.

    And unto me a TROILUS be!
      If not, you may compare
    With any of these persons that
      above expressèd are.

    But if I cannot please your mind,
      for wants that rest in me:
    Wed whom you list! I am content
      your refuse for to be.

    It shall suffice me, simple soul,
      of thee to be forsaken:
    And it may chance, although not yet,
      you wish, you had me taken.

    But rather than you should have cause
      to wish this, through your Wife:
    I wish to her, ere you her have,
      no more but loss of life.

    For she that shall so happy be,
      of thee to be elect;
    I wish her virtues to be such,
      she need not be suspect!

    I rather wish her HELEN's face,
      than one of HELEN's trade!
    With chasteness of PENELOPE,
      the which did never fade.

    A LUCRECE for her constancy,
      and THISBE for her truth!
    If such thou have, then PETO be:
      not PARIS, that were ruth!

    Perchance, ye will think this thing rare
      in one woman to find.
    Save HELEN's beauty, all the rest
      the gods have me assigned.

    These words I do not speak, thinking
      from thy new Love to turn thee!
    Thou knowest by proof what I deserve!
      I need not to inform thee.

    But let that pass! Would God I had
      CASSANDRA's gift me lent!
    Then either thy ill chance, or mine,
      my foresight might prevent.

    But all in vain for this I seek.
      Wishes may not attain it!
    Therefore may hap to me what shall;
      and I cannot refrain it.

    Wherefore I pray, GOD be my guide,
      and also thee defend!
    No worser than I wish myself,
      until thy life shall end!

    Which life, I pray GOD, may again
      King NESTOR's life renew!
    And after that, your soul may rest
      amongst the heavenly crew!

    Thereto I wish King XERXES's wealth,
      or else King CRŒSUS's gold!
    With as much rest and quietness
      as man may have on mold!

    And when you shall this letter have
      let it be kept in store!
    For she that sent the same, hath sworn
      as yet to send no more.

    And now, "Farewell!" For why? At large
      my mind is here exprest:
    The which you may perceive, if that
      you do peruse the rest.

 FINIS.

 IS. W.


_The Admonition by the Author to all young Gentlewomen, and to all
other Maids, being in love._

    YE Virgins, that from CUPID's tents
      do bear away the foil!
    Whose hearts as yet with raging love
      most painfully do boil:

    To you, I speak! For you be they
      that good advice do lack;
    O if I could good counsel give,
      my tongue should not be slack!

    But such as I can give, I will
      here in a few words express:
    Which if you do observe, it will
      some of your care redress.

    Beware of fair and painted talk!
      Beware of flattering tongues!
    The Mermaids do pretend no good,
      for all their pleasant Songs!

    Some use the tears of crocodiles,
      contrary to their heart:
    And if they cannot always weep,
      they wet their cheeks by Art.

    OVID, within his _Art of Love_,
      doth teach them this same knack:
    To wet their hand, and touch their eyes;
      as oft as tears they lack.

    Why have ye such deceit in store?
      have you such crafty wile?
    Less craft than this, God knows, would soon
      us simple souls beguile!

    But will ye not leave off; but still
      delude us in this wise?
    Sith it is so, we trust we shall
      take heed to feignèd lies.

    Trust not a man at the first sight!
      but try him well before:
    I wish all Maids, within their breasts,
      to keep this thing in store.

    For trial shall declare this truth,
      and show what he doth think:
    Whether he be a Lover true,
      or do intend to shrink.

    If SCYLLA had not trust too much
      before that she did try;
    She could not have been clean forsake,
      When she for help did cry.

    Or if she had had good advice,
      NISUS had livèd long!
    How durst she trust a stranger, and
      do her dear father wrong!

    King NISUS had a hair by fate;
      which hair while he did keep,
    He never should be overcome,
      neither on land nor deep.

    The stranger, that the daughter loved,
      did war against the King;
    And always sought how that he might
      them in subjection bring.

    This SCYLLA stole away the hair,
      for to obtain her will:
    And gave it to the stranger, that
      did straight her father kill.

    Then she, who thought herself most sure
      to have her whole desire,
    Was clean reject, and left behind;
      When he did home retire.

    Or if such falsehood had been once
      unto ŒNONE known;
    About the fields of Ida wood,
      PARIS had walked alone!

    Or if DEMOPHOON's deceit,
      to PHILLIS had been told;
    She had not been transformèd so,
      as Poets tell of old.

    HERO did try LEANDER's truth
      before that she did trust;
    Therefore she found him unto her
      both constant true and just.

    For he always did swim the sea,
      when stars in sky did glide;
    Till he was drownèd by the way,
      near hand unto the side.

    She scrat[ched] her face, she tare her hair,
      it grieveth me to tell,
    When she did know the end of him
      that she did love so well.

    But like LEANDER there be few;
      therefore, in time, take heed!
    And always try before ye trust!
      so shall you better speed.

    The little fish that careless is
      within the water clear.
    How glad is he, when he doth see
      a bait for to appear!

    He thinks his hap right good to be,
      that he the same could spy;
    And so the simple fool doth trust
      too much before he try.

    O little fish, what hap hadst thou,
      to have such spiteful fate!
    To come into one's cruel hands,
      out of so happy state.

    Thou didst suspect no harm, when thou
      upon the bait didst look:
    O that thou hadst had LYNCEUS's eyes,
      for to have seen the hook!

    Then hadst thou, with thy pretty mates,
      been playing in the streams;
    Where as Sir PHŒBUS daily doth
      shew forth his golden beams.

    But sith thy fortune is so ill
      to end thy life on shore;
    Of this, thy most unhappy end,
      I mind to speak no more.

    But of thy fellow's chance that late
      such pretty shift did make
    That he, from fisher's hook did sprint
      before he could him take.

    And now he pries on every bait,
      suspecting still that prick
    For to lie hid in everything,
      wherewith the fishers strike.

    And since the fish, that reason lacks,
      once warnèd, doth beware:
    Why should not we take heed to that
      that turneth us to care.

    And I, who was deceivèd late
      by one's unfaithful tears,
    Trust now for to beware, if that
      I live this hundred years.

    IS. W.

FINIS.




  A Love Letter,
  or an earnest persuasion of a Lover,
  sent, of late, to a young Maiden;
  to whom he was betrothed:

  Who, afterward, being overcome with
  flattery, she seemed utterly to swerve
  from her former promise, without
  occasion; and so to
  forsake him.

  By W. G.

[Illustration]


 W. G.

 _A Love Letter sent from a faithful Lover,
 to an unconstant Maiden._

    AS duty wills, so Nature moves
      thy friend these lines to write
    Wherein thy fraud, O faithless Thou!
      I mind to bring to light.

    Can plightèd faith, so firmly plight,
      without desert be moved?
    Or should the man that faithful is,
      so slenderly be loved?

    Should hate his guerdon thus remain
      in place of thy goodwill?
    Should rigour reign within thy breast,
      to vanquish reason's skill?

    Should faith, to falsehood so be changed?
      alas, the greater ruth,
    When double dealing is preferred
      before the perfect truth!

    If case such hap as recompense
      unto your friend you yield,
    What bulwark canst thou claim
      'gainst GOD thyself to shield?

    Can they that sit in hau[gh]ty heavens,
      such covert guilt abide?
    Or are they partial now, deemst thou?
      is Justice thrown aside?

    Nay, just are they, and justice still,
      as just, they justly use:
    And unto them, as guiltless then,
      canst thou thyself excuse?

    No, no; not so, for they behold
      thy double deeds, be sure!
    No forgèd style, nor flatt'ring phrase,
      their favour may allure.

    No gifts, no gold, can them corrupt;
      such justice there doth reign:
    And they that disobey their 'hests,
      are subject unto pain.

    These are no novel news I tell,
      the proof is plainly known:
    To such as do offend their wills,
      their power forth is shown.

    They see thy conscience guilty is;
      thy faithless fraud they see:
    And think'st thou then, this guilt of thine
      can unrewarded be?

    O FAITH, think not so far to wish
      from reason's limits pure!
    But judge thyself, what justice they
      to sinful ones inure.

    And thyself such doom shall give,
      as guilty shalt thou find:
    Therefore relent, and once again
      thy grudging conscience mind!

    Which unto gods that sacrèd are,
      as guilty thee bewray.
    In place of fraud, let faith and truth
      with thee now bear the sway!

    Revoke and call to memory
      the fruits of friendship shown!
    Perpend in mind my torments strong,
      my plaints and pensive moan!

    Which, six long years, as passionate
      to carping yoke of care,
    I 'bode for thee, as thou thyself,
      I know, canst well declare.

    Remember thou the plaints and tears
      which I poured forth for thee!
    And ponder well the sacred vow
      that thou hast made to me!

    Which vow gave comfort to thy friend,
      that subject served to grief:
    Thou gavest thyself a pledge to me!
      Thy faith was my relief!

    But now what hellish hag, alas,
      hath turned thy love to hate?
    Or else what whelp of HYDRA's kind
      in thee hath wrought debate?

    Alas, wilt thou despoil me quite
      of my possessèd joy?
    Or wilt thou plunge me headlong thus
      to gulfs of great annoy?

    Who would a [_have_] thought alas,
      such fraud to rest in thee?
    Who would have deemed, without desert
      thy heart should change from me?

    Whose heart hath couched his tent
      within my covert breast
    And thine, I hoped, of me thy friend
      likewise had been possesst.

    But wavering minds, I plainly see,
      so compassèd with guile,
    Pretend by sleights, the perfect joys
      of friends for to exile.

    O should a prattling parasite
      so egg thee with disdain;
    That thou, the presence of thy friend,
      through flattery, shouldst refrain?

    Not vouching once to speak with him,
      whose heart thou hadst in hold:
    Sith Liking fame hath granted grace;
      should Love so soon be cold!

    Consider these my letters well,
      and answer them again!
    For I, thy friend in covert zeal,
      this time hath closed my pen.

    Farewell! Adieu! Ten thousand times
      to GOD I thee commend!
    Beseeching him his heavenly grace
      unto thee still to send!

    Thy friend in wealth, thy friend in woe:
    Thy friend while life shall flit me fro.
    And whilst that you enjoy your breath,
    Leave not your friend unto the death!
        For greater praise cannot be won
        Than to observe True Love begun.

    W. G.


FINIS.

Imprinted at London by Richard Jones.

[Illustration]




 _The destruction, capture, &c. of Portuguese
 Carracks, by English seamen._


 1592-1594 _A.D._

  R. HAKLUYT. _Voyages_, III., 194, Ed. 1600.

  In the Third Volume of this Series will be found the
  fullest and most exact description in our language of the
  annual Fleets, usually consisting of five Carracks, that
  went from Lisbon to Goa and back; written by JAN HUYGHEN
  VAN LINSCHOTEN, a Dutchman, who made that Voyage in the
  years 1582-1592. The following events occurred after
  LINSCHOTEN reached Lisbon, on 2nd January 1592 [III. 470].

   Some additional particulars from a very rare tract,
  _The Seaman's Triumph_, London, 1592, 4to, are given in
  the footnotes.

_A true Report of the honourable Service at sea performed by Sir
JOHN BURROUGH Knight, Lieutenant General of the Fleet prepared
by the Honourable Sir WALTER RALEGH Knight, Lord Warden of
the Stanneries of Cornwall and Devon. Wherein, chiefly, the_ Santa
Clara _of Biscay, a ship of 600 tons, was taken: and the two East
Indian Carracks, the_ Santa Cruz _and the_ Madre de Dios, _were forced;
the one burnt, the other taken and brought into Dartmouth the 7th of
September 1592._


SIR WALTER RALEGH, upon Commission received from Her Majesty
for an Expedition to be made to the West Indies, slacked not his
uttermost diligence to make full provision of all things necessary: as,
both in his choice of good ships, and [of] sufficient men to perform
the action, evidently appeared. For [of] his ships, which were in
number fourteen or fifteen, those two of Her Majesty's, the _Garland_
and the _Foresight_, were the chiefest. The rest [were] either his own,
or his good friends', or [belonged to] Adventurers of London. For the
Gentlemen his consorts and Officers, to give them their right, they
were so well qualited in courage, experience, and discretion as the
greatest Prince might repute himself happy to be served with their like.

The honour of Lieutenant General was imposed upon Sir JOHN BURROUGH,
a Gentleman, for his manifold good and heroical parts, thought every
way worthy of that commandment. With whom, after Sir WALTER RALEGH
returned, was joined in Commission, Sir MARTIN FROBISHER: who, for his
special skill and knowledge in marine causes, had formerly carried
employments of like, or greater, place. The rest of the Captains,
soldiers, and sailors were men of notable resolution; and, for the most
part, such as heretofore had given to the World sufficient proof of
their valour in divers Services of the like nature.

With these ships, thus manned, Sir WALTER RALEGH departed
towards the West country, there to store himself with such further
necessaries as the state of his Voyage [_Expedition_] did needfully
require. Where the westerly winds, blowing for a long time contrary to
his course, bound and constrained him to keep harbour so many weeks
that the fittest season for his purpose was gone; the minds of his
people, much altered; his victuals, consumed: and withal Her Majesty,
understanding how crossly all this sorted, began to call the procedings
of this preparation into question.

Insomuch that, whereas the 6th of May [1592] was first come before Sir
WALTER could put to sea; the very next day, Sir MARTIN FROBISHER, in a
Pinnance of my [Lord HOWARD of Effingham, the] Lord Admiral's, called
the _Disdain_, met him: and brought to him, from Her Majesty, Letters
of Revocation, with commandment to relinquish for his own part, the
intended attempt; and to leave the charge and conduct of all things in
the hands of Sir JOHN BURROUGH and Sir MARTIN FROBISHER.

But Sir WALTER (finding his honour so far engaged in the
undertaking of this Voyage [_Expedition_] as, without proceeding, he
saw no remedy either to salve his reputation; or to content those his
friends, which had put in adventures of great sums with him: and
making construction of the Queen's Letters, in such sort, as if her
commandment had been propounded in indifferent terms, either to advance
forward, or to retire, at his own discretion) would in no case yield to
leave his Fleet now under sail.

Wherefore continuing his course into the sea, he met, within a day or
two, with certain Sails lately come from Spain. Among which was a ship
appertaining to Monsieur GOURDON, Governor of Calais: and [he]
found aboard her, one Master NEVEL DAVIES, an Englishman, who
(having endured a long and miserable captivity for the space of twelve
years [1580-1592]; partly in the Inquisition in Spain) was now, by good
fortune, escaped; and upon [his] return to his [own] country.

This man, among other things, reported for certain, That there was
little hope of any good this year to be done in the West India:
considering that the King of Spain had sent express order to all the
ports, both of the Islands and of _Terra firma_, that no ship should
stir that year, nor any treasure be laid aboard for Spain.

But neither this unpleasant relation, nor aught else, could stay his
proceedings, until a tempest of strange and uncouth violence, arising
upon Thursday the 11th of May, when he was athwart Cape Finisterre,
had so scattered the greater part of the Fleet, and sunk his boats and
Pinnaces: that as the rest were driven and severed, some this way, and
some that; Sir WALTER himself, being in the _Garland_ of Her
Majesty's [Ships], was in danger to be swallowed up of the sea.

Whereupon Sir WALTER RALEGH finding that the season of the year was
too far gone to proceed with the enterprise which he had upon Panama,
having been held on the English coast from February till May [1592],
and thereby spent three months' victuals; and considering withal that
to lie upon the Spanish coast, or at the Islands [of the Azores], to
attend the return of the East [Indian], or West Indian Fleets, was
rather a work of patience than aught else: he gave directions to Sir
JOHN BURROUGH and Sir MARTIN FROBISHER to divide the Fleet in two
parts. Sir MARTIN with the _Garland_, Captain GEORGE GIFFARD, Captain
HENRY THIN, Captain GRENVILLE, and others, to lie off the South Cape
[_Cape St. Vincent_]; thereby to amaze the Spanish Fleet, and to hold
them on their own coast, while Sir JOHN BURROUGH [in the _Roebuck_],
Captain [Sir] ROBERT CROSSE [in the _Foresight_,] Captain THOMSON [in
the _Dainty_], and others, should attend the Islands for the Carracks
[from Goa] or any other Spanish ships coming from Mexico or other parts
of the West Indies.

Which direction took effect [_was effectual_] accordingly. For the
King of Spain's Admiral, receiving intelligence that the English Fleet
was come on the coast, attended to defend the south parts of Spain,
and to keep himself as near Sir MARTIN FROBISHER as he could,
to impeach [_hinder_] him in all things which he might undertake: and
thereby neglected the safe conduct of the Carracks; with whom it fared
as hereafter shall appear.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The _Santa Clara_, a Biscayen ship of 600 tons, taken.]

Before the Fleet severed themselves, they met with a great Biscayen
on the Spanish coast, called [the] _Santa Clara_, a ship of 600 tons.
The noise of the artillery on both sides being heard; immediately they
drew to their Fleet. Where, after a reasonably hot fight, the ship
was entered and mastered: which they found fraighted with all sorts
of small ironwork, as horse-shoes, nails, plough-shares, iron bars,
spikes, bolts, locks, gimbols, and such like, valued by us at £6,000
or £7,000 [=£24,000 _to_ £30,000 _now_] but worth to them treble the
value. This Biscayen was sailing towards San Lucar [de Barrameda, the
Port of Seville], there to take in some further provision for the West
India.

This ship being first rummaged, and after sent for England: our Fleet
coasted along towards the South Cape of St. Vincent.

And, by the way, about the Rock [_Cape da Roca_] near Lisbon, Sir
JOHN BURROUGH in the _Roebuck_ spying a Sail afar off, gave
her present chase: which, being a Fly-boat and of good sail [_a good
sailer_], drew him far southwards before he could fetch her; but at
last she came under his lee, and struck sail.

The Master of which Fly-boat coming aboard him, confessed, that the
King [PHILIP II.] indeed had prepared a great Fleet in San
Lucar [de Barrameda] and Cadiz; and, as the report in Spain was
current, for the West Indies.

But indeed the Spanish King had provided this Fleet upon this counsel:

He received intelligence that Sir WALTER RALEGH was to put
out strong for the West India. To impeach him, and to ranconter
[_encounter_] his force; he appointed this Fleet: although, looking for
the arrival of his East Indian Carracks, he first ordained those ships
to waft [_convoy_] them from the Azores. But persuading himself that if
the Fleet of Sir WALTER RALEGH did go for the West India, then
the Islands should have none to infest them but small Men of War; which
the Carracks of themselves would be well able to match: his order was
to Don ALONSO DE BAÇAN, brother to the Marquis of SANTA
CRUZ, and General of his Armada, to pursue Sir WALTER's
Fleet, and to confront him; what course soever he held.

[Sidenote: Sir JOHN BURROUGH in great danger of the Spanish
Fleet.]

And that this was true, our men in short time by proof understood.
For Sir JOHN BURROUGH (not long after the taking of his last
prize, the Fly-boat), as he sailed back again towards the rest of
his company, discovered the Spanish Fleet to seaward of him: which,
having likewise spied him betwixt them and the shore, made full
account to bring him safe into [a] Spanish harbour; and therefore
spread themselves in such sort before him, that indeed his danger
was very great. For both the liberty of the sea was brought into a
narrow straight [_distance_]; and the shore, being enemy [_hostile_]
could give him no comfort of relief. So that, trusting to GOD's help
only and his good sail [_sailing_], he thrust out from among them, in
spite of all their force; and, to the notable illusion of all their
cunning, which they shewed to the uttermost in laying the way for his
apprehension.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: The Isle of St. Michael.]

But now Sir JOHN BURROUGH, having happily escaped their
clutches; finding the coast guarded by this Fleet; and knowing it was
but folly to expect a meeting there with Sir MARTIN FROBISHER
(who understanding of this Armada, as well as himself, would be sure
not to come that way), began to shape his course to the Azores,
according to Sir WALTER RALEGH's direction: and came in sight
of St. Michael; running so near by Villa Franca, that he might easily
discern the ships lying there at anchor.

[Sidenote: Divers small ships taken.]

Divers small Caravels both here and between St George's [Island] and
the Pike [_Pico_], in his course towards Flores, he intercepted: of
which no great intelligence for his affairs could be understood.

[Sidenote: Santa Cruz, a village in the Isle of Flores.]

Arriving before Flores, upon Thursday the 21st of June, towards
evening, [in the _Roebuck_], accompanied only by Captain
CAUFIELD and the Master of his ship; the rest not being yet
arrived: he made towards the shore with his boat: finding all the
people of Santa Cruz, a village of that island, in arms; fearing their
landing, and ready marshalled to defend their town from spoil.

Sir JOHN, contrariwise, made signs of amity unto them by
advancing a white flag, a common token of peace: which was answered
again of them with the like. Whereupon ensued intercourses of good
friendship; and pledges were taken on both sides, the Captain of
the town for them and Captain CAULFIELD for ours. So that
whatsoever our men wanted, which that place could supply, either
in fresh water, victuals, or the like, was very willingly granted
[_i.e. for payment_] by the inhabitants; and good leave had they to
refresh themselves on shore, as much and as oft as they would, without
restraint.

[Sidenote: News of the East Indian Carracks.]

At this Santa Cruz, Sir JOHN BURROUGH was informed that indeed
there was among them no expectation of any Fleet to come from the West:
but from the East, that no longer since than three days before his
arrival [_i.e._ 18th June 1592] a Carrack was passed by for Lisbon, and
that there were four Carracks more behind, of one consort [_company or
Fleet_].

Sir JOHN, being very glad of this news, stayed no longer on
shore, but presently embarked himself: having only in company a small
Bark, of 60 tons [? the _Phœnix_, see page 255], belonging to one
Master HOPKINS of Bristol.

In the meanwhile that these things thus passed at Flores; part of the
rest of the English Fleet, which Sir JOHN BURROUGH had left upon the
coast of Spain, drew also towards the Azores. And whereas he quickly,
at sea, had discovered one of the Carracks [the _Santa Cruz_]: the same
evening, he might descry two or three of [GEORGE CLIFFORD] the Earl of
CUMBERLAND's ships [_two of them were the_ Tiger _and the_ Sampson],
whereof one Master NORTON was Captain [_or as_ _we should now say,
Commodore_]; which having, in like sort, kenned the Carrack, pursued
her by that course which they saw her to run towards the Islands.

But on no side was there any way made, by reason of a great calm which
yielded no breath to spread a sail. Insomuch that (fitly to discover
her what she was; of what burden, force, and countenance) Sir JOHN
BURROUGH took his boat, and rowed the space of three miles, to
make her [out] exactly; and, being returned, he consulted with the
better sort of the Company then present, upon the boarding [of] her in
the morning.

But a very mighty storm arising in the night, the extremity thereof
forced them all to weigh anchors; yet their care was such in wrestling
with the weather, not to lose the Carrack: [so] that, in the morning
(the tempest being qualified, and our men bearing again with the
shore), they might perceive the Carrack very near the land; and the
Portugals confusedly carrying on shore such things as they could, [in]
any manner of way, convey out of her. And seeing the haste our men made
to come upon them; [they] forsook her.

[Sidenote: A Carrack, called the _Santa Cruz_, set on fire.]

But first, that nothing might be left commodious to our men; [they]
set fire to that which they could not carry with them: intending by
that means, wholly to consume her; that neither glory of victory, nor
benefit of ship, might remain to ours.

And lest the approach and industry of the English should bring means
to extinguish the flame, thereby to preserve the residue of that which
the fire had not destroyed: being 400 of them in number and well armed,
they intrenched themselves on land so near the Carrack, that she, being
by their forces protected and our men kept aloof off; the fire might
continue to the consumption of the whole.

[Sidenote: A hundred of our men landed.]

This being noted by Sir JOHN BURROUGH; he soon provided a
present remedy for this mischief. For landing 100 of his men (whereof
many did swim, and wade more than breast high, to shore) and easily
scattering those that presented themselves to guard the coast: he no
sooner drew towards their new trenches, but they fled immediately;
leaving as much as the fire had spared [of the _Santa Cruz_] to be the
reward of our men's pains.

Here were taken, among others, one VINCENT FONSECA, a
Portugal, Purser of the Carrack; with two others, one an Almain
[_German_], and the second a Low Dutchman [_Hollander_] Cannoniers:
who, refusing to make any voluntary report of those things which were
demanded of them, had the torture threatened; the fear whereof, at the
last, wrested from them this intelligence:

[Sidenote: Angola, a new watering place for the Carracks.]

That, within fifteen days, three other greater Carracks than that
[the _Santa Cruz_] lately fired, would arrive at the same Island [of
Flores]. And that being five Carracks in the Fleet at their departure
from Goa, to wit, the _Buen Jesus_, Admiral [_Flag Ship_]; the _Madre
de Dios_; the _San Bernardo_; the _San Christophoro_; and the _Santa
Cruz_, whose fortune you have already heard: they had received special
commandment from the King [PHILIP II.] not to touch, in
any case, at the Island of St. Helena, where the Portugal Carracks,
in their return from the East India, were always, till now, wont to
arrive, to refresh themselves with water and victuals. And the King's
reason was, because of the English Men of War: who, as he was informed,
lay there in wait to intercept them. If therefore their necessity of
water should drive them to seek [a] supply anywhere, he appointed them
Angola, in the main[land] of Africa; with order there to stay only the
taking in of water, to avoid the inconvenience of infections, whereunto
that hot latitude is dangerously subject. The last rendezvous for them
all was the Island of Flores: where the King assured them not to miss
of his Armada, thither sent of purpose for their wafting [_convoy_] to
Lisbon.

Upon this information, Sir JOHN drew to Council [of War], meeting
there Captain NORTON, Captain DOWNTON, Captain ABRAHAM COCKE, Captains
of three ships of [GEORGE CLIFFORD,] the Earl of CUMBERLAND; Master
THOMSON of Harwich, Captain of the _Dainty_ of Sir JOHN HAWKINS's, one
of Sir WALTER RALEIGH's Fleet; and Master CHRISTOPHER NEWPORT, Captain
of the _Golden Dragon_, newly returned from the West Indies; and others.

These being assembled, he communicated with them what he had understood
of the foresaid Examinates; and what great presumptions of truth their
relation did carry: wishing that forasmuch as GOD and good fortune
had brought them together in so good a season, they would shew the
uttermost of their endeavours to bring these Easterlings [_here
meaning, the Carracks from the East: an unusual application of a word
ordinarily applied to Baltic ships_] under the lee of English obedience.

Hereupon a present accord, on all sides, followed; not to part company,
or leave off those seas, till time should present cause to put their
consultations in execution.

The next day [? 29th June 1592], Her Majesty's good Ship the
_Foresight_, commanded by Sir ROBERT CROSSE, came in to the
rest: and he, likewise informed of the matter, was soon drawn into this
Service.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus Sir JOHN, with all these ships, departing thence
[to some] six or seven leagues to the West of Flores; they spread
themselves abroad from the North to the South; each ship two leagues,
at the least, distant from another. By which order of extension, they
were able to discover the space of two whole degrees [=140 _miles_] at
sea.

In this sort, they lay from the 29th of June to the 3rd of August
[1592].

[At] what time, Captain THOMSON, in the _Dainty_, had first
sight of the huge Carrack, called the _Madre de Dios_ [the _Mother of
God_]; one of the greatest receipt [_burden_] belonging to the Crown of
Portugal.

The _Dainty_, being of excellent sail, got the start of the rest of our
Fleet: and began the conflict, somewhat to her cost, with the slaughter
and hurt of divers of her men.[5]

Within a while after, Sir JOHN BURROUGH, in the _Roebuck_ of Sir WALTER
RALEIGH's [Fleet], was at hand to second her: who saluted her with
shot of great ordnance, and continued the fight, within musket shot,
(assisted by Captain THOMSON [in the _Dainty_] and Captain NEWPORT [in
the _Golden Dragon_] till Sir ROBERT CROSSE, Vice Admiral of the Fleet
[there present], came up; [having] been to leeward.

At whose arrival, Sir JOHN BURROUGH demanded of him, What was
best to be done?

Who answered, That if the Carrack were not boarded; she would recover
the shore, and fire herself, as the other had done.

Whereupon Sir JOHN BURROUGH concluded to entangle her: and
Sir ROBERT CROSS promised also to fasten himself [in the
_Foresight_] to her together at the instant. Which was performed.

But, after a while, Sir JOHN BURROUGH['s ship, the _Roebuck_,]
receiving a shot, with a cannon perier, under water, and [being] ready
to sink; [he] desired Sir ROBERT CROSSE to fall off that he
might also clear himself, and save his ship from sinking: which with
difficulty he did. For both the _Roebuck_ and the _Foresight_ were so
entangled as, with much ado, could they clear themselves.

The same evening, Sir ROBERT CROSSE (finding the Carrack then
sure, and drawing near the Island) persuaded his company to board
her again; or else there was no hope to recover her: who, after many
excuses and fears, were by him encouraged. And so [his ship] fell
athwart her foreships all alone; and so hindered her sailing, that the
rest had time to come up to his succour, and to recover the Carrack ere
she recovered the land.

[Sidenote: The _Madre de Dios_ taken.]

And so, towards the evening, after he had fought with her alone three
hours singly, my Lord of CUMBERLAND's two ships [the _Tiger_
and the _Sampson_] came up: and, with very little loss, [they] entered
with Sir ROBERT CROSSE; who had, in that time, broken their
courage, and made the assault easy for the rest.[6]

The General [Sir JOHN BURROUGH] having disarmed the Portugals;
and stowed them, for better security, on all sides [_i.e. in the
various English ships_]; first had presented to his eyes, the true
proportion of the vast body of this Carrack; which did then, and may
still, justly provoke the admiration [_wonderment_] of all men not
formerly acquainted with such a sight.

But albeit this first appearance of the hugeness thereof
yielded sights enough to entertain our men's eyes; yet the pitiful
object of so many bodies slain and dismembered could not but draw
each man's eye to see, and heart to lament, and hands to help, those
miserable people; whose limbs were so torn with the violence of shot,
and pain made grievous with the multitude of wounds. No man could
almost step but upon a dead carcase, or a bloody floor. But especially
about the helm; where very many of them fell suddenly from stirring
[_steering_] to dying. For the greatness of the stirrage [_steering_]
requiring the labour of twelve or fourteen men at once; and some of our
ships, beating her in at the stern with their ordnance, oftentimes with
one shot slew four or five labouring on either side of the helm: whose
rooms being still furnished with fresh supplies, and our artillery
still playing upon them with continual vollies; it could not be but
that much blood should be shed in that place.

[Sidenote: Exceeding humanity showed to the Enemy.]

Whereupon our General, moved with singular commiseration of their
misery, sent them his own chirurgions, denying them no possible help or
relief he, or any of his Company, could afford them.

       *       *       *       *       *

Among the rest of those, whose state this chance had made very
deplorable, was Don FERNANDO DE MENDOZA, Grand Captain and
Commander of this Carrack: who indeed was descended of the House of
MENDOZA in Spain; but, being married into Portugal, lived
there as one of that nation. A Gentleman well stricken in years, well
spoken, of comely personage, of good stature: but of hard fortune.

In his several Services against the Moors, he was twice taken prisoner;
and both times ransomed by the King [of Spain].

In a former voyage of return from [_or rather_, going to] the East
India, he was driven [in August 1585] upon the _baxos_ or "sands of
India" [_now called_ Bassas da India, _and situated midway between
Africa and Madagascar_], near the coast of Cephala [_Sofala_]; being
then also Captain of a Carrack [the _San Jago_], which was there lost:
and himself, though escaping the sea danger, yet fell into the hands
of infidels on land, who kept him under long and grievous servitude.
[_An account of this shipwreck will be found in Vol. III., pp._ 25,
311-316.] Once more the King [PHILIP II.], carrying a loving
respect to the man and desirous to better his condition, was content to
let him try his fortune in this Easterly Navigation; and committed unto
him the conduct of this Carrack [the _Madre de Dios_], wherein he went
[in 1591] from Lisbon, General of the whole Fleet: and in that degree
had returned, if the Viceroy of Goa, embarked for Portugal on the _Buen
Jesus_, had not, by reason of his late Office, being preferred.

       *       *       *       *       *

Sir JOHN, intending not to add too much affliction to the
afflicted, moved with pity and compassion of human misery, in the
end, resolved freely to dismiss this Captain and the most part of his
followers to their own country; and for the same purpose, bestowed them
in certain vessels, furnished with all kinds of necessary provision.[7]

This business thus dispatched, good leisure had he to take such
[a] view of the goods as conveniency might afford. And having very
prudently, to cut off the unprofitable spoil and pillage whereunto he
saw the minds of many inclined, seized upon the whole to Her Majesty's
use; after a short and slender rummaging and searching of such things
as first came to hand: he perceived that the wealth would arise nothing
disanswerable to expectation; but that the variety and grandeur of all
rich commodities would be more than sufficient to content both the
Adventurers' desire and the soldiers' travail.[8]

       *       *       *       *       *

And here I cannot but enter into the consideration and acknowledgment
of GOD's great favour towards our nation; who, by putting this
purchase [_booty_] into our hands, hath manifestly discovered those
secret trades and Indian riches which hitherto lay strangely hidden
and cunningly concealed from us: whereof there was, among some few of
us, some small and unperfect glimpse only; which now is turned into
the broad light of full and perfect knowledge. Whereby it should seem
that the will of GOD for our good is, if our weakness could apprehend
it, to have us communicate with them in those East Indian treasures:
and, by the erection of a lawful Traffic, to better our means to
advance true religion and his holy service. [_Just at the time RICHARD
HAKLUYT printed this, 1600 A.D.; he and others were chartered by Queen
ELIZABETH, as the English East India Company._]

       *       *       *       *       *

The Carrack, being in burden, by the estimation of the wise and
experienced, [of] no less than 1,600 tons; had fully 900 of those,
stowed with the gross bulk of merchandise: the rest of the tonnage
being allowed, partly to the ordnance, which were 32 pieces of brass of
all sorts; partly to the passengers and the victuals; which could not
be any small quantity, considering the number of the persons, betwixt
600 and 700, and the length of the navigation.

[Sidenote: A brief Catalogue of the sundry rich commodities of the
_Madre de Dios_.]

To give you a taste, as it were, of the commodities, it shall suffice
to deliver you a general particularity of them, according to the
Catalogue taken at Leaden Hall, the 15th of September 1592. Where,
upon good view, it was found that the principal wares, after the
jewels (which were no doubt of great value, though they never came to
light), consisted of _Spices_, _Drugs_, _Silks_, _Calicoes_, _Quilts_,
_Carpets_, and _Colours_,&c.

  The _Spices_ were Pepper, Cloves, Maces, Nutmegs,
  Cinnamon, Green Ginger.

  The _Drugs_ were Benjamin [_the gum Benzoin_],
  Frankincense, Galingale [_or Galangal_], Mirabolams,
  Aloes, Zocotrina, Camphor.

  The _Silks_ [were] Damasks, Taffatas, Sarcenets,
  _Altobassos_ that is counterfeit Cloth of Gold, unwrought
  China Silk, Sleaved Silk, White twisted Silk, Curled
  Cypress [=_Cypress lawn, a cobweb lawn or crape_].

  The _Calicoes_ were Book Calicoes, Calico Lawns, Broad
  white Calicoes, Fine starched Calicoes, Coarse white
  Calicoes, Brown broad Calicoes, Brown coarse Calicoes.

  There were also Canopies, and coarse Diaper Towels;
  _Quilts_ of coarse Sarcenet, and of Calico; _Carpets_
  like those of Turkey.

  Whereunto are to be added the Pearls, Musk, Civet, and
  Ambergris.

The rest of the wares were many in number; but less in value: as
Elephants' teeth; Porcelain vessels of China; Cocoanuts; Hides; Ebony
wood, as black as jet; Bedsteads of the same; Cloth of the rinds of
trees, very strange for the matter, and artificial in workmanship.

All which piles of commodities being, by men of approved judgment,
rated but in reasonable sort, amounted to no less than £150,000
sterling [=£600,000 _to_ £700,000 _now_]: which being divided among the
Adventurers whereof Her Majesty was the chief, was sufficient to yield
contentment to all parties.

       *       *       *       *       *

The [above] cargazon [_cargo_] being taken out [at Dartmouth], and the
goods freighted in ten of our ships, [and] sent for London; to the end
that the bigness, height, length, breadth, and other dimensions, of so
huge a vessel might, by the exact rules of geometrical observations, be
truly taken, both for present knowledge and derivation [_transmission_]
also of the same unto posterity: one Master ROBERT ADAMS,
a man in his faculty of excellent skill, omitted nothing in the
description which either his art could demonstrate; or any man's
judgment think worthy the memory.

[Sidenote: The capacity and dimensions of the _Madre de Dios_.]

After an exquisite survey of the whole frame, he found: The length,
from the beak-head to the stern, whereupon was erected a lantern, to
contain 165 feet.

  The breadth, in the second Close deck, whereof she had
  three; this being the place where was most extension of
  breadth, was 46 feet 10 inches.

  She drew in water 31 feet at her departure from Cochin
  in India: but not above 26 [feet] at her arrival in
  Dartmouth; being lightened in her voyage, by divers
  means, some 5 feet.

  She carried in height, seven several stories [or decks]:
  one main Orlop, three Close decks, one Fore-castle, and a
  Spar deck of two floors apiece.

  The length of the keel was 100 feet: of the Mainmast 121
  feet; and the circuit about, at the partners, 10 feet, 7
  inches.

  The main-yard was 106 feet long.

By which perfect commensuration of the parts appeareth the hugeness of
the whole: far beyond the mould of the biggest shipping used among us,
either for war or receit [_burden_].

       *       *       *       *       *

Don ALONSO DE BAÇAN (having a great Fleet: and suffering these
two Carracks, the _Santa Cruz_ to be burnt; and the _Madre de Dios_ to
be taken) was disgraced by his Prince for his negligence.




Captain NICHOLAS DOWNTON.

  _The firing and sinking of the stout and warlike Carrack,
  called_ Las Cinque Llagas _or_ The Five Wounds [_of the
  Cross at Calvary, usually called the_ Stigmata] _by
  three tall ships set forth at the charges of the Right
  Honourable [GEORGE CLIFFORD] the Earl of CUMBERLAND and
  his friends._


[Sidenote: Besides these three ships; there was a Pinnace, called the
_Violet_, or the _Why not I?_]

IN the latter end of the year 1593, the Right Honourable [GEORGE
CLIFFORD,] Earl of CUMBERLAND, at his own charges and his
friends', prepared three tall ships, all at [an] equal rate and either
[_each_] of them had [the] like quantity of victuals and [the] like
number of men: there being embarked in all three ships, 420 men of all
sorts.

The _Royal Exchange_ went as Admiral [_Flag Ship_]; wherein Master
GEORGE CAVE was Captain. The _May Flower_, Vice Admiral, [was]
under the conduct of [Captain] WILLIAM ANTHONIE. And the
_Sampson_, the charge whereof, it please his Honour to commit unto me,
NICHOLAS DOWNTON.

The directions were sent to us to Plymouth; and we were to open them at
sea.

The 6th of April 1594, we set sail in the Sound of Plymouth, directing
our course toward the Coast of Spain.

The 24th of the said month, at the Admiral's direction; we divided
ourselves East and West from each other, being then in the height of
43° [North]: with commandment at night to come together again.

[Sidenote: Commodities fit for Angola.]

The 27th, in the morning, we descried the _May Flower_ and the little
Pinnace [the _Violet_] with a prize that they had taken; being of
Vianna [do Castello] in Portugal, and bound for Angola in Africa. This
Bark was of 28 tons; having some 17 persons in the same. There were in
her, some 12 butts of Galicia wine; whereof we took into every ship a
like part: with some Rusk in chests and barrels, with 5 butts of blue
coarse cloth, and certain coarse linen cloth for <DW64>s' shirts; which
goods were divided among our Fleet.

The 4th of May, we had sight of our Pinnace and the Admiral's shallop:
which had taken three Portugal Caravels; whereof they had sent two
away, and kept the third.

The 2nd of June, we had sight of St. Michael, [ one of the Azores].

The 3rd day, in the morning, we sent our small Pinnace, which was
of some 24 tons, with the small Caravel which we had taken at the
Burlings, to range the road[s] [_harbours_] of all the Islands; to see
if they could get anything in the same: appointing them to meet us
W.S.W. 12 leagues from Fayal. Their going from us was to no purpose.
They missed coming to us, when we appointed: also we missed them, when
we had great cause to have used them.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 13th of June, we met with a mighty Carrack of the East Indies,
called _Las Cinque Llagas_, or _The Five Wounds_. The _May Flower_ was
in fight with her before night. I, in the _Sampson_, fetched her up in
the evening; and (as I commanded to give her the broad side, as we term
it) while I stood very heedfully prying to discover her strength; and
where I might give counsel to board her in the night, when the Admiral
came [_should come_] up to us; and, as I remember, at the very first
shot she discharged at us, I was shot in a little above the belly;
whereby I was made unserviceable for a good while after, without [the
Portuguese] touching [_hurting_] any other for that night.

Yet, by means of an honest true-hearted man which I had with me, one
Captain GRANT, nothing was neglected.

Until midnight, when the Admiral came up; the _May Flower_ and the
_Sampson_ never left, by turns, to ply her with their great ordnance:
but then Captain CAVE wished us to stay till morning; at
what time each one of us should give her three bouts with our great
ordnance, and so should clap her aboard.

But indeed it was long lingered in the morning, until ten of the clock,
before we attempted to board her. The Admiral laid her aboard in the
mid ship: the _May Flower_ coming up in the quarter, as it should seem,
to lie at the stern of the Admiral on the larboard side.

[WILLIAM ANTHONIE] the Captain of the said _May Flower_ was
slain at the first coming up: whereby the ship fell to the stern of the
out-licar of the Carrack; which, being a piece of timber, so wounded
her Foresail, that they said they could come no more to [the] fight. I
am sure they did not; but kept aloof from us.

The _Sampson_ were aboard on the bow [of the Carrack]; but having not
room enough, our quarter lay on the [_Royal_] _Exchange_'s and our bow
on the Carrack's bow.

The _Exchange_ also, at the first coming, had her Captain, Master
[GEORGE] CAVE, shot in both the legs; the one whereof he never
recovered: so he, for that present, was not able to do his office; and,
in his absence, he had not any that would undertake to lead out his
Company to enter upon the Enemy.

My friend, Captain GRANT, did lead my men on the Carrack's
side; which, being not manfully backed by the _Exchange_'s men, his
forces being small, made the Enemy bolder than he would have been:
whereby I had six men presently slain, and many more hurt; which made
them that remained unhurt to return aboard, and [they] would never
more give the assault. I say not but some of the _Exchange_'s men
did very well: and many more, no doubt, would have done the like, if
there had been any principal man to have put them forward, and to have
brought all the Company to the fight; and not to have run into corners
themselves. But I must needs say that their ship [_the Carrack_] was as
well provided for defence as any that I have seen.

And the Portugals, peradventure encouraged by our slack working, played
the men; and had Barricadoes made where they might stand without any
danger of our shot. They plied us also very much with fire, so that
most of our men were burnt in some place or other: and while our men
were putting out the fire, they would ever be plying them with small
shot or darts. This unusual casting of fire did much dismay many of our
men, and made them draw back as they did.

When we had not men to enter; we plied our great ordnance much at
them, as high up as they might be mounted: for otherwise we did them
little harm. And by shooting a piece out of our forecastle, being close
by her, we fired a mat on her beak-head: which [fire] more and more
kindled, and ran from thence to the mat on the bowsprit; and from the
mat, up to the wood of the bowsprit; and thence to the topsail-yard;
which fire made the Portugals abaft in the ship to stagger, and to make
show of _parlé_. But they that had the charge before, encouraged them;
making show that it might easily be put out, and that it was nothing.
Whereupon again they stood stiffly to their defence.

Anon the fire grew so strong that I saw it [to be] beyond all help;
although she had been already yielded to us. Then we desired to be
off from her, but had little hope to [have] obtained our desire.
Nevertheless we plied water very much to keep our ship well. Indeed I
made little other reckoning for the ship, myself, and divers hurt men;
[but] then to have ended there with the Carrack: but most of our people
might have saved themselves in boats. And when my care was most, by
GOD's Providence only, by the burning asunder of our spritsail-yard
with [its] ropes and sail, and the ropes about the spritsail-yard of
the Carrack, whereby we were fast entangled, we fell apart; with [the]
burning of some of our sails which we had then on board.

The _Exchange_ also, being further from the fire, afterward was more
easily cleared; and fell off from abaft.

As soon as GOD had put us out of danger, the fire got into the
Fore-castle [of the Carrack]; where, I think, was store of Benjamin
[_the gum Benzoin_] and such other like combustible matter: for it
flamed and ran all over the Carrack in an instant, in a manner. The
Portugals leapt overboard in great numbers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then sent I, Captain GRANT with the boat; with leave to use
his own discretion in saving of them. So he brought me aboard two
Gentlemen:

The one, an old man, called NUNO VELIO PEREIRA which, as
appeareth by the Fourth Chapter in the First Book of the worthy
_History_ of [JAN] HUYGHEN VAN LINSCHOTEN, was Governor of
Mozambique and Cefala [_Sofala_] in the year 1582 [See _English
Garner_ III, 27, 28.]: and since that time, had been likewise a
Governor in a place of importance in the East Indies. And the ship [_a
Carrack_], wherein he was coming home, was cast away a little to the
east of the Cape of _Buona Speranza_ [Cape of Good Hope]: and from
thence, he travelled overland to Mozambique; and came, as a passenger,
in this Carrack.

The other was called BRAS CARRERO, and [he] was Captain of a
Carrack which was cast away near Mozambique; and [he] came likewise in
this ship for a passenger.

Also three men of the inferior sort we saved in our boat. Only these
two we clothed, and brought into England. The rest, which were taken
up by the other ships' boats, we set all on shore in the Isle of
Flores: except some two or three <DW64>s; whereof one was born in the
Mozambique, and another in the East Indies.

       *       *       *       *       *

This fight was open off the Sound between Fayal and Pico; six leagues
to the southward.

The people which we saved told us, That the cause why they would not
yield was because this Carrack was for the King; and that she had all
the goods belonging to the King in the country [_India_] for that year
in her; and that the Captain of her was in favour with the King; and at
his [next] return into the Indies, should have been Viceroy there.

And withal this ship was nothing at all pestered; neither within board,
nor without: and was more like a Ship of War than otherwise. Moreover,
she had the ordnance of a Carrack that was cast away at Mozambique,
and the [Ship's] Company of her: together with the [Ship's] Company of
another Carrack that was cast away a little to the eastward of the Cape
of _Buona Speranza_. Yet through sickness, which they caught at Angola,
where they watered; they said, They had not now above 150 white men:
but <DW64>s, a great many.

They likewise affirmed that they had three Noblemen and three Ladies in
her: but we found them to differ in most of their talk.

       *       *       *       *       *

All this day [14th June 1594] and all the night she burned: but, next
morning, her powder, which was lowest, being 60 barrels, blew her
abroad; so that most of the ship did swim in parts above the water.

       *       *       *       *       *

Some of them say, That she was bigger than the _Madre de Dios_; and
some, That she was less. But she was much undermasted, and undersailed
[_carrying too little sail_]: yet she went well for a ship that was so
foul.

The shot which we [in the _Samson_] made at her in great ordnance,
before we lay her aboard, might be at seven bouts [_broadsides_] which
we had, and 6 or 7 shot at a bout, one with another, some 49 shots. The
time we lay aboard [the Carrack] might be two hours. The shot which
we discharged [while] aboard the Carrack, might be [that of] some 24
sakers.

And thus much may suffice concerning our dangerous conflict with that
unfortunate Carrack.

       *       *       *       *       *

The last of June [1594], after long traversing of the seas, we had
sight of another mighty Carrack; which divers of our Company, at the
first, took to be the great _San Philip_, the Admiral [_or Flag Ship_]
of Spain; but the next day, being the 1st of July [1594], fetching her
up, we perceived her indeed to be a Carrack: which, after some few shot
bestowed upon her, we summoned to yield; but they, standing stoutly to
their defence, utterly refused the same.

Wherefore, seeing no good could be done without boarding her, I
consulted what course we should take in the boarding. But by reason
that we, which were the chief Captains, were partly slain, and partly
wounded, in the former conflict; and because of the murmuring of
some disordered and cowardly companions: our valiant and resolute
determinations were crossed. And, to conclude a long discourse in few
words, the Carrack escaped our hands.

       *       *       *       *       *

After this, attending about Corvo and Flores for some West Indian
purchase [_booty_], and being disappointed of our expectation; and
victuals growing short, we returned to England: where I arrived at
Portsmouth, the 28th of August [1594].

    [Footnote 5: By noon, or one of the clock, of that day, being the 3rd
    of August [1592], the _Dainty_ came near her so that the Gunner, whose
    name was THOMAS BEDOME (being a proper tall man: and had
    very good aim at anything, and good luck withal), desired the Captain
    [THOMSON] he might give them a shoot: to let them understand
    that they were Englishmen; and, under Her Highness, Commanders of the
    Seas.

    The Captain (having great care; and not willing to have any shoot shot
    in vain) commanded him to forbear till they should come nearer her;
    which was not long: when the Captain commanded him to do his best; and
    carousing a can of wine to his Company, encouraged them to begin the
    fight.

    And coming up, [he] hailed them, after the manner of the sea; and
    commanded them to strike for the Queen of England: which they no
    sooner refused, but the Gunner, being ready, gave fire to
    two whole culverins in her chase; and racked and tore her pitifully.

    Bearing up with them, [we] gave them the whole [broad] side; and
    boarded them presently: who resisted most courageously, and put us off
    again.

    Thus continued the _Dainty_ in fight a pretty while before any others
    could come to help her.

    In which time, she laid her aboard three several times, tore her
    Ancient [_Flag_] from her Poop, and slew her Captain [?]. And more
    harm had done them: but that, by chance, a shot bare their Foremast by
    the board; which they were compelled to splice again, to their great
    trouble.

      _The Seaman's Triumph._ [30th September] 1592.]

    [Footnote 6: The next was Her Majesty's good Ship, the _Foresight_;
    whose Commander for that Service was Captain [Sir ROBERT]
    CROSSE (a man well approved in marine causes, and far hath
    adventured): who with his ship laid her aboard, and very valiantly
    assailed them; and was most stoutly by the Spaniards also repulsed.

    Insomuch that the brave Captain, of whose men, many were weak; and yet
    being loath Her Majesty's Ship should be shaken off without victory,
    fired the Carrack: rather wishing her to be burnt, than the enemies
    to enjoy her. But the proud and lofty-minded Spaniards, standing on
    their resolute points, returned the fire again, or some other: which
    three times was kindled [on board the FORESIGHT]; to the great
    cumber of Captain CROSSE and his Company, that would not so
    leave them.

    This dangerous conflict between these ships endured [a] long time.
    Which the _Phœnix_ of Portsmouth perceiving...being of 60 tons or
    thereabouts...left her for a time; standing with their Admiral and
    Vice-Admiral, which were the _Tiger_ and the _Sampson_: and coming up
    with them, declared unto them the hardy fight of the _Foresight_; who
    presently bare up with them all the night. The _Sampson_, being the
    first, coming up with the Carrack, gave her the whole broadside: and
    shutting up into the _Foresight_'s quarter, entered his men into her.

    Captain NORTON, that brave and worthy Gentleman, laid her also
    aboard, having the _Tiger_ with him.

    And so [all three crews] entered together, being 100 men at the least,
    all resolutely minded. At whose entrance they yielded so great a cry as
    the dismayed Portugals and Spaniards could not bethink themselves what
    course to take to help themselves: in such a maze were they stricken,
    although they were [originally] 800 strong, all well-appointed and able
    men; and of ours but 100. But standing thus, as men amazed, at length
    [they] yielded themselves vanquished.

      _The Seaman's Triumph._ [30th September] 1592.]

    [Footnote 7: They gan to consult, What were best to do with the
    prisoners, which were many? And finding their great scarcity of
    victuals; and not knowing what weather they might have; nor how it
    might please GOD with good wind to prosper them: it was concluded to
    ship as many of them as they might; and to send them for Lisbon. This
    they fully determined; and provision was made of a Bark of Dover, which
    they met: the Fleet taking in her men, and such provision as they had
    in her; and embarked the Spaniards and Portingals, with their <DW64>s,
    whereof were many. And gave them, with them, store of victuals; and so
    gave them leave to depart; detaining none but the principalest of them.

      _The Seaman's Triumph._ [30th September] 1592.]

    [Footnote 8: The conflict ended, it were a world of wonder to recount
    unto you the true reports, how our men bestirred themselves in
    searching and prying into every corner of her as far as they might: as
    they might well do, having with so great danger overcome her. The sight
    of the riches, within the same contained, did so amaze the Companies
    (that were within board of her: and that still came from every ship;
    being desirous to see what GOD had sent them, after so long and hot
    a fight) that many of them could not tell what to take; such was the
    store and goodness thereof.

    Yea, he that had known what [the] things had been worth, in a little
    room might have contrived great wealth. For it is credibly reported
    that some younkers happened to find many Jars of Civet, which is of
    great worth; and [it having been] of some long time closely kept was
    cause, when they opened the same, it yielded no savour: and they,
    ignorant and not knowing what it should be, thinking it but trash, as
    it came to their hands, heaved it overboard. Many other things were
    so spoiled [_destroyed_] for want of knowledge; when every man had
    sufficient, and that not one had cause to complain.

      _The Seaman's Triumph._ [30th September] 1592.]




[Illustration:  LAURA.

  The Toys of a Traveller:
  or
  The Feast of Fancy.

  DIVIDED INTO THREE PARTS.

  BY

  R[OBERT] T[OFTE],
  Gentleman.

  _Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda._

  [Illustration]

  LONDON,
  Printed by VALENTINE SIMMES.
  1597.]




  _To the no less virtuous than fair, the
  Honourable Lady LUCY, sister to
  the thrice renowned and noble
  Lord, HENRY [PERCY] Earl
  of NORTHUMBERLAND._


GOOD Madam, I make bold to present unto you a few Toys of mine own
travail: [the] most part conceived in Italy, and some of them brought
forth in England. By which my imperfections, you may see, as in a
lively mirror, your own perfections; and by the follies of my rechlesse
[_heedless_] youth, behold plainly the virtues of your flowering age:
hoping your Ladyship will keep them as privately, as I send them unto
you most willingly.

Neither doubt I at all but that your excellent spirit will judge
graciously of this my bare, yet bounden, conceit; and to accept the
same, as a mean[s], at idle times, to drive away that self-pleasing,
yet ill-easing, humour of never-glad melancholy, which spiteful
Fortune, seeking (though in vain) most injuriously to insult over you,
laboureth by all means possible to inflict upon you: the virtuous
behaviour of yourself being such as, even in the midst of all your
crosses, you cross her designs with an invincible heart, and with your
honourable carriage carry her, with all her devices, as a slave to
follow you, in all your generous and thrice-noble actions; maugre the
intricate labyrinth of so many and infinite troubles allotted, most
unworthily, unto you, by the irrevocable doom of your too partial and
flinty Destiny. All which notwithstanding, you bear and over-bear,
with a most resolute staiedness; and a resolved courage of a right
PERCY, and of a mind _A per se_.

But additions breed suspicions; and fair words, for the most part
are counted the blazons of flattery: therefore I will leave to the
temperate judgment of the wise, and to the uncorrupt censure of the
worthier sort, your heroical and undaunted mind; and the integrity and
never-stained proceedings of your spotless self.

Only this, with submission, will I say, that if the richness of the
ground is known by the corn; the daintiness of the water, by the
sweetness of the fish; and the goodness of the tree, by the rareness of
the fruit: then may every man give a guess of the internal habit and
excellent qualities of your inward mind, by the outward behaviour and
apparent semblance of your exceeding chaste, and more than admirable,
demeanour in every respect.

And thus, hoping your Honour will as debonairly accept of these
Trifles, as I dutifully bequeath them unto you; and with the
sun-shining favour of your gracious aspect deign to read these few
lines: craving both privilege, and pardon, for all such faults and
defects as shall happen to be discovered in the same,

          I humbly devote myself unto
  Your Ladyship's thrice-virtuous and immaculate
      disposition and command whatsoever,
          Who am bound, as a vassal,
      To do homage unto the same for ever,

                   R. T.


 _To the Gentle, and Gentlemen, Readers whatsoever._

GENTLEMEN. As the Fencer first maketh a flourish with his weapon before
he cometh to strokes, in playing [for] his prize: so I thought good,
_pro formâ_ only, to use these few lines unto you, before you come to
the pith of the matter.

What the Gentleman was, that wrote these verses, I know not; and what
She is, for whom they are devised, I cannot guess: but thus much I can
say, That as they came into the hands of a friend of mine [? _the_ R.
B. _of page_ 340] by mere fortune; so happened I upon them by as great
a chance.

Only in this I must confess we are both to blame, that whereas he
having promised to keep private the original; and I, the copy, secret:
we have both consented to send it abroad, as common; presuming chiefly
upon your accustomed courtesies. Assuring ourselves, if we may have
your protections, we shall think ourselves as safe as ULYSSES did, when
he was shadowed under the shield of PALLAS against furious AJAX; so
we, by your countenances, shall be sufficiently furnished to encounter
against any foul-mouthed JACKS whatsoever.

To censure of this Work is for better wits than mine own: and it is
for Poets, not Printers [_This therefore was written by VALENTINE
SIMMES, the Printer of this Book. See also page 340_] to give
judgement of this matter. Yet, if I may be bold to report what I have
heard other Gentlemen affirm, Many have written worse; Some, better;
Few, so well. The Work, being so full of Choice and Change as, it is
thought, it will rather delight every way than dislike any way.

Thus, courteous Gentlemen, building upon my wonted foundation of your
friendly acceptance, I rest your debtors; and will study, in what I
can, daily to make you amends.

  Yours always

    [VALENTINE SIMMES.]

[Illustration]


 _Alla bellissima sua Signora._

 _E. C._

 [The Lady's name was E. CARIL: see Book II., Poem XXXIII.,
  at page 313.]

    THROUGH thee, not of thee, Lady fair I write;
    Through power of Beauty, not of Virtues, thine:
    With zealous will, though slender be my might,
    I, weakling, seek an eagle's nest to climb.
        Then guide my feet! and if to slip I chance,
        Uphold me by the favour of thy glance!

    Accept in gree these verses rudely penned;
    A sign of duty which to thee I owe:
    And deign with sweet regard them to defend;
    Which as condemnèd else are like to go.
        In thee, it rests the stamp on them to set:
        If current, Pass! Suppressed! if counterfeit.

[Sidenote: R and T stand here, and elsewhere, for the initials of the
Author. E.A.]

    And though the note, thy praises only fit,
    Of sweetest bird, the dulcet nightingale:
    Disdain not little Robin RedbreasT yet!
            [_A line wanting._]
        What he doth want in learning or in skill;
        He doth supply with zeal of his good will

    For only Thee, they were devised alone:
    And unto Thee, they dedicated are.
    Who knows? Perhaps this kindness, by thee shown,
    Shall make this glimpse shine like a glittering star.
        Such is thy virtue in the World his sight;
        Thy crow though black, may go for swan most white.

    Then doubt me not, though parted we remain:
    In England thou; and I in Italy.
    As I did part, I will return again,
    Loyal to thee; or else with shame I'll die!
        True Lovers, when they travel countries strange,
        The air, and not their constant minds, do change.

    _Coelum, non animum, mutant, qui trans mare currunt._

    _Affettionatissimo servid, della
    divina Bellezza sua_.

    R. T.




 LAURA.

 THE FIRST PART.


I.

    FORTUNE, cross-friend to ever-conquering Love,
    Our bodies, Lady, hath divided far;
    But yet our constant minds she cannot move,
    Which over-strong for her devices are.
      Woe's me! in England thou dost bide, and I,
      Scarce shadow of my self, in Italy.
    But let her do her worst, and what is frail
    And mortal seek to separate and undo;
    Yet what immortal is, she never shall!
    A string too high for her to reach unto.
      In spite of envious seeds, by malice sown,
      My heart shall aye be thine; and mine, thine own!

    _Padoa._


II.

    THOUGH I do part, my heart yet doth not part;
    My poor afflicted body parts in twain,
    And doth in pieces two divide my heart:
    One piece my fainting spirit doth sustain,
    The other part I leave with thee behind,
    (The better part, and of my heart most dear);
    Then to that part, so parted, be thou kind!
    And to the same impart thy loving cheer!
      That I, returning, may again unite
      This parted heart; and find for grief, delight.

    _London._


III.

    LIKE to the blacksome Night, I may compare
    My Mistress' gown, when darkness 'plays his prize:
    But her sweet face, like to the sun most fair;
    When he in glory 'ginneth to arise.
      Yet this no whit the other doth disgrace;
      But rather doubleth Beauty in the place.
    Contraries like to these set opposite,
    So dainty and so pleasing in their show
    To lookers on, do breed no small delight;
    And pleasure great thereby to them doth grow.
      O wonder strange! O solace sweet! to see
      In one self subject, Night and Day to be.


IV.

    IN the Egean dangerous Sea of Love,
    In midst of faithless waves and wicked wind;
    Where, to my cost, most bitter brunts I prove:
    A new ARION, there, myself I find.
    And though, as he, I play on harp and sing;
    Yet cannot cunning mine so high aspire
    As for to make the skipping fish me bring
    Unto that wishèd shore I so desire.
      Only my LAURA, peerless for to see,
      May, in this troubled flood, my dolphin be!


V.

    GREAT was the strife between the sun on high
    And my fair Sun, when first she 'gan to 'pear,
    Who should exceed in brightest majesty;
    And show in sight of spacious world most clear.
      The sun did shine; but she did lighten bright,
      And so his burning beams extinguished quite.
    Nay more, my Sun on sudden to the sun
    Sent light; and yet no light at all did want:
    Where else the other had been quite undone
    For lack of brightness; which with him was scant.
      The beauty then the sun doth use to show,
      My Sun doth give; and from her, it doth grow.


VI.

    TURNED to a stone was he that did bewray,
    Unwitting, to the crafty thief himself
    The theft; not thinking he had stolen the prey,
    In hope to gain a little paltry pelf.
    So I, who unawares to cruel Thee,
    The robber of my heart, confessed the theft;
    A senseless stone like BATTUS am to see:
    Only in this unlike that shape bereft,
      That where to worthless stone he turnèd was;
      I for a Touchstone true of Love do pass.


VII.

    DOWN from the neck unto that dainty Breast,
    (Which Nature made a Mirror of Delight;
    And where a World of Beauties sweet do rest)
    Doth hang a costly Chain of Pearl most bright;
      And of proportion are so just and round,
      That such in India rich cannot be found.
    Besides, their orient brightness is alike;
    So that mine eyes are dazzled with the same,
    And, not much used to see so fair a sight
    (A sight which doth the sun in glory stain),
      Cannot discern, though them they both do see,
      If Breast be Pearl, or Pearl in Bosom be.


VIII.

    TO give that life, which had not breath before;
    PROMETHEUS, from above, stole heavenly fire:
    For which his boldness he was plaguèd sore,
    A just reward for such a high aspire.
    So whilst I steal from thee, my heaven above,
    The heat which doth revive my dying sprite:
    For rashness, mine eternal grief I prove.
    Yet, though our fault's all one--the plague's not like:
      He feels of vulture one, alone, the smart;
      But I have thousands, which still gnaw my heart.


IX.

    LOVE, being blind, hath wrought me damage sore;
    Thou, blind in this my loving, evil wast;
    Nor would I see the snare, being blind far more,
    Wherein myself, I did entangle fast.
      Yet hath this blindness harm done unto none
      But unto Beauty's buzzard, me alone.
    When blinded Boy did catch my harmless heart;
    Thou didst not see the net so intricate
    Which bound me (being blind, blind as Thou art!)
    To be a thrall in this most wretched state.
      So that, alone to work my misery,
      LOVE blind is; blind wert Thou; and blinder, I.


X.

    IF, LAURA, thou dost turn 'gainst me in hate;
    Then me, such busses sweet why dost thou give?
    Why check'st thou not the Cheeks which give the mate?
    The vital cause whereby I breathe and live?
    Perhaps it is, because through too much joy.
    As in sweet swound [_swoon_], I might away depart:
    If so thou do, and think me so to 'noy;
    Kiss hardly! and with kissing, breed my smart!
      Content am I to lose this life of mine;
      Whilst I do kiss that lovely lip of thine.


XI.

    UPON triumphant chariot, 'passing rare,
    (In which my Sun doth sit like Majesty:
    And makes the day shew unto us more fair;
    Whose cheerfulness delights each mortal eye.)
      I, rash, like to another PHAETON,
      With hare-brain haste, too hasty lept thereon.
    But for my boldness dearly did I pay;
    And had like plague, as he, for being o'er-brave:
    Yet though in equal fortune both did stay
    (For life he lost; and death She to me gave);
      The punisher of both was not the same,
      For he, by JOVE; and I, by LOVE; was slain.


XII.

    THE beauty, that in Paradise doth grow,
    Lively appears in my sweet goddess's Face;
    From whence, as from a crystal river, flow
    Favour divine and comeliness of grace.
    But in her dainty, yet too cruel, Breast,
    More cruelty and hardness doth abound;
    Than doth in painful Purgatory rest.
    So that, at once, She's fair, and cruel, found:
      When in her Face and Breast, ah, grief to tell!
      Bright Heaven she shows; and crafty, hides dark Hell.


XIII.

    WHILST angry JUNO, from the scowling skies,
    Thick swinging showers did downward send amain;
    My Lady, mounting up in stately wise,
    From heaven more fast did fiery lightning rain.
      So that the people, passing, had less harm
      By water wet, than by the fire o'erwarm.
    The water only wet their outward skin;
    A matter small, in which was danger none:
    But this her fire did burn their hearts within;
    And forced them, as they went, to sigh and groan.
      So that their grief was greater, sans all doubt,
      To have within fire, than water, without.


XIV.

    THE swift Meander, turning, winds so fast,
    And with his stream in circle-wise so runs;
    That, wanton-like, from whence he springs, at last,
    Back to his fountain-head again he comes.
    In me, a river huge of tears, from heart
    To watery eyes ascend; from whence they flow,
    And running down, do from mine eyes depart,
    Descending to my heart again below.
      So that, through virtue of most mighty Love,
      In heart, a new Meander I do prove.


XV.

    THOU stranger, who with wand'ring steps dost wend,
    Thy gazing eyes turn quickly unto me!
    And to my speech, with list'ning ear attend!
    In whom four Elements united be.
      Mark well; and, as a wonder, tell the same
      Of CUPID's force! poor Lovers' TAMBURLAINE!
    First this my body's Earth, and earth most cold.
    The Fire within my heart, in covert lies.
    The Air's my sighs. Mine eyes do Waters hold.
    Thus for my Saint, he doth me martyrize.
      Earth is my body; (Strange seems not this same?)
      The Air, my sighs; eyes, Water; heart, the Flame.


XVI.

    IF lovely Lass, for Fairing thine, of me
    Gold, in this Fair, thou meanest for to have;
    Then give me of thy hairs! which golden be.
    Give unto me! since thou of me dost crave.
    Nor by this bargain, shalt thou loss sustain;
    Or ought hereby shalt hindered be, sweet Wench!
    Since I, to courteous thee, do give again,
    As thankful, gold; for gold in recompence.
      Thy treasure, so shall mine be; mine, as thine:
      Nor shall th' exchange be worse than gold most fine.


XVII.

    ROCKED in a cradle, like as infants be,
    When I was young, a little wanton child,
    Two dainty dugs did nourish life in me;
    Whilst oft on them, with teat in mouth, I smiled.
      Ah, happy I! thrice happy, might I say;
      Whilst in that harmless state I then did stay.
    But now that I am come to man's estate;
    Such dugs as nursed me in delight and joy
    Do seek my death, by poisonous sugared bait;
    Whose sight, without possession, breeds me 'noy.
      So what, in childhood, caused me to live;
      Now, in my youth, doth death unto me give.


XVIII.

    IF Sea, no other thing doth shew to be
    Than most unstable waters moving oft:
    With pardon, Lady, you this seem to me;
    So most unstable is your changing thought.
    I, likewise, hold a River, that o'erwhelms
    With wat'ry salt, within these eyes of mine.
    Then let us make a mixture 'mongst ourselves
    Of this unsteadfastness and wat'ry brine!
      Let's fashion, both of us, a novel Sea!
      So heaven, the Haven; and Love, the Bay shall be.


XIX.

    LADY, the sun was in _Aquarius_
    When thou wert born; which is the reason why
    The water of my plaints delight thee thus;
    Without once viewing me with piteous eye.
      But when as I was born, the Sign I guess
      In _Cancer_ was; a show of my distress.
    This is the cause, within my boiling breast
    Doth burn a hot and unextinguished fire:
    But contrary these Signs in us do rest;
    Nor do they well accord to my desire.
      Far better had it been, _Aquarius_'s Sign
      Had happed to me; and _Cancer_'s had been thine!


XX.

    WHAT time, with brow, the Loveliest 'gins to scowl;
    Shewing disdain and fury in her face:
    Methinks I see the clouds wax dark and foul;
    And gloomy night begins to run his race.
    But, then again, when She to show begins
    Her smiling cheer, adorned with favour rare:
    Straightways the sun, in chariot bright forth springs;
    Clear are the skies; the gladsome day, most fair.
      Thus, in one face, I see, against my will,
      The rising of the sun; and falling, still.


XXI.

    RANKLE the wound did in my head apace;
    When fairest She, to play the Surgeon came:
    And whilst her snow-white hand did me the grace
    To lay the plaster on, which healed the same,
      A wonder strange! No sooner did she touch
      The hurt; but it appeared to be none such.
    Yet, woe is me, no sooner by that hand
    Was healed in head my outward fest'ring wound;
    But that instead of that, as countermand,
    One mortal scar at inward heart I found.
      Thus, LOVE! thou seest is changèd my estate
      She checks with Death, that 'fore gave Life for mate.

    _Venice._


XXII.

    IF in the midst of kindling burning fire,
    That worthy Roman burnt his valiant hand;
    I like another MUTIUS in desire,
    Have scorched my fist likewise, through LOVE's command,
    In freshest moisture; where my Lady sweet,
    Her lily hands, for coolness, <DW37>èd oft.
    But though desire between us was alike;
    Yet was the matter diverse which we sought.
      He chose to burn his hand, with courage bold,
      In flaming fire; and I, in water cold.


XXIII.

    THE Gentiles used, in sign of sacrifice,
    The blood of men to offer; to appease
    The warlike goddess's wrath, in humble wise;
    And through the same, her angry mind did please:
      But Thou, more wicked Warrior far than she,
      In reason may'st more cruel termed be.
    On Beauty's altar, to thee dedicate;
    Thousands of Lovers, mustering on a row,
    Offer their blood and hearts! yet mitigate
    Thy hardened mind cannot: which flint doth show.
      Then is she cruel less than Thou art now:
      Since blood her pleased; and Thee hearts cannot bow.


XXIV.

    FOR to behold my Sun, I from the sun
    Did seek my face to shadow with my hand,
    To shield me from the heat, that 'gan to come
    In place, where gazing on her I did stand.
    But I no sooner from that sun was free,
    But that, in that self instant and that time,
    I, of mine own Sun, found myself to be
    Burnt with the heat; a most unlucky sign.
      So whilst a shade from sun did me defend,
      A Sun more hot did hurt me in the end.


XXV.

    WHITE was the orient pearl which, on a day,
    That hand me gave: which scorns the proud compare
    Of purest white; and bears the palm away
    As of all pearly Fairs, the orient'st fair.
      And whilst She offered unto me the same,
      I knew not which the Pearl was, of the twain.
    So white the hand was of my peerless Pearl
    As it did dazzle with delight mine eyes,
    And pearl seemed to me, giving me the pearl;
    Which made me, sighing, say in whisp'ring wise,
      "Ah, why once may I not so happy be,
      This Pearl to have; which th' other gives to me?"


XXVI.

    WHEN you appear, appears the Break of Day;
    And shews to be most fair and passing bright:
    But if you keep yourself unseen away,
    The Day shows not; but keepeth out of sight.
    Then if again you 'gin yourself to show;
    Behold the Day to shew itself afresh
    With sky most clear. So both of you do grow
    In beauty like: in heat nor are you less.
      Thus if your beams you ope, or hidden been:
      The Break of Day appears; else ne'er is seen.


XXVII.

    JUSTLY of thee, Love partial, I complain
    That, at one instant and with one self stroke,
    Thou dartèd hast into my heart, with pain,
    Cold chilly frost; and fiery flaming smoke.
      Ay me! within me, both I secret hold:
      And whilst th' one burns me, th' other makes me cold.
    Then, Cruel, since thou wilt, two contraries,
    Against my soul, within my heart shall rest:
    Ah, yet make peace 'twixt them, in loving wise!
    Or else, sweet Love, do promise this at least!
      Flame to my frost, and water to my fire;
      Life to my heart, to comfort my desire.


XXVIII.

    DIANA shineth in the heavens clear;
    Because from purest Sun she takes her light:
    And Fair, she shews that of DIANA here
    On Earth, doth borrow beauty passing bright.
    The virtue then that is infused in her,
    She from DIANA hath; or else from none:
    For other thews do all in her concur;
    And unto her beholding are alone.
      O wonder strange of Nature to reveal!
      She, DIAN' gives; yet doth from DIAN' steal.

    _Sienna._


XXIX.

    AS burnished gold, such are my Sovereign's Hairs;
    A brace of stars divine, her blackish Eyes;
    Like to the fairest black the raven bears;
    Or fairer, if you fairer can devise.
      So likewise fair's the beauty of her Breasts;
      Where Pleasure lurks, where joy still dallying rests.
    This VENUS' Bower, you rightly may compare
    To whitest snow that e'er from heaven fell;
    Or to the mines of alabaster fair.
    Woe's me! 'Tis sweet to sleep in CUPID's cell!
      Whilst he, the heart makes surfeit with delight;
      Through golden Hair, black Eyes, and Breast most white.


XXX.

    UNTO thy favour (which when Nature formed,
    She went beyond herself with cunning hand),
    I may compare what is, in world, adorned
    With beauty most; and with most grace doth stand.
    But every mortal whiteness, ne'er so white,
    The ivory white of thy white hand exceeds:
    So that my soul, which doth fair whiteness like,
    Rests on fair whiteness, and on whiteness feeds.
      For this is thought, and hoped of from thee:
      White as thy hands, so white thy faith shall be.


XXXI.

    LADY, thou seemest like FORTUNE unto me;
    When I most wistly mark, how thou dost go
    With golden tresses loose (a joy to see!);
    Which gentle wind about thy ears doth blow.
      And as thou her resemblest in this sort;
      So dost thou in attire, and all thy port.
    Only thou wantest for thy swift right hand
    The rolling Wheel: and shadowing Veil to hide
    Those eyes; which, like Controllers, do command.
    But if thou long'st of these to be supplied,
      Take me, thy prisoner, for to play this part!
      For my desire's the Wheel, the Veil's my heart.


XXXII.

    THOU, merry, laugh'st, and pleasantly dost smile:
    I woeful weep, and mestful sorrow still;
    Lest this thy mirth increasing, me beguile,
    And weave a web for me of greater ill.
    Too well perceive I this thy deep disdain,
    By this thy feignèd looks and cloakèd glee.
    Thou of disaster mine art glad and fain;
    And fain my death, as basilisk, would'st see;
      Since that of war and 'bate this laughter is,
      And not of gentle peace and calmy bliss.


XXXIII.

    SINCE thou hast changed thy gown and thine attire;
    Ah, change thy thoughts! not always cruel be!
    And with new clothes, put on a new desire!
    That new, in every point, I may thee see:
    And if thou heretofore unkind hast been;
    Be courteous now, and gentle be thou seen!
    Thy glory great, thy praise more shalt thou find;
    If, of unconstant, constant thou become!
    And of a foe, a faithful friend and kind!
    Then change henceforth thy thoughts! else I, undone.
      Give me that colour which so likes mine eyen!
      If death, then black: if life, then carnatine [_rosy red_].


XXXIV.

    CHANGED is my nature in me; where before
    I like was to a chilly freezing ice;
    I now a flame am, burning inward sore:
    And such a flame that burneth in such wise
    That if LOVE and my Mistress take no care
    For this my hurt, my soul must quickly die.
    Yet one doth see (for both not blinded are!)
    The fire so hot doth burn, wherein I fry,
      That fierce PERILLUS's boiling Bull of brass
      May unto this for icy substance pass.


XXXV.

    FAR better had it been, I had been dead,
    And laid full low in latest home, my grave;
    Than with that drink myself for to have fed,
    Which LAURA mine in crystal glass me gave.
      The liquor pleased me, I must needs confess:
      Yet to my heart, 'twas poison ne'ertheless.
    So that I had contrary quite effect
    To my desire; which I so much did wish.
    Love was in fault, who Reason doth reject.
    And see my cruel luck, what happed in this!
      The wine was sweet; yet did his nature turn:
      It cooled my mouth, but heart within did burn.


XXXVI.

    SWEET sang thy bird, in ebon cage shut fast,
    And did delight thy dainty ears so much
    As thou vouchsafedst to give him meat at last;
    And gently did his feathers stroke and touch.
    So, Lady, I likewise, in th' ebony
    Of thy bright eyes am prisoner, and do sing
    Thy Beauty's praise; and yet not fed am I
    By thee: yet live through thee; a wondrous thing!
      Love to my heart thy beauty doth supply
      For food; which else, through famine starved, would die.


XXXVII.

    IF white's the Moon, thou LAURA seem'st as white;
    And white's the gown which you on body wear.
    And if her whitely horns, in calmy night,
    She, smoothly gliding, shows to us most clear:
      You, in the daytime, more and brighter far
      Your beauty show; like bright AURORA's star.
    Like brightness both of you abroad do cast;
    Though not effect alike _per accidens_:
    You shine, she shines, your powers eternal last;
    But yet between you is great difference.
      Her brightness freezeth, causing deadly cold:
      Yours doth inflame, and lovely fire doth hold.


XXXVIII.

    EVEN as the lamp goeth out, that oil doth want,
    Or as the sun doth fall in th' Occident;
    So did my heart within me 'gin to pant;
    My vital spirits away by little went:
    When, taking on me pity, graciously
    My Mistress's hem of garment, trailing down,
    Touched me; and me revivèd suddenly.
    Then if such virtue be within her gown;
      Imagine what doth stay her corpse within!
      Which who seeth, through sweetness needs must sin.


XXXIX.

    SEATED on marble was my Lady blithe,
    Holding in hand a crystal looking-glass;
    Marking of Lovers thousands; who alive,
    Thanks only to her beauty rare, did pass.
      To pry in glasses likes her: but afterward
      She takes the nature of the stone most hard.
    For whilst she cheerfully doth fix her eyes,
    Gazing upon the brightness of the one;
    Her heart, by th' other's made, in strangy wise,
    Hard as a rock and senseless as a stone:
      So that if Love this breaketh not in twain;
      It will a flint become, to others' pain.


XL.

    NO more a man, as once I was, am I:
    Since this new CIRCE, moved by fierce disdain,
    Hath changed me to a Fountain never dry;
    Wherein myself, with bitter tears I bain [? _bathe_].
    Then am I one who always eyes do bear;
    And breast of water flowing only full.
    Take heed, you Lovers all, of her! and fear
    The sugared baits of this deceitful Trull!
      Lest by this CIRCE new, you be deceived,
      As I have been; and be of shape bereaved.


 _The Conclusion of the First Part._

    THE Macedonian Monarch once did deign,
    In cheerful sort, in kind and loving wise,
    To feast in village with a homely Swain;
    Who entertained him, as in country guise,
        With curds and creams, and such like knacks he had.
        Whereof the courteous Prince accepted glad.

    So, Lady, boldly I presumèd have
    To invite you to a sorry banquet base;
    Nor to disdain the same, of you I crave!
    Though cates too coarse for you; too poor, the place.
        I cannot, as I would, give curds and cream;
        But milk and whey: my fortune is so mean.

    Yet (if you shall accept it graciously;
    And with your favour sweet, this board adorn)
    The virtue which is in you, presently,
    The whey, to curds; the milk, to cream shall turn.
        But if your look (you angry) turn away;
        The milk shall still be milk; the whey, still whey.

    Then as the sun in glorious wise doth shine
    As well on valley low as mountain high;
    Vouchsafe one cheerful glimpse of favour thine
    On poor me, from out that heavenly eye!
        Unworthy I, such grace! I do confess:
        Yet worthy thou to do so, ne'ertheless.

    R. T.




 LAURA.

 THE SECOND PART.


I.

    IF I somewhile look up into the Skies,
    I see, fair Lady, that same cheerful light;
    Which, like to you, doth shine in glorious wise:
    And if on th' Earth, I chance to cast my sight;
      The moveless centre firm to me doth show
      The hardness which within your heart doth grow.
    If Seas I view, the flowing waves most plain
    Your fickle faith do represent to me.
    So as I still behold you, to my pain;
    When as the Skies, or th' Earth, or Seas I see:
      For in your seemly self doth plain appear
      Like faith; like hardness; and like brightness clear.


II.

    MARVEL I do not, though thou dost not see
    My griefs and martyrs; which I still sustain.
    For thou, the Mole of Love dost seem to me;
    But if a Mole, th' art only to my pain.
    How comes it then that, seeing thou art blind,
    Thou me consum'st, as if thou had'st thy sight?
    Why, as thy nature by instinct doth bind,
    Stayest not below? Pack hence, and leave this light!
      Either those eyes still shut, not me to grieve;
      Or under ground, in darkness, always live!


III.

    IF whilom, in times past, that Spartan Lass
    ("The Flower of Greece," Dan PARIS's costly joy)
    Through her fair feature, the only causer was,
    So many Knights were slain at Siege of Troy:
      Thou, LAURA, art unlike unto her far!
      In this our Age, a much more blessed star.
    For she brought Wars, Strife, Death, and Cruelty;
    Where thou, alone, bring'st Peace and Pleasure still.
    Ah, happy thrice, that ligs in love with thee!
    And if, by chance, un'wares, thou sometimes kill:
      Thou, with thy smile, the wound canst heal again;
      And give him life, whom thou before hadst slain

  _Pisa_.


IV.

    SHOOT forth no more those darts from lightning eyes!
    Unkind! Why seek'st to stop my fainting breath?
    Go, and invent some new kind exercise;
    New weapons seek wherewith me to offend!
    Play the right Tyrant! Choices use in death;
    Whereby, I dying, content may rest thy will.
    But tell me? Wouldst so fain my life should end?
    And know'st not, _Sweet extremes do sudden kill_?
      Cruel, kiss me but once! and thou shalt see
      Ended my life with that same kiss to be.


V.

    IF what is heavy craves the Centre base;
    The earth below, as Nature wills the same:
    Heavy the woeful griefs are, in this case,
    Which inward in my heart I do sustain.
      And if what's light, by kind, aloft doth mount:
      Then light's my love with thee, of light account.
    So that in doubtful dangerous extreme,
    Wretch that I am! myself am sore afraid:
    And doubt of thee, so far from Golden Mean;
    Nor know I well out of this depth to wade.
      Lest that my life be shortened, or I die;
      Whether it heavy, falls; or light, ascends on high.


VI.

    LADY, what time I seek in mournful note
    To show mine agonies and bloody moan,
    My Voice doth fail; and hoarse and harsh my throat:
    And this doth come through you, through you alone.
    The whilst I think, by means of you in Song,
    To mitigate some part of this my smart;
    Instead thereof, you do me double wrong:
    And with a glance you take away my Heart.
      So that I find great hurt by this your theft:
      Since where, before but Voice, now Heart, 's bereft.


VII.

    AS rocks become, exposed 'gainst waves and wind,
    More hard; such is thy nature, stubborn Dame!
    Opposed 'gainst waters of my plaints most kind;
    And winds of mine hot sighs, which inward flame,
      That hardness such to increase 'bout heart is found,
      As to it, soft might seem the diamond.
    Henceforward then, let no man think to move
    By weeping or lamenting, to his will,
    This self-willed Saint; which too too well I prove
    A senseless stone to be unto me still.
      Since, to my grief, from all good luck debarred;
      With plaints and sighs, she doth become more hard.


VIII.

    HARK, Lovers! Hark, a strange miracle
    Of one, deprived of heart; yet death doth 'scape!
    Mine L. a flower gave me, which sweet did smell;
    And for the same, away my life did take.
    So that I only breathe through scent of flower;
    And without heart, not without life, I live.
    Then is not this, of might LOVE his power
    A wonder strange? which he for sport doth give:
      When that a flower sustaineth me alone
      With life; who in my body, heart have none.


IX.

    WHEN I did part from thee the other night;
    Methought a foul black dog, with ugly shape,
    Did follow me: and did me sore affright;
    And all the way did greedy on me gape.
      Nor I this cur, how he at me did howl,
      Can well as yet forget, with chaps most foul.
    Then thinking of his colour, hateful black;
    Methought some ill, my thought did fear to come,
    And said within me, "Turn again, turn back!
    If forward thou dost go, thou art undone!"
      Then pardon, Lady, if I back again
      Am come this night, with you for to remain.


X.

    MY mourning Mistress's garments, black doth bear;
    And I in black, like her, attirèd am!
    Yet diverse is the cause why black we wear;
    She for another's death doth shew the same.
    I for another reason bear this suit;
    Only to show by this, my outward weed,
    Mine inward grief (although my tongue be mute)
    Of tender heart; which deadly sighs doth bleed.
      Thrice happy I, if, as in habit [_dress_] we
      Are both in one, our minds both one might be.


XI.

    IF April fresh doth kindly give us flowers;
    September yields with more increase the fruit.
    Sweetest, you have in bosom, Beauty's Bowers,
    Both these sweet tides: whence forth they always shoot
      Both flower and fruit. All only you, alone,
      Can give me, when you please; or else can none.
    O dainty bosom, bosom rich in price,
    Surmounting mountains huge of beaten gold;
    Whose whiteness braves the whitest snow that lies
    On highest hills, whose height none can behold.
      In you, my soul doth hope, without annoy,
      Both Spring and Harvest, one day to enjoy.

  _Roma._


XII.

    DRAWN, cunning Painter, hast thou with great art,
    The Shadow [_Image_] of my lovely LAURA fair;
    Which object sweet not smally joys my heart:
    But little didst thou think, nor wast thou 'ware,
    That where thou thought'st my fancy for to please,
    Effect contrary sorts to my desire:
    So that it breeds, in body mine, unease;
    And, senseless, burns my heart with feeling fire.
      O strange success! What made was for content
      Doth most displease; and, lifeless, doth torment.


XIII.

    WHEN first the cruel Fair deigned graciously
    To look on me with kind and courteous view;
    And cast on me a lovely glancing eye:
    She knew not that I was her servant true.
      But She no sooner 'ware was of the same;
      But that She turned her back with great disdain.
    So as the wound I then close bare in breast;
    I now, through grief, show outward in my face:
    But if that She, by whom I wounded rest,
    Lives in compassion cold towards me, sans grace:
      Hard hearted is She, cruel was She to her friend;
      And wicked shall be, world withouten end.


XIV.

    WHEN first the sun did shine upon her eyes,
    Who fairest 'mongst her beauteous sex doth show;
    The heavens her dainty corpse, in courteous wise,
    Covered with chilly cold and whitest snow.
    She, through the nature of that humour cold,
    Both coldest Ice, at once, and purest White
    Draws to herself. Then none, for strange should hold;
    Though, to me, fair and cruel is her sight:
      Since that the heavens, for favours, did impart
      A snow-white corpse to her, and frozen heart.


XV.

    THE dusky cloud in sky, with shadow dark,
    Doth cover oft the sun's most clearest light:
    So as his beams we cannot see, nor mark;
    And he himself doth play at least in sight.
      Ah were I such a cloud on earth to cover
      My sweetest Sun! as doth that cloud, the other.
    But if that cloud do vanish soon away,
    And doth as momentary pass and vade;
    Eternal would I be to hide her aye,
    And of a harder mixture would be made.
      O happy I! O fortunate eclipse!
      With kissing so to darken those fair lips.


XVI.

    FROM milk of JUNO, as the Poets feign,
    The Lily had its whiteness, passing white:
    And from ADONIS' blood, that lovely Swain,
    The Rose his colour red, which doth delight.
    Thou, pretty Soul, hast both the colours rare
    Of these sweet flowers; which others all exceed.
    Thy breast's a bed of beauteous Lilies fair;
    Thy dainty cheeks, pure damask Rose breed.
      O fruitful garden flow'ring; where appear
      The Rose and Lily at all times of year!


XVII.

    OF constant love, I am the wasted fire;
    The furious wind's my Lady's angry eye:
    Who whilst She kindles both, through wrathful ire,
    The flame increaseth, mounting to the sky.
      In midst is LOVE, half dead of grievous pain;
      And, doubtful, winds about like sparkling flame.
    He fears the heat: and trembles, being turned
    Unto this blast; which still more sharp doth rise.
    Nor is his fear in vain, when so he is burned:
    For one of these must hap, in sudden wise,
      Either the fire must spoil him as his prey;
      Or whirling wind else blow him quite away.


XVIII.

    MY LAURA wonders that, in visage pale,
    I bear of Death itself, the lively show:
    But if She muse at this, her musing's stale;
    For this sad colour had I long ago.
    The fire, close burning in my veins, doth make
    That outward ashes in my face you view:
    But if that She would on me pity take,
    Who is the cause of this my palish hue,
      This kindled heat shall die, which now doth burn;
      And my first colour shall again return.


XIX.

    WHILST foaming steed I spur unto the quick,
    To make him gallop to my Love amain:
    Love doth my thoughts, through Fancy, forward prick;
    The end of wishèd journey mine to gain.
      But light's his hurt! 'Tis but a little smart!
      Where mine is mortal, sounding to the heart.
    Run then, my gelding swift, like Pegasus!
    Fly hence with wings! for wings hath my desire:
    Both of us, forced amain, are forward thus,
    And kindled in us is a burning fire.
      Thou, through two spurs in flank, provoked art sore:
      But thousands inwardly, my heart do gore.


XX.

   RICH is the diamond, a gem of price;
   Yet such the nature strange is of the same,
   That who the powder thereof drinks, straight dies:
   And, as if poison 'twere, doth take his bane.
   So thou another precious jewel art;
   In name and nature not unmuch alike:
   Since death thou giv'st unto the loving heart;
   If but a kiss one sucks from thee most sweet.
     Whilst he doth swallow down his sugared bait;
     The joy's so great, it kills him through conceit.


XXI.

    THE Grecians used to offer up their hair
    Unto their rivers: whom they did esteem
    As mighty gods; and them great honour bare,
    As if no virtue small in them had been.
      Do thou the like, sweet LAURA, unto me!
      Who, for my love, deserves a greater fee.
    Thy golden tresses on me do bestow!
    Who hold whole rivers flowing in mine eyes:
    Yet would not I, thou off shouldst cut them though.
    Dost muse? and ask, How this thou may'st devise?
      I'll tell thee. Give thyself to me for mine!
      So shalt thou give, uncut, thy tresses fine.


XXII.

    ONE lovely glance, which from the eyes did pass
    Of Lady mine, hath changed my gentle heart
    From hardest diamond to brittle glass:
    And now again (unto my bitter smart),
    Through dreadful frown, she turns it suddenly
    As 'twas before, from glass to diamond.
    So if She will, She may (and presently,
    As likes her) change me; who to her am bound.
      If cruel She; my heart is hard to break:
      If pitiful; 'tis gentle, brittle, weak.


XXIII.

    TWO winds, one calm, another fierce, to see;
    Th' one of the Spring, of Winter th' other right:
    I plainly, Lady, do discern in thee!
    The first, which makes me joy, breathes from thy sight
      Such dainty flowers, in diverse  show,
      As makes to blush Dame iris's rainy bow.
    The second, which makes me to pine away,
    Blows from thine inward breast, a deadly blast;
    Where doth eternal hardness always stay,
    Which I do see eternal aye to last.
      So as calm ZEPHYRUS, in face, thou art!
      But rough as boisterous BOREAS, in thine heart.


XXIV.

    NO sooner do I earnest fix mine eyes
    On my fair Sun: but that I her perceive
    To vanish like a cloud, in darkest wise;
    As if, eclipsed, her light it did bereave.
    I know not, If She's troubled thus because
    She doth disdain I should behold her so:
    Or if for fear, this shadow to her draws;
    Lest me her beams should hurt, which glistering show.
      Say then, sweet LOVE, for thou know'st best, if still
      I shall behold her; or no more, thou will.


XXV.

    O THAT I were sly PROTEUS! for to take
    On me that form which most I like or wish:
    Then would I change myself unto the shape
    Of that thy little whelp, thy joy and bliss.
      Into that little worm thou so dost like;
      And dallying, play'st with him both day and night.
    Those savoury smacks, those busses, sweet which be,
    Which thou to him dost give, should all be mine:
    And I would make my heart to leap for glee;
    Whilst I did lick that bosom fair of thine.
      But since I to despair of this am brought:
      My wish shall PROTEUS be; thy dog, my thought!


XXVI.

    "SAY, gentle friend, tell me in courtesy,
    Before what was I? and what am I now?
    A senseless Shadow, or a Body, I?"
    "Neither of both. Mark, and I'll tell thee how.
    No _Body_ now: for that, by proud disdain
    Of scornful She, dislived was. _Shadow_ none;
    For that did underground go with the same,
    Unwilling it should wander all alone."
      "What am I then?" "Even one that doth not know
      What now he is: or what he was, can show."


XXVII.

    THE Blazing Star foretells the hapless fall,
    And sudden death of others, soon to come.
    To me a Face, brighter than Comets all,
    Doth, with her looks, my fortune hard forerun;
      And with her shooting darts, from glancing eye,
      Presageth that, ere long, I needs must die.
    The Blazing Star death only prophesies;
    This doth foreshew to me a harder fate:
    And dares me to mine end, in warlike wise;
    Nor how this Challenge know I to escape.
      Ah, cruel Star! of death not only sign;
      But murderer th' art of this poor life of mine.


XXVIII.

    THE Crow makes war with the Chameleon;
    And, being hurt, to th' laurel straight doth fly:
    And, through the fruit he findeth thereupon,
    Is healed of hurt, finds food, and lives thereby.
    LOVE the Chameleon is; the Crow am I:
    And battle wage with him unto the death.
    He wounds me deadly; whereupon I his
    To thee, my LAURAL! to restore my breath.
      Thou me reviv'st. Such virtue 's in thee rife
      As thou, at once, dost give me food and life.


XXIX.

    AMONGST the Parthians is a kind of ground
    Of nature such as, though it far doth stand
    From fire: yet fire to take it straight is found;
    And flying thither, burns it out of hand.
      This prey so sure of Love am I, fair Dame!
      And you to me, which burneth me, the flame.
    So that if I, to you far off do show;
    You kindle straight in me a quenchless fire:
    And yet, although within it burn me so,
    Sweet is the heat whose fuel is desire.
      For rather I, in fire near you would be:
      Than freed from flame, you farther off to see.


XXX.

    LOVE, ope my heart! Hot fire thou forth shall take
    Open my LAURA's! In it thou shalt find
    Cold frost. Then of these two contraries make
    But one; and that same one, frame thou more kind!
    Of both our hearts, make but one loving heart!
    And give it unto which thou please, of twain.
    Give it to her! To her do it impart;
    Or unto me! It skills not much the same.
      I'll doubt no more, when but one heart we have
      Between us both: for this is all I crave.


XXXI.

    UNTO an Image may I right compare
    My Mistress, since so cruel She's to me:
    Which standeth for a sign or shadow fair;
    To which the simple ignorant bow with knee:
      And though with eyes, mouth, ears, and feet it show;
      Yet doth it neither see, talk, hear, or go.
    So plays my Choice, when I appear in sight:
    Nor see, nor speak, nor hear, nor stay She will.
    So as an Idol, She resembleth right;
    Blind, mute, deaf, moveless, senseless standing still.
      Then am not I worse than a lifeless block;
      To worship such a painted  stock.

    _Fiorenza._


XXXII.

    BOTH gems, and pearls, their proper value have;
    But yet unlike: for not alike's their price.
    Some sought for are, and each one doth them crave;
    Others, more base, do pass in worthless wise.
    A jewel rich, and princelike gem, is She
    Whom I esteem; and such account of make:
    Yet in herself no price hath for to see.
    For it is holden at so high a rate
      As all the gold, nor silver, which doth lie
      In th' earth, or sea, the same, at worth, can buy.


XXXIII.

    IF love, wherein I burn, were but a fire;
    I quenched it had, with water of my plaints:
    If water, these my Plaints; I this desire
    Had dried through inward heat, my heart that taints.
      But LOVE, that in my griefs doth take delight,
      Both fire and water turns, to work me spite.
    Fly then, this LOVE! since such is his great power
    As waves to fire, and fire to waves, he turns:
    And with an absent Beauty, every hour,
    My fainting heart with Fancy's fuel burns;
      And, 'gainst all sense, makes me, of CARe and IL
      More than of good and comfoRT, to have will.


XXXIV.

    RIVERS unto the Sea do tribute pay.
    A most unconstant moving Sea art thou!
    And I, within mine eyes, bedewèd aye,
    A River hold of bitter tears as now.
    Receive then, from these moistened cheeks of mine.
    Into thy lap, the water forth I pour!
    Of duty mine, and of thy debt, a sign:
    And mix together with my sweet, thy sour!
      So shall the water to the water be
      More precious; and the Sea, more rich to th' Sea.


XXXV.

    SUCH is the virtue of the sunny heat,
    As seizing on the Cockle Shell (which lies
    On seaish shore), whereon his beams do beat,
    It makes it brightly shine, in orient wise:
      So that, through secret power of radiant sun,
      Of worthless shell, a pearl it doth become.
    So, Lady, you, through force of Beauty's power,
    If you shall deign to glance on me your eye,
    And rain with grace on me a smiling shower,
    A jewel rich you make me by and bye:
      And if no pearl; at least a precious stone.
      This, only, can you do; or else can none.


XXXVI.

    THE blood of fair ADONIS, VENUS changed
    Into a flower: who, whilst he did pursue
    In forest thick, where as he hunting ranged,
    The savage boar to kill; the boar him slew.
    Do thou the like, sweet Love! Do thou the same,
    Whilst now my life doth languish, through thy power:
    And whilst my wound makes me for to remain
    Withouten blood, transform me to a flower!
      That where I, living, cannot; dead, I may;
      A lovèd flower in LAURA's bosom stay.


XXXVII.

    AN ocean Sea of water calm am I;
    Wherein kind LOVE the form of Fish doth take,
    Leaping alongst the shore most wantonly.
    Then, Lady, of a Fisher don the shape!
      Ah, what sweet fishing shall you have to like;
      If LOVE you chance to catch, while he doth bite?
    Come then, and naked into this water hie!
    He cannot 'scape; but, here, perforce must bide!
    'Less to my heart, to save himself, he fly.
    Then quickly strip thyself! Lay fear aside!
      For of this dainty prey, which thou shalt take;
      Both Sea, Fish, and Thyself, thou glad shalt make.


XXXVIII.

    RICH Damask Roses in fair cheeks do bide
    Of my sweet Girl, like April in his prime:
    But her hard heart, cold chilly snow doth hide;
    Of bitter Januar, the perfect sign.
    Her hair of gold shows yellow like the corn
    In July, when the sun doth scorch the ground;
    And her fair breast, ripe fruit which doth adorn
    September rich. So as in her is found
      Both Harvest, Summer, Winter, Spring to be:
      Which you in breast, hair, heart, and face may see.


XXXIX.

    TH' immortal PARCÆ, fatal Sisters three,
    Of mortal men, do sing the shunless fate:
    What once Was, what Is now, and what Shall Be;
    Their life, their death, their fortune, and their state.
      Our Song let be like theirs! for Three they were;
      And so our number is. Three are we here.
    Sing LAURA then! Sing LOVE! and sing will I!
    Of dreary fortune mine, sing let us all!
    Let 's sing in doleful tune most mournfully,
    How 'Tis, how 'Twas, and hapless still Shall fall;
      The Present, Past, and (which none can mend)
      What Shall Be, world to come, withouten end.


XL.

    THE heavens, their restless sphere do always move.
    In thee doth move the faith, which thou didst plight.
    And I, IXION-like, still in my love
    Do roll; and yet I roll my wheel aright.
    So that, 'twixt us, continual motions wend.
    But which is worse, unconstant Wench, I see!
    The heavens will have their motions without end;
    Which, never ceasing, roll continually:
      And thou, like them, to roll dost mean thy fill;
      And since 'tis so, I'll roll too, against my will!


_The Conclusion of the Second Part._

    THUS is the Second Course now servèd in.
    A Course too coarse for such a dainty Dame:
    Yet, Lady, though the cheer be bad and thin;
    Because it comes of zeal, accept the same!
        And though not worthy of your grace it be;
        Yet make it gracious through your courtesy!

    Great sumptuous feasts the stomach doth dislike;
    Which oft, in body dangerous surfeits breed:
    Where dishes few revive our sense and sprite;
    And Nature's pleased on little for to feed.
        This, as a sauce, your appetite to move,
        Accept! where meat's the heaRT, where cook is LOVE.

    Nor think the worse, though I have spun a thread
    So fine (I mean your praise) I cannot mend:
    Since 'tis a Work to ground the wisest head;
    And mar I should this loom, this cloth not mend.
        So VENUS' matchless shape APELLES drew;
        But how to finish it, he never knew.

    Far more's my mind than is my feeble might.
    My pencil, for thy picture is too weak.
    The sun is only for the eagle's flight.
    My strength's too small, this hardened ice to break.
        Not painted, scarce I thee have shadowed here:
        This task 's for such as have in skill no peer.

    R. T.




 LAURA.

 THE THIRD PART.


I.

    WHO joys in love? The Heart alone, to see.
    Who languisheth in love? The Heart alone.
    Then is 't a thing impossible for me
    To joy or languish: since I Heart have none.
      Withouten Heart! Then tell me, What am I?
      Even bones and flesh united cunningly.
    The Soul, where is 't? Love that hath ta'en away:
    My Body only resteth in his place.
    Deprived of Soul and Heart, how live? I say,
    I live, maintained by love, in this strange case.
      O wonder strange, the Body live to see;
      The Heart and Soul in other place to be.

    _Napoli_.


II.

    THAT crimson gown, with drops of blood ywrought,
    Which LAURA wears, a token is most true,
    How that of blood desirous is her thought:
    And that 'tis so, I best can tell to you.
    My wrongèd heart too well doth find the same;
    Who, thousand times, not once, hath wrongèd been
    By her: and, now, to aggravate my pain,
    (More cruel in desire for to be seen),
      By outward habit [_dress_] covets She to show
      What, inward, in her mind She hides below.


III.

    THE flaming torch, a shadow of the light,
    Put out by hasty hand, doth colour change;
    And black becomes, which seemed before most bright:
    Nor so to show is any marvel strange.
      So was I long a lively fire of Love;
      The heat whereof my body oft did prove:
    But I, at last, by one who moaned my woe,
    Extinguished was, by pitiful Disdain.
    Then if my colour black in face do show,
    You need not much to wonder at the same;
      Since 'tis a sign, by part to know the whole,
      That Love made me a fire, Disdain a coal.


IV.

    PARDONED of every wicked fact was he,
    To HEBE's Temple that, with prayers, came:
    And, of such grace in sign, his bonds, as free,
    He left hung up on high within the same.
    I, Lady, errèd have; and humbly come
    To thee, who art the Temple fair of Love:
    Off'ring to thee my prayers, all and some,
    To free me from my faults, thy heart let move!
      In token of which gift, with thee I'll leave
      My jealous thoughts; wherewith I did thee grieve.


V.

    IF thou art cold, as is the Winter's snow;
    I, as the Summer, hot am most extreme:
    Then let's unite thy heart, which cold is so,
    To mine so warm; and make of both a mean!
      So th' one a help to th' other still shall be;
      And linked in concord, as two doves shall 'gree.
    To form this frame, LOVE shall the workman play.
    Then let's with July, January mix!
    Let's make, between us, an eternal May!
    An everlasting truce, twain betwix!
      Thy Winter, with my Summer let us join!
      My fire so warm, with frost so cold of thine!


VI.

    THE cruel NERO used on golden hook,
    The harmless fish to catch with sugared bait:
    So courteous LOVE, fishing, me quickly took;
    Whilst he with dainty prey for me did wait.
    Yet far more fortunate am I in this:
    For whereas NERO's hooks most sharp did kill;
    The other hooks revive the taken fish,
    Whilst they do hold him gently by the gill.
      But hooks they are none! For hooks they are too fair!
      Two golden tresses be they of fine hair!


VII.

    WHEN She was born; She came, with smiling eye,
    Laughing into the world, a sign of glee.
    When I was born; to her quite contrary,
    Wailing I came into the world to see.
      Then mark this wonder strange! What nature gave;
      From first to th' last, this fashion kept we have.
    She in my sad laments doth take great joy:
    I, through her laughing, die; and languish must,
    Unless that LOVE, to save me from this 'noy,
    Do unto me, unworthy, shew so just
      As for to change her laughter into pain;
      And my complaints, into her joy again.


VIII.

    IN LOVE his kingdom great, two Fools there be:
    My Lady's one; myself the other am.
    The fond behaviour of both, which to see;
    Whoso but nicely marks, will say the same.
    Foolish our thoughts are. Foolish, our desire.
    Foolish our hearts in Fancy's flame to fry.
    Foolish to burn in Love's hot scorching fire.
    But what? Fools are we none. My tongue doth lie.
      For who most foolish is, and fond, in love;
      More wiser far than others, oft doth prove.


IX.

    NO sooner LAURA mine appears to me;
    But that a dainty dye, or blushing red,
    In both our faces showeth for to be.
    But who, alas, doth mine so overspread?
      O'er-fervent LOVE doth draw this shadow pure;
      Like cunning'st Painter, long for to endure.
    Who painteth hers? Disdain, with pencil hard;
    Which turneth all my sweetness into sour.
    So that all my designs are quickly marred;
    Except LOVE bind Love, by his awful power,
      In Faith's firm bands. Too high th' exchange will grow.
      When love, for hate; and not for like, shall go.


X.

    PHŒBUS had once a bird, his chief delight,
    Which, only 'cause he had an evil tongue,
    He made him black; who was before most white.
    So if all those who, Lovers true have stung
    With spiteful speech, and have their loves betrayed;
    Or to their Ladies false be and untrue,
    Setting at nought the promise they have made;
    LOVE would but change into this coal-black hue:
      Thousands abroad, like sea-coal crows should show;
      Who, now unknown, for snowy swans do go.


XI.

    IN silver stream, on shallow fountain's shelf,
    The lively image saw he in the same;
    Who was in love with shadow of himself:
    Through pride forgetful how his likeness came.
      Such one myself, by chance, I see to be;
      When as in river I myself did see:
    Yet I myself, instead of loving, hate.
    And such strange hatred is this, and so strong;
    That while he, loving, died by justest Fate,
    Himself by seeing, whilst he himself did wrong:
      I die will unto him contrary clean;
      'Cause I, hating myself, myself too much have seen.


XII.

    JOY of my soul! My blindfold eyes' clear light!
    Cordial of heart! Right methridate of love!
    Fair orient pearl! Bright shining margarite!
    Pure quintessence of heaven's delight above!
    When shall I taste, what favour grants me touch;
    And ease the rage of mine so sharp desire?
    When shall I free enjoy, what I so much
    Do covet; but I doubt in vain, to aspire?
      Ah, do not still my soul thus tantalise;
      But once, through grace, the same imparadise!


XIII.

    PAINTER, in lively colours draw Disdain!
    Dost ask, How that may rightly shadowed be?
    I'll tell thee. If thou, fine, wilt do the same;
    My Lady paint! and thou Disdain shalt see.
      Fond man! dost not believe? or think'st I jest?
      If doubtful thou remain, then hear the rest!
    Mark her but well; and thou shalt, in her face,
    See right Disdain: which, coming from her eyes,
    Makes her to look with most disdainful grace;
    Then if thou seest it, in so plain a guise,
      Straight shadow [_paint_] her! For this one counterfeit [_picture_]
      Of her, and of Disdain, shall show the shape.


XIV.

    WITH gold and rubies glistereth her small hand;
    But if you match them with her lips or hair,
    They seem withouten brightness for to stand:
    The others have such lively colours fair.
    O worthy Beauty! peerless A PER SE!
    To whom all other Beauties are most vile.
    O fairness such as fairer none can be!
    Thou grace itself, of graciousness dost spoil!
      With rubies, thou right rubies dost disgrace!
      With gold, bright gold thou stainest in his place!


XV.

    A GENTLE tame deer am I, called a Hart:
    The cruel huntress fierce my Mistress is.
    With crossbow bent, she comes to me in Park;
    Paled in with pleasant thoughts of wanton wish.
      She shoots, and hits me; takes me for her prey:
      And (having shot, hit, taken) flies her way.
    Back she retires from me, with pleasant smile;
    Unloosing me, and heals my wound and pain:
    When, as afresh incensed (alack the while!)
    'Gainst me, desirous me to plague again,
      She turns towards me, o'ertakes me, strikes me sore:
      And, binding up my wounds, makes deadly more.


XVI.

    THE golden tresses of a Lady fair;
    At first beginning were of this my love:
    But now, at last, unto my double care,
    To be the end of my sad life I prove.
    Then did my doubtful spirit live in hope:
    But now he fears, despairing as it were,
    Because he doth perceive in sudden broke
    His hope, which dying heart did help and bear;
      Since that the hair, that Alpha me did bind
      In love, of life the Omega I do find.


XVII.

    "SWEET LAURA, in the water look no more,
    To see if feature thine be fair or no!
    Look in mine eyes! which tears rain streaming sore
    Of bitter plaints; whose water clear doth show,
      As in a looking-glass, most bright to thee,
      Those favours which in that sweet visage be."
    So said I to her: when She answered blive,
    "And thou, my Love! say, Dost thou likewise wish
    To see thyself in one that is alive?
    Then in this breast, look where thine image is!
      Love shall alike in both our bodies rest:
      Bear thou me in thine eyes; I'll thee in breast!"


XVIII.

    IF, cruel, thou desirous art of blood;
    Behold how I do bleed in streaming wise!
    Glut then thyself therewith, if thou think good;
    And do content, with blood, thy bloody eyes!
    From breast it comes, where fainting heart doth lie;
    And for a gift, I it present to thee!
    Although I know, through this, I soon shall die;
    And yet to die it little grieveth me:
      Since 'tis my wish, my blood with soul as one
      May rest; and that's with thee, or else with none.


XIX.

    THAT ivory hand, a fan most white doth hold;
    And to the milky breast blows wind apace;
    And yet is full of chilly ice most cold;
    Disgrace to others, to herself a grace.
      But I, who wistly mark these whiteness' three,
      Vouchsafe, sweet LOVE, this boon to grant to me!
    Distil within the rolling of mine eyes,
    By virtue of thy power, such hidden flame;
    And let it tempered be, in such strange wise,
    That, as I cast my look upon the same,
      It quite may take away her cruelty!
      Melt straight the ice! and fan burn suddenly!


XX.

    THE snakes, amongst themselves, so carefully
    Love one another, wonder for to see!
    As if th' one want, the other straight doth die.
    Lady, unto these snakes unlike we be!
    For if I die, thou diest not for my death;
    But, through my pain revivest! Such is thy spite!
    And pleasure tak'st to see me void of breath.
    Ah, yet in love let 's unto them be like!
      Thou CUPID, work! that I, poor snake in love,
      This 'sdainful snake for to be kind may move.


XXI.

    LAURA is fair and cruel both in one;
    And born was of a dainty diamond.
    Then is it marvel, neither wonder, none;
    Although her heart as hard as stone be found.
      Nature that hardness, as a Keeper, gave
      To her, her beauty thereby so to save.
    But fond is he, and simple in conceit,
    That thinks LOVE will not, one day, burst the same.
    Then quickly, mighty Lord, quickly this break!
    Break thou this stony heart, so hard, in twain!
      Unto thy power, let Nature's force still yield!
      And be thou Conqueror 'gainst her in Field!


XXII.

    THE snow-white Swan betokens brightsome Day:
    The coal-black Crow, of <DW54> Night is sign.
    Thou Day, or Night, bring unto me still may,
    With those bright lamps, those glistering stars, of thine.
    But, cruel thou, thy heart is bent so hard,
    As I that sun can never see with eyes
    (That wished-for sun, from these my lights debarred):
    Nor aught discern but mists, in foggy wise.
      Then since I live in woe; and, blind, nought see:
      A Crow, not Swan, thou still shalt be to me!


XXIII.

    SAY, CUPID, since thou wings so swift dost bear;
    Within my heart, alone, why dost thou lie?
    Why dost not seek to lodge some other where;
    And to some other place, why dost not hie?
      Go unto her, who hath the lily breast!
      Who though she hates me; yet I love her best.
    If her, to entertain thee thou shalt find;
    It is a sign she hateth me no more.
    Straight then, return again; and show her mind
    To my desire! who for this news longs sore.
      Then, prithee, go! No longer ling'ring stay!
      Lest, when thou wouldst, thou canst not go thy way.


XXIV.

    ON quicksedge wrought with lovely eglantine,
    My LAURA laid her handkercher to dry;
    Which had before snow-white ywashed been.
    But after, when she called to memory,
    That long 'twould be before, and very late,
    Ere sun could do, as would her glistering eyes:
    She cast from them such sparkling glances straight,
    And with such force, in such a strangy guise,
      As suddenly, and in one selfsame time,
      She dried her cloth; but burnt this heart of mine.


XXV.

    GOLD upon gold, mine only Joy did plate,
    Whilst She did dress her head by crystal glass:
    But whilst She looked on it, it sudden brake;
    So as, amazed thereat, much grieved She was;
      To whom I said, "To grieve thus, 'tis in vain:
      Since what is broke, whole cannot be again.
    Look steadfastly, with both thine eyes on me!
    Who have my heart, through love, a glass new made."
    She on my face looked; and herself did see:
    Wherewith contented th'roughly, thus She said,
      "Most happy I! Since for to dress my head,
      For broken glass, of whole one I am sped."


XXVI.

    THE heavens begin, with thunder, for to break
    The troubled air; and to the  fields,
    The lightning for to spoil their pride doth threat.
    Each thing unto the furious tempest yields.
    And yet, methinks, within me I do hear
    A gentle voice, hard at my heart, to say:
    "Fear nothing, thou; but be of merry cheer!
    Thou only safe, 'fore others all shalt stay.
      To save thee from all hurt, thy shield shalt be
      The shadow of the conquering Laural Tree."

  _Fano_.


XXVII.

    "LOVE this fair Lass!" said LOVE once unto me.
    I loved her. "Love her now," saith he, "no more!"
    When thousand darts within my breast there be;
    And if I love her, he me threateneth sore.
      He saith, "Himself is fallen in love with her;
      And that himself, 'fore others, he'll prefer!"
    His sense is this. He, in her beauteous eyes,
    Hath found such Amours as ne'er like were seen:
    But thinks he, this shall serve, in cunning wise,
    To make me leave? he cozening me so clean?
      In spite of him, I'll love! sith heart doth 'gree,
      With LOVE in love as rival for to be.


XXVIII.

    MY Mistress writing, as her hand did shake,
    The pen did dash, which on her gown did spurt:
    One drop, more higher than the rest did take;
    And to presume to touch her breast it durst.
    Upon her dainty bosom it did light:
    Wherewith she blushed, in show like damask rose.
    Presumptuous black! how dar'dst thou touch that white,
    Wherein a World of gladsome pleasure grows?
      Yet, spite of envy, happed it for the best:
      To the white, more grace; more beauty, 'twas to th' breast.


XXIX.

    NONE dares now look more on my LAURA's face,
    So dangerous is her beauty to behold:
    For he no sooner gives to her the gaze;
    But straight his heart, She takes from him so bold.
      Such virtue 's locked within those ebon eyes;
      Where, dallying with Delight, Dan CUPID lies.
    So sweetly rolleth She that radiant sphere,
    As She, from whom She lists, robs suddenly:
    So as to look on her, each one doth fear;
    And yet to look on her, spare will not I!
      For though I lose my Heart, and him disease.
      I like shall my Desire; and her I'll please.


XXX.

    UNBARE that ivory Hand! Hide it no more!
    For though it death brings to my tender heart
    To see it naked, where is Beauty's store;
    And where moist pearl with azure doth impart:
    Yet fear I not to die, in this sweet wise!
    My fancy, so to see 't, is set on fire.
    Then leave that glove! (most hateful to mine eyes!)
    And let me surfeit with this kind desire!
      So that my looks may have of them their fill;
      Though heart decay, I'll take it for none ill.

    _Mantoa._


XXXI.

    "MY Mistress seems but brown," say you to me.
    'Tis very true, and I confess the same:
    Yet love I her although that brown She be;
    Because to please me, She is glad and fain.
      I lovèd one most beautiful before;
      Whom now, as death, I deadly do abhor.
    Because to scorn my service her I found;
    I gave her o'er, and chose to me this same.
    Nor to be faithful, think I, I am bound
    To one, in whom no kindness doth remain.
      This is the cause, for brown and pitiful;
      I left a fair, but yet a faithless, Trull.


XXXII.

    WHITE art thou, like the mountain-snow to see;
    I Black, like to the burnèd coal do show:
    Then give some of thy purest white to me!
    And I'll some of my black on thee bestow:
    So will we these two contraries unite
    Together; which so joined, will show more fair.
    Let 's both then make this change, for our delight;
    Unless to kill me, thou do little care!
      But why of White or Black, talk I to thee?
      My blood not black 'tis; which thou fain wouldst see.


XXXIII.

    AS sacrifice unto a goddess bright,
    My heart I offered with devotion great:
    Thinking that She, Love's Temple had been right.
    But what, un'wares, I spied not then, in heat,
      I, wary, now discern her for to be:
      Of hell below, the rightest cruelty.
    I was deceived, I do confess. That smile,
    That wanton smile, that bred in me delight,
    Hid in those lips so fair, did me beguile.
    O beauty false! O cruelty most right!
      Flee, flee my heart! flee then, if thou be wise,
      Thy hurt! my burning heat, her treacheries!


XXXIV.

    STRANGE is this thing! My horse I cannot make
    With spur, with speech, nor yet with rod in hand,
    Force him to go; although great pains I take.
    Do what I can; he still, as tired, doth stand.
    No doubt he feels a heavy weight of me;
    Which is the cause he standeth still as stone:
    Nor is he 'ware that now he carrieth three;
    He thinks, poor jade, I am on 's back alone.
      But three we are, with mine own self I prove:
      LAURA is in my heart; in soul is LOVE.

    _Pesaro._


XXXV.

      WHEN I, of my sweet LAURA leave did take;
      Fair Fano's city, for a while to leave:
      She gave to me, to wear it for her sake,
      Of gold and pearl a dainty woven wreath.
        Dear was the gift; because for love it came:
        But dearer more; 'cause She gave me the same.
      I look on 't still, and kiss it as my joy;
      Kissing and bussing it, with it I play:
      Which, at one instant, brings me mirth and 'noy;
      And sighing oft thus to myself I say:
        "White pearls are these; yet hath her mouth more fair!
        Fine gold is this; yet finer is her hair!"

       _Fano._


XXXVI.

    WITH thousand bands of furious inward heat,
    Love binds my soul; and burns my gentle heart:
    And, two ways, LAURA, death to me doth threat:
    With Colour fresh; and wanton Eye, like dart.
    This for reward for all my love I gain.
    For my goodwill, two enemies I have:
    LAURA and Love. Four plagues conspire my pain,
    Because I like; and what 's but just, do crave:
      Fire, roseal Colour, Eyes, and cruel Band.
      These, at the gaze of Beauty, make me stand.


XXXVII.

    IF scalding sighs, my faith may testify;
    And brinish tears, of love may warrant be:
    Both th' one and th' other thou hast seen with eye!
    Then what wouldst have, hard hearted! more of me?
      But thou, perhaps, though much I have endured,
      Wouldst yet be better of my faith assured.
    Then with thine eyes, into my breast do peer!
    Which, for the nonce, I leave to open sight;
    And that which now thou doubt'st, see shalt thou clear.
    Ah, mark it then; and view what shows so bright!
      But too too cruel art thou, and precise;
      That will not credit give to thine own eyes!


XXXVIII.

    THE hapless ARGUS, happy in this same,
    The glory of the sun's surpassing light;
    The brightness of the stars, the fire which stain:
    With hundred eyes, behold them always might.
    But I, alas, who have but only twain,
    Cannot behold the beauty of my Sun!
    For which I live as blind, in endless pain;
    And count myself, for want thereof, undone.
      I can but wish that I an ARGUS were!
      With hundred eyes to view her everywhere.


XXXIX.

    IN vasty sea, fain would my slender Muse
    Wade in thy praise! to praise thy beauty right:
    But, Lady, I for pardon crave excuse.
    To break such waves, too brittle is her might!
      Meantime, with lowly verse, in humble show,
      Along the shallow shore I'll wading go.
    The time may come, perhaps ere it be long,
    That this my Quill, more bold, may write thy praise:
    And venture for to sail in th' ocean strong;
    Though now, on gravelled shore it fearful stays.
      And whereas now, to dip his foot he fears:
    He then shall dive himself o'er head and ears.


  _Fano._


XL.

    WHEN I did part, my soul did part from me;
    And took his Farewell of thy beauteous ey'n:
    But now that I, returned, do thee see;
    He is returned, and lives through kindness thine:
    And of thee looketh for a Welcome Home.
    I then, not any more, to sorrow need;
    Now I am come: and if before, alone,
    On Shadow then; on Substance now I feed.
      So if my parting bitter was and sad:
      Sweet 's my return to thee, and passing glad.


 _The conclusion of the last Part._

    TIMANTES, when he saw he could not paint
    With lively colours, to his lasting fame,
    Such works he took in hand; and found too faint
    His cunning: seeking for to hide the same,
        He over them a subtil Shadow drew;
        So that his faults, or none, or few, could view.

    So, Lady, I finding my wit too weak,
    With current terms, your beauty forth to blaze;
    And that to arrive, too blunt is my conceit,
    Unto the height of your surmounting praise:
        With silence forcèd am, against my will,
        To shadow my defect, the want of skill.

    Yet do I hope, the Shadow you'll not scorn:
    Since Princes, in their stately arbours green,
    Account of shade, as trees which fruit adorn;
    Because from heat they welcome shelters been.
        The Shadow shields, 'gainst sun, your beauty fair;
        Which else his scorching heat would much impair.

    Then though a Shadow without fruit I be;
    And scarce yield leaves to cover this my bark:
    Accept these leaves, thy Beauty's Shade, of me!
    Where wealth doth ebb, goodwill doth flow from heart.
        Deign me, for all my love, but Shadow thine!
        Thy Substance 's too too high for fortune mine.

    R. T.


 _A Friend's just Excuse about the Book and [the] Author; in his
 absence._

WITHOUT the Author's knowledge, as is before said by the Printer [at
pp. 271, 272]; this Poem is made thus publicly known; which, with my
best endeavour, the Gentleman himself, suspecting what is now proved
too true, at my coming up, earnestly intreated me to prevent. But I
came at the last sheet's printing; and find more than thirty Sonnets
not his, intermixt with his. Helped it cannot be, but by the well
judging Reader: who will, with less pain distinguish between them, than
I, on this sudden, possibly can. To him then, I refer that labour.

And for the Printer's faults passed in some of the Books; I have
gathered them in the next page.[9]

With the Author, bear, I pray ye! whom I must intreat to bear with me.

R. B.

    [Footnote 9: These four Corrections have been embodied in the text. E.
    A.]




[Illustration: 1589.

  _Est natura hominum novitatis avida._

  THE SCOTTISH QUEEN's

  Burial at Peterborough,

  upon Tuesday, being Lammas Day

  [1st August] 1587.

  [Illustration]

  LONDON.

  Printed by A. J. [ABEL JEFFES] for EDWARD VENGE;
  and are to be sold at his shop
  without Bishops Gate.




  [The unique copy of this Tract is preserved in the Advocates' Library
  at Edinburgh. As it is however, somewhat confusedly written; its
  information has been corrected and completed from other contemporary
  sources.

       *       *       *       *       *

  ✝This is quite incorrect. The following is a truer account:

  On Sunday, being the 30th of July, 1587, in the 29th year of the
  reign of ELIZABETH the Queen's Majesty of England, there went from
  Peterborough Master WILLIAM DETHICK, _alias_ Garter Principal King of
  Arms, and five Heralds, accompanied by 40 horse and men, to conduct
  the body of MARY, late Queen of Scots, from Fotheringhay Castle
  in Northamptonshire (which Queen had remained prisoner in England
  nineteen years): having for that purpose, brought a royal coach drawn
  by four horses, and covered with black velvet; richly set forth with
  escutcheons of the Arms of Scotland, and little pennons round about
  it.

  The body (being enclosed in lead; and the same coffined in wood) was
  brought down, and reverently put into the coach.

  At which time, the Heralds put on their Coats of Arms, and
  bare-headed, with torches' light, brought the same forth of the
  Castle, about ten of the clock at night: and so conveyed it to
  Peterborough [eleven] miles distant from Fotheringhay Castle.

  Whither being come, about two of the clock on the Monday morning
  [31st July]; the body was received most reverently at the Minster
  Door of Peterborough, by the Bishop, Dean and Chapter, and [ROBERT
  COOKE] _Clarenceux_ King at Arms.

  And, in the presence of the Scots which came with the same, it was
  laid in a Vault prepared for the same, in the Quire of the said
  Church, on the south side; opposite to the tomb of Queen KATHARINE
  [of Arragon], Dowager of Spain, the first wife of King HENRY the
  Eighth.

  The occasion why the body was forthwith laid into the Vault, and not
  borne in the Solemnity; was because it was so extreme[ly] heavy, by
  reason of the lead, that the Gentlemen could not have endured to have
  carried it, with leisure, in the solemn proceeding: and besides,
  [it] was feared that the solder might rip; and, [it] being very hot
  weather, might be found some annoyance.

  _A Remembrance of the Order and Manner of the Burial of MARY, Queen
  of Scots._ Printed in _Archæologia_, I., 155 [for 355], 1770.

       *       *       *       *       *

  The following additional details are given in the Account drawn up by
  [Doctor RICHARD FLETCHER] the Dean of Peterborough. See S. GUNTON,
  _History of the Cathedral of Peterburgh_, p. 78. Ed. 1686.

  The body, with the closures, weighed nine hundred weight; which being
  carried, and attended orderly by the said persons, was committed to
  the ground in the Vault appointed: and immediately the Vault was
  covered, saving a small hole left open for the Staffs to [be] broken
  into.

  There were at that time, not any Offices of the Church Service done:
  the Bishop being ready to have executed therein. But it was by all
  that were present, as well Scottish as others, thought good and
  agreed, that it should be done at the day and time of Solemnity.]




  [Illustration]




  _The Scottish Queen's Burial at Peterborough, upon
  Tuesday, being Lammas Day_ [_1st August_], 1587.


HER body was brought in a coach, about 100 attending thereon, from
Fotheringhay Castle, upon Sunday [30th July], at night.

[RICHARD HOWLAND] the Bishop of PETERBOROUGH, [RICHARD FLETCHER] the
Dean [of Peterborough], the Prebends, and the rest [of the Chapter]
met the same at the Bridge: being not far from the town: and so conveyed
it to the Bishop's Palace, and from thence upon Tuesday being Lammas
Day, [it] was carried to the Church, where she was buried[10] on
the south side of the Hearse by torchlight. [_See previous page._✝]

       *       *       *       *       *

The Hearse [_or Catafalque_] was made field-bed wise; the valance of
black velvet, with a gold fringe; [and] the top of the imperial covered
with baize. About it, were set ten Posies [of the Motto of the Arms
of Scotland], _In my defence, GOD me defend!_ with ten Scutcheons
great and little; and, at the top, a double one with a crown imperial
thereupon. The Supporters [were] Unicorns, with 100 pennons or little
flags. It was impaled with baize; and in it [were] fourteen stools,
with black velvet cushions.

Upon the pillars supporting the imperial of the Hearse, the which were
all covered with velvet, were fixed Scutcheons: bearing either [the]
Red Lion alone; or else parted with the Arms of France, or with the
arms of the Lord LENOX.

The Church and Chancel were hanged with baize and Scutcheons, as at
other funerals.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Here must be inserted some additional information:

Upon Monday, in the afternoon, came to Peterburgh, all the Lords and
Ladies and other Assistants appointed; and at the Bishop's Palace was
prepared [at Queen ELIZABETH's expense] a great supper for them: where
all, at one table, supped in the Great Chamber; [it] being hanged with
black.

Dean R. FLETCHER, in S. GUNTON's _History_, &c., p.
78, Ed. 1686.]

       *       *       *       *       *

On Tuesday, being the 1st of August, in the morning, about eight of
the clock, the Chief Mourner, being [BRIDGET RUSSELL] the Countess of
BEDFORD [_now the Widow of her third husband_], was attended upon by
all the Lords and Ladies; and brought into the Presence Chamber within
the Bishop's Palace: which [Chamber], all over, was hanged with black
cloth.

She was, by the Queen's Majesty's Gentlemen Ushers, placed somewhat
under a Cloth of Estate [_canopy_] of purple velvet: where, (having
given to the [_Gentlemen representing, on this occasion, the_] Great
Officers, their Staffs of Office (viz. to the Lord Steward; Lord
Chamberlain; the Treasurer, and Comptroller [of the Household]), she
took her way into the Great Hall.

       *       *       *       *       *

 _A Remembrance of the Order, &c._ _Archæologia_, I., 155 [for 355],
 1770].

The Mourners came out of the Bishop's Palace; being set in order by the
Heralds thus:

First 100 Releevants; poor old women, for the most part widows: in
black cloth gowns, with an ell of white holland over their heads;
which they had for their labour, and nine shillings apiece in money.
These divided themselves in the body of the Church; and stood half on
the one side, and half on the other: and there stood during the whole
Solemnity.

At the Church door, the Singing Men and Quiristers met the Mourners
with a _Psalm_; and led them the way into the Chancel, continuing
singing, with the Organ, until the Sermon began.

Then followed two Yeomen, viz.: the Sheriff [of Northamptonshire]'s
Bailiff and the Bailiff of Peterborough; with black staves.

And after them [100 poor men, in] Mourning Coats.

Then Sir GEORGE SAVILE, in a Mourning gown, carrying the great
Standard: viz. a Cross on a Field azure; the Streamer, a Unicorn argent
in a Field of guiles; a Posy written, _In my defence, GOD me defend!_

Then followed Mourning Cloaks, two by two, a great number: whereof the
first were the late Queen's Officers.

And after them, Mourning Gowns.

Among these Officers of her House was [Monsieur DU PREAU] a French
Jesuit, her Confessor, with a golden crucifix about his neck; which he
did wear openly: and being told, That the people murmured and disliked
at it; he said, He would do it, though he died for it. Thus we may see
how obdurate their hearts are in malice; and how obstinate they shew
themselves in the vain toys and superstitious trifles of their own
imaginations.

Then [RICHARD FLETCHER] the Dean [of Peterborough].

Next the two Bishops: [RICHARD HOWLAND] of
PETERBOROUGH, and [WILLIAM WICKHAM, of]
LINCOLN.

[CHARLES WILLOUGHBY,] the Lord WILLOUGHBY of Parham;

[LEWIS MORDAUNT,] the Lord MORDAUNT [of Turvey];

[HENRY COMPTON,] the Lord COMPTON;

Sir THOMAS CECIL [_afterwards_ Lord BURLEGH, _and
later_ Earl of EXETER]:

All four, in gowns, with White Staffs; representing the [Lord] Steward;
[the Lord] Chamberlain; [the] Treasurer, and [the] Controller [of the
Queen's Household].

After these, 16 Scots and Frenchmen; which had been Officers in her
[_Queen MARY's_] House.

Then Sir ANDREW NOEL alone, carrying the Banner of Scotland.

Then [WILLIAM, _afterwards_ Sir WILLIAM, SEGAR] Percullis the Herald
[_Portcullis Pursuivant_] bearing the Crown [_or Helmet_] and Crest:
thereon a red lion rampant crowned, holding a sword the point upward;
the Helmet overmanteled guiles powdered ermine.

Then the Target [_or Shield_, borne by JOHN RAVEN,] _Rouge
Dragon_ [_Pursuivant_];

The Sword by [HUMPHREY HALES] York [Herald];

The Coat of Arms by [ROBERT GLOVER,] Somerset Herald.

Then [ROBERT COOKE] _Clarenceux_ [King at Arms] with a
Gentleman at Arms [_or rather, a Gentleman Usher_].

       *       *       *       *       *

Then followed the Coffin [_empty of course_], covered with a pall of
velvet; six Scutcheons fixed thereon, upon the head whereof stood a
Crown of Gold.

Six Gentlemen bare [_the supposed_] corpse, under a velvet canopy borne
by these four Knights:

  Sir THOMAS MANNERS,
  Sir JOHN HASTINGS,
  Sir JAMES HARINGTON,
  Sir RICHARD KNIGHTLEY.

Eight Banerols [_a Banner, about a yard square, borne at the funerals
of great persons_] borne by eight Squires; four on either side of the
Coffin.

After the [_supposed_] corpse, came the Head Mourner [BRIDGET RUSSELL,]
the Countess of BEDFORD; assisted by the two Earls [JOHN MANNERS,] of
RUTLAND and [HENRY CLINTON, of] LINCOLN: [LUCY,] the Lady St. JOHN of
Basing bearing her train.

Then followed, by two and two, other Ladies:

 [WILLIAM DETHICK gives us a fuller List of these Ladies than
 this Tract. The brackets show those who went together.

  ELIZABETH MANNERS, the Countess of RUTLAND.}
  ELIZABETH CLINTON, the Countess of LINCOLN.}

  Anne, the [? Dowager] Lady Talbot.}
  The Lady MARY SAVILE.             }

  ELIZABETH, the Lady MORDAUNT.           }
  CATHARINE, the Lady St. JOHN of Bletsoe.}

  THEODOSIA, Wife of Sir THOMAS MANNERS.}
  DOROTHY, Wife of Sir THOMAS CECIL.    }

  ELIZABETH, Wife of Sir EDWARD MONTAGU.}
  MABEL, Wife of Sir ANDREW NOEL.       }

  Mistress ALINGTON.     }
  A Scottish Gentlewoman.}]

  The other Gentlemen.

The ten Scottish and French Women of the [late] Queen's [Household]:
with black attire on their heads, of Taffaty before; and behind, White
Lawn hanging down, like French Hoods.

They, with the Scottish and French men, did all go out before the
Sermon, except MASTER MELVIN [i.e. ANDREW MELVILLE; and also BARBARA
MOWBRAY] who stayed; and came in when it was ended.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Head Mourner and the [twelve] Ladies, with the two Earls assistant
were placed within the Hearse [_or Catafalque_].

The two Knights, with their Banners, were set at the East end of the
Hearse, without the pale: and the eight Squires, with their Bannerols,
four of a side, in like manner without the pale.

All the rest of the Mourners were carried up by a Herald above the
Hearse; and placed of each side, the women next the altar.

The Bishop and the Dean [of Peterborough] stood at the altar, with two
gilded basons.

       *       *       *       *       *

All which being placed and set, and the Church quiet; [WILLIAM
WICKHAM,] the Bishop of LINCOLN began his Sermon [out of
_Psalm_ xxxix. 5-7].[11]

And in his prayer [when he gave thanks for such as were translated out
of this Vale of Misery, he] used these words:

"Let us bless GOD for the happy dissolution of MARY, late the Scottish
Queen and Dowager of France. Of whose life and departure, whatsoever
shall be expected, I have nothing to say: for that I was unacquainted
with the one; and not present at the other. Of Her Majesty's faith and
end, I am not to judge. It is a charitable saying of the Father LUTHER
'Many [a] one liveth a <DW7>; and dieth a Protestant.' Only this I
have been informed, That she took her death patiently; and recommended
herself wholly to JESUS CHRIST."

       *       *       *       *       *

The Sermon ended, a long piece of velvet and a cushion were carried and
laid before the Countess [of BEDFORD], to go and kneel upon;
hard before the Bishop [of PETERBOROUGH]'s feet.

Then, by [Garter,] the King of Heralds, were carried the four Officers
with their White Staffs; and placed two at the top of the stairs under
the Bishop, and two beneath them.

Then the two principal Heralds [Garter and _Clarenceux_] fetched up the
Countess; the two Earls [of RUTLAND and LINCOLN] leading her, and the
Lady St. JOHN [of Basing] bearing up her train.

There she kneeled awhile.

And then all returned to their places.

This was the First Offering [for Queen ELIZABETH].

Not[e] that BRAKENBURY went this time before her [_the
Countess of BEDFORD_].

       *       *       *       *       *

The two Earls [were] placed without the pale [of the Hearse], before
the Countess.

One of the Kings of Heralds fetched from the Hearse, the Coat Armour;
brought it down to the other King of Heralds; and he delivered it to
the two Earls. They carried it, obeisance being done to the Countess,
to the Bishop [of PETERBOROUGH]; and kissed it in delivering of it. A
third Herald took it of the Bishop; and laid it down on the altar.

The Sword, the Target, the Helmet, Crown, and Crest, in like sort was
all done by the two Earls: kissing their hands before them.

Then were the two Banners carried, by one after another, severally by
those that brought them; and so set upon the altar, leaning to the wall.

The other eight Bannerols were put into the Hearse as they stood.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then went the Countess [of BEDFORD], Master JOHN MANNERS [acting as
Vice Chamberlain,] holding up her train the second time; and offered
alone [for herself] to the Bishop.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then the Ladies and Gentlemen, by two and two, went up and offered.

Then the [four] Officers with White Staffs offered.

And, last of all, came there a Herald to the pulpit; and fetched the
Bishop of LINCOLN.

And then the most part of the Mourners departed, in the same order they
came in: and towards the door of the Chancel, stood the Scottish women,
parted on both sides; and as the English Ladies passed, they kissed
them all.

Then over the Vault, where the body lay; [RICHARD FLETCHER] the Dean
[of Peterborough] read the ordinary words of [the] Burial [Service].

And this being done: the four Officers brake their White Staffs over
their heads; and threw them into the Vault.

       *       *       *       *       *

 [Dean FLETCHER's _The Manner of the Solemnity, &c._,
 concludes thus:

 And so they departed to the Bishop's House: where was
 a great feast appointed accordingly [at Queen ELIZABETH's
 expense].

 The concourse of people was of many thousands.

 And, after dinner, the Nobles departed away; every one towards his own
 home.

 The Master of the [Queen's] Wardrobe paid to the Church, for breaking
 of the ground in the Quire, and making the grave, £10; and for Blacks
 of the Quire and Church, £20.[12]]

FINIS.

    [Footnote 10: There is a Memorial entered on the wall of
    the Cathedral  of Peterborough, for one [named ROBERT
    SCARLET] who, being Sexton thereof, interred two Queens
    therein (KATHARINE Dowager and MARY of Scotland); more
    than fifty years interceding betwixt their several
    sepultures. This vivacious Sexton also buried two
    generations; or the people in that place twice over. Thus
    having built many houses (so I find graves frequently
    called _domus æternales_) for others: some, as it was
    fitting, performed this last office unto him. [He died on
    2nd July 1594. æt. 98.] THOMAS FULLER, _Worthies, &c._,
    ii. 293., Ed. 1662.]



    [Footnote 11: In the discourse of his Text, he only dealt
    with general doctrine, of the vanity of all flesh. _Dean
    R. FLETCHER_.]

    [Footnote 12: The total of Queen ELIZABETH's expenses for
    this Funeral amounted to £321. 14s. 6d.]


[Illustration]




  CUPID's Posies,

  For Bracelets, Handkerchers, and Rings;
  With Scarfs, Gloves, and other things.

  Written by CUPID on a day,
  When VENUS gave him leave to play.

  _Verbum sat amanti._

  The Lover sheweth his intent
  By gifts, that are with Posies sent.

  LONDON.

  Printed by E. C. for J. WRIGHT, next to
  the _Globe_ in Little Britain.

  1674.




 _To his Mother VENUS,
 CUPID dedicateth
 his Posies._


    MOTHER, your love to me was shown
    Before that I could go alone;
    For with Nectar then you fed me,
    And in tender manner bred me:
    Till perceiving once that I
    Was able on my wings to fly;
    I did descend unto the Earth,
    With my bow to make some mirth.
    For all the World is my Park;
    Where, when I shoot, I hit the mark.
    Young Men and Maidens are my game;
    While I, the little Bowman am.
    Yet lest you may think my leisure
    I do only waste in pleasure;
    These _Posies_ I have writ of late:
    Which to you I dedicate,
    That so the love may be exprest,
    Of your Son that loves you best.




 CUPID's Posies.


    I THAT CUPID callèd am,
    And shall never be a Man;
    But am still the blindèd Boy
    That breeds Lovers much annoy:
    Having gotten, on a day,
    From my Mother leave to play;
    And obtainèd use of sight,
    I in wantonness did write
    These same _Posies_ which I send,
    And to Lovers do commend.
    Which if they be writ within
    The little circle of a Ring;
    Or be sent unto your Loves,
    With fine Handkerchers, Gloves:
    I do know that, like my dart,
    They have power to wound the heart;
    For instead of Flowers and Roses,
    Here are Words bound up in Posies.




 CUPID's Posies.


    1.
    _A Posy written on a pair of Bracelets, and sent by a young Man to
    his Love._

    My Love, these Bracelets take, and think of them no harm;
    But since they Bracelets be, let them embrace thy arm!

    2.
    _Another._

    Receive this Sacrifice in part
    From the Altar of my heart!

    3.

    I do owe both Love and Duty
    To your Virtue and your Beauty.

    4.
    _A Posy sent with a pair of Gloves._

      You are that one
    For whom alone
    My heart doth only care:
      Then do but join
      Your heart with mine,
    And we will make a pair.

    5.
    _Another._

    I send to you a pair of Gloves.
      If you love me,
      Leave out the G.!
    And make a pair of Loves.

    6.
    _Another._

    Though these Gloves be white and fair,
    Yet thy hands more whiter are.

    7.
    _Another._

    These Gloves are happy that kiss your hands,
    Which long have held my heart in CUPID's bands.

    8.
    _The Posy of a Lover to his disdaining Mistress.
    Ut Stella in tenebris,
    Sic Amor in adversis._

    Englished.

    As the Stars in darkest night, so Love despised shining.

    9.
    _The Posy of a Handkercher sent from a young Man to his Love, being
    wrought in blue silk._

    This Handkercher to you assures
    That this and what I have is yours.

    10.
    _Another._

    Love is like a hidden flame,
    Which will at last blaze forth again.

    11.
    _Another in Letters._

    My love is true which I. O. U.:
    As true to me, then C. U. B.

    12.
    _The Posy of a Ring sent to a Maid from her Lover._

    My constant love shall ne'er remove.

    13.
    _Another._

    This and I, until I die!

    14.
    _Memento mei!_

    When this you see, remember me!

    15.
    Like to a circle round, no end in love is found:
    Take me with it; for both are fit.

    16.
    _A young Man's conceit to his dear Love, being wrought on a
    Scarf._

    This Scarf is but an emblem of my love;
    Which I have sent, with full intent my service to approve.

    17.
    _Another wherein the Lover seeketh her Love._

    One was the Bow, one was the Dart,
    That wounded us both to the heart:
    Then since we both do feel one pain,
    Let one love cure us both again!

   18.
    _A young Man's Posy to his Sweetheart shewing that love is most
    violent in absence._

    Love is a flame that, with a violent desire,
    Doth burn us most when we are farthest from the fire.

    19.
    As those that _die_ are said for to _depart_;
    So when you went away, all life forsook my heart:
    For though with inward pain, I draw my very breath;
    Yet this I will maintain, Departure is a Death.

    20.
    _A Lover coming into a Maiden's chamber in her absence, did write
    this Posy on her Looking-Glass._

    In this same Looking-Glass, my watery eyes I see;
    But I do wish that thou couldst shew her cheerful eyes to me.
        Yet why do I accuse thee here?
        'Tis not thy fault! for thou art clear!

    21.
    _Posies of Rings for young Lovers, which have newly discovered
    their affection._

    Let me serve till I desire!

    22.
    _Another._

    Had I not spoke, my heart had broke!
    The utmost scope of Love is Hope!

    23.
     Love's delight is to unite:
    I now do sue for love to you!

    24.
    Love I have, yet love I crave!

    25.
    _A Posy of a young Prentice sent to his Love, with a pair of amber
    Bracelets._

        Let these same bind
        You to be kind
    Unto me for love's own sake!
        And when we meet,
        With kisses sweet
    We will Indentures make!
    And I will bind myself to be
    In love a Prentice unto thee!

    26.
    _A young Man to his Sweetheart, setting forth the better effects
    of a disdained love._

    Love is like a Golden tree,
    Whose fruit most pleasant seems to be;
    Whiles Disdain doth never sleep
    But this Tree of Love doth keep:
    Yet I hope you will at last
    Think upon my service past!

    27.
    _A Posy sent by a young Man to a pretty young Maid in the same
    town, with a very fair Point of coronation_ [rose pink] _coloured
    Ribbon._

    My dearest Love, I send this Ribbon Point to thee,
    In hope the young Men of the town shall not still point at me:
        Because I am thy lover true;
        Then grant me thy love, sweet SUE!

    28.
    _The Posy of a Ring._

    Thou art my heart.

    29.
    More dearer to me than life can be.

    30.
    _Another._

    Love is joy, without annoy.

    31.
    _Another._

    'Tis in your will, to save or kill.

    32.
    _A Posy wrought in red silk Letters upon an ash  Scarf._

    Every Letter here doth show
    That my heart is linked to you:
    And by this token is exprest
    That you are She whom I love best.

    33.
    _The Posy of a Handkercher very fairly laced about, with a flaming
    Heart wrought in the middle._

    Great is the grief that I sustain,
    Which is here figured by a flame
    That doth torment me in each part,
    But chiefly seizeth on my heart:
    Yet rather than my heart shall turn
    From my faith, in love I'll burn.

    34.
   _From a young Man, to his offended Mistress._

    Dearest, if I have offended;
      Enjoin me then some penance hard,
    That my fault may be amended
      Ere your favour be debarred:
    For if I must penance do,
      I'll go unto no Saint but you!

    35.
   _A Posy sent to a Maid, being cunningly interwoven in a silk
    Bracelet._

    Kindly take this gift of mine,
    For Gift and Giver both are thine!

    36.
   _Posies for Rings._

    Faithful love can ne'er remove.

    37.
    _Another._

    If you consent, I am content.

    38.
    _To his Sweetheart, that had objected against him for want of
    means._

    Come, my Love, if love you grant,
    What is it that love can want?
    In thee, I have sufficient store.
    Grant me thy love, I wish no more!

    39.
    _A Posy sent from a Maid to a young Man, with a very fair wrought
    Purse._

    My heart's Purse, you are my wealth!
    And I will keep you to myself!

    40. _The Posy of a Ring._

    True love well placed is ne'er disgraced.

    41.
    I am your friend unto the end.

    42.
    Yours I am; be mine again!

    43.
    Love itself discloses by Gifts with Posies.

    44.
    _A Posy sent with a pair of Gloves._

    What should I write? Some words do move
    Suspicion unto those that love:
    Then, without any further art,
    In one word, you have my heart!

    45.
    _Her Reply._

    Lest for a heart you should complain;
    With mine I send yours back again!
    For Love to me this power doth give,
    That my heart in your heart doth live.

    46.
    _A young Man's Posy wrought in a Handkercher._

    A maiden virtuous chaste and fair
      Is a jewel past compare:
    And such are you, in whom I find
      Virtue is with Beauty joined.

    47.
    _A Maiden's Posy sent with a willow  Point to a young Man
    that had forsaken her._

    Your love was like a spark which in the ashes lies,
    That shineth for a time, but afterwards it dies:
    Since therefore you did faithless prove;
      I do here renounce your love!

    48.
    _Posies for Rings._

    Be true to me, as I to thee.

    I love none but thee alone.

    I do rejoice in thee my choice.

    One love, one troth, between us both.

    Constant true love comes from above.

    You are my friend unto the end.

    49.
    _To his Sweetheart, to whom he sent a Purse with these verses in
    it._

    Sweetheart, my love to you I commend;
    And therewithal this purse to you I send:
    Which is not filled with silver or with gold;
    Only my heart it doth contain and hold.

    50.
    _To a Maid these lines were sent, with a Scarf._

    This scarf will keep off the rude wind
    Which to your lips the way would find.
    I would have none know the bliss
    But myself, at your sweet kiss:
    Which I would have none else to taste,
    Lest your stock of kisses waste.

    51.
    _On a Knife._

    If you love me as I love you.
    Nothing can cut our love in two.

    52.
    _To a Gentlewoman who appointed one to buy her a Mask; which he
    bought, and sent it with this Posy._

    It is a pity you should wear a mask!
    This is the reason if you ask,
    Because it hides your Face so fair
    Where roses mixed with lilies are:

    It clouds your beauty so that we
    Your cherry Lips can seldom see:
    And from your Face keeps off our eyes;
    Which is indeed Love's Paradise.

    53.
    _Verses sent with a pair of Bracelets._

    These bracelets like a circle shall
      Environ round your arm.
    Happy are they, whate'er befall,
      That shall be kept warm.
    And may they, like two Circles prove,
      To charm your heart for to love me!
    Let CUPID the Magician be,
      To charm your heart for to love me!

    54.
    _Posies for Rings._

    I will remain always the same.

    You and I will Lovers die.

    My vow is past, while life doth last.

    Lovers' knot once tied, who can divide?

    _Verbum sat amanti._

    _Amo te, si amas me._
    I love thee, if thou love me.

    55.
    _To a fair Maid, sent with a Posy of Flowers._

    Beauty is like a flower, sweet Maid!
    Which quickly doth decay and fade:
    Then wisely now make use of time,
    Since you are now even in your prime.

    56.
    _Two lines embroidered on the top of a Pair of Gloves._

    I wish that we two were a pair
    As these happy Gloves here are.

    57.
    _NICK, a farmer's son, sendeth to JOAN HOBSON a
    yard of blue Ribbon with these lines._

    I send you here of ribbon a whole yard:
    And money goeth with me very hard;
    For else this yard, two yards should be,
    Since I do hold nothing too dear for thee.
    And part therefore my love, if that thou wilt,
    In this same ribbon; which is made of silk.

    58.
    _A Posy wrought on a Handkercher in silk Letters._

    Do not too lightly of me think,
    Who write in Letters 'stead of ink.
    To send this token I made shift;
    Esteem the giver, and not the gift!

    59.
    _A Posy on a Thimble._

    He that sent me, loveth thee.

    60.
    _A Cabinet being sent to a Gentlewoman, these verses were put in
    one of the drawers._

    This little Cabinet will conceal
    All things which you would not reveal;
    Your letters and your other things,
    As your jewels and your rings.
    Let me know then in what part,
    Or box, you will lay up my heart!
    Which with it I do send; and pray
    That in your heart you would it lay.
    Let me such favour from you get:
    Make your heart, my heart's Cabinet.

    61.
    _To a Maid, a young Man sendeth a silk Girdle._

    This girdle haply shall be placed
    To compass round your neat small waist.
    I were happy if, in this place,
    I might thy slender waist embrace.

    62.
    _A Posy of four lines, written in red letters, the four sides of a
    Handkercher._

    Things of most constancy still are
    Resembled to solid Square;
    So my triangular heart shall be
    A four square figure of constancy.

    63.
    _Posies for Rings._

    Be thou mine, as I am thine.

    In weal and woe, my love I'll show.

    I will be true always to you.

    There is no joy
    Like love without annoy.

    Love crossed is best,
    And prospers best.

    Joy doth abound, where love is found.

    My vow that's past, till death shall last.

    I love none but you alone.

    To thee my heart I give, whilst I here do live.

    Love joineth hands in wedlock's bands.

    64.
    _A Posy engraven about a Jewel, sent to a Gentlewoman._

    There is no jewel I can see
    Like love that's set in constancy.

    65.
    _A Posy to an unkind disdainful Maid._

    Each frown of yours is like a dart
    That woundeth me unto the heart.

    What conquest were it, if that I
    By your cruel frown should die;
    Since love my only trespass is?
    And shall I die, alas, for this?

    66.
    _Her Reply._

    If alas, for love you chance to die;
    'Tis your own folly kills your heart; not I.

    67.
    _A Posy engraven on a gold Ring._

    By this ring of gold,
    Take me to have and hold!

    68.
    _Another._

    What joy in life to a good Wife?

    69.
    _A Posy embroidered on a Scarf._

    Fairest, wear this scarf that I do send, That may your beauty from the
    wind defend; For I do know the winds, if like to me, To kiss your lips
    and cheeks desirous be.

    70.
    _On the choice of a Wife._

    If thou intend'st to choose a Wife,
    With whom to lead a happy life;
    Look not for Beauty, since there are
    Few that can be chaste and fair.
    But if thou do her Virtues find,
    Which are the beauty of the mind,
    Woo her then to gain consent!
    For virtuous love can ne'er repent.




 CUPID's Conclusion.


    CUPID's _Posies_ now at last are done.
    For if you read them all, you will like some.
    For these new _Posies_ are both sweet and brief,
    And will disclose the sighing Lover's grief.
    For CUPID, having too much idle leisure,
    Composed these _Posies_ for his pleasure.

    Fair Maids, my _Posies_ now are done;
    Which for your sakes I first begun.
    And young Men here may always choose
    Such _Posies_ as they mean to use.
    I CUPID writ them on a day,
    When VENUS gave me leave to play;
    And if you like them, for my pain:
    Then CUPID means to write again.

  FINIS.




[Illustration]




  STRANGE AND
  WONDERFUL THINGS

  happened to RICHARD HASLETON,
  born at Braintree in Essex,
  in his Ten years Travels in many
  foreign countries.

  PENNED AS HE DELIVERED
  it from his own mouth.

  [Illustration]

  LONDON,
  Printed by A. I. [ABEL JEFFES] for WILLIAM BARLEY,
  and are to be sold at his shop in Gratious
  [_Gracechurch_] street, near Leaden Hall.

  1595.

  [The following Text has been printed from the only extant
  copy of the original edition, by the kind permission of
  WAKEFIELD CHRISTIE-MILLER, Esq. of Britwell Court, Bucks.]

[Illustration]




  _To the Worshipful Master RICHARD STAPAR, one of the
  Worshipful Company of Merchants Adventurers of this
  honourable city of London, trading to Turkey and the
  Eastern Kingdoms._

  Your Worship's faithful well-willer W[ILLLAM] BARLEY
  wisheth all fortunate and happy success in all your
  enterprises, with increase of worldly worship;
  and, after death, the joys unspeakable.


WORSHIPFUL SIR. The many reports of your rare virtues generally spoken
of all honest travellers who hath tasted the benefit of your bounty:
not only in our home born country where you have your residence; but
in those far countries where your honest Factors trade. By whose
worshipful and express command given [to] them, and the good they daily
do for all men which seek them; your Worship is accounted and called
the Pattern of Bounty: especially of such as are, in their travail
[_here meaning_ labours _as well as_ journeys] distressed with want;
which with money are relieved, as well as [with] other great cost
[that] their [_the Factors'_] favour or friendship can procure. So
that not only the poor and needy are pleasured thereby; but those that
swim in most abundance. All proceeding of your most kind and courteous
disposition.

The remembrance of which [having] moved a longing desire in me,
in some sort, to explain your worthiness and fame, by your bounty
gained: it had never such opportunity until this time when, perusing
my store of Papers and Writings of sundry men's labours, I chanced on
this pamphlet; which importeth the troublesome travails of our near
neighbour, born at Braintree in Essex, named RICHARD HASLETON.
Whose miseries as they were many (being in the hands both of Christian
and heathen enemies, for GOD and our country's cause; and his escapes
from death so often, and so wonderful); with the constant enduring
of the same: his preservation; and safe return to England, where his
longing desire so often wished him.

All which considered, with your Worship's love to all travellers,
emboldened me the rather under your Worship's patronage to publish
the same; especial zeal procuring me thereunto. And partly in regard
of your many favours to the said HASLETON in his miseries
extended; [and partly] that your Worship's good ensample may lighten
others to such good actions.

Hoping your Worship will accept of it no less friendly than I offer it
willingly: which if you do, then is my desire satisfied, and myself
rest bounden to your Worship's worthiness. Ever beseeching the Giver of
all good to increase the number of such worthy-minded subjects; by whom
our Prince and country are, in foreign parts, so much honoured.

  Your Worship's
  To command in what I may,

  WILLIAM BARLEY.




 _The miserable Captivity of RICHARD
 HASLETON, born at Braintree in Essex._


In the year 1582, departing the English coast toward[s] the end of May,
in a ship of London called the _Mary Marten_ (one of the owners [of
which] was a citizen of London named Master EASTWOODE; the
other of them, named Master ESTRIDGE, dwelling at Limehouse),
being laden and bound for Petrach [_Patras_], a town of mart, being
within the dominion of the Turk: where we safely arrived and made our
mart.

And within eight and twenty days were laden homeward; and presently we
weighed anchor, and set sail. And coming out of the Gulf of Lepanto,
[we] grounded upon a rock, lying on the larboard side; being in very
great danger, [and] in doubt to lose both ship and goods: yet it
pleased GOD that we recovered.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then, about the midst of the month of July [1582], we came right before
Cape de Gatte [_Cabo de Gata, near Almeria, in Spain_] when, having
a very small wind, we descried two galleys: whereupon the Master
commanded the Gunner to put forth the ordnance, and to heave the skiff
overboard.

Then did the Gunner demand of the Master to make a shot: which he
granted. Then did he bestow eight and twenty shot, but to no purpose:
for the enemy lay very far out.

Now when we saw our shot and powder spent so much in waste, some of our
company cried to our Master to shew the Turks' Letters: but he would
not; but commanded the Gunner still to shoot.

For now the galleys were within shot, and did shoot at us, both with
great shot and muskets. And presently both our Gunners were slain, both
with one shot; and some others maimed, whereby we were in great doubt:
for the gallies lying on both sides of us, one of them had shot us
under water, whereby our ship was foundered before we perceived.

Then we perceiving the ship to sink from us; such as were wariest
leapt into the skiff, as many as it was able to bear: the rest leaping
overboard, such as could swim saved themselves, going aboard the
gallies; the others were drowned.

Now I being the last man upon the hatches, because I was at the stern,
and being sore hurt with a musket shot; the Turks [having] made haste
to board our ship, hoping to save some of our goods: two of them came
aboard. The first came to me, and took me by the bosom. I drew out my
knife very speedily, and thrust him into the body; and so slew him. The
other was gone down into the ship, where I left him; for even then was
the ship sinking from me.

Wherefore I betook myself to swimming; and turning me about to see the
ship, I could see nothing thereof but only the flag. Then did I swim to
the gallies; and laying hold upon an oar, got into the galley.

When I was aboard, I was stripped of my clothes. Then presently was I
commanded to the poop, to talk with the Captain: who inquired of me,
Whether I was a Merchant [_i.e._, _the Supercargo of the ship_]? Which
because I would not confess, he gave me 15 strokes with a cudgel, and
then put me in the galley's hold: where I was six days, taking very
little sustenance; lying in extreme pains, by reason of my hurts which
I had received in the fight; and with anguish, for my hard hap.

       *       *       *       *       *

About three months after [? _October 1582_], the gallies returned to
Argire [_Algiers_]; where immediately after my landing I was sold for
66 doubles [_the Double Pistoles or Doubloons; equal according to page
392 to £4, 14s. then; or say £20 now_].

Then did I fall into extreme sickness for ten days' space;
notwithstanding [which] I was sent to sea by my Master to whom I was
sold, to labour in the gallies at an oar's end: where I remained three
months [? _November 1582 to January_ _1583_], being very feeble and
weak, by reason my sickness continued the most part of that time; yet
was I constrained either to labour, or else to lose my head. I had no
other choice.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then the gallies returning home to Argire _[Algiers_], after my
coming on shore I was in a marvellous weakness; what with continual
labour, with beating, and with sickness: which endured three months [?
_February to April 1583_], being in a most miserable estate without
all succour seeing no man to pity my misery; having no nourishment but
only bread and water and [of] that but small quantity, no apparel on me
but a thin shirt and a pair of linen breeches, and lodged in a stable
on the cold ground. Thus I, being almost in despair ever to recover,
yielded myself to the will of Almighty GOD; whom it pleased, in the
end, to give me a little strength.

       *       *       *       *       *

And after, for the space of two [_or rather_ four years] or more [?
_April 1583 to April 1587_], I was divers times at my labour at the
oar's end, after my accustomed manner; till (such time our fleet of
gallies meeting with the gallies of Genoa near the Christian shore; and
they following us in chase) it chanced, [_about April 1587_] by reason
of tempest, that our galley was cast away near the west side of the
island [of] Formentera.

There were in it, of Christians and Turks, to the number of 250;
which were all drowned except 15: of which myself, with two others,
with great difficulty brake our chains; and taking hold of an oar, we
escaped to the shore, not without great danger of drowning.

We being now gotten to land, and accompanied both with Turks and
Christians; we took our rest under bushes and thickets. The Turks were
very unwilling to depart with [_separate from_] us; thinking to find
some other galley of the company to take us aboard, and carry us back
to Argire [_Algiers_].

But we, hoping now to get our liberties, conveyed ourselves as
secretly as we could into the woods; and went unto a rock, and with
sharp stones we did beat off our irons: and fled immediately to the
Christians, and yielded ourselves.

But one of them which escaped with me, who was born in Sclavony [?
_Slavonia, or_ ? _Cephalonia_], told them, That I was an English Lutheran.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then was I presently carried aboard a galley of Genoa, and put in
chains.

And, upon the morrow, was I sent over into the Isle of Iviza, being
within the jurisdiction of Majorca: which are all in the dominion of
Spain.

There was I imprisoned in the High Tower of the Town Castle [_of the
town of Iviza_], with a pair of bolts upon my heels, and a clasp
of iron about my neck, there hanging a chain at the clasp: where I
remained nine days, fed with a little bread and water.

Now because I had in no respect offended them; I demanded, Wherefore
they molested me? saying, It was contrary to [the] law and the
profession of Christians.

Then did they ask me, If I had spoken anything against the King, and
against the Church of Rome?

I answered, "Nothing!"

Then they told me, I should be sent to Majorca, to answer before the
Inquisition.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then the Justice, or Chief Officer, of Iviza brought me back to Genoa;
requesting to have me chained in a galley: which the Captain did,
asking the Justice, Who should be my surety for running away?

He demanded, If there were not a spare chain?

He said, "Yes." Then he commanded a chain to be brought forth; and
chained me at the sixth oar before: where I rowed until we came to
the Port of Spine [_later called_ Portpin; _now the_ Bay of Palma] in
Majorca, guarding me with 14 gallies.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then were the Officers of the Inquisition sent for by the Captain,
which came the second day after our coming there [_i.e._, _to Palma_]:
and at their coming, they offered me the _Pax_, which I refused to
touch.

Whereupon they reviled me, and called me "Lutheran!"

[And] taking me presently out of the galley, carried me on shore in
Majorca: and finding the Inquisitor walking in the market place, [they]
presented me to him, saying, "Here is the prisoner!"

He immediately commanded me to prison; whither they carried me, and put
a pair of shackles on my heels. Where I remained two days.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then was I brought forth into a church, where the Inquisitor sat
usually in judgement. Who being ready set, commanded me to kneel down
and to do homage to certain images which were before me.

I told him, "I would not do that which I knew to be contrary to the
commandments of Almighty God; neither had I been brought up in the
Roman law, neither would I submit myself to it."

He asked me, Why I would not?

I answered, "That whereas in England, where I was born and brought
up, the Gospel was truly preached; and maintained by a most gracious
Princess: therefore I would not now commit idolatry, which is utterly
condemned by the Word of God."

Then he charged me to utter the truth, otherwise I should abide the
smart.

Then was a stool set, and he commanded me to sit down before him; and
offered me the cross, bidding me reverently to lay my hand upon it, and
urged me instantly to do it: which moved me so much, that I did spit in
the Inquisitor's face; for which the Scribe gave me a good buffet on
the face.

So, for that time, we had no more reasoning. For the Inquisitor did
ring a little bell to call the Keeper; and [he] carried me to ward
again.

       *       *       *       *       *

And the third day, I was brought forth again to the place aforesaid.

Then the Inquisitor asked me, What I had seen in the churches of
England?

I answered, That I had seen nothing in the Church of England but the
Word of God truly preached.

Then he demanded, How I had received the Sacraments?

I replied, That I had received them according to the institution of
CHRIST: that is, I received the bread in remembrance that CHRIST in the
flesh died upon the cross for the redemption of man.

"How," said he, "hast thou received the wine?"

Whereto I replied and said, That I received the wine in remembrance
that CHRIST shed his blood to wash away our sins.

He said, It was in their manner?

I said, "No."

Then he charged me to speak the truth, or I should die for it.

I told him, "I did speak the truth; and would speak the truth: for,"
said I, "it is better for me to die guiltless than guilty."

Then did he, with great vehemency, charge me again to speak the truth;
and sware by the Catholic Church of Rome, that if I did not, I should
die in fire.

Then I said, "If I died in the faith which I had confessed, I should
die guiltless:" and told him he had made a vain oath. And so I willed
him to use no circumstance to dissuade me from the truth: "for you
cannot prevail. Though I be now in your hands, where you have power
over my body; yet have you no power over my soul." I told him, he made
a long matter far from the truth.

For which, he said I should die.

Then he bade me say what I could to save myself.

Where I replied, as followeth: Touching the manner of the receiving of
Sacraments, where he said "it was like to theirs": "you," said I, "when
you receive the bread, say it is the very body of CHRIST; and likewise
you affirm the wine to be his very blood." Which I denied; saying it
was impossible for a mortal man to eat the material body of CHRIST, or
to drink his blood.

Then he said, I had blasphemed the Catholic Church.

I answered, That I had said nothing against the true Catholic Church;
but altogether against the false Church.

He asked, How I could prove it? saying if I could not prove it, I
should die a most cruel death.

       *       *       *       *       *

Note, by the way, that when any man is in durance for religion; he is
called to answer before no open assembly: but only in the presence of
the Inquisitor, the Secretary, and the Solicitor whom they term the
Broker. The cause is, as I take it, because they doubt [_fear_] that
very many of their own people would confess the Gospel, if they did but
see and understand their absurd dealing.

       *       *       *       *       *

Again, to the matter. Because it was so secret, they urged me to speak
the more.

Then he inquired, Whether I had ever been confessed?

I said, "Yes."

He demanded, "To whom?"

I said, "To GOD."

He asked me, If I had ever confessed to any Friar?

I said, "No, for I do utterly defy them. For how can he forgive me my
sins, which is himself a sinner; as all other men are."

"Yes," said he, "he which confesseth himself to a Friar, who is a
Father, may have remission of his sins by his mediation."

"Which," I said, "I would never believe."

Wherefore seeing they could seduce me, by no means, to yield to
their abominable idolatry; the Secretary cried, "Away with him!" The
Inquisitor and he frowned very angerly on me for the answers which I
had given: and said, They would make me tell another tale.

So, at the ringing of a little bell, the Keeper came and carried me to
ward again.

At my first Examination, when the Keeper should lead me away; the
Inquisitor did bless me with the cross: but never after.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two days after was I brought again, and set upon a stool before the
Inquisitor.

He bade me ask _misericordium_.

I told him, "I would crave mercy of JESUS CHRIST who died for my sins.
Other _misericordium_ would I crave none!"

Then he commanded me to kneel before the altar.

I said, "I would: but not to pray to any image. For your altar is
adorned with many painted images which were fashioned by the hands
of sinful men: which have mouths, and speak not; ears, and hear not;
noses, and smell not; hands, and handle not; feet have they, and
walk not--which GOD doth not allow at his altar, for he hath utterly
condemned them by his Word."

Then he said, I had been wrong[ly] taught. "For," said he, "whosoever
shall see these figures in earth may the better remember him in heaven
whose likeness it doth represent, who would be a Mediator to GOD for
us."

But I replied, That all images were an abomination to the Lord: for he
hath condemned them in express words by his own mouth, saying, "Thou
shalt not make thyself any graven image, &c."

"Yes," said he, "but we have need of a Mediator to make intercession
for us: for we are unworthy to pray to GOD ourselves, because we are
vile sinners."

I said, "There was no Mediator but JESUS CHRIST."

Where, after many absurd reasons and vain persuasions, he took a pause.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then I asked him, Why he kept me so long in prison, which never
committed offence to them: knowing very well that I had been captive
in Argire [_Algiers_] near[ly] five years space [_July 1582 to
April 1587_]: saying, "That when GOD, by his merciful providence,
had, through many great dangers, set me in a Christian country, and
delivered me from the cruelty of the Turks: when I thought to find such
favour as one Christian oweth to another, I found them now more cruel
than the Turks, not knowing any cause Why."

"The cause," said he, "is because the King hath wars with the Queen of
England."

For at that instant [_April 1587_], there was their Army [_Armado_]
prepared ready to go for England. Whereupon they would, divers times,
give me reproachful words; saying, That I should hear shortly of their
arrival in England. With innumerable vain brags, which I omit for
brevity.

Then did I demand, "If there were not peace between the King and the
Queen's Majesty; whether they would keep me still?"

"Yea," said he, "unless thou wilt submit thyself to the faith of the
Romish Church." So he commanded me away.

I asked, Wherefore he sent for me; and to send me away, not alleging
any matter against me?

He said, I should have no other matter alleged but that which I had
spoken with mine own mouth.

Then I demanded, "Why they would have the Romish Church to have the
supremacy?"

Whereto he would make no answer.

Then I asked, "If they took me to be a Christian?"

"Yes," said he, "in some respect[s]; but you are out of the faith of
the true Church."

Then the Keeper took me to prison again.

       *       *       *       *       *

And after, for the space of three weeks, I was brought forth to answer
three several times every week. At which times they did sometimes
threaten me with death, some while with punishment; and many times
they attempted to seduce me with fair words and promises of great
preferment: but when they saw nothing would draw me from the Truth,
they called me "shameless Lutheran!" saying many times, "See, he is
of the very blood of LUTHER! He hath his very countenance!" with many
other frivolous speeches.

After all this, he commanded to put me in the dungeon within the Castle
[_i.e. of Palma_], five fathoms [_30 feet_] under ground; giving me,
once a day, a little bread and water.

There remained I one whole year [_April 1587 to April 1588_], lying on
the bare ground, seeing neither sun nor moon; no, not hearing man woman
nor child speak, but only the Keeper which brought my small victual.

       *       *       *       *       *

It happened about the year's end, upon the Feast of PHILLIP and JACOB
[_JAMES_], being the first day of May [1588], that a pretty boy, being
the Keeper's son, came to give me my ordinary food; which he used
sometimes to do.

Now, when he opened the [trap] door, and had let down the basket; I
asked, "Who was there?"

He answered by his name, saying, "Here is MATTHEW!"

I asked him, "Where his father was?"

"He is gone to Mass," said he. So he let down the trap door, and went
his way; leaving the rope with the basket hanging still.

And forasmuch as I lay without all comfort, reposing myself only unto
GOD's Providence; yet unwilling to lose any opportunity that lay in me,
if GOD were pleased, whereby I might be delivered. So soon as I heard
the boy was gone: I jumped up and took hold of the rope, and wound
myself up to the [trap] door. Setting my foot against the wall, with my
shoulders did I lift the trap door.

Now when I was aloft, and saw no man; for they were gone to see some
ceremonies of their idolatrous exercises in the city, I knew [of] no
way to escape away; being now in the midst of the way: wherefore it was
impossible to convey myself [away] so secretly, but I should be espied.

Wherefore, for a present shift, I went secretly into a void [_an
empty_] room of the Castle [_i.e. of Palma_] where lay great store of
lime and earth: where I tied an old cloth, which I had, about my head
and face to keep the dust out of my eyes and ears; and so did I creep
into the lime, and covered myself so well as I could, lying there till
towards midnight.

And then hearing no man stirring, I got up, and sought some way to
get forth: but could find none. Then, being greatly perplexed, I bent
myself to the good pleasure of Almighty GOD; making my humble prayers
that he would, of his mercy, vouchsafe to deliver me out of this
miserable thraldom.

And, searching to and fro, in the end I came where three great horses
stood, tied by the head and feet. Then did I unloose the halters from
their heads, and the ropes from their legs; and went to the Castle
wall. When I had tied them end to end, I made it [_the rope_] fast to
the body of a vine which grew upon the wall: and by it did I strike
myself over the wall into the town ditch: where I was constrained to
swim about forty paces, before I could get forth of the ditch.

Then walked I to and fro in the city [_Palma_] two hours, seeing no
man: neither could I devise any way forth.

Wherefore I returned back again to the town ditch, to see if I could
find any way to bring me without the town walls: and following the
ditch, at the last I perceived, by the noise of the water, that there
was a Water Gate through the wall; where I searched and found that the
issue of the water was under the wall.

Then did I very venturously enter the water, and diving under water got
into the Water Gate: and suddenly the force of the water did drive me
through with such violence, that it cast me headlong against another
wall on the outside; which with the blow did much amaze me.

Yet, by the help of GOD, I recovered, swimming down the ditch till
I came where was a trough or pipe; which I took to be laid over the
ditch, to convey some fresh water spring into the city.

There did I climb up a post which bare the same, and got upon the top
of the pipe: where some of the Watch, being near the wall, perceived
me; but could not any way come near to me.

Then cried they, in their tongue, "Who is there?" three or four times;
but I made no answer, but crept as fast as I could to get off the
pipe to land: where, before I could get down, they shot some of their
muskets after me; but, thanked be GOD, none of the shot did hit me.

Thus, with great difficulty, I escaped out of the city; and went about
six miles from thence before the day brake.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then I went into a thick wood. For I perceived there were very many
sent forth, with hue and cry, both footmen and horsemen, to apprehend
me. Therefore I lay still the day and night following.

And after, for seven days' space [_3rd-9th May 1588_], I wandered
through desert ways, among woods and bushes. Many times, as I came near
the Port ways [_i.e. the roads to the seaport Palma_], I heard the
pursuers inquiring after me; demanding of divers, Whether they had seen
me pass? Some were very earnest to take me; others wishing that I might
escape: for very many times I was so near them that I heard every word
they spake.

Thus I imagined, by all possible means, to avoid [_escape from_] the
hands of these unmerciful tyrants; being in great extremity with hunger
and cold. For since the time I came out of the prison, which was at
the least eight days, I had none other sustenance but berries, which I
gathered from the bushes; and the roots of palm [trees] and other like
roots, which I digged out of the earth: and no other apparel but an old
linen cloth about my body, and a red cap on my head; without either
hose, shoes, or other furniture. So that, by reason the way was very
hard, I was forced to cut my cap in two; and [to] lap it about my feet,
to defend them from the sharp stones and gravel.

Thus travelling for the most part by night, I chanced to come where
there was a house standing alone; and near the house there stood a cart
wherein lay certain horse collars. Where searching among them, I found
the collars lined with sheepskins: which skins I rent from the collars,
and apparelled myself with them in this manner:

I put one piece before me like a breastplate, and another on my
shoulders and back; with the woolly side towards my body: tying them
together over my shoulders and under my arms with Palmite, which is
a weed like to that whereof our hand baskets are made; which is well
known to such as have travelled [in] those parts. And with another
piece I made me a cap.

And in these seemly ornaments I passed forth, till about three days
after [? _12th May 1588_], very early in a morning, most unhappily I
crossed an highway, where a countryman, travelling with a mule laden
with rundlets of wine, espied me, and demanded of me, Whither I was
bound?

I said, I was going to Coothea [_Alcudia, 31 miles from Palma_], which
is a town lying on the shore side.

But he, suspecting me to be the man which was pursued, bade me stay.

But I went onward.

He ran after me, and threw stones at me: but I (not being able to
overrun him, being very feeble) turned back; and, with a pole which I
carried, began to defend myself, striking at him three or four times.
At the last I thrust at him, and hit him on the breast, and overthrew
him: whereupon he made a horrible cry.

And immediately there came to the number of fifteen more: some having
swords; some, harquebuses; and others, crossbows. When I was thus
beset, knowing no way to escape, I yielded myself.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then they bound me hands and feet, laid me on a mule, and carried me
back again to [_Palma_] the city of Majorca; delivering me to the
Inquisitor: who, when he had sent me to prison, commanded a pair of
bolts to be put on my legs, and an iron clasp about my neck, with a
chain of five fathoms [_30 feet_] long hanging thereat; which was done
accordingly.

And on the morrow [? _13th May 1588_], I was brought forth to the
accustomed place, and in the same manner: where the Inquisitor sitting,
asked first, Why I had broken prison, and run away?

I said, "To save my life."

"Yea," said he, "but now thou hast offended the law more than before;
and therefore shall the law be now executed upon thee."

Then I was carried away again. And immediately there was called an
assembly of citizens, and such as were seen in the Law, to counsel, and
to take advice, What punishment they might inflict upon me?

Which being deliberated, I was brought forth again; and carried to the
Place of Torment: which was in a cell or vault underground.

There were present but four persons, that is to say,

The Inquisitor,

The Solicitor, or Broker, who is to see the law executed.

A Dutch woman that dwelt in the city; who was commanded thither to tell
them what I spake; because I spake many times in the Dutch tongue.

And lastly, the Tormentor.

The rack now standing ready before them; with seven flaxen ropes lying
thereon, new[ly] bought from the market.

Then the Inquisitor charged me, as at all other times he used to
do, That I should speak what I had to say, and to speak the truth;
otherwise I should be even now tormented to death.

I, seeing myself in the hands of such cruel tyrants as always thirst
after the blood of the innocent; even as CAIN (who being wroth with his
brother ABEL, and carrying a heavy countenance) could be no way eased
but with his brother's blood: so I, past hope of life, turned my back
towards them, and seeing my torments present before me, I fell down on
my knees, and besought the Lord to forgive my sins, and to strengthen
my faith, and to grant me patience to endure to the end.

Then they took me into a void room, and stripped me out of my ornaments
of sheepskins which I repeated [_spoke of_] before; and put a pair of
strong canvas breeches upon me.

Then bringing me to the rack again, he commanded me to lie down. The
bars of the rack under me were as sharp as the back of a knife.

Now I, willingly yielding myself, lay down. Then the Tormentor bound my
hands over my breast crosswise; and my legs clasped up together, were
fast tied the one foot to the other knee. Then he fastened to either
arm a cord, about the brawn of the arm; and likewise to either thigh
another; which were all made fast again under the rack to the bars:
and with another cord he bound down my head; and [he] put a hollow
cane into my mouth. Then he put four cudgels into the ropes which were
fastened to my arms and thighs.

Now the woman which was present, being interpreter, began to persuade
me to yield, and confess the faith of the Church of Rome.

I answered, "If it were the will of GOD that I should end my life under
their cruel hands, I must be content: but, if it please him, he is able
to deliver me, if there were ten thousands against me."

Then the Tormentor, as he was commanded, began to wrest the ropes;
which he did by little and little, to augment my pains, and to have
them endure the longer: but, in the end, he drew them with such
violence as though he would have plucked my four quarters in sunder;
and there stayed a good space.

Yet to declare their tyrannical malice, thinking my torment not
sufficient, he added more: pouring water through a cane which was in
my mouth, by little and little, which I was constrained either to let
down, or to have my breath stopped until they had tunned in such [a]
quantity as was not tolerable to endure; which pained me extremely.

Yet not satisfied, they took and wet a linen cloth, and laid it
over my mouth till I was almost strangled; when my body, being thus
overcharged with such abundance of water, after they had thus stopped
my breath with the wet cloth, suddenly with the force of my breath and
that my stomach was so much overcharged, the water gushed out, and bare
away the cloth as if had been the force of a conduit spout.

When the Inquisitor saw that all this would not make me yield, he
commanded the Tormentor for to wind the cord on my left arm more
strait[ly]; which put me to horrible pains. And immediately the rope
burst in sunder.

Then said the Inquisitor, "Yea, is he so strong? I will make him
yield!": and commanded the Tormentor to put a new rope.

Then the woman again bade me yield; saying, It were better to yield
than to die so miserable a death.

But I, beseeching Almighty GOD to ease me of my pains, and to forgive
my sins, answered her, That though they had power over my body: yet
there was no torment should compel me to yield to their idolatry,
whereby I might bring my soul in danger of hell fire.

Then the Inquisitor asked her, What I said?

She answered, That I had said I would never submit myself to the Church
of Rome.

Then did he most vehemently charge me to yield and submit myself to the
Romish Church: otherwise he would pluck off one of my arms.

Whereupon I denying still, the Tormentor, in most cruel manner, wrested
the ropes as if he would have rent my body in sunder. I (being now in
intollerable pains; and looking for nothing but present [_instant_]
death) cried out, in the extremity of my anguish, "Now, farewell wife
and children! and farewell England!": and so, not able to utter one
word more, lay even senseless.

The Inquisitor asked the woman again, What I said?

She laid her hand upon my head, and perceiving that I was speechless,
told him, I was dead.

Wherefore the Tormentor loosed the ropes, unbound my hands and feet,
and carried me into a chamber which they termed St. Walter's Chamber.
Where I came to myself, and received some sense and reason; but could
have no feeling of any limb or joint. Thus I lay in a most lamentable
and pitiful manner for five days [? _14th-18th May 1588_], having a
continual issue of blood and water forth of my mouth all that space,
and being so feeble and weak, by reason of my torments, that I could
take no sustenance.

Till the sixth day [? _19th May 1588_] a little recovering my strength,
they gave me a little quantity of bread and wine sod[den] together: and
presently, the very same day, they carried me forth into the city, and
set me upon an ass's back, and whipped me throughout every street of
[_Palma_] the city of Majorca; giving me to the number of five hundred
lashes, which made the blood to run down my miserable carcase in such
abundance that it dropped at the belly of the ass to the ground. Now
there were carried with me about the city very many harlots and whores
and other malefactors which had offended the law; but none punished
like me.

After this, they carried me to the chamber [_St. Walter's Chamber_]
from whence I came: where I lay without all worldly comfort.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can any man, which understandeth the absurd blindness and wilful
ignorance of these Spanish tyrants or Romish monsters, think them to
be of the true Church? which defend their faith with fire, sword, and
hellish torments, without remorse or pity; as you may perceive by a
manifest trial here set down to the open view of the World. For when
these hell-hounds had tormented this miserable creature, as you have
heard, with a monstrous and most unchristian kind of torment: which he
endured for the space of three hours, till [he] was at the very point
of death and ready to yield up the ghost: they (not yet satisfied with
these torments, which he had suffered already) reserved his life,
minding to increase his pains; which they were nothing slack to perform
so long as he remained in their power.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now the second night after they had whipped me about the city as
aforesaid [? _the night of the 20th May 1588_], about midnight, I
recounting to myself in what misery I both did and had remained; I
thought to put in practice once again to get my liberty, craving of the
Lord, with hearty prayer, to assist me with his mighty hand.

And immediately searching about, I found an old iron stub; with the
which I brake a hole through the chamber wall: and crept through into
another chamber; where I felt in the dark many pieces of plate, which I
little regarded. After, I found many towels and table napkins.

Then, seeking further, I found a long cane whereon there hung many
puddings and sausages. I plucked down the cane, but had little mind on
the victual. Then I found certain knives.

Then I espied some light at a great window in a garret or loft over
me. Wherefore I tied a crooked knife to the cane, and thrust up a long
towel: and with the knife at the end of the cane, I drew the towel
about a bar of the window, and drew it to me: and with that towel I
did climb up into the window. But then I could not get forth between
the bars, wherefore I digged forth one of the bars; and tied my towels
and napkins together end to end, and fastened one end to a bar of the
window: and then did slide down by them till I came within three or
four fathoms [_18 or 24 feet_] of the ground: when the towels brake
in sunder, and I fell down into a well which was direct[ly] under me,
where I was almost drowned. Yet it pleased GOD to deliver me.

And being then in the city, without the Castle walls; I, knowing no
other way to get out, went again to the town ditch: where I got through
the Water Gate with less peril than before, by reason there was less
water than [there] was the other time.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then went I, with all speed into the woods; lying all days in [the]
woods as close as I could, and travelled by nights through woods and
mountains.

And upon the third night [_i.e. after his escape, say the night of the
23rd May 1588_], about midnight, I happened into an olive garden, not
above half a bow shot from the sea-side; in which garden I found a
little skiff or boat lying under a pomgranate tree: and there lay in
the boat a hatchet. All which served happily for my delivery.

Now I, being unable to carry the boat to the water-side, did cut small
truncheons of wood; and upon them did slide it down to the water-side.
Then I cut an arm [_a_ _branch_] of an olive tree, to make my boat a
mast; and, having no other shift, made a sail-cloth with my breeches
and a piece of [a] mantle which I had about me. And for [_because_]
my oars were very mean, yet durst I stay to look for no better, but
presently set sail; and, yielding myself to the good pleasure of
Almighty GOD, betook myself to the sea: willing rather to abide what
the Lord would lay on me, than to die among these most cruel tyrants.

And by the providence of GOD, upon the second day [? _25th May 1588_],
in the forenoon, I descried the Coast of Barbary: for the wind stood
north-east [_or rather_ north-west], which served me most happily.

Understand that this cut is, from shore to shore [_that is, from some
point in Majorca to the east side of the Bay of Bougiah_] 150 [_or
rather_ 70] leagues, which is 450 [_or, at most, say_ 210] English
miles; and at that time [there was] a very rough sea; insomuch if it
had not been by the great and wonderful power of GOD, my vessel and I
had both been overwhelmed.

       *       *       *       *       *

But I fell in with the country of Cabyles [_i.e._, _the Little Kabylia,
in the present Province of Constantine_], commonly called the King of
Cookooe's land, near a town called Gigeley [_the present Djidjelli_]:
where I went on shore, leaving my boat to swim which way the wind and
weather would conduct it; thinking it had done me sufficient service.

But see now, when I had escaped through the surges of the sea from
the cruelty of the Spaniard, I was no sooner landed and entered the
mountains but I was espied by the Moors which inhabit the country; who
pursued very earnestly to take me; supposing me to be come from the
Christian shore to rob in their coast.

For, many times, the Spaniards will pass over in some small vessel, and
go on shore; and if they can catch any men of the country, they will
carry them away to make galley slaves: wherefore the Moors are very
diligent to pursue them at their landing; and if it chance they take
any Christian, they use him in like sort.

Wherefore I, being very unwilling to fall into their hands, was
constrained to go into a river, which ran between two mountains; and
there to stand in water up to the chin, where the bushes and trees did
grow most thick over me: where I stood certain hours, until they had
left searching for me.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now when I perceived they were departed, I went out of the water, being
very feeble; for I ate nothing all that time but the bark of the trees,
which I cut with my hatchet. I went forth as secretly as I could,
minding to pass to Argire [_Algiers_].

I had not gone above three miles, when I espied a Moor, a very well
favoured old man, who was weeding a field of wheat.

I spake to him in the tongue of Franke [_The_ Lingua Franca _of the
Mediterranean shore_], and called him to me. I, having my hatchet in my
hand, cast it from me.

He came unto me; and, taking me by the hand, demanded very gently, What
I would have?

I, perceiving that he did, even at the first sight, pity my poor and
miserable estate, told him all things that had happened unto me: how I
was an Englishman; how I had been captive in Argire; how I chanced to
come to Genoa; their sending me to Majorca; and all the torment which
I had suffered there; and finally my escape from thence, with all the
rest that followed.

[Sidenote: The charitable mind of a simple old man.]

This good aged father, when he had heard of my lamentable discourse,
shewing himself rather a Christian than a man brought up among the
Turkish Mahometists, greatly pitied my misery; and forthwith led me
home to his house, and caused such victuals as the country yieldeth to
be set before me, which was dried wheat and honey: and baked a cake
upon the fire hearth, and fried it with butter; which I thought very
good meat, for I had not been at the like banquet in six years before
[1582-1588]; the good father shewing me what comfort he could.

[Sidenote: The old man still pitied him and did what lay in him to
deliver him.]

There I remained four and twenty hours. In the meantime the Moors which
dwelt in the villages by, understanding of my being there, came; and,
calling me forth, inquired of me, What I was? From whence I came? and
Whither I would?: and, with great vehemency, charged their weapons
against my breast; insomuch that I thought they would verily have slain
me. But mine host, that good old man, came forth and answered for me;
and so dissuaded them from doing me any harm: and took me back again
into his house.

This being past, I requested him to help me to a guide to conduct me to
Argire: and he presently provided two, whereof the one was his son; to
whom I promised to give four crowns for their pains.

       *       *       *       *       *

So taking my leave of my good host, we took our way towards Argire.

When we had not passed above 24 miles on the way, we chanced to meet
a Gentleman of that country who was, as it were, Purveyor to the
King; and went about the country to take up corn and grain for the
King's provision. He, meeting us upon the way, asked Whither we were
travelling?

My guides answered, That we were going to Argire.

He asked, What had we to do there?

They said to deliver me there.

Then he demanded, What I was?

They told him, I was an Englishman that came from the Christian shore,
and was bound towards Argire.

Then did this Gentleman take me from them, sending them back from
whence they came; but compelled me to go with him to village by, and
very earnestly persuaded me to turn Moor: promising, if I would, he
would be a mean[s] to prefer me greatly; which I still denied.

Then, upon the next day, he carried me further, to a town called
Tamgote [? _Tamgout_], and delivered me to a Nobleman of great
authority with the King: which was Lieutenant-General for the wars. For
this King of Cookooe holdeth continual war with the King of Argire;
although they be both subject to the Great Turk.

I was no sooner brought before this Nobleman, but he demanded, Whether
I would turn Moor?

I answered, That I would not.

Wherefore immediately he commanded a pair of shackles to be put on my
heels; and a clasp of iron about my neck, with a chain thereat.

Then was I set on a mule, and conveyed to Cookooe, [_also spelt, in
maps later than this narrative_, Couco _or_ Cocou. _It was not far from
the left bank of the river Sahel, that falls into the Bay of Bougiah,?
the present_ Akbou], where the King lay.

       *       *       *       *       *

When I was come thither, I was presently brought before the King: who
inquired, What I was? and, From whence I came? and What my pretence was?

I answered, That I was an Englishman; and that I came from the
Christian shore, intending to pass to Argire.

Then he asked me, What I could do?

I told him I could do nothing.

Then he demanded, Whether I were a Gunner?

[Sidenote: Gunners are in great estimation with them.]

I said, "No."

Then he persuaded me very instantly to yield to their religion,
offering to prefer me.

Wherefore I desired him to give me liberty to depart: "for my desire is
to be in England, with my wife and children."

"Yea," said he, "but how wilt thou come there?"

For they minded to keep me still: and evermore the King assayed to
seduce me with promises of great preferment, saying, If I would serve
him and turn Moor: I should want nothing.

But on the contrary, I besought him to give me liberty to go to Argire;
where I was in hope to be delivered, and sent home to mine own country.

Now he, seeing he could win me by no gentle means, commanded me to
prison; saying, That he would either make me yield and turn Moor: or
else I should die in captivity.

In this while that I remained in prison; divers of the King's House
came to me, persuading me to yield to the King's demand: alleging how
hardly the King might use me, being now in his power, unable to escape;
and again how bountifully the King would deal with me, if I would
submit myself.

       *       *       *       *       *

Within a little time after, it happened there was great preparation to
receive the King of Abbesse [? _the present tribe of the Beni-Abbas, or
Beni-Abbès_], whose country adjoineth to the King of Cookooe's land:
and [they] are in league together, and join their armies in one against
the King of Argire.

[Sidenote: These men are nothing expert in Artillery.]

Now, at his coming, I was fetched forth of prison, and commanded to
charge certain pieces of ordinance, which were three Sacres and two
Minions of Brass [_See Vol. IV., pp. 250-251_]; which I refused not to
do, trusting thereby to get some liberty. Wherefore, at the coming of
the King of Abbesse into the town, I discharged the ordnance as liked
them very well: for they are not very expert in that exercise. For
which I had some more liberty than before.

This King of Abbesse tarrying some certain time there, in consulting
with the King of Cookooe for matters touching the Wars with Argire; and
understanding of me, sent for me, being very desirous to talk with me:
where, after certain questions he desired of the other King, that he
might buy me; which he would not grant.

[Sidenote: Very many offers of preferment to draw me from the Word of
GOD.]

Then the King of the Cabyles [_Kabyles_] or Cookooe persuaded me very
seriously to serve him wil[ling]ly, and to turn Moor: and offered to
give me 700 Doubles [? _the Double Pistoles, or Doubloons_] by the
year, which amounteth to the sum of £50 [_= £200 now_] of English
money; and moreover to give me by the day, 30 Aspers, which are worth
twelve pence English, to find me meat; and likewise to give me a
house, and land sufficient to sow a hundred bushels of grain yearly,
and two Plow of oxen furnished, to till the same; also to furnish me
with horse, musket, sword, and other necessaries, such as they of
that country use. And lastly he offered to give me a wife, which they
esteemed the greatest matter; for all buy their wives at a great price.
Yea, if there were any in his Court could content me, I should make my
choice: but if there were not; he would provide one to my contentment,
whatsoever it should cost him.

But when he perceived all he said was in vain, he sent the Queen and
her gentlewomen to talk with me. When she came, she very courteously
entreated me to turn and serve the King, and to consider well what a
large offer the king had made; saying, That I was much unlike to come
to any like preferment in my country. And many times she would shew me
her gentlewomen, and ask me, If none of them could please me?

But I told her, I had a wife in mine own country, to whom I had vowed
my faith before GOD and the World: "which vow," I said, "I would never
break while we both lived."

Then she said, She could but marvel what she should be whom I esteemed
so much as to refuse such offers of preferment, for her sake; being now
where I must remain in captivity and slavery all the days of my life.
But when she could prevail no way with me; when she had uttered these
foresaid speeches, and many others which were frivolous to rehearse,
she left me. Yet, by her means, I had more liberty than before.

       *       *       *       *       *

After this, I was set to saw boards and planks; and was commanded to
make a carriage for a piece of ordnance. Thus they compelled me to
labour daily: which I did the more willingly, because I hoped still to
get my liberty thereby in the end.

Then they willed me to shew the fashion of our edge tools, after the
English [manner]: which when they saw the fashion; their smiths wrought
them very artificially, and gave them very good temper. For these
things I was had in more estimation; insomuch that they took off my
irons, and let me walk abroad with a Keeper.

[Sidenote: I was made Master of work, wherein I had small skill.]

Then was I commanded by the King to teach the Carpenters to frame
a house after the manner of English building: and for that purpose
there were sent forth Carpenters and workmen with me to the woods, to
fall timber; all which were to do what I appointed, upon the King's
commandment. Now I, being Chief Master of the work, appointed out
the trees which were very special good timber. In small time, we had
finished our frame; which liked the King very well. By this means I had
more liberty than before; and was very well intreated.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Yet I was greatly grieved in mind that I could not procure any means
  for my liberty; although at that time, I wanted few necessaries.
  Yet was I daily devising how I might escape away, for three special
  causes:

  One was for the special care I had of my salvation: because, as you
  have heard, there were many temptations laid before me to draw me
  from a Christian to be an abominable idolater.

  The second cause was for the love and dutiful allegiance which I owe
  to my Prince [_Sovereign_] and natural country.

  The third was the regard of the vow which I vowed in matrimony; and
  the care of my poore wife and children.

Which causes moved me so much that whereas, by reason of my diligence
in these foresaid matters, I [was] walking abroad with my Keeper who,
not suspecting me, was not so attentive as before he had been: so soon
as our frame was finished, I took opportunity; and, shewing them a
clean pair of heels, took my way over the mountains intending to go for
Argire [_which was in a north-westerly direction_].

       *       *       *       *       *

But presently there was a great store of men, both on horseback and on
foot: who, being more perfect in the way than I was, quickly overtook
me; and carried me back again to Cookooe.

       *       *       *       *       *

I was presently brought before the King; who asked me Why I ran away?

I told him, To have liberty.

Then he called certain of his servants to him; and commanded them to
lay me down at his feet, which four of them did: and laying me flat
upon the belly, one of them gave me 75 stripes with a great cudgel,
till I was not able to remove out of the place.

Then the King commanded to carry me to prison again: whither two
of them carried me and put me in irons, and there left me. Where I
remained for the space of two months.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: I was now made a Water-bearer.]

Then was I brought forth of prison, and sent daily to a fountain or
well, about half a league from the town, to fetch water with a couple
of asses, for the use of the King's House.

Now, in this time, many artificers (as Smiths, Joiners, and Carpenters,
and many others) came to me to understand the fashion of many English
tools (as plane irons, gouges, chisels and such like); for which they
shewed me some favour, and gave me some money.

And when I had gotten a little money, I bestowed it upon apparel, and
caused it to be made like to theirs: which I carried secretly, when
I went to fetch water, and did hide it in a dry cave under the side
of a rock. I bought me likewise a sword and a lance, such as they use
to travel with. I also provided a file. All which I laid up with my
apparel.

It happened that the King of Abbesse came again to visit the King, and
to take counsel about warlike affairs; as usually they did.

Wherefore when they heard of his coming, making great preparation for
him; it fell out so that there wanted water in the Offices [_Kitchens
&c._], where, in an evening, there was exceeding thunder and rain and
lightning; so that there was no man would go for water, but everyone
[was] calling for the Englishman.

Then I, which durst say no "Nay!", took the vessels and hung them upon
the asses; and so went, through rain and wind and thunder and all, till
I came to the well: where I left my asses to wander whither they would,
and went to my apparel and with my file cut off my irons, and made me
ready in my suit of Moors' clothing, and, with my sword by my side and
my lance on my shoulder, took my way once again towards Argire.

And that night I went about 20 miles over rocks and mountains, keeping
myself out of beaten ways, casting [_directing_] my way by the moon
and stars. When the day began to be light, I lay me down in a brake of
thick bushes; and there I slept the most part of the day: and in the
evening I began to travel forth on my way.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, on the third night, I was to pass a bridge where was continual
watch and ward, both day and night; where I must of necessity pass,
by reason the river [? _the river Isser_] ran betwixt two mountains:
which were so steep that no man can neither go down to enter [the]
water, nor yet being in can by any possible means get up on the other
side; which river is a great defence to the country.

Where I used no delay, but entered the bridge in the beginning of the
night, about nine of the clock, being in great doubt [_fear_] of the
Watch. But at the first end of the bridge, I saw no man, until I was
happily passed over. Then there came one after me, and asked, Who goes
there?

It being somewhat dark, and I in apparel and with my weapons like a
Moor; [I] answered boldly, That I was a friend, and told him, I was
coming to the Governor to deliver letters from the King. For near the
river's side there is a village where dwelleth he who hath charge of
the keeping of this passage. Whereby I went onward through the village.

But before I was far passed, I heard horsemen upon the bridge; which
asked, Whether any man had passed that night?

The watermen told them, There was one gone, even now, which said, He
went to deliver the King's letters to the Officer.

But I thought [it] no time now to hear any more of their talk; but
betook me to my heels: and so soon as I was without the town, I went
out of the Port way [_the road to Algiers_] into [the] woods; and kept
desert ways that night and day following.

And the next night, I came within the liberties of the King of Argire;
where I knew the Cabyles [_Kabyles_] could not fetch me back again.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Sidenote: Many dangerous wild beasts in that country.]

In this order I escaped their hands, by the mighty power of GOD. For
understand, in these desert mountains there are all manner of wild
beasts, in great number; as lions, bears, wolves of marvellous bigness,
apes, wild swine; and also wild horses and asses, with many other
hurtful beasts: yet was I never in danger of any of them.

In this country of Cabyles, there are divers kinds of very pure metals,
as gold, silver, and lead; and good iron and steel: but they, for want
of knowledge and skill, make no use of any metal except iron and steel.
Although at such times I have been present, while the Smiths have tried
their iron, I have seen, among the dross of the iron, very perfect
gold. Which they, perceiving me to behold, were very inquisitive to
understand, Whether it were gold, or any other metal of substance?

But I told them, It was but a kind of dross whereof we made colours for
painting in England.

They carried me out to the mountains, and shewed me the rocks where
they gathered their iron; which rocks had veins of very pure gold.
Which I would not reveal to them, but answered as before: because I
doubted [_feared_] if the King once knew me to have experience in such
mysteries, he would keep me the more straight[ly]; whereby I might have
remained in bondage during my life.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now when I was within the country of Argire, I was out of dangers from
the pursuers; and then did I walk by day and kept the common ways.

Where, coming within the view of Argire, upon the way I met a Turk who
knew me at the first sight; and demanded, If I had not been captive
with such a man?

I said, "Yes."

He then inquired, Whether I went to the city?

I said, "Yes."

Then turned he back, and did accompany me to the city.

When I came there, I would have gone to the English House; but he led
me violently to my old Master [p. 372], where I rested me a day and
night: my Master not being very earnest, for because, in this time that
I was absent [1587-1588], all the English captives were redeemed and
sent home.

Wherefore I went to the English Consul, hoping to be presently
[_instantly_] delivered: who gave me very good words, but did not shew
me that favour which he professed.

I could make some discourse of his unkind dealing with me and others of
our countrymen; which I will leave till [a] more fit occasion.

For, understand, that while I was with him, there came a messenger
from my old Master, with whom I was before I went to Genoa [_in the
previous year, 1587_]; who would have carried me away by force: but I
would not go, requesting the Consul to take order for my delivery.

But he persuaded me to go with him, saying, that he would, in time,
provide for my liberty.

But by means I would not yield to go to my Master, nor yet the Consul
would not take order for me: I was taken by the King's Officers, and
put in chains in the King's prison, among other captives.

And at the next setting out of the gallies, I was put to my old
occupation; where I remained a galley slave for three years and above
after [1588-1592.] In which time, I was eight voyages at sea: and at
such times as the gallies lay in harbour, I was imprisoned with the
rest of the captives, where our ordinary food was bread and water; and,
at some times, as once or twice in a week, a small quantity of sodden
wheat.

       *       *       *       *       *

To conclude, I passed my time in sickness and extreme slavery until,
by the help of an honest Merchant [? _Master RICHARD STAPAR, see page
369_; _or rather STAPERS, see Vol. III., page 169_] of this city of
London, and having a very fit opportunity by means of certain [of]
our English ships which were ready to set sail, bound homeward, upon
Christmas Even, being the 24th of December 1592, I came aboard [_at
Algiers_] the _Cherubim_ of London; which, weighing anchor, and having
a happy gale, arrived in England towards the end of February [1593]
following.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus have you heard how it hath pleased the Almighty GOD, after many
and great miseries, to bring me to the port which I longed greatly to
see: beseeching GOD, of his mercy, to prolong the days of our most
gracious and renowned Queen; whose fame reacheth far, and whose most
happy government is in admiration with foreign Princes.

 So wishing all to the glory of GOD, and
 [the] furtherance of the Gospel,
 I end.


 FINIS.




 _The Merchant's Daughter of
 Bristow_ [Bristol].

[Sidenote: _Ancient Ballads, etc._ in the Library of HENRY HUTH, 1867.]


 THE FIRST PART.

     BEHOLD the Touchstone of True Love!
    MAUDLIN, the Merchant's daughter of Bristow town,
     Whose firm affection _nothing_ could move
     Such favour bears the Lovely Brown.

     A gallant Youth was dwelling by.
    Which many years had borne this Maiden great goodwill.
     She lovèd him as faithfully:
     But all her friends withstood it still.

     The young man now, perceiving well
    He could not get nor win the favour of her friends;
     The force of sorrows to expell,
     To view strange countries he intends.

     And now to take his last Farewell
    Of his True Love, his fair and constant MAUDLIN;
     With music sweet, that did excell,
     He plays under her window fine.

     "Farewell," quoth he, "my own True Love!
    Farewell, my dear; and chiefest treasure of my heart!
     Through Fortune's spite, that false did prove,
     I am inforced from thee to part.

     "Into the land of Italy:
    There will I waste and weary out my days in woe.
     Seeing my True Love is kept from me,
     I hold my life a mortal foe."

     "Fair Bristow town, therefore adieu!
    For Padua must be my habitation now:
     Although my Love doth lodge in thee,
     To whom alone my heart I vow."

     With trickling tears thus did he sing,
    With sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore.
     He saith, when he his hands did wring,
     "Farewell, sweet Love, for evermore!"

     Fair MAUDLIN, from a window high,
    Beholds her True Love with his music where he stood;
     But not a word she durst reply,
     Fearing her parents' angry mood.

     In tears she spends the doleful night,
    Wishing herself (though naked) with her faithful friend:
     She blames her friends, and Fortune's spite;
     That wrought their loves such luckless end.

     And in her heart she makes a vow
    Clean to forsake her country and her kinsfolk all;
     And for to follow her True Love now,
     To bide all chances that might fall.

     The night is gone, and the day is come;
    And in the morning very early doth she arise.
     She gets her down to the lower room,
     Where sundry seamen she espies.

     A gallant Master among them all:
    The Master of a fair and goodly ship was he;
     Which there stood waiting in the hall,
     To speak with her father, if it might be.

     She kindly takes him by the hand;
    "Good Sir," she said, "and would you speak with any here?"
     Quoth he, "Fair Maid, therefore I stand."
     "Then, gentle Sir, I pray you come near."

     Into a pleasant parlour by,
    With hand in hand she brings this seaman all alone;
     Sighing to him most piteously,
     She thus to him did make her moan:

     She falls upon her tender knee,
    "Good Sir," she said, "now pity you a Maiden's woe!
     And prove a faithful friend to me,
     That I to you my grief may show."

     "Sith you repose such trust," he said,
    "To me that am unknown, and eke a stranger here;
     Be you assured, proper Maid,
     Most faithful still I will appear!"

     "I have a brother, Sir," quoth she,
    "Whom, as my life, I love and favour tenderly.
     In Padua, alas, is he
     Full sick, GOD wot; and like to die.

     "And fain I would my brother see;
    But that my father will not yield to let me go.
     Wherefore, good Sir, be good to me,
     And unto me this favour show.

     "Some shipboy's garments bring to me,
    That I disguised may get away from hence unknown:
     And unto sea I'll go with thee,
     If thus much friendship may be shown."

     "Fair Maid," quoth he, "take here my hand!
    I will fulfil each thing that now you desire,
     And set you safe in that same land;
     And in the place where you require."

     Then gives she him a tender kiss;
    And saith, "Your servant, gallant Master, I will be!
     And prove your faithful friend, for this.
     Sweet Master, then forget not me!"

     This done, as they had both decreed,
    Soon after, early, even before the break of day,
     He brings her garments then with speed;
     Wherein she doth herself array.

     And ere her father did arise,
    She meets her Master as he walkèd in the Hall;
     She did attend on him likewise,
     Even till her father did him call.

     But ere the Merchant made an end
    Of all those matters to the Master he could say;
     His wife came weeping in with speed Saying,
     "Our daughter is gone away!"

     The Merchant, much amazed in mind,
    "Yonder vile wretch enticed away my child," quoth he,
     "But well I wot, I shall him find
     At Padua in Italy."

     With that bespake the Master brave,
    "Worshipful Merchant, thither goes this pretty Youth!
     And anything that you would have,
     He will perform it, and write the truth."

     "Sweet Youth," quoth he, "if it be so,
    Bear me a letter to the English Merchants there;
     And gold on thee I will bestow.
     My daughter's welfare I do fear!"

     Her mother takes her by the hand,
    "Fair Youth," quoth she, "if there thou dost my daughter see,
     Let me thereof soon understand:
     And there are twenty crowns for thee!"

     Thus, through the daughter's strange disguise,
    The mother knew not when she spake unto her child.
     And after her Master straight she hies,
     Taking her leave with countenance mild.

     Thus to the sea fair MAUDLIN is gone,
    With her gentle Master. GOD send them a merry wind!
     Where we awhile must leave them alone,
     Till you the Second Part do find.

 FINIS.




 _The Merchant's Daughter of Bristow_ [Bristol].

 THE SECOND PART.


     "WELCOME, sweet MAUDLIN, from the sea!
    Where bitter storms and cruel tempests did arise:
     The pleasant banks of Italy,
     We may behold with joyful eyes."

     "Thanks, gentle Master," then quoth she,
    "A faithful friend in all my sorrows thou hast been.
     If fortune once doth smile on me,
     My thankful heart shall well be seen!

     "Blest be the land that feeds my Love!
    Blest be that place whereas he doth abide!
     No travail will I stick to prove,
     Whereby my goodwill may be tried.

     "Now will I walk with joyful heart
    To view the town whereas my darling doth remain;
     And seek him out in every part,
    Until I do his sight attain."

     "And I," quoth he, "will not forsake
    Sweet M. in all her journeys up and down;
     In wealth and woe thy part I'll take,
     And bring thee safe to Padua town."

     And, after many weary steps,
    In Padua they safe arrived at the last.
     For very joy, her heart it leaps:
     She thinks not on her perils past.

     But now, alas, behold the luck!
    Her own True Love in woeful prison doth she find:
     Which did her heart in pieces pluck,
     And grieved her gentle mind.

     Condemned he was to die, alas,
    Except he would his faith and his religion turn:
     But rather than he would go to Mass,
     In fiery flames he vowed to burn.

     How doth fair MAUDLIN weep and wail:
    Her joy is changed to weeping, sorrow, grief, and care.
     But nothing can her plaints prevail,
     For death alone must be his share.

     She walks under the prison walls,
    Where her True Love doth lie and languish in distress.
     Most woefully for food he calls,
     When hunger did his heart oppress.

     He sighs, and sobs, and makes great moan.
    "Farewell," said he, "sweet England now for ever!
     And all my friends that have me known
     In Bristow town with wealth and store!

     "But most of all, farewell," quoth he,
    "My own True Love, sweet M! whom I left behind:
     For never more I shall thee see!
     Woe to thy father most unkind!

     "How well were I, if thou wast here,
    With thy fair hands to close up both these wretched eyes!
     My torments easy would appear:
     My soul with joy should scale the skies."

     When M. heard her Lover's moan;
    Her eyes with tears, her heart with sorrow filled was.
     To speak with him no means was known,
     Such grievous doom on him did pass.

     Then cast she off her lad's attire;
    A Maiden's weed upon her back she seemly set:
     To the Judge's house she did enquire,
     And there she did a service get.

     She did her duty there so well,
    And eke so prudently herself she did behave;
     With her in love her Master fell.
     His servant's favour he doth crave.

     "MAUDLIN," quoth he, "my heart's delight!
    To whom my heart in firm affection's tied,
     Breed not my death through thy despite!
     A faithful friend I will be tried.

     "Grant me thy love, fair Maid!" quoth he,
    "And at my hands desire what thou canst devise,
     And I will grant it unto thee,
     Whereby thy credit may arise."

     "O Sir," she said, "how blest am I,
    With such a kind and gentle Master for to meet;
     I will not your request deny,
     So you will grant what I do seek."

     "I have a brother, Sir," she said,
    "For his religion is now condemned to die.
     In loathsome prison he is laid,
     Oppressed with care and misery.

     "Grant me my brother's life!" she said,
    "And to you my love and liking I will give!"
     "That may not be," quoth he, "fair Maid!
     Except he turn, he may not live!"

     "An English Friar there is," she said,
    Of learning great, and of a passing pure life:
     Let him be to my brother sent,
     And he will finish soon the strife."

     Her Master granted this request.
    The Mariner in Friar's weeds she doth array:
     And to her Love that lay distresst,
     She doth a letter straightway convey.

     When he had read her gentle lines,
    His heavy heart was ravished with inward joy:
     Where now she was, full well he finds.
     The Friar likewise was not coy;

     But did declare to him at large
    The enterprise his Love for him had taken in hand.
     The young Man did the Friar charge
     His Love should straight depart the land.

     "Here is no place for her," he said,
    "But woeful death and danger of her harmless life.
     Professing truth, I was betrayed;
     And fearful flames must end our strife.

     "For ere I will my faith deny,
    And swear myself to follow damnèd Antichrist:
     I'll yield my body for to die,
     To live in heaven with the Highest."

     "O Sir," the gentle Friar said,
    "For your sweet Love, recant and save your wishèd life!"
     "A woeful match," quoth he, "is made,
     Where CHRIST is lost to win a Wife."

     When she had wrought all means she might
    To save her Friend, and that she saw it would not be:
     Then of the Judge, she claimed her right
     To die the death as well as he.

     "For, look, what faith he doth profess;
    In that same faith, be sure that I will live and die!
     Then ease us both in our distress,
     Let us not live in misery!"

     When no persuasion would prevail,
    Nor change her mind in anything that she had said:
     She was with him condemned to die,
     And for them both one fire made.

     And arm in arm, most joyfully,
    These Lovers twain unto the fire then did go.
     The mariners, most faithfully,
     Were likewise partners of their woe.

     But when the Judges understood
    The faithful friendship in them all that did remain,
     They saved their lives; and afterward,
     To England sent them home again.

     Now were their sorrows turned to joy,
    And faithful Lovers had now their hearts' desire.
     Their pains so well they did employ,
     GOD granted what they did require.

     And when they were in England come,
    And to merry Bristow arrivèd at the last;
     Great joy there was of all and some,
     That heard the dangers they had past.

     Her father, he was dead, GOD wot:
    And eke her mother was joyful of her sight;
     Their wishes she denièd not,
     But wedded them with heart's delight.

     Her gentle Master she desired
    To be her Father, and at church to give her then.
     It was fulfilled, as she required,
     Unto the joy of all good men.

 FINIS.

  Printed at London for William Blackwall
  [about 1600].

[Illustration]




 _Posies for Rings, or Mottoes fit for Presents_,
 collected by
 W. P.

    [Sidenote: _The Wits Academy, 1677._]


    I LOVE you well, yourself can tell.
    Let Virtue guide my lawful Bride!
    Sure you mistake! That bargain's to make.
    My tender heart, disdain makes smart.
    My love shall ever faithful prove!
    I moan because I lie alone.
    Absence ne'er parts two loving hearts.
    This and the giver are thine for ever.
    I vow to kiss her that reads this.
    The love I owe in this I show.
    No turtle dove shall shew more love!
    As I affect thee, so respect me.
    The gift is small, but Love is all.
    When this you see, remember me!
    This to a friend I freely send.
    Well directed, if well accepted.
    I'll not express what you may guess.
    When this you see, think well of me!
    Virtue and Love are from above.
    More near to me than life can be.
    Though friends cross love, we'll meet above!
    'Tis Love alone makes two but one.
    You and I will Lovers die.
    I seek to be both thine and thee.
    I am sure to die, if you deny.
    In thee each part doth catch a heart.
    My true love is endless as this.
    When CUPID fails, the eye prevails.
    Your blest sight is my delight.
    I wish to have, but blush to crave.
    I wish you knew what I owe you.
    My constant love shall ne'er remove.
    Take this in part of my true heart.
    For one sweet kiss I give you this.
    Nothing for thee too dear can be!
    Desire like fire doth still aspire.
    In troth you know it must be so.
    My love you know, then say not "No!"
    If you this forego, you are my foe!
    I love thee JOAN, and thee alone!
    I love thee JOHN; therefore come on!
    My mind is bent, and I am content.
    I'll venture till I find Love's centre.
    I were an ass, should I let you pass.
    In midst of grief, Love sends relief.
    Where hearts agree, no strife can be.
    I joy to find a constant mind.
    Love never dies where Virtue lies.
    Love's delight is to unite.
    Let friend nor foe this secret know!
    I must confess love goes by guess.
    The nigher kin, the further in.
    What I have done declare to none!
    My name is HARRY, and DOLL I'll marry!
    Come when you will, I am yours still.
    I'll take my oath, to part I am loath.
    I'll swear and vow that I love you!
    I hope to meet some kisses sweet.
    Though this be small, you shall have all!
    When I am well; have at thee, NELL!
    I hope your mind's to love inclined.
    Forgive, or else I cannot live.
    You'll ever find me very kind.
    I am full of love towards you my dove.
    I this present with good intent.
    What more I owe, you'll shortly know.
    True friends, by love are made amends.
    CUPID's command; who can withstand?
    Think well of me when this you see.
    When you see this, blow me a kiss!
    My only joy, be not so coy!
    I love till death shall stop my breath.
    Unto the end, I'll be your friend!

[Illustration]




 LICIA,

 or

 POEMS OF LOVE

 in honour of the admirable and singular virtues of his Lady.

 To the imitation of the best Latin Poets, and others.


WHEREUNTO IS ADDED The Rising to the Crown of RICHARD THE THIRD.

_Auxit Musarum numerum SAPPHO addita Musis. Fælix si sævus, sic
voluisset Amor._


  In the First of the _Piscatory Eclogues_, which PHINEAS
  FLETCHER included in the Volume containing his _Purple
  Island_, printed at Cambridge in 1633 in 4to; he clearly
  describes, in the person of THELGON, the career of
  his father, GILES FLETCHER the Elder, LL.D.: who went
  English Ambassador to Muscovy; and, on his return home,
  published, in 1591, a book entitled _Of the Russ Common
  Wealth_; which was quickly suppressed, lest it might give
  offence to the Czar.

  The Ninth Stanza of this First _Piscatory Eclogue_ thus
  begins:

  And whether Nature, joined with Art, had wrought me;
  Or I too much believed the Fisher's praise;
  Or whether PHŒBUS self, or Muses, taught me;
  Too much inclined to Verse and music Plays:
  So far credulity and youth had brought me,
  I sang....

  THELGON then specifies the subjects of his Latin and
  English Poems: amongst which, in the next Stanza, occurs
  this line:

  And raised my rhyme to sing of _RICHARD's climbing_.

  Upon this allusion the authorship of _LICIA_ is ascribed
  to PHINEAS FLETCHER's father.

  The original edition of these Poems is undated. It was
  printed (? privately printed) however about September
  1593; as will be seen from the date on pages 419, 423.


_Ad Amorem._

    Si cœlum patria est puer beatum,
    Si vero peperit VENUS benigna,
    Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat;
    Si sancta Ambrosia est cibus petitus,
    Quid noctes habitas, diesque mecum?
    Quid victum face supplicemque aduris?
    Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
    Quid nostræ dape pasceris medullæ?
    O vere rabidum genus færarum:
    O domo stige patriaque digne:
    Jam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?


_Ad Lectorem._

    Non convitia, nec latrationes,
    Nec Ronchos timeo, calumniasve,
    Nec ullos obelos severiores.
    Non quod judicio meo Poeta
    Sim tantus, nihil ut queat reprehendi:
    Sed quod judicio meo Poeta
    Sim tam ridiculus, parumque doctus,
    Ut nullum fore judicem eruditum,
    Meos carpere qui velit labores:
    Nam quis Æthiopem velit lavare?




 _To the Worshipful, kind, wise, and
 virtuous Lady, the Lady MOLLINEUX,
 Wife to the right Worshipful
 Sir RICHARD MOLLINEUX Knight._


HOWSOEVER, in the settled opinions of some wise heads, this trifling
labour may easily incur the suspicion of two evils; either to be of
an idle subject, and so frivolous; or vainly handled, and so odious:
yet my resolute purpose was to proceed so far as the indifferent
[_impartial_] Reader might think this small pains to be rather an
effect, than a cause, of idleness. And howsoever LOVE, in this Age,
hath behaved himself in that loose manner as it is counted a disgrace
to give him but a kind look: yet I take the passion in itself to be of
that honour and credit as it is the perfect resemblance of the greatest
happiness; and rightly valued at his just price, in a mind that is
sincerely and truly amorous, an affection of the greatest virtue, and
able of himself to eternize the meanest vassal.

Concerning the handling of it, especially in this Age, men may wonder,
if a Scholar, How I come by so much leisure? If otherwise, Why a
Writer? Indeed to say truth, though I cannot justly challenge the first
name; yet I wish none to be Writers, save only such as know Learning.
And whereas my thoughts and some reasons drew me rather to have dealt
in causes of greater weight; yet the present jar of this disagreeing
Age drives me into a fit so melancholy as I only had leisure to grow
passionate. And I see not why, upon our dissensions, I may not sit down
idle, forsake my study, and go sing of Love; as well as our Brownists
forsake the Church, and write of malice.

And that this is a matter not so unfit for a man, either that
respecteth himself, or is a Scholar; peruse but the writings of former
times: and you shall see, not only others in other countries, as Italy
and France, Men of Learning and great parts to have written Poems and
Sonnets of Love; but even amongst us, men of best nobility and chiefest
families to be the greatest Scholars and most renowned in this kind.
But two reasons hath made it a thing foolishly odious in this Age.
The one, that so many base companions are the greatest Writers. The
other, that our English Genevian Purity hath quite debarred us of
honest recreation: yet the great Pillar, as they make him [_i.e._ JEAN
CALVIN], of that Cause hath shewed us as much wit and learning in this
kind as any other before or since.

Furthermore for all students, I will say thus much; that the
base conceit which men generally have of their wants is such, as
I scarce term him a Scholar that hath not all the accomplyments
[_accomplishments_] of a Gentleman; nor sufficiently wise that will
not take opportunity in some sort to shew it. For I can say thus much,
that the University wherein I lived [_evidently Cambridge_], and so I
think the other [_Oxford_], hath so many wise, excellent, sufficient,
men as, setting their learning aside wherein they are most excellent,
yet in all habiliments of a Gentleman they are equal to any besides.
This would that worthy SYDNEY oft confess; and [Sir JOHN] HARINGTON's
_ARIOSTO_ (which, Madam, was respected so much by you) sheweth that his
abode was in King's College [Cambridge]. Yet now it is grown to this
pass, that Learning is lightly respected; upon a persuasion that it is
to be found everywhere: a thing untrue and unpossible.

Now in that I have written Love Sonnets; if any man measure my
affection by my style, let him say, I am in love. No great matter! For
if our purest Divines have not been so, why are so many married? I
mislike not that, nor I would not have them mislike this. For a man may
be in love, and not marry; and yet wise: but he cannot marry and not be
in love, but be a mere fool.

Now for the manner. We will dispute that in some other place; yet take
this by the way: though I am so liberal to grant thus much--a man may
write of Love and not be in love; as well as of husbandry and not go
to the plough; or of witches and be none; or of holiness and be flat
profane.

But, wise and kind Lady, not to trouble your ears with this idle
discourse, let this suffice. I found favours undeserved in such manner
as my rude ability wants means to recompence; and therefore in the
mean time I request you to accept this. If I had not so wondered at
your admirable and rare virtues that my heart was surcharged with the
exceeding measure of your worthiness, I had not written. You are happy
every way, and so reputed. Live so, and I wish so you may live long!
Excuse me, favour me: and, if I live (for I loath to admire without
thankfulness), ere long it shall be known what favours I received from
wise Sir RICHARD; to whom in all kind affects I rest bound.

For the Reader, if he look for my letters to crave his favour; he is
far deceived. For if he mislike anything, I am sorry he took the pains
to read: but if he do, let him dispraise; I much care not. For praise
is not but as men please, and it is no chief felicity. For I have heard
some men, and of late, for Sermons at Paul's Cross and for other pains,
so commended by all, excepting some few Cynics that commend none that
do well, that you would have thought England would have striven for
their speedy preferment: but, like a wonder, it last but nine days;
and all is quiet and forgotten. The best is, they are young men and
may live to be preferred at another time. So what am I worse if men
mislike and use terms? I can say as much by them. For our great men, I
am sure, they want leisure to read: and if they had; yet, for the most
part, the worst speak worst.

Well let the Printer look he grow not a beggar by such bargains, the
Reader that he lose not his labour, and for mine that is past! And
whoso wisely, after an afternoon's sleep, gapes, and saith, "O how
young men spend their time idly!"; first, let him spend his time better
than to sleep: secondly, he knows not my age. I feared a hot ague; and,
with TASSO, I was content to let my Wit blood.

But leaving these to their dogged humour; and wishing your Ladyship all
happiness, I humbly take my leave.

From my chamber. September 4, 1593.

[Illustration]




 _To the Reader._


I HAD thought, courteous and gentle Reader, not to have troubled thy
patience with these lines: but that, in the neglect thereof, I should
either scorn thee, as careless of thine opinion, a thing savouring of
a proud humour; or despair to obtain thy favour, which I am loath to
conceive of thy good nature.

If I were known, I would entreat in the best manner; and speak for him
whom thou knewest. But being not known, thou speakest not against me;
and therefore I much care not. For this kind of poetry wherein I wrote,
I did it only to try my humour. And for the matter of Love, it may be I
am so devoted to some one into whose hands these may light by chance,
that she may say, which thou now sayest "That surely he is in love:"
which if she do, then have I the full recompence of my labour; and the
Poems have dealt sufficiently for the discharge of their own duty.

This Age is learnedly wise, and faultless in this kind of making their
wits known: thinking so basely of our bare English, wherein thousands
have travailed with such ill luck, that they deem themselves barbarous
and the island barren, unless they have borrowed from Italy, Spain, and
France their best and choicest conceits. For my own part, I am of this
mind that our nation is so exquisite (neither would I overweeningly
seem to flatter our home-spun stuff, or diminish the credit of our
brave travellers) that neither Italy, Spain, nor France can go beyond
us for exact invention. For if anything be odious amongst us, it is the
exile of our old manners, and some base-born phrases stuft up with such
new terms, as a man may sooner feel us to flatter by our incrouching
eloquence than suspect it from the ear.

       *       *       *       *       *

And for the matter of Love, where every man takes upon himself to court
exactly; I could justly grace (if it be a grace to be excellent in that
kind) the Inns of Court, and some Gentlemen like[wise] Students in
both Universities: whose learning and bringing up together with their
fine natures make so sweet a harmony as, without partiality, the most
injurious will prefer them before all others; and therefore they only
are fitted to write of Love.

For others, for the most part, are men of mean reach, whose debased
minds prey upon every bad dish. Men unfit to know what Love means;
deluded fondly with their own conceit, misdeeming so divine a fancy;
taking it to be the contentment of themselves, the shame of others, the
wrong of virtue; and the refiner of the tongue, boasting of some few
favours. These and such like errors (errors hateful to an upright mind)
commonly by learnless heads are reputed for Love's Kingdom. But vain
men, naturally led; deluded themselves, [they] deceive others.

For Love is a goddess (pardon me though I speak like a Poet) not
respecting the contentment of him that loves but the virtues of the
beloved, satisfied with wondering, fed with admiration, respecting
nothing but his Lady's worthiness, made as happy by love as by all
favours, chaste by honour, far from violence: respecting but one; and
that one in such kindness honesty truth constancy and honour, as were
all the World offered to make a change, yet the boot were too small,
and therefore bootless. This is Love, and far more than this; which I
know a vulgar head, a base mind, an ordinary conceit, a common person
will not, and cannot, have. Thus do I commend that love wherewith, in
these Poems, I have honoured the worthy LICIA.

But the love wherewith VENUS' son hath injuriously made spoil
of thousands, is a cruel Tyrant: occasion of sighs, oracle of lies,
enemy of pity, way of error, shape of inconstancy, temple of treason,
faith without assurance, monarch of tears, murderer of ease, prison of
hearts, monster of Nature, poisoned honey, impudent courtezan, furious
bastard: and in one word, not Love.

Thus, Reader, take heed thou err not! Esteem Love as thou ought[est]!

       *       *       *       *       *

If thou muse, What my LICIA is? Take her to be some
DIANA, at the least chaste; or some MINERVA: no
VENUS, fairer far. It may be she is Learning's Image, or some
heavenly wonder: which the Precisest may not mislike. Perhaps under
that name I have shadowed "[The Holy] Discipline." It may be, I mean
that kind courtesy which I found at the Patroness of these Poems,
it may be some College. It may be my conceit, and pretend nothing.
Whatsoever it be; if thou like it, take it! and thank the worthy Lady
MOLLINEUX, for whose sake thou hast it: worthy indeed, and so
not only reputed by me in private affection of thankfulness; but so
equally to be esteemed by all that know her.

For if I had not received of her and good Sir RICHARD, of kind and wise
Master LEE, of courteous Master HOUGHTON, all matchless, matched in one
kindred, those unrequitable favours; I had not thus idly toyed.

If thou mislike it; yet she, or they, or both, or divine LICIA
shall patronize it: or if none; I will, and can, do it myself. Yet I
wish thy favour. Do but say, Thou art content; and I rest thine. If
not, Farewell! till we both meet. September 8. 1593.

[Illustration]




 _To LICIA,
 the wise, kind, virtuous, and fair._


    BRIGHT matchless Star, the honour of the sky!
    From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light.
    I send these Poems to your graceful eye.
    Do you but take them, and they have their right.
      I build besides a Temple to your name,
    Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;
    And will erect an Altar for the same,
    Which shall, your virtues and your honour raise.
      But heaven, the Temple of your honour is;
    Whose brazen tops your worthy self made proud:
    The ground an Altar, base for such a bliss,
    With pity torn, because I sighed so loud.
      And since my skill no worship can impart;
      Make you an incense of my loving heart!


 SONNET I.

    SAD, all alone, not long I musing sat
    But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire.
    A laurel garland in my hand I gat,
    So the Muses I approached the nigher.
      My suit was this, A Poet to become;
    To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.
    PHŒBUS denied; and sware, "There was no room
    Such to be Poets as fond Fancy led."
      With that I mourned, and sat me down to weep.
    VENUS she smiled, and smiling to me said,
    "Come drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep!"
    This voice I heard, and VENUS I obeyed.
      That poison, Sweet, hath done me all this wrong;
      For now of Love must needs be all my Song.


 SONNET II.

    WEARY was LOVE, and sought to take his rest.
    He made his choice upon a Virgin's lap;
    And slyly crept from thence into her breast,
    Where still he meant to sport him in his hap.
      The Virgin frowned, like PHŒBUS in a cloud,
    "Go pack, sir boy, here is no room for such!
    My breast, no wanton foolish boys must shroud!"
    This said, my Love did give the Wag a touch.
      Then as the foot, that treads the stinging snake,
    Hastes to be gone, for fear what may ensue:
    So LOVE, my Love was forced for to forsake;
    And, for more speed, without his arrows flew.
      "Pardon!" he said, "for why you seemed to me,
      My mother VENUS in her pride to be."


 SONNET III.

    THE heavens beheld the beauty of my Queen;
    And all amazed, to wonder thus began:
    "Why dotes not JOVE, as erst we all have seen,
    And shapes himself like to a seemly man?
      Mean are the matches which he sought before;
    Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare:
    And she alone hath treasured Beauty's store;
    In whom all gifts and princely graces are."
      CUPID replied, "I posted with the sun
    To view the Maids that lived in all those days:
    And none there was that might not well be won,
    But She; most hard, most cold, made of delays."
      Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem;
      She hath no heat, although She living seem.


 SONNET IV.

    LOVE and my Love did range the forest wild,
    Mounted alike upon swift coursers both.
    LOVE her encountered, though he was a child,
    "Let's strive!" said he. Whereat my Love was wroth;
      And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile.
    "I mounted am, and armèd with my spear.
    Thou art too weak! Thyself do not beguile!
    I could thee conquer, if I naked [_unarmed_] were!"
      With this LOVE wept, and then my Love replied:
    "Kiss me, sweet boy, so! Weep, my boy, no more!"
    Thus did my Love, and thus her force she tried:
    LOVE was made ice, that fire was before.
      A kiss of hers (as I, poor soul, do prove)
      Can make the hottest, freeze; and coldest love.


 SONNET V.

    LOVE, with her hair, my Love by force hath tied;
    To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand.
    I smiled for joy when I the boy espied
    To lie unchained, and live at her command.
      She, if She look, or kiss, or sing, or smile;
    CUPID withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss.
    Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile;
    Because She scorns, all hearts but only this.
      VENUS for this in pride began to frown,
    That CUPID, born a god, inthralled should be:
    She, in disdain, her pretty son threw down;
    And in his place, with love she chainèd me.
      So now, sweet Love, tho' I myself be thrall;
      Not her a goddess, but thyself, I call.


 SONNET VI.

    MY Love, amazed, did blush herself to see,
    Pictured by Art, all naked as she was.
    "How could the Painter know so much by me,
    Or Art effect what he hath brought to pass?
      It is not like, he naked me hath seen;
    Or stood so nigh for to observe so much."
    No, Sweet, his eyes so near have never been;
    Nor could his hands by Art have cunning such:
      I showed my heart, wherein you printed were;
    You, naked you, as here you painted are.
    In that, my Love, your picture I must wear;
    And show 't to all, unless you have more care:
      Then take my heart, and place it with your own!
      So shall you naked never more be known.


 SONNET VII.

    DEATH, in a rage, assaulted once my heart
    With love of her, my love that doth deny.
    I scorned his force, and wished him to depart,
    I heartless was, and therefore _could_ not die.
      I live in her. In her I placed my life.
    She guides my soul, and her I honour must.
    Nor is this life; but yet a living strife:
    A thing unmeet, and yet a thing most just.
      CUPID, enraged, did fly to make me love;
    My heart lay guarded with those burning eyes,
    The sparks whereof denied him to remove:
    So conquered now, he like a captive lies.
      Thus two at once by love are both undone:
      My heart not loved; and armless VENUS' son.


 SONNET VIII.

    HARD are the rocks, the marble, and the steel,
    The ancient oak with wind and weather tosst;
    But you, my Love, far harder do I feel
    Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost.
      My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move;
    My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent;
    Too tiger-like, you swear you cannot love:
    But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent.
      The frost too hard, not melted with my flame;
    I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat:
    Surpass not these, sweet Love, for very shame!
    But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat!
      Then shall I say, as I by trial find,
      These all are hard; but you, my Love, are kind.


 SONNET IX.

    LOVE was laid down, all weary, fast asleep;
    Whereas my Love his armour took away.
    The boy awaked, and straight began to weep;
    But stood amazed, and knew not what to say.
      "Weep not, my boy," said VENUS to her son,
    "Thy weapons none can wield but thou alone.
    LICIA the Fair, this harm to thee hath done;
    I saw her here, and presently was gone.
      She will restore them, for she hath no need
    To take thy weapons, where thy valour lies.
    For men to wound, the Fates have her decreed
    With favour, hands, with beauty, and with eyes."
      No, VENUS, no! She scorns them, credit me!
      But robbed thy son, that none might care for thee!


 SONNET X.

    A PAINTER drew the image of the boy,
    Swift LOVE, with wings, all naked, and yet blind;
    With bow and arrows bent for to destroy.
    I blamed his skill; and fault I thus did find:
      "A needless task I see thy cunning take:
    Misled by love, thy fancy thee betrayed.
    Love is no boy, nor blind, as men him make;
    Nor weapons wears, whereof to be afraid:
      But if thou Love wilt paint with greatest skill;
    A Love, a Maid, a goddess, and a Queen!
    Wonder and view at LICIA's picture still!
    For other Love, the World hath never seen.
      For She alone, all hope, all comfort, gives:
      Men's hearts, souls all, led by her favour, live."


 SONNET XI.

    IN Ida Vale three Queens, the Shepherd saw;
    Queens of esteem, divine, they were all three.
    A sight of worth, but I a wonder show:
    Their virtues all in one alone to be.
      LICIA the Fair surpassing VENUS's pride,
    (The matchless Queen, commander of the gods,
    When, drawn with doves, she in her pomp doth ride)
    Hath far more beauty and more grace by odds:
      JUNO, JOVE's wife, unmeet to make compare;
    I grant a goddess, but not half so mild:
    MINERVA wise, a virtue; but not rare.
    Yet these are mean, if that my Love but smiled.
      She them surpasseth, when their prides are full,
      As far as they surpass the meanest trull.


 SONNET XII.

    I WISH sometimes, although a worthless thing,
    Spurred by ambition, glad for to aspire,
    Myself a Monarch, or some mighty King:
    And then my thoughts do wish for to be higher.
      But when I view what winds the cedars toss,
    What storms men feel that covet for renown;
    I blame myself that I have wished my loss:
    And scorn a Kingdom, though it give a Crown.
      A' LICIA thou, the wonder of my thought,
    My heart's content, procurer of my bliss;
    For whom, a Crown I do esteem as nought:
    And Asia's wealth, too mean to buy a kiss.
      Kiss me, sweet Love! this favour do for me;
      Then Crowns and Kingdoms shall I scorn for thee.


 SONNET XIII.

    INAMOURED JOVE, commanding, did entreat
    CUPID to wound my Love: which he denied,
    And swore he could not, for she wanted heat;
    And would not love, as he full oft had tried.
      JOVE, in a rage, impatient this to hear,
    Replied with threats, "I'll make you to obey!"
    Whereat the boy did fly away for fear
    To LICIA's eyes, where safe entrenched he lay.
      Then JOVE, he scorned; and dared him to his face:
    For now more safe than in the heavens he dwelled;
    Nor could JOVE's wrath do wrong to such a place,
    Where Grace and Honour have their kingdom held.
      Thus, in the pride and beauty of her eyes,
      The silly boy, the greatest god defies.


 SONNET XIV.

    MY Love lay sleeping where birds music made,
    Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light:
    The heat was great; but greater was the shade
    Which her defended from his burning sight.
      This CUPID saw, and came a kiss to take;
    Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath.
    She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake.
    Seeing 'twas LOVE, which she did think was DEATH,
      She cut his wings, and causèd him to stay;
    Making a vow, he should not thence depart
    Unless to her, the wanton boy could pay
    The truest, kindest, and most loving heart.
      His feathers still She usèd for a fan;
      Till, by exchange, my heart his feathers wan.


 SONNET XV.

    I STOOD amazed, and saw my LICIA shine
    Fairer than PHŒBUS in his brightest pride;
    Set forth in colours by a hand divine,
    Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide.
      It was a picture that I could descry,
    Yet made with art so as it seemed to live;
    Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye:
    Whereof my senses could no reason give.
      With that the Painter bid me not to muse,
    "Her eyes are shut; but I deserve no blame:
    For if she saw, in faith, it could not choose
    But that the work had wholly been aflame."
      Then burn me, Sweet, with brightness of your eyes;
      That, Phœnix-like, from thence I may arise.


 SONNET XVI.

    "GRANT, fairest kind, a kiss unto thy friend!"
    A blush replied; and yet a kiss I had.
    It is not heaven that can such nectar send;
    Whereat my senses, all amazed, were glad.
      This done, She fled as one that was afraid;
    And I desired to kiss, by kissing more.
    My Love, she frowned; and I my kissing stayed:
    Yet wished to kiss her as I did before.
      Then as the vine, the propping elm doth clasp,
    Loth to depart, till both together die;
    So fold me, Sweet; until my latest gasp!
    That in thy arms, to death I kissed, may lie.
      Thus whilst I live, for kisses I must call:
      Still kiss me, Sweet, or kiss me not at all!


 SONNET XVII.

    AS are the sands, fair LICIA, on the shore;
    Or  flowers, garlands of the Spring;
    Or as the frosts not seen nor felt before;
    Or as the fruits that Autumn forth doth bring;
      As twinkling stars, the tinsel of the night;
    Or as the fish that gallop in the seas;
    As airs, each part that still escapes our sight:
    So are my Sighs, controllers of my ease.
      Yet these are such as needs must have an end,
    For things finite, none else hath Nature done:
    Only the sighs which from my heart I send
    Will never cease, but where they first began.
      Accept them, Sweet, as incense due to thee!
      For you immortal made them so to be.


 SONNET XVIII.

    I SWEAR, fair LICIA, still for to be thine;
    By heart, by eyes, by what I hold most dear!
    Thou checkedst mine oath, and said, "These were not mine;
    And that I had no right by them to swear."
      Then by my sighs, my passions, and my tears,
    My vows, my prayers, my sorrow, and my love,
    My grief, my joy, my hope, and hopeless fears
    My heart is thine, and never shall remove!
      These are not thine, though sent unto thy view;
    All else I grant, by right they are thine own.
    Let these suffice, that what I swear is true;
    And more than this, if that it could be known.
      So shall all these, though troubles, ease my grief,
      If that they serve to work in thee belief.


 SONNET XIX.

    THAT time, fair LICIA, when I stole a kiss
    From off those lips where CUPID lovely laid,
    I quaked for cold: and found the cause was this:
    My Life which loved, for love behind me stayed.
      I sent my Heart, my Life for to recall;
    But that was held, not able to return:
    And both detained, as captives were in thrall,
    And judged by her, that both by sighs should burn.
      Fair, burn them both! for that they were so bold;
    But let the altar be within thy heart!
    And I shall live, because my life you hold;
    You that give life to every living part.
      A flame I took when as I stole the kiss:
      Take you my life! yet can I live with this.


 SONNET XX.

    FIRST did I fear, when first my love began;
    Possessed in fits by watchful jealousy,
    I sought to keep what I by favour wan,
    And brooked no partner in my love to be.
      But tyrant Sickness fed upon my Love,
    And spread his ensigns dyed with colour white;
    Then was Suspicion glad for to remove;
    And loving much did fear to lose her quite.
      Erect, fair Sweet, the colours thou didst wear!
    Dislodge thy griefs, the short'ners of content!
    For now of life, not love, is all my fear:
    Lest life and love be both together spent.
      Live but, fair Love, and banish thy disease!
      And love, kind Heart, both when, and whom, thou please!


 SONNET XXI.

    LICIA, my Love, was sitting in a grove;
    Tuning her smiles unto the chirping songs:
    But straight she spied where two together strove,
    Each one complaining of the other's wrongs.
      CUPID did cry, lamenting of the harm,
    "JOVE's Messenger, thou wrong'st me too too far!
    Use thou thy rod! rely upon thy charm!
    Think not by speech, my force thou can'st debar!"
      "A rod, sir boy, were fitter for a child!
    My weapons oft, and tongue, and mind you took:
    And in my wrong, at my distress thou smiled;
    And scorn to grace me with a loving look."
      Speak you, Sweet Love, for you did all the wrong!
      That broke his arrows, and did bind his tongue.


 SONNET XXII.

    "I MIGHT have died before my life began;
    When as my father, for his country's good,
    The Persians' favour and the Sophy wan:
    But yet with danger of his dearest blood."
      Thy father, Sweet, whom danger did beset,
    Escapèd all: and for no other end
    But only this, that you he might beget:
    Whom heavens decreed into the world to send.
      Then, father, thank thy daughter for thy life!
    And Neptune praise, that yielded so to thee,
    To calm the tempest, when the storms were rife;
    And that thy daughter should a VENUS be.
      I call thee VENUS, Sweet! but be not wroth;
      Thou art more chaste, yet seas did favour both.


 SONNET XXIII.

    MY Love was masked, and armèd with a fan;
    To see the sun so careless of his light:
    Which stood and gazed; and gazing, waxèd wan
    To see a star, himself that was more bright.
      Some did surmise She hid her from the sun;
    Of whom, in pride, She scorned for to be kissed:
    And feared the harm by him to others done.
    But these the reason of this wonder missed;
      Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bare,
    In greatest pride presume to take a kiss:
    But she, more kind, did show she had more care
    Than with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss.
      Unmask you, Sweet, and spare not! dim the sun!
      Your light's enough, although that his were done.


 SONNET XXIV.

    WHEN as my Love lay sickly in her bed,
    Pale Death did post, in hope to have a prey;
    But she so spotless made him, that he fled:
    "Unmeet to die," he cried; and could not stay.
      Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told:
    "All things that are, are subject unto me;
    Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold:
    But let fair LICIA still immortal be!"
      The heavens did grant. A goddess she was made,
    Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change.
    So now she lives, and never more shall fade.
    In earth, a goddess. What can be more strange?
      Then will I hope! A goddess, and so near;
      She cannot choose, my sighs and prayers but hear.


 SONNET XXV.

    SEVEN are the Lights that wander in the skies:
    And at these seven, I wonder in my Love.
    To see the Moon how pale she doth arise;
    Standing amazed, as though she durst not move:
      So is my Sweet, much paler than the snow;
    Constant her looks, those looks that cannot change.
    MERCURY the next, a god sweet-tongued we know;
    But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange.
      The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride;
    And yet my Love is far more fair than he.
    The warlike MARS can wieldless weapons guide;
    But yet that god is far more weak than She.
      The lovely VENUS seemeth to be fair;
    But at her best, my Love is far more bright.
    SATURN, for age, with groans doth dim the air;
    Whereas my Love, with smiles doth give it light.
      Gaze at her brows, where heaven engrafted is;
      Then sigh, and swear, There is no heaven but this.


 SONNET XXVI.

    I LIVE, sweet Love, where as the gentle wind
    Murmurs with sport, in midst of thickest boughs;
    Where loving woodbine doth the harbour bind,
    And chirping birds do echo forth my vows;
      Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine,
    And sweetest flowers enamelled have the ground;
    Where Muses dwell: and yet hereat repine
    That on the earth so rare a place was found.
      But winds delight: I wish to be content.
    I praise the woodbine: but I take no joy.
    I moan the birds that music thus have spent.
    As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy.
      Live thou, fair LICIA, in this place alone:
      Then shall I joy, though all of these were gone.


 SONNET XXVII.

    THE crystal streams, wherein my Love did swim,
    Melted in tears, as partners of my woe;
    Her shine was such as did the fountain dim,
    The pearl-like fountain, whiter than the snow.
      Then, like perfume resolvèd with a heat,
    The fountain smoked, as if it thought to burn.
    A wonder strange to see the cold so great,
    And yet the fountain into smoke to turn.
      I searched the cause, and found it to be this:
    She touched the water, and it burnt with love.
    Now, by her means, it purchased hath that bliss
    Which all diseases quickly can remove.
      Then if, by you, these streams thus blessèd be:
      Sweet, grant me love; and be not worse to me!


 SONNET XXVIII.

    IN time the strong and stately turrets fall.
    In time the rose, and silver lilies die.
    In time the monarchs captive are and thrall.
    In time the sea and rivers are made dry.
      The hardest flint in time doth melt asunder.
    Still living fame, in time doth fade away.
    The mountains proud, we see in time come under:
    And earth, for aye, we see in time decay.
      The sun in time forgets for to retire
    From out the East, where he was wont to rise.
    The basest thoughts, we see in time aspire.
    And greedy minds, in time do wealth despise.
      Thus all, sweet Fair, in time must have an end:
      Except thy beauty, virtues, and thy friend.


 SONNET XXIX.

    WHEN as my LICIA sailèd in the seas,
    Viewing with pride, god NEPTUNE's stately crown,
    A calm she made, and brought the merchant ease;
    The storm she stayed, and checked him with a frown.
      Love at the stern sat smiling, and did sing
    To see how seas had learned for to obey;
    And balls of fire into the waves did fling.
    And still the boy, full wanton, thus did say:
      "Both poles we burnt, whereon the world doth turn;
    The round of heaven from earth unto the skies:
    And now the seas, we both intend to burn;
    I with my bow, and LICIA with her eyes."
      Then since thy force, heavens, earth, nor seas can move;
      I conquered, yield: and do confess I love.


 SONNET XXX.

    WHEN as her lute is tunèd to her voice,
    The air grows proud for honour of that sound;
    And rocks do leap, to shew how they rejoice
    That in the earth such music should be found.
      When as her hair (more worth, more pale, than gold)
    Like silver thread lies wafting in the air;
    DIANA-like she looks, but yet more bold:
    Cruel in chase, more chaste, and yet more fair.
      When as she smiles, the cloud for envy breaks;
    She JOVE in pride encounters with a check:
    The sun doth shine for joy when as she speaks,
    Thus heaven and earth do homage at her beck.
      Yet all these graces, blots; not graces, are:
      If you, my Love, of love do take no care.


 SONNET XXXI.

    YEARS, months, days, hours, in sighs I sadly spend.
    I black the night, wherein I sleepless toss.
    I love my griefs, yet wish them at an end.
    Thus time's expense increaseth but my loss.
      I musing stand, and wonder at my Love;
    That in so fair, should be a heart of steel.
    And then I think, my fancy to remove:
    But then more painful I my passions feel.
      Thus must I love, sweet Fair, until I die;
    And your unkindness doth my love increase:
    I conquered am, I cannot it deny.
    My life must end; yet shall my love not cease.
      Then heavens, make LICIA fair most kind to me;
      Or with my life, my love may finished be!


 SONNET XXXII.

    I WROTE my sighs, and sent them to my Love.
    I praised that Fair, that none enough could praise:
    But plaints, nor praises, could fair LICIA move.
    Above my reach, she did her virtues raise.
      And thus replied, "False scrawl, untrue thou art!
    To feign those sighs that nowhere can be found.
    For half those praises came not from his heart;
    Whose faith and love, as yet, was never found.
      "Thy master's life, false scrawl, shall be thy doom!
    Because he burns, I judge thee to the flame!
    Both your attempts deserve no better room."
    Thus, at her word, we ashes both became.
      Believe me, Fair, and let my paper live!
      Or be not fair, and so me freedom give.


 SONNET XXXIII.

    PALE are my looks, forsaken of my life:
    Cinders, my bones; consumèd with thy flame.
    Floods are my tears, to end this burning strife;
    And yet I sigh, for to increase the same.
      I mourn alone, because alone I burn:
    Who doubts of this, then let him learn to love!
    Her looks, cold ice into a flame can turn;
    As I distressèd in myself do prove.
      Respect, fair LICIA, what my torments are!
    Count but the tithe both of my sighs and tears!
    See how my love doth still increase my care!
    And care's increase, my life to nothing wears.
      Send but a sigh, my flame for to increase:
      Or lend a tear, and cause it so to cease.


 SONNET XXXIV.

    WHEN as I wish, fair LICIA, for a kiss
    From those sweet lips, where rose and lilies strive;
    Straight do mine Eyes repine at such a bliss,
    And seek my Lips thereof for to deprive.
      When as I seek to glut mine Eyes by sight;
    My Lips repine, and call mine Eyes away.
    Thus both contend to have each other's right;
    And both conspire to work my full decay.
      O force admired, of Beauty in her pride;
    In whose each part such strange effects there be,
    That all my forces in themselves divide,
    And make my senses plainly disagree.
      If _all_ were mine, this envy would be gone:
      Then grant me _all_, fair Sweet; or grant me none!


 SONNET XXXV.

    HEAR how my Sighs are echoed by the wind!
    See how my Tears are pitied by the rain!
    Feel what a Flame possessèd hath my mind!
    Taste but the Grief which I possess in vain!
      Then if my Sighs, the blustering wind surpass;
    And wat'ry Tears, the drops of rain exceed;
    And if no Flame like mine nor is, nor was;
    Nor Grief like that whereon my soul doth feed:
      Relent, fair LICIA! when my Sighs do blow:
    Yield at my Tears! that flintlike drops consume:
    Accept the Flame! that doth my incense show:
    Allow the Grief! that is my heart's perfume:
      Thus Sighs, and Tears, Flame, Grief, shall plead for me;
      So shall I pray, and you a goddess be.


 SONNET XXXVI.

    I SPEAK, fair LICIA, what my torments be;
    But then my speech too partial do I find:
    For hardly words can with those thoughts agree:
    Those thoughts that swarm in such a troubled mind.
      Then do I vow my tongue shall never speak,
    Nor tell my grief that in my heart doth lie:
    But, cannon-like, I, then surcharged, do break.
    And so my silence worse than speech I try.
      Thus speech, or none, they both do breed my care:
    I live dismayed and kill my heart with grief.
    In all respects my case alike doth fare.
    To him that wants; and dares not ask relief.
      Then you, fair LICIA, Sovereign of my heart,
      Read to yourself my anguish and my smart!


 SONNET XXXVII.

    SWEET, I protest, and seal it with an oath,
    I never saw that so my thoughts did please:
    And yet content, displeased I see them wroth
    To love so much, and cannot have their ease.
      I told my thoughts, "My Sovereign made a pause:
    Disposed to grant, but willing to delay."
    They then repined, for that they knew no cause;
    And swore they wished She flatly would say "Nay."
      Thus hath my love, my thoughts with treason filled;
    And 'gainst my Sovereign taught them to repine:
    So thus my treason, all my thoughts hath killed;
    And made fair LICIA say, She is not mine.
      But thoughts too rash, my heart doth now repent:
      And, as you please, they swear they are content.


 SONNET XXXVIII.

    FAIR matchless Nymph, respect but what I crave?
    My thoughts are true, and honour is my love.
    I fainting die, whom yet a smile might save.
    You gave the wound, and can the hurt remove.
      Those eyes, like stars that twinkle in the night;
    And cheeks, like rubies pale in lilies dyed;
    Those ebon [_ivory_] hands that darting have such might:
    That in my soul, my love and life divide.
      Accept the Passions of a man possesst!
    Let love be loved, and grant me leave to live!
    Disperse those clouds that darkened have my rest;
    And let your heaven, a sun-like smile but give!
      Then shall I praise that heaven for such a sun;
      That saved my life, when as my grief begun.


 SONNET XXXIX.

    MY grief began, fair Saint, when first I saw
    Love, in those eyes, sit ruling with disdain;
    Whose sweet commands did keep a world in awe:
    And caused them serve, your favour to obtain.
      I stood as one enchanted with a frown;
    Yet smiled to see all creatures serve those eyes:
    Where each with sighs paid tribute to that crown;
    And thought them gracèd by your dumb replies.
      But I, ambitious, could not be content
    Till that my service, more than sighs made known;
    And for that end, my heart to you I sent,
    To say and swear that, Fair! it is your own.
      Then greater graces, LICIA, do impart!
      Not dumb replies, unto a speaking heart.


 SONNET XL.

  _A Sonnet made upon the Two Twins, daughters of the
 Lady MOLLINEUX; both passing like, and exceeding[ly] fair._

    POETS did feign that heavens a VENUS had;
    Matchless herself, and CUPID was her son.
    Men sued to these, and of their smiles were glad;
    By whom so many famous were undone.
      Now CUPID mourns that he hath lost his might,
    And that these Two so comely are to see;
    And VENUS frowns, because they have her right:
    Yet both so like that both shall blameless be.
      With heaven's Two Twins for godhead these may strive;
    And rule a World with least part of a frown:
    Fairer than these Two Twins are not alive;
    Both conquering Queens, and both deserve a Crown.
      My thoughts presage, which time to come shall try,
      That thousands conquered, for their love shall die.


 SONNET XLI.

    IF, aged CHARON, when my life shall end,
    I pass thy ferry and my waftage pay,
    Thy oars shall fail thy boat, and mast shall rend;
    And through the deep shall be a dry footway.
      For why? My heart with sighs doth breathe such flame
    That air and water both incensèd be:
    The boundless ocean from whose mouth they came
    (For from my heat not heaven itself is free!).
      Then since to me my loss can be no gain;
    Avoid thy harm, and fly what I foretell!
    Make thou my Love with me for to be slain;
    That I with her, and both with thee, may dwell.
      Thy fact thus, CHARON, both of us shall bless:
      Thou save thy boat, and I my Love possess.


 SONNET XLII.

    FOR if alone thou think to waft my Love,
    Her cold is such as can the sea command;
    And frozen ice shall let [_hinder_] thy boat to move.
    Nor can thy forces row it from the land.
      But if thou, friendly, both at once shall take;
    Thyself mayest rest! For why? My sighs will blow.
    Our cold and heat so sweet a thaw shall make
    As that thy boat, without thy help, shall row.
      Then will I sit and glut me on those eyes
    Wherewith my life, my eyes could never fill.
    Thus from thy boat that comfort shall arise,
    The want whereof my life and hope did kill.
      Together placed, so thou her scorn shalt cross:
      Where if we part, thy boat must suffer loss.


 SONNET XLIII.

    ARE those two stars, her eyes, my life's light, gone?
    By which my soul was freeèd from all dark:
    And am I left distressed to live alone,
    Where none my tears and mournful tale shall mark?
      Ah, Sun! why shine thy looks, thy looks like gold;
    When, horseman brave, thou risest in the East?
    Ah, CYNTHIA pale, to whom my griefs I told!
    Why do you both rejoice both man and beast?
      And I alone, alone that dark possess
    By LICIA's absence, brighter than the Sun:
    Whose smiling light did ease my sad distress,
    And broke the clouds when tears like rain begun.
      Heavens grant that light, and so me waking keep:
      Or shut my eyes, and rock me fast asleep!


 SONNET XLIV.

    CRUEL fair Love! I justly do complain
    Of too much rigour, and thy heart unkind;
    That, for mine eyes, thou hast my body slain:
    And would not grant that I should favour find.
      I looked, fair Love! and you my Love looked fair.
    I sighed for love, and you for sport did smile.
    Your smiles were such as did perfume the air;
    And this perfumèd, did my heart beguile.
      Thus I confess the fault was in mine eyes,
    Begun with sighs, and endèd with a flame.
    I, for your love, did all the world despise;
    And in these Poems honoured have your name.
      Then let your love so with my fault dispense,
      That all my parts feel not mine eyes' offence.


 SONNET XLV.

    THERE shone a Comet, and it was full West.
    My thought presagèd what it did portend:
    I found it threatened, to my heart unrest;
    And might, in time, my joys and comfort end.
      I further sought, and found it was a Sun;
    Which day, nor night, did never use to set.
    It constant stood, when heavens did restless run;
    And did their virtues and their forces let.
      The World did muse, and wonder what it meant:
    A Sun to shine, and in the West to rise.
    To search the truth, I strength and spirits spent.
    At length I found it was my LICIA's eyes.
      Now, never after, soul shall live in dark.
      That hath the hap, this western Sun to mark.


 SONNET XLVI.

    IF he be dead in whom no heart remains,
    Or lifeless be in whom no life is found;
    If he do pine, that never comfort gains;
    And be distressed that hath his deadly wound:
      Then must I die, whose heart elsewhere is clad;
    And lifeless pass the greedy worms to feed:
    Then must I pine, that never comfort had;
    And be distressed, whose wound with tears doth bleed.
      Which if I do, why do I not wax cold?
    Why rest I not like one that wants a heart?
    Why move I still like him that life doth hold;
    And sense enjoy both of my joy and smart?
      Like NIOBE Queen, which, made a stone, did weep:
      LICIA my heart, dead and alive, doth keep.


 SONNET XLVII.

    LIKE MEMNON's rock, touched with the rising sun,
    Which yields a sound, and echoes forth a voice:
    But when it's drowned in western seas is dumb;
    And drowsy-like, leaves off to make a noise.
      So I, my Love, enlightened with your shine,
    A Poet's skill within my soul I shroud;
    Not rude, like that which finer wits decline;
    But such as Muses, to the best allowed.
      But when your figure and your shape is gone;
    I speechless am, like as I was before:
    Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan;
    And blurred with tears, by falling in such store.
      Then muse not, LICIA, if my Muse be slack:
      For when I wrote, I did thy beauty lack.


 SONNET XLVIII.

    I SAW, sweet LICIA, when the Spider ran
    Within your house, to weave a worthless web;
    You present were, and feared her with your fan:
    So that, amazèd, speedily she fled.
      She, in your house, such sweet perfumes did smell;
    And heard the Muses with their notes refined:
    Thus, filled with envy, could no longer dwell;
    But straight returned, and at your house repined.
      "Then tell me, Spider, why of late I saw
    Thee lose thy poison, and thy bowels gone?
    Did these enchant and keep thy limbs in awe,
    And made thy forces to be small or none?
      No, no! Thou didst, by chance, my LICIA see;
      Who, for her look, MINERVA seemed to be."


 SONNET XLIX.

    IF that I die, fair LICIA, with disdain;
    Or heartless live, surprisèd with thy wrong:
    The heavens and earth shall accent both my pain,
    And curse the time so cruel and so long.
      If you be kind, my Queen, as you are fair;
    And aid my thoughts that still for conquest strive:
    Then will I sing, and never more despair,
    And praise your kindness whilst I am alive.
      Till then I pay the tribute of my tears,
    To move thy mercy and thy constant truth.
    Respect, fair Love, how these with sorrow wear
    The truest heart; unless it find some ruth.
      Then grace me, Sweet, and with thy favour raise me;
      So shall I live, and all the World shall praise thee.


 SONNET L.

    A' LICIA sigh! and say, Thou art my own.
    Nay, Be my own! as you full oft have said.
    So shall your truth unto the world be known:
    And I, resolved; where now I am afraid.
      And if my tongue eternize can your praise,
    Or silly speech increase your worthy fame;
    If aught I can, to heaven your worth can raise,
    The Age to come shall wonder at the same.
      In this respect, your love, sweet Love, I told;
    My faith and truth I vowed should be for ever.
    You were the cause, if that I were too bold;
    Then pardon this my fault, or love me never
      But if you frown, I wish that none believe me:
      For, slain with sighs, I'll die before I'll grieve thee.


 SONNET LI.

    WHEN first the Sun, whom all my senses serve,
    Began to shine upon this earthly round;
    The heavens for her, all graces did reserve;
    That, PANDOR'-like, with all she might abound.
      APOLLO placed his brightness in her eyes,
    His skill presaging, and his music sweet.
    MARS gave his force. All force she now defies.
    VENUS, her smiles; wherewith she MARS did meet
      Python, a voice. DIANA made her chaste.
    CERES gave plenty. CUPID lent his bow;
    THETIS, her feet. There PALLAS wisdom placed.
    With these, she, Queen-like, kept a World in awe
      Yet all these honours deemèd are but pelf:
      For she is much more worthy, of herself.


 SONNET LII.

    O SUGARED talk! wherewith my thoughts do live.
    O brows! Love's trophy, and my senses' shrine.
    O charming smiles! that death or life can give.
    O heavenly kisses! from a mouth divine.
      O wreaths! too strong, and trammels made of hair!
    O pearls! enclosèd in an ebon [_ivory_] pale.
    O rose and lilies! in a field most fair,
    Where modest white doth make the red seem pale.
      O voice! whose accents live within my heart.
    O heavenly hand! that more than ATLAS holds.
    O sighs perfumed! that can release my smart.
    O happy they! whom in her arms she folds.
      Now if you ask, Where dwelleth all this bliss?
      Seek out my Love! and she will tell you this.




 _An Ode._


    LOVE, I repent me that I thought
    My sighs and languish dearly bought:
    For sighs and languish both did prove
    That he that languished sighed for love.
    Cruel rigour, foe to State,
    Looks disdainful, fraught with hate,
    I did blame: but had no cause
    (Love hath eyes, but hath no laws).
        She was sad, and could not choose
    To see me sigh, and sit and muse.
    We both did love, and both did doubt [_fear_]
    Lest any should our love find out.
    Our hearts did speak by sighs most hidden;
    This means was left: all else forbidden.
        I did frown, her love to try
    She did sigh, and straight did cry.
    Both of us did signs believe
    Yet either grievèd friend to grieve.
    I did look, and then did smile:
    She left sighing all that while.
    Both were glad to see that change;
    Things in love that are not strange.
        Suspicion, foolish foe to Reason,
    Caused me seek to find some treason
    I did court another Dame.
    (False in love, it is a shame!)

    She was sorry this to view,
    Thinking faith was proved untrue.
        Then she swore, She would not love
    One, whom false She once did prove.
        I did vow I never meant
    From promise made, for to relent.
        The more I said, the worse she thought:
    My oaths and vows were deemed as nought.
    "False!" She said, "how can it be,
    To court another; yet love me?
    Crowns and Love no partners brook:
    If she be liked, I am forsook!
    Farewell, False! and love her still!
    Your chance was good, but mine was ill.
    No harm to you: but this I crave,
    That your new Love may you deceive!
    And jest with you, as you have done,
    For light's the love that's quickly won."
        "Kind and fair Sweet, once believe me!
    Jest I did; but not to grieve thee.
    Court I did, but did not love.
    Words, and sighs, and what I spent
    In show to her; to you were meant.
    Fond [_foolish_] I was, your love to cross
    (Jesting love oft brings this loss).
    Forget this fault! and love your friend,
    Which vows his truth unto the end!"
        "Content," She said, "if this you keep."
        Thus both did kiss, and both did weep.
    For women long they cannot chide:
    As I, by proof, in this have tried.




 _A Dialogue betwixt two Sea Nymphs,
 DORIS and GALATEA, concerning
 POLYPHEMUS._

 Briefly translated out of LUCIAN.

 [See pages 125-128.]


      THE Sea Nymphs late did play them on the shore,
    And smiled to see such sport was new begun:
    A strife in love, the like not heard before;
    Two Nymphs contend, Which had the conquest won?
      DORIS the fair, with GALATE did chide.
      She liked her choice, and to her taunts replied.

 DORIS.

      Thy Love, fair Nymph! that courts thee on this plain,
    As shepherds say, and all the World can tell,
      Is that foul rude Sicilian CYCLOP-swain.
      A shame, sweet Nymph, that he with thee should mell [_mix_]!

 GALATEA.

      Smile not, fair DORIS! though he foul do seem.
    Let pass thy words that savour of disgrace!
    He's worth my love, and so I him esteem.
    Renowned by birth, and comes of NEPTUNE's race.
      NEPTUNE, that doth the glassy ocean tame;
      NEPTUNE, by birth from mighty JOVE which came.

 DORIS.

    I grant an honour to be NEPTUNE's child;
    A grace to be so near with JOVE allied:
    But yet, sweet Nymph! with this be not beguiled;
    Where Nature's graces are by looks descried.
    So foul, so rough, so ugly-like a Clown;
    And worse than this, a Monster with one eye.
      Foul is not gracèd, though it wear a Crown!
      But fair is Beauty. None can that deny.

 GALATEA.

      Nor is he foul, or shapeless, as you say
    Or worse: for that he clownish seems to be.
    Rough, Saytr-like, the better he will play:
    And manly looks the fitter are for me.
    His frowning smiles are gracèd by his beard:
    His eye-light, sun-like, shrouded is in one.
      This me contents; and others makes afeard.
      He sees enough, and therefore wanteth none. With one eye.


 DORIS.

      Nay, then I see, sweet Nymph: thou art in love;
    And loving, doat'st; and doating, dost commend
      Foul to be Fair. This oft do Lovers prove.
      I wish him fairer, or thy love an end!


 GALATEA.

      DORIS, I love not: yet I hardly bear
    Disgraceful terms, which you have spoke in scorn.
    You are not loved: and that's the cause I fear.
    For why, my Love of JOVE himself was born.
    Feeding his sheep of late, amidst this plain.
    When as we Nymphs did sport us on the shore:
    He scorned you all, my love for to obtain.
    That grieved your hearts. I knew as much before.
      Nay, smile not Nymphs! The truth I only tell.
      For few can brook that others should excel.

 DORIS.

      Should I envy that Blind did you that spite;
    Or that your shape doth please so foul a Groom?
    The Shepherd thought of milk. You looked so white.
    The Clown did err, and foolish was his doom.
      Your look was pale, and so his stomach fed:
      But far from fair, where white doth want his red.

 GALATEA.

      Though pale my look; yet he my love did crave.
    And lovely You, unliked, unloved, I view.
    It's better far, one base, than none, to have.
    Your fair is foul, to whom there's none will sue.
      My Love doth tune his love unto his harp:
      His shape is rude; but yet his wit is sharp.

 DORIS.

      Leave off, sweet Nymph! to grace a worthless Clown.
    He itched with love; and then did sing, or say.
    The noise was such as all the Nymphs did frown,
    And well suspected that some ass did bray.
    The woods did chide, to hear this ugly sound:
    The prating ECHO scorned for to repeat.
    This grisly voice did fear the hollow ground,
    Whilst Art-less fingers did his harp-strings beat.

    Two bear whelps in his arms this Monster bore:
    With these new puppies did this Wanton play!
    Their skins were rough; but yet your loves were more.
    He fouler was and far more fierce than they.
      I cannot choose, sweet Nymph! to think, but smile,
      That some of us thou fearest, will thee beguile.

 GALATEA.

      Scorn not my Love! until it can be known
    That you have one that's better, of your own.

 DORIS.

      I have no Love: nor, if I had, would boast:
    Yet wooed have been by such as well might speed.
    But him to love, the Shame of all the coast!
    So ugly foul, as yet, I have no need.
      Now thus we learn what foolish love can do?
      To think him fair, that's foul and ugly too.
      To hear this talk I sat behind an oak;
    And marked their words and penned them as they spoke.


 _Ad Lectorem, distichon
 cujusdam de Autore._

 _Lascivi quæres fuerit cur carminis Autor:
 Carmine lascivus, mente pudicus erat._




 _A Lover's Maze_.

 [It will be seen that Three of these Stanzas go together, rhyming in
 their first words: _True, True, New_.--_Sweet, Sweet, Meet_, &c.]

    TRUE are my thoughts:      my thoughts that are untrue.
    Blind are my eyes:         my eyes that are not blind.
    New is my love:            my love that is not new.
    Kind is that Fair:         that Fair that is not kind.
      Thus eyes and thoughts, that fairest Fair, my love;
      Blind and untrue, unkind, unconstant prove.

    True are my thoughts:      because they never flit.
    Untrue my thoughts:        because they me betrayed.
    Blind are my eyes:         because in clouds I sit.
    Not blind my eyes:         because I looks obeyed.
      Thus eyes and thoughts, my dearest Fair, may view
      In sight, in love, nor blind, nor yet untrue.

    New is my love:            because it never dies.
    Old is my love:            because it ever lives.
    Kind is that Fair:         because it hate denies.
    Unkind that Fair:          because no hope it gives.
      Thus new my love, and still that Fair unkind,
      Renews my love; and I no favour find.

    Sweet are my dreams:       my dreams that are not sweet.
    Long are the nights:       the nights that are not long.
    Meet are the pangs:        these pangs that are unmeet.
    Wronged is my heart:       my heart that hath no wrong.
      Thus dreams and night, my heart, my pangs, and all,
      In taste, in length, conspire to work my fall.


    Sweet are my dreams:       because my Love they show.
    Unsweet my dreams:         because but dreams they are.
    Long are the nights:       because no help I know.
    Meet are the nights:       because they end my care.
      Thus dreams and nights, wherein my Love takes sport,
      Are sweet, unsweet; are long, and yet too short.

    Meet are my pangs:         because I was too bold.
    Unmeet my pangs:           because I loved so well.
    Wronged was my heart:      because my grief it told.
    Not wronged. For why?      My grief it could not tell.
      Thus you, my Love, unkindly cause this smart;
      That will not love to ease my pangs and heart.

    Proud is her look:         her look that is not proud.
    Done all my days:          my days that are not done.
    Loud are my sighs:         my sighs that are not loud.
    Begun my death:            my death not yet begun.
      Thus looks and days, and sighs and death, might move
      So kind, so fair, to give consent to love.

    Proud is her look:         because she scorns to see.
    Not proud her look:        for none dare say so much.
    Done are my days:          because they hapless be.
    Not done my days:          because I wish them such.
      Thus looks and days increase this loving strife;
      Not proud, not done, nor dead, nor giving life.

    Loud are my sighs:         because they pierce the sky.
    Not loud my sighs:         because they are not heard.
    My death begun:            because I heartless cry.
    But not begun:             because I am debarred.
      Thus sighs and death my heart no comfort give:
      Both life deny, and both do make me live.


    Bold are her smiles:       her smiles that are not bold.
    Wise are her words;        those words that are not wise.
    Cold are her lips:         those lips that are not cold.
    Ice are those hands:       those hands that are not ice.
      Thus smiles and words, her lips, her hands, and She
      Bold, wise, cold, ice, love's cruel torments, be.

    Bold are her smiles:       because they anger slay.
    Not bold her smiles:       because they blush so oft.
    Wise are her words:        because they wonders say.
    Not wise her words:        because they are not soft.
      Thus smiles and words, so cruel and so bold,
      So blushing wise, my thoughts in prison hold.

    Cold are her lips:         because they breathe no heat.
    Not cold her lips:         because my heart they burn.
    Ice are her hands:         because the snow's so great.
    Not ice her hands:         that all to ashes turn.
      Thus lips and hands, cold ice, my sorrow bred;
      Hands, warm white snow; and lips, cold cherry red.

    Small was her waist:       the waist that was not small.
    Gold was her hair:         the hair that was not gold.
    Tall was her shape:        the shape that was not tall.
    Folding the arms:          the arms that did not fold.
      Thus hair and shape, those folding arms and waist,
      Did make me love; and loving made me waste.

    Small was her waist[13]:    because I could it span.
    Not small her waste:       because she wasted all.
    Gold was her hair:         because a crown it wan.
    Not gold her hair:         because it was more pale.
      Thus smallest waist[14], the greatest waste doth make;
      And finest hair, most fast a lover take.

    Tall was her shape:        because she touched the sky.
    Not tall her shape:        because she comely was.
    Folding her arms:          because she hearts could tie,
    Not folded arms:           because all bands they pass.
      Thus shape, and arms, with love my heart did fly;
      That hers I am, and must be till I die.

    Sad was her joy:           her joy that was not sad.
    Short was her stay:        her stay that was not short.
    Glad was her speech:       her speech that was not glad.
    Sporting those toys:       those toys that were not sport.
      Thus was my heart, with joy, speech, toys, and stay,
      Possessed with love; and so stolen quite away.

    Sad was her joy:           because she did suspect.
    Not sad her joy:           because her joy she had.
    Short was her stay:        because to small effect.
    Long was her stay:         because I was so sad.
      Thus joy and stay both crossed a lover's sport;
      The one was sad, the other too too short.

    Glad was her speech:       because she spake her mind.
    Not glad her speech:       because afraid to speak.
    Sporting her toys:         because my love was kind.
    Not toys in sport:         because my heart they break.
      Thus speech and toys my love began in jest:
      Sweet, yield to love! and make thy servant blest!

    Tread you the Maze, sweet Love, that I have run:
    Mark but the steps, which I imprinted have.
    End but your love, whereas my thoughts begun:
    So shall I joy, and you a Servant have.
      If not, sweet Love, then this my suit deny:
      So shall you live, and so your Servant die.




 _An Elegy._


    DOWN in a bed, and on a bed of down;
    LOVE, She, and I to sleep together lay.
    She, like a wanton, kissed me with a frown,
    "Sleep, sleep!" she said; but meant to steal away.
      I could not choose but kiss, but wake, but smile,
      To see how She thought us two to beguile.

    She feigned a sleep. I waked her with a kiss.
    A kiss to me she gave, to make me sleep.
    "If I did wrong, sweet Love, my fault was this;
    In that I did not you thus waking keep.
      Then kiss me, Sweet! that so I sleep may take;
      Or let me kiss, to keep you still awake!"

    The night drew on, and needs she must be gone.
    She wakèd LOVE, and bid him learn to wait.
    She sighed, She said, to leave me there alone:
    And bid LOVE stay; but practise no deceit.
      LOVE wept for grief, and sighing made great moan:
      And could not sleep, nor stay, if she were gone.

    "Then stay, sweet Love!" A kiss with that I gave.
    She could not stay; but gave my kiss again.
    A kiss was all that I could get or crave:
    And, with a kiss, She bound me to remain.
      "A' LICIA!" still I in my dreams did cry,
      "Come, LICIA, come! or else my heart will die."


 ELEGY II.


    1.
      DISTANCE of place, my Love and me did part;
    Yet both did swear, We never would remove!
    In sign thereof, I bade her take my heart;
    Which did, and doth, and cannot choose but, love.
      Thus did we part, in hope to meet again;
      Where both did vow most constant to remain.

    2.
       A she there was that passed betwixt us both;
    By whom each knew how other's cause did fare:
    For men to trust men in their love are loath.
    Thus had we both of love a Lover's care.
      _Haply he seeks his sorrows to renew,
      That for his love, doth make another sue._

    3.
      By her a kiss, a kiss to me She sent;
    A kiss for price more worth than purest gold.
    She gave it her. To me the kiss was meant.
    A she to kiss: what harm if she were bold?
      Happy those lips, that had so sweet a kiss!
      For heaven itself scarce yields so sweet a bliss.

    4.
      This modest she, blushing for shame of this,
    Or loath to part from that she liked so well,
    Did play false play; and gave me not the kiss:
    Yet my Love's kindness could not choose but tell.
      Then blame me not, that kissing, sighed and swore,
      "I kissed but her, whom you had kissed before!"

    5.
      "Sweet, love me more! and blame me not, sweet Love!
    I kissed those lips: yet, harmless, I do vow:
    Scarce would my lips from off those lips remove;
    For still, methought, sweet Fair, I kissèd you.
      And thus kind love, the sun of all my bliss,
      Was both begun, and ended, in a kiss.


    6.
      "Then send me more; but send them by your friend!
    Kiss none but her! nor her, nor none at all.
    Beware by whom such treasures you do send!
    I must them lose, except I for them call.
      And love me, Dear! and still still kissing be!
      Both like and love but none, sweet Love! but me!


 ELEGY III.


    1.
    IF sad Complaint would shew a Lover's pain;
    Or Tears express the torments of my heart:
    If melting Sighs would ruth and pity gain;
    Or true Laments but ease a Lover's smart:

    2.
    Then should my Plaints the thunder's noise surmount;
    And Tears, like seas, should flow from out my eyes.
    Then Sighs, like air, should far exceed all count;
    And true Laments with sorrow dim the skies.

    3.
    But Plaints and Tears, Laments and Sighs I spend:
    Yet greater torments do my heart destroy.
    I could all these from out my heart still send;
    If, after these, I might my Love enjoy.

    4.
    But heavens conspire; and heavens I must obey:
    That seeking love, I still must want my ease.
    _For greatest joys are tempered with delay:
    Things soon obtained do least of all us please._

    5.
    My thoughts repine, and think the time too long.
    My love impatient wisheth to obtain.
    I blame the heavens, that do me all this wrong:
    To make me loved; and will not ease my pain.

    6.
    No pain like this, to love and not enjoy.
    No grief like this, to mourn and not be heard.
    No time so long as that which breeds annoy.
    No hell like this, to love and be deferred.

    7.
    But heaven shall stand, and earth inconstant fly;
    The sun shall freeze, and ice inconstant burn;
    The mountains flow, and all the earth be dry:
    Ere time shall force my loving thoughts to turn.

    8.
    "Do you resolve, sweet Love! to do the same:
    Say that you do, and seal it with a kiss!
    Then shall our truths [_troths_] the heavens' unkindness blame;
    That cannot hurt, yet shew their spite in this.

    9.
    "The silly Prentice, bound for many years,
    Doth hope that time his service will release;
    The town besieged, that lives in midst of fears,
    Doth hope in time the cruel wars will cease;

    10.
    "The toiling Ploughman sings in hope to reap;
    The tossèd bark expecteth for a shore;
    The boy at school to be at play doth leap,
    And straight forgets the fear he had before:

    11.
    "If those, by hope, do joy in their distress;
    And constant are, in hope to conquer time:
    Then let not hope in us, sweet Friend! be less;
    And cause our love to wither in the prime.

    "Let us conspire, and time will have an end;
    So both of us in time shall have a friend."

 FINIS.

    [Footnote 13: _Spelt_ waste _in the original edition--E.A._]

    [Footnote 14: _Spelt_ waste _in the original edition--E.A._]




  The Rising to the Crown of
  RICHARD the Third.

  Written by himself.


   "THE Stage is set, for Stately matter fit:
   Three Parts are passed, which Prince-like acted were.
   To play the Fourth requires a Kingly wit;
   Else shall my Muse, their Muses not come near.
     Sorrow sit down, and help my Muse to sing:
     For weep he may not, that was called a King.

   "SHORE's Wife, a subject though a Princesse mate,[15]
   Had little cause her fortune to lament:
   Her birth was mean, and yet she lived with State.
   The King was dead before her honour went.
     SHORE's wife might fall, and none can justly wonder
     To see her fall that useth to lie under.

   "ROSAMOND was fair, and far more fair than she:
   Her fall was great, and but a woman's fall.
   Trifles are these. Compare them but with me!
   My fortunes far, were higher than they all.
     I left this land, possessed with civil strife!
     And lost a Crown! mine honour! and my life!

   "ELSTRED I pity, for she was a Queen:
   But for myself, to sigh I sorrow want.
   Her fall was great; but greater falls have been.
   _Some falls they have, that use the Court to haunt._
     A toy did happen, and this Queen dismayed:
     But yet I see not why she was afraid.

   "Fortune and I, for so the match began,
   Two games we played at Tennis for a Crown.
   I played right well, and so the First I wan:
   She scorned the loss, whereat she straight did frown
     We played again: and then I caught my fall.
     England, the Court; and RICHARD was the ball.

   "Nor weep I now, as children that have lost:
   But smile to see the Poets of this Age,
   Like silly boats in shallow rivers tost,
   Losing their pains, and lacking still their wage,
     To write of Women, and of Women's falls;
     Who are too light for to be Fortune's balls.

   "A King I was, and RICHARD was my name;
   Born to a Crown when first my life began.
   My thoughts ambitious, ventured for the same;
   And from my nephews I the Kingdom wan.
     Nor do I think that this my honour stained:
     A Crown I sought, and I a Kingdom gained.

   "Time-tyrant Fate did fit me for a Crown.
   My father's fall did teach me to aspire.
   He meant, by force, his brother to put down;
   That so himself might hap to rise the higher.
     And what he lost by fortune, I have won:
     A Duke, the father: yet a King, the son.

   "My father, RICHARD Duke of YORK was called:
   Three sons he had, all matchless at that time.
   I, RICHARD, youngest to them both was thralled;
   Yet two of us unto the Crown did climb.
     EDWARD, and I, this realm as Kings did hold:
     But GEORGE of CLARENCE could not, though he would.

   "Sad Muse! set down, in terms not heard before,
   My sable fortune, and my mournful tale.
   Say what thou canst! and wish thou couldst say more!
   My bliss was great; but greater was my bale.
     I rose with speed: and so did fall as fast.
     Great was my glory; but it would not last.

   "My brother GEORGE did plot for to be King.
   Sparks of ambition did possess us all.
   His thoughts were wise; but did not profit bring.
   I feared his Rising, and did make him fall.
     My reaching brain did doubt what might ensue.
     I scorned his life, and so he found it true.

   "My brother GEORGE, men say, was slain by me
   A brother's part to give his brother wine;
   And for a Crown, I would his butcher be!
   (From [?] Crowns with blood, the brighter they will shine)
     To gain a kingdom, still it me behoved
     That all my lets [_hindrances_] full soundly were removed.

   "HENRY the Sixth, deprivèd of his Crown,
   Fame doth report, I put him to the death.
   Thus Fortune smiled, though after she did frown
   A dagger's stab, men say, did stop his breath.
     I careless was, both how, or who, were slain;
     So that thereby a Kingdom I could gain.

   "Clusters of grapes full ripened with the heat,
   Nor smaller timber builded on a height,
   Fall not so fast as persons that are great:
   Losing their honours, bruisèd with their weight.
     But fewer means, the faster I did rise!
     And to be King, I Fortune did despise.

   "My thoughts, ambitious spread, began to fly:
   And I, a Crown did follow with full wing.
   My hope was small; but yet I meant to try.
   I had no right: yet longed to be a King.
     Fear, or Suspect, amazed me not at all:
     If I _were_ crossed, the worst was but to fall.

   "The lion fierce, despoilèd of his prey,
   Runs not with speed so fast as did my thought.
   My doubtful mind forbade me long to stay:
   For why, a Kingdom was the thing I sought.
     Now was the time when this was to be done;
     Or blame my thoughts, because they it begun.

   "My brother died, and left two sons behind;
   Both under age, unfit to guide the land:
   This right fell out according to my mind;
   For now these two were rulèd with my hand.
     'England's great Lord,' the subjects did me call;
     And I was made Protector over all.

   "But as the wolf defends the harmless sheep:
   Whose bloody mouth can hardly be content
   Until he spoil what he was set to keep;
   And silly [_innocent_] sheep be all to pieces rent.
     So still a Crown did hammer in my head:
     Full of mistrust, till both these two were dead.

   "The elder son with speed to London came;
   And walls forsook where he had lived before.
   London, the place of greatest strength and fame;
   The island's treasure; and the English store.
     For him, Lord RIVERS was appointed guide:
     The King's own uncle by his mother's side.

   "RIVERS was wise; but him I could not brook.
   I well foresaw what harm there might ensue:
   This to prevent, with speed I counsel took;
   And, as I thought, so did I find it true.
     For if that RIVERS should obtain his mind;
     My heart's desire, then hardly could I find.

   RIVERS and GREY, of treason I accused:
   And told the Prince what both they did intend.
   My tale was false, and I the King abused:
   Thus both their lives unjustly did I end.
     The King was young, and greater was the grief
     And, needs, my words did urge him to belief.

   "Not long this past; but hasting to the Queen
   A post was sent to shew what did befall;
   And who the Actors of this fact had been:
   The Lord Protector was the cause of all.
     The Queen amazed, did wonder at this news:
     And scarce did think it; yet she could not choose.

   "Possessed with fear: four daughters and her son,
   She thence conveyed into a sacred place [_sanctuary_].
   Supposing true, the harm but now begun;
   And that I thought to murder all her race.
     She, York's Archbishop did entreat for aid;
     Who in the Abbey not far distant laid.

   "The Bishop came, and mourning found the Queen;
   Who did lament the fortune of her son;
   The realm's distress, the like before not seen;
   Her own misfortune; and the State undone.
     Thus sighed the Queen, and wished her State were less;
     And prayed that heavens would give the King success.

   "'My Lord,' she said, 'my thoughts presage some ill;
   And mournful sorrow seizeth on my heart.
   This sudden news with grief my soul doth fill;
   And I, for fear, do quake in every part.
     In this distress, we cannot hope to live;
     Except this sacred place some safety give.'

   "He then replied, 'Dread Sovereign, do not faint!
   A causeless fear in wisdom do withstand!
   Yield not too soon, with grief to make complaint;
   When no such cause approaching is at hand.
     _For feeble minds, through weakness, coin new fears;
     When stronger hearts, true grief more wisely bear._

   "'And if they crown some other, not your son;
   A thing unlike, yet fear what may befall!
   Then shall the same unto this child be done;
   Whom brother's right, by due, a King shall call:
     But tyrants' force will hardly be so bold;
     During the time the other is in hold.'

   "Then more advised, he told her what he thought.
   She and her son some causes had to fear;
   And England's Seal he therefore with him brought,
   Which by his Place he customed was to bear.
     Thus he resolved to leave the Seal behind,
     Till wiser thoughts straight altered had his mind.

   "The Bishop home returnèd in all haste;
   And sadly sat, suspecting what might fall.
   But then my coming made them all aghast;
   And for the Bishop I did straightway call.
     I knew his deed, and blamed him to his face;
     And for the Seal, another had his Place.

   "Thus tyrant hate possessed me for a Crown:
   My mind, the anvil of a thousand harms.
   I raised my friends: my foes I cast them down.
   This made the subjects flock to me in swarms.
     My will was strong, I made it for a law.
     _For basest minds are rulèd best by awe._

   "I called the Council; and did straight persuade
   From mother's side to fetch the other son.
   My drift was further than they well could wade:
   I gave them reasons why it must be done.
     'The King a playmate wanted for his years;
     And could not well be fitted with his Peers.'

   "The Card'nal went on message to the Queen;
   And used persuasions for her other child.
   He plainly said, Her fear had causeless been;
   Nor need she doubt by me to be beguiled.
     I was Protector, chosen by consent;
     With Council grave, all treason to prevent.

   "'And I protest,' quoth Card'nal, 'on my life!
   (For so indeed the Card'nal did suppose).
   Your son, with safety, shall cut off this strife;
   And you, nor place, nor land, nor son, shall lose.
     Dread Sovereign, grant! and let your son be free:
     If he hath harm; then set the fault on me!'

   "The Queen was moved; and quaking did reply:
   'A mother's love doth breed a mother's fear;
   And loath I am those mischiefs for to try,
   With doubtful hazard of a thing so dear.
     I doubt, my Lord, the nearest of his blood;
     In true intent scarce wisheth any good.

   "'The Laws do make my son his mother's Ward;
   Religion bids I should not slack my care;
   And Nature binds mine own for to regard:
   These, and his health, good Lord, good reasons are
     To make my fear no smaller than it is;
     Whilst fear persuades what harm may come of this.

   "'Yet take my son; and with my son, take all!
   Come, kiss me, son! Thy mother's last farewell!
   Thy years, sweet boy! suspect not what may fall.
   Nor can my tongue for tears thy fortune tell.
     But hardly Crowns, their kindred will discern;
     As you, sweet child! I fear yet long shall learn.

   "'GOD bless thee, son! and I, my son, thee bless!
   Thy mother's comfort, and thy brother's life!
   Nay, weep not, son! GOD send thee good success;
   And safe defend thee from that tyrant's knife!
     Card'nal farewell, be careful of my son!
     For once I vowed, this never to have done.'

   "I and the Council in Star Chamber were:
   To whom the Card'nal did in haste resort,
   Who brought the child, which ended all my fear.
   The mother's care he briefly did report.
     I kissed the child, and took it to my arm;
     Thus none did think I meant it any harm.

   "Then as the wolf, half famished for his prey;
   Or hungry lion, that a lamb had got:
   My thirsty mind, I meant his blood should stay;
   And yet the wisest not perceive my plot.
     To the Tower in haste, I sent him to his brother:
     And there, with speed, I both at once did smother.

   "Now two there were but living, in my way;
   BUCKINGHAM and HASTINGS both, to cross my mind.
   The one was 'headed straight without delay;
   The other, favours did unto me bind.
     To match our children, I did him persuade;
     And Earl of HERTFORD, he himself be made.

   Now as the sea, before the storm doth swell;
   Or fumes arise before we see the flame:
   So whispering bruit began my drifts to tell;
   And _all_ imparted unto babbling Fame.
     I deemed it danger, speech for to despise;
     For, after this, I knew a storm would rise.

   "London's Lord Mayor, I used for my turn;
   And caused him speak, what treason had been done.
   I, by these means, the people's hearts did turn;
   And made them eye me as the Rising Sun.
     Thus whilst I meant the island to bring under:
     The people's heads on news I set to wonder.

   Then, at the Cross, I caused a Doctor preach,
   To tell the subjects what I wished them know.
   The man was cunning, and had skill to teach:
   Out of my brain I made his Sermon flow.
     Thus everywhere I did such notice give,
     As all did cry, 'Heavens, let King RICHARD live!'

   "So did I live, and callèd was a King.
   Friends swarmed so fast as bees unto the hive.
   _Thus basest means, the highest fortunes bring._
   The Crown obtained did cause my thoughts revive.
     I scorned my friends; and those did most despise
     That were the means by which I did arise.

   "Blood and Revenge did hammer in my head.
   Unquiet thoughts did gallop in my brain.
   I had no rest till all my friends were dead;
   Whose help I used, the Kingdom to obtain.
     My dearest friend I thought not safe to trust:
     Nor scarce myself; but that, perforce, I must.

   "Nor speak I now as if I did repent;
   Unless for this a Crown I bought so cheap.
   For meaner things men, wits and lives have spent;
   Which blood have sown, and Crowns could never reap.
     Live RICHARD long! the honour of thy name:
     And scorn all such as do thy fortune blame.

   "Thus have I told, how I a Crown did win;
   Which now torments me that I cannot sleep.
   Where I do end, my sorrow did begin;
   Because I got which long I could not keep.
     My verse is harsh, yet, Reader, do not frown!
     I wore no garland; but a golden Crown.

    [Footnote 15: ? = Prince's mate, or Princess made.--E. A.]

 FINIS.




 TO THE READER.


Courteous Reader, for my own fault, I refer thee to my Preface, but for
the Printer's, I crave pardon. The excuse is just, if thou knew the
cause. I desire thee therefore to correct the greater [faults], thus;
the lesser, of thyself; and to pardon all.

 [The corrections have been embodied in the text. E.A.]




 Sir ROBERT CAREY,
 Lord Warden of the Middle Marches;
 and afterwards Earl of MONMOUTH.


 _Account of the Death of Queen ELIZABETH; and of
 his ride to King JAMES at Edinburgh,
 25th-27th March 1603._

 [_Memoirs_, pp. 135-156; written about 1627,
 but first published by Lord CORK in 1759.]


IN this state was this Middle March when JAMES came in King of
England: and in all the time I continued Officer there, GOD so blessed
me and all the actions I took in hand, that I never failed of any one
enterprise: but they were all effected to my own desire and the good of
that Government. Thus passed I forty-two of my years; [? 1560-1602],
GOD assisting with his blessing and mighty protection.

After that all things were quieted and the Border in safety, towards
the end of five years [1598-1603] that I had been Warden there; having
little to do, I resolved upon a journey to Court, to see my friends and
renew my acquaintance there. I took my journey about the end of the
year [_which, according to the old reckoning, ended on the 24th March:
say then, March 1603_].

When I came to Court [_at Richmond_], I found the Queen ill disposed,
and she kept her inner lodging.

Yet she, hearing of my arrival, sent for me.

I found her in one of her withdrawing chambers, sitting low upon her
cushions. She called me to her.

I kissed her hand, and told her, It was my chiefest happiness to see
her in safety and health, which I wished might long continue.

She took me by the hand, and wrung it hard; and said "No,
ROBIN, I am not well!" and then discoursed with me of her
indisposition, and that her heart had been sad and heavy for ten or
twelve days: and, in her discourse, she fetched not so few as forty or
fifty great sighs.

I was grieved, at the first, to see her in this plight: for, in all my
lifetime before, I never knew her fetch a sigh, but when the Queen of
Scots was beheaded. Then [in 1587], upon my knowledge, she shed many
tears and sighs; manifesting her innocence that she never gave consent
to the death of that Queen.

I used the best words I could to persuade her from this melancholy
humour; but I found, by her, it was too deep rooted in her heart; and
hardly to be removed.

This was upon a Saturday night [? _19th March 1603_]: and she gave
command that the Great Closet should be prepared for her to go to
Chapel the next morning.

The next day, all things being in a readiness; we long expected her
coming.

After eleven o'clock, one of the Grooms [of the Chambers] came out, and
bade make ready for the Private Closet; for she would not go to the
Great.

There we stayed long for her coming: but at last she had cushions laid
for her in the Privy Chamber, hard by the Closet door; and there she
heard service.

       *       *       *       *       *

From that day forwards, she grew worse and worse. She remained upon her
cushions four days and nights, [? _Saturday 19th to Tuesday 22nd March
1603_] at the least. All about her could not persuade her, either to
take any sustenance, or [to] go to bed.

       *       *       *       *       *

I, hearing that neither her Physicians, nor none about her, could
persuade her to take any course for her safety, feared her death would
soon after ensue. I could not but think in what a wretched estate
I should be left: most of my livelihood depending on her life. And
hereupon I bethought myself with what grace and favour I was ever
received by the King of Scots, whensoever I was sent to him. I did
assure myself it was neither unjust, nor unhonest, for me to do for
myself; if GOD, at that time, should call her to his mercy. Hereupon
I wrote to the King of Scots, knowing him to be the right heir to the
Crown of England; and certified him in what state Her Majesty was. I
desired him not to stir from Edinburgh: and if, of that sickness she
should die, I would be the first man that should bring him news of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Queen grew worse and worse, because she would be so: none
about her being able to persuade her to go to bed. [The Earl of
NOTTINGHAM] my Lord Admiral was sent for: who (by reason of my
sister [CATHARINE]'s death, that was his wife) had absented
himself some fortnight from [the] Court.

What by fair means, what by force, he gat her to bed. There was no hope
of her recovery, because she refused all remedies.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Wednesday, the 23rd of March [1603], she grew speechless. That
afternoon, by signs, she called for her [Privy] Council: and by putting
her hand to her head, when the King of Scots was named to succeed her,
they all knew he was the man she desired should reign after her.

About six at night, she made signs for [JOHN WHITGIFT] the
Archbishop, and her Chaplains to come to her. At which time, I went in
with them; and sat upon my knees full of tears to see that heavy sight.

Her Majesty lay upon her back; with one hand in the bed, and the other
without.

The [Arch]bishop kneeled down by her, and examined her first of her
faith: and she so punctually answered all his several questions by
lifting up her eyes, and holding up her hand, as it was a comfort to
all beholders.

Then the good man told her plainly, What she was; and What she was to
come to: and though she had been long a great Queen here upon earth;
yet shortly she was to yield an account of her stewardship to the King
of Kings.

After this, he began to pray: and all that were by did answer him.
After he had continued long in prayer, till the old man's knees were
weary, he blessed her, and meant to rise and leave her.

The Queen made a sign with her hand.

My sister [PHILADELPHIA, Lady] SCROOPE, knowing her
meaning, told the Bishop, The Queen desired he would pray still.

He did so for a long half-hour after; and then thought to have left her.

The second time she made sign to have him continue in prayer.

He did so for half an hour more, with earnest cries to GOD for her
soul's health; which he uttered with that fervency of spirit as the
Queen, to all our sight, much rejoiced thereat: and gave testimony to
us all, of her Christian and comfortable end.

By this time, it grew late; and every one departed: all but her Women
that attended her.

This that I heard with my ears, and did see with my eyes, I thought it
my duty to set down, and to affirm it for a truth upon the faith of a
Christian; because I know there have been many false lies reported of
the end and death of that good Lady.

       *       *       *       *       *

I went to my lodging, and left word with one in the Cofferer's Chamber
to call me, if that night it was thought she would die; and gave the
Porter an angel [_10s. = £2 now_] to let me in at any time, when I
called.

       *       *       *       *       *

Between one and two of the clock on Thursday morning [25th March 1603],
he that I left in the Cofferer's Chamber, brought me word, "The Queen
was dead."

I rose, and made all haste to the Gate [of Richmond Palace], to get in.

There I was answered, I could not enter: the Lords of the [Privy]
Council having been with him [_the Porter_] and commanded him that none
should go in or out, but by Warrant from them.

At the very instant, one of the Council [Sir EDWARD WOTTON,
_afterwards_ Lord WOTTON; see page 526] the Comptroller [of
the Household] asked, Whether I was at the Gate?

I said, "Yes."

He said, If I pleased, he would let me in.

I desired to know how the Queen was.

He answered, "Pretty well."

I bade him "Good Night!"

He replied and said, "Sir, if you will come in; I will give you my word
and credit you shall go out again at your own pleasure."

Upon his word, I entered the Gate, and came up to the Cofferer's
Chamber: where I found all the Ladies weeping bitterly.

       *       *       *       *       *

He [the _Comptroller_] led me from thence to the Privy Chamber; where
all the [Privy] Council was assembled.

There I was caught hold of; and assured I should not go for Scotland
till their pleasures were further known.

I told them, "I came of purpose, to that end."

       *       *       *       *       *

From thence, they all went to [Sir ROBERT CECIL] the
Secretary's Chamber: and, as they went, they gave a special command to
the Porters, that none should go out at the Gates but such servants as
they should send to prepare their coaches and horses for London.

Thus was I left, in the midst of the Court, to think my own thoughts
till they had done counsel. I went to [GEORGE, Lord HUNSDON] my
brother's chamber: who was in bed, having been over-watched many nights
before.

I got him up with all speed; and when the [Privy] Council's men were
going out of the Gate, my brother thrust to the Gate.

The Porter, knowing him to be a Great Officer, let him out. I pressed
after him, and was stayed by the Porter.

My brother said angrily to the Porter, "Let him out, I will answer for
him!" Whereupon I was suffered to pass: which I was not a little glad
of.

I got to horse, and rode to the Knight Marshal's Lodging by Charing
Cross; and there stayed till the Lords [of the Privy Council] came to
Whitehall Garden.

I stayed there till it was nine a clock in the morning; and hearing
that all the Lords were in the Old Orchard at Whitehall, I sent the
[Knight] Marshal to tell them, That I had stayed all that while, to
know their pleasures; and that I would attend them, if they would
command me any service.

They were very glad when they heard I was not gone: and desired the
[Knight] Marshal to send for me; and I should, with all speed, be
despatched for Scotland.

The [Knight] Marshal believed them; and sent Sir ARTHUR SAVAGE
for me.

I made haste to them.

One of the [Privy] Council, [Sir WILLIAM KNOLLYS] my Lord of
[BANBURY] that now is [see page 526], whispered the [Knight]
Marshal in the ear, and told him, If I came; they would stay me, and
send some other in my stead.

The [Knight] Marshal got from them; and met me coming to them, between
the two Gates. He bade me, Be gone! for he had learned, for certain,
that if I came to them, they would betray me.

       *       *       *       *       *

I returned, and took horse between nine and ten a clock; and [by] that
night rode to Doncaster [_162 miles from London; and 235 miles from
Edinburgh_].

The Friday night [the 26th], I came to my own house at Widdrington
[_298 miles from London; and 99 miles from Edinburgh_]; and presently
took order with my Deputies [of the Middle Marches, HENRY WIDDRINGTON
and WILLIAM FENWICK; see page 499] to see the Borders kept in quiet;
which they had much to do: and gave order [that], the next morning, the
King of Scotland should be proclaimed King of England [at Widdrington];
and at Morpeth [_289 miles from London_] and Alnwick [_306 miles from
London_].

Very early, on Saturday [27th March 1603], I took horse [at
Widdrington] for Edinburgh; and came to Norham [_331 miles from London,
8 miles South of Berwick, and 66 miles from Edinburgh_], about twelve
at noon. So that I might well have been with the King at supper time:
but I got a great fall by the way [_i.e. after leaving Norham_]; and my
horse, with one of his heels, gave me a great blow on the head, that
made me shed much blood. It made me so weak, that I was forced to ride
a soft pace after: so that the King was newly gone to bed by the time I
knocked at the gate [of Holyrood House, Edinburgh].

       *       *       *       *       *

I was quickly let in; and carried up to the King's Chamber. I kneeled
by him, and saluted him by his title of "England, Scotland, France, and
Ireland."

He gave me his hand to kiss; and bade me welcome.

After he had long discoursed of the manner of the Queen's sickness, and
of her death; he asked, What letters I had from the [Privy] Council?

I told him, "None": and acquainted him how narrowly I [had] escaped
from them. And yet I brought him a blue ring from a Lady,[16] that I
hoped would give him assurance of the truth that I had reported.

He took it, and looked upon it, and said, "It is enough. I know by
this, you are a true messenger."

Then he committed me to the charge of my Lord HOME; and gave
straight command that I should want nothing.

He sent for his Chirurgions to attend me; and when I kissed his hand,
at my departure, he said to me these gracious words:

"I know you have lost a near kinswoman and a loving Mistress: but take
here my hand, I will be as good a Master to you; and will requite you
this service with honour and reward."

So I left him that night, and went with my Lord HOME to my lodging:
where I had all things fitting for so weary a man as I was. After my
head was dressed, I took leave of my Lord and many others that attended
me; and went to my rest.

The next morning [Sunday, 28th March 1603], by ten a clock, my Lord
HOME was sent to me from the King, to know how I had rested:
and withal said, That His Majesty commanded him to know of me, What it
was that I desired most that he should do for me? [and] bade me, Ask,
and it should be granted.

I desired my Lord to say to His Majesty from me, That I had no reason
to importune him for any suit; for that I had not, as yet, done him
any service: but my humble request to His Majesty was to admit me a
Gentleman of his Bedchamber; and hereafter, I knew, if His Majesty saw
me worthy, I should not want to taste of his bounty.

My Lord returned this answer, That he [_the King_] sent me word back,
"with all his heart, I should have my request."

And the next time I came to Court, which was some four days after
[Thursday, 1st April 1603], at night, I was called into his Bedchamber:
and there, by my Lord [the Duke of LENOX, _afterwards_ Duke]
of RICHMOND, in his presence, I was sworn one of the Gentlemen
of his Bedchamber; and presently I helped to take off his clothes, and
stayed till he was in bed.

After this, there came, daily, Gentlemen and Noblemen from our Court;
and the King set down a fixed day [Tuesday, 5th April 1603] for his
departure towards London.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon the report of the Queen's death, the East Border broke forth into
great unruliness; insomuch as many complaints came to the King thereof.
I was desirous to go to appease them; but I was so weak and ill of my
head, that I was not able to undertake such a journey [_expedition_]:
but I offered that I would send my two Deputies, that should appease
the trouble and make them quiet; which was by them, shortly after,
effected.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now was I to begin a new World: for by the King's coming to the crown,
I was to lose the best part of my living. For [with the death of the
Queen] my Office of Wardenry ceased; and I lost the pay of 40 Horse:
which were not so little, both [of them] as £1,000 per annum.

Most of the Great Ones in Court envied my happiness, when they heard
I was sworn of the King's Bedchamber: and in Scotland I had no
acquaintance. I only relied on GOD and the King. The one never left me:
the other, shortly after his coming to London, deceived my expectation;
and adhered to those that sought my ruin.

[Illustration]

    [Footnote 16: _The account of the blue ring which Lady ELIZABETH
    SPELMAN gave to Lord CORKE was this:_--

    King JAMES kept a constant and private correspondence with several
    persons of the English Court, during many years before Queen
    ELIZABETH died. Among them was [PHILADELPHIA] Lady SCROOPE [see
    page 478], sister of Sir ROBERT CAREY: to whom His Majesty sent,
    by Sir JAMES FULLERTON, a sapphire ring; with positive orders to
    return it to him, by a special messenger, as soon as the Queen was
    actually expired.

    Lady SCROOPE had no opportunity of delivering it to her brother
    Sir ROBERT, whilst he was in the Palace of Richmond; but waiting at
    the window till she saw him at the outside of the Gate [see page
    480], she threw it out to him; and he well knew to what purpose he
    received it.

    S.E.B. [Sir S. E. BRYDGES.] _Memoirs of the Peers of England during
    the reign of JAMES I._, p. 413. Ed. 1802. 8vo.]




  The
  True Narration
  of the
  Entertainment of His Royal Majesty, from
  the time of his departure from
  Edinburgh till his receiving
  at London:
  with all, or the most special, Occurrences.

  TOGETHER WITH

  The names of those Gentlemen whom
  His Majesty honoured with Knighthood.

  AT LONDON.

  Printed by THOMAS CREEDE
  for THOMAS MILLINGTON.

  1603.




 _To the Reader._


AFTER long travail to be informed of every particular, as much as
diligence might prevail in; this small Work of His Majesty's Receiving
and Royal Entertainment is brought forth: which, though it may seem to
have been too long deferred [_This book was entered at Stationers' Hall
on the 9th May 1603, ARBER, Transcript, etc. III., p. 234. It
however contains information up to the 18th of that month, see page
518_]; yet seeing nothing thereof hath been public, no time can be too
late to express so excellent a matter. Wherein the dutiful love of many
noble subjects so manifestly appeared to our dread Lord and Sovereign,
and his royal thankfulness in exchange for that which was indeed but
duty; though so adorned with munificent bounty, that most Houses where
His Highness rested were so furnished by the owners with plenty of
delights and delicates, that there was discerned no negligence; but if
there were any offence, the sin only appeared in excess--as more at
large you shall hereafter perceive; where the truth of everything is
rather pointed at, than stood upon.

All diligence was used to get the names of those Gentlemen that in
sundry places received the honour of Knighthood; and what the Heralds
have in register are duly set down, both for name, time, and place. If
any be omitted; let it please them but to signify their names, and the
House where they received that honour: and there shall be additions put
to this impression; or, at least, which will be by order more fitly,
placed in the next. Many, I am sure, there are not missing: and only in
that point we are somewhat doubtful. The rest is, from His Highness's
departure from Edinburgh [to] his coming to London, so exactly set down
as nothing can be added to it but superfluous words; which we have
strived to avoid.

  Thine,

  T. M.




 _A Narration of the Progress and Entertainment of the King's most
 excellent Majesty, with the Occurrents happening in the same Journey._


THE eternal Majesty, in whose hand are both the mean and mighty of the
earth, pleased to deliver from weakness of body and grief of mind,
ELIZABETH his Hand Maid, our late royal Mistress and gracious
Sovereign: easing her age from the burthen of earthly Kingdoms, and
placing her, as we steadfastly hope, in his heavenly empire; being the
resting place, after death, for all them that believe faithfully in
their life.

Thursday, the 24th of March, some two hours after midnight [_i.e.
25th March 1603_], departed the spirit of that great Princess from
the prison of her weak body; which now sleeps in the Sepulchre of her
grandfather [_i.e. in HENRY VII.'s Chapel in Westminster
Abbey_].

The Council of State and the Nobility (on whom the care of all the
country chiefly depended), immediately assembling together, no doubt
assisted with the Spirit of Truth, considering the infallible right of
our Sovereign Lord, King JAMES, took such order that the news
of the Queen's death should no sooner be spread to deject the hearts
of the people; but, at the instant, they should be comforted with the
Proclaiming of the King.

       *       *       *       *       *

Being hereon determined, Sir ROBERT CAREY took his journey in
post towards Scotland, to signify to the King's Majesty the sad tidings
of his Royal Sister's death; and the joyful hearts of his subjects that
expected no comfort but in, and by, His Majesty's blessed Government.

This noble Gentleman's care was such that he intermitted no time: but,
notwithstanding his sundry shift[s] of horses and some falls that
bruised him very sore, he by the way, proclaimed the King at Morpeth.

And, on Saturday [26th March 1603], coming to Berwick, acquainting his
worthy brother, Sir JOHN CAREY, how all things stood, posted
on to Edinburgh; where he attained that night: having ridden near[ly]
400 miles in less than three days.

       *       *       *       *       *

But before we come there, you shall understand what was instantly done
at Berwick by Sir JOHN CAREY, upon the news brought by Sir
ROBERT his brother. Who, like a worthy soldier and politic
Statesman, considering it was a town of great import and a place of
war [_Berwick was the Portsmouth of England at this time, and bridled
Scotland_]; he caused all the garrison to be summoned together, as also
the Mayor, Aldermen, and Burgesses: in whose presence he made a short
and pithy Oration, including Her Majesty's death, and signifying the
intent of the State for submitting to their lawful Lord.

And presently, with great contentment of all parties, His Majesty was
proclaimed King of England, Scotland, France, etc. on Saturday, in the
afternoon, being the 26th of March [1603], about three of the clock.
Where all the people, though they grieved for their late Queen; yet was
grief suddenly turned to pleasure, in expectation of their new King.
But we will post from Berwick after Sir ROBERT CAREY, and
overtake him in Edinburgh.

       *       *       *       *       *

You understood before, that Sir ROBERT came to Edinburgh on
Saturday night; where, being admitted to the King, be-blooded with
great falls and bruises, [he] brought His Highness the first news of
Queen ELIZABETH's death: which howsoever it presented him
with kingdoms, glory, and immense wealth; yet, like his royal self, he
showed apparent signs of princely sorrow. And dismissing Sir ROBERT
CAREY, after so great toil, to his repose: His Majesty continued
in his grief; and through that, expressed his true piety.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was thought necessary in so high affairs to let slip no occasion,
however sorrow particularly touched His Majesty for the loss of his
private friend and royal Sister; yet the general care as well of those
his people in Scotland as for us in England, caused him on Sunday,
being the 27th of March [1603], to despatch [JOHN BOTHWELL]
the Bishop of HOLYROODHOUSE to Berwick: that he might receive
the town to his use, as the nearest place wherein, by right, he claimed
possession.

Who accordingly, making all the speed he might, came to Berwick; where
of the Governor he was honourably entertained: and, after signifying
His Majesty's pleasure, reposed himself for that night.

On Monday, being the 28th of March, by sound of trumpet, the Governor,
Mayor, Officers, and Council of the town were assembled at the Cross;
where there the Governor [Sir JOHN CAREY] surrendered to the
Bishop of HOLYROODHOUSE his staff and all his authority, unto
the King's Majesty's use. So likewise did the Mayor deliver up the keys
of the town.

And the said Bishop, being thus seised of all authority to His
Majesty's use, ministered the Oath of Allegiance unto the Governor,
Mayor, and the Superior Officers belonging to the garrison and to the
town.

Which oath taken, the Bishop of HOLYROODHOUSE (expressing
the gracious intention of His Majesty, as well to them as all others
his subjects of England whom he found like them affected: which was
rather to maintain, than to infringe, their Charters; to give, than to
take from them anything) redelivered the keys and staff of authority
to the Mayor and Governor. So likewise to every Commander, Captain,
Lieutenant, and whatsoever Office they had before Her Majesty's death,
there, in the King's name, he confirmed them: to their great joy and
contentment. Thus spent the Lord of HOLYROODHOUSE the first
part of Monday in Berwick; and dined with the Magistrates.

In the afternoon, the Lord Governor and his chief Officers of place
called together all the soldiers that were under pay; so did the Mayor
and Aldermen convene all the communalty of the town. To whom when the
oath was read, and the Magistrates had certified them that they had
been their example; the Lord of HOLYROODHOUSE wondered at,
and much commended, their joy and readiness to be sworn servants to so
regal a Master. Which he amply discoursed at his return to Edinburgh
the next day; not hiding any of their forward applauses, but delivered
their willingness to His Highness with express and lively words:
assuring him, by his entrance into England at that little door, how
welcome into the wide house His Excellence should be.

       *       *       *       *       *

While this was a doing in Berwick, there drew to the King hourly
most of the Nobility in Scotland, with sundry Knights and Gentlemen;
gratulating the great blessings befallen His Highness, and attending
his royal pleasure.

Besides, many numbers of Gentlemen came out of England to salute His
Majesty; all [of] whom he graciously welcomed, and honoured one of them
with the Order of Knighthood,[17]--being Master JOHN PEYTON
[co. Norf.], son to Sir JOHN PEYTON, Lieutenant of the Tower
of London. This being to that noble Gentleman no little glory that
he was first Knight--yea, named by the King's Majesty "his first
Knight"--that was made by our Sovereign after he was nominated and
truly known to be the mightiest King in Europe.

       *       *       *       *       *

During the continuance of His Majesty in Scotland, before his Progress
towards England, his whole care was for the peaceable government of
that Realm, from which he was a while to part. And to that end, he had
sundry conferences with his Nobility, laying the safest projects that,
in his wisdom and their experiences, seemed likely for effecting his
royal desire: which, GOD willing, will come to pass to his great liking
and [the] benefit of both the Realms.

But that it might more to his people appear; he in person came
graciously to the city of Edinburgh, unto the Public Sermon. And after
the Sermon was finished, in a most learned but more loving Oration,
he expressed his occasion of leaving them, to the burgesses and a
number of the people: exhorting them to continue in obedience, being
the bond that binds Princes to affect their subjects, which broken on
their part he trusted should never be, and of his they were assured;
persuading them also to agreement amongst themselves, being the bond
of charity that tied all men, especially Christians, to love and bear
with one another. In which obedience to him, and agreement amongst
themselves if they continued: howsoever he was, in a manner, at that
time, constrained to leave them; yet he would, in his own person, visit
them, and that shortly, in times convenient and most necessary for his
own advancement and their benefit.

Yet for all his kingly oratory, mild behaviour, and true intention; the
people's hearts against his departure were even dead: and grief seized
every private man's reins, saving only those that were made happy by
attending his royal person into England.

For now they began duly to think upon his unmatched virtues, which
never the most malicious enemy could impeach: being in the World's
eye innocent of any capital and notorious crime, but such as may be
incident to any just man; who daily falls, but never falls away.
They now considered his affability, mercy, justice, and magnanimity
They remembered how, in late years, Scotland, by his government,
had increased in more riches than in the time of many [of] his
predecessors: besides, his care for establishing true religion, his
traffic almost with all nations, the royalty of his marriage, the
blessings hoped for by his issue.

And such a universal sorrow was amongst them, that some of the meaner
sort spake even distractedly; and [there were] none but, at his
departing (which yet we are not come unto), expressed such sorrow as in
that nation hath seldom been seen the like: albeit the King's Majesty
was possessed of that which the common sort of the nation long wished
for; I mean, the Kingdom [of England].

       *       *       *       *       *

The 31st of March [1603], being Thursday, His Majesty, with great
solemnity and pomp, was proclaimed King of England, Scotland, France
and Ireland, at the Market Cross of Edinburgh, in presence of the whole
Officers of Estate of the Realm, and many of the Nobility of Scotland,
and sundry Knights and Gentlemen of England.

And in the evening of that day, there were many hundreds of bonfires
made all about the city; with great feasting and merriment held till
the appearing of the next day.

But as joyful as they were of His Majesty's great advancement, and
enlarging of his Empire; so were they, as I before noted, for their
private want of him no less filled with grief as, above all other
times, was most apparently expressed at his departure from Edinburgh
towards England: the cries of [the] poor people being so lamentable and
confused that it moved His Majesty to much compassion; yet seeing their
clamours were only of affection and not grounded on reason, with many
gracious and loving words he left them, and proceeded on his Progress.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was the 5th of April, being Tuesday, that His Majesty departed from
Edinburgh, gallantly accompanied with multitudes of his Nobility,
Lords, Barons, and Gentlemen of Scotland; and some French, as the
French Ambassor being Leger [_? resident_] in Scotland, whose wife was
carried betwixt Edinburgh and London by eight pioneers or porters; one
four to relieve the other four by turns, carrying her in a chair with
slings.

As also His Majesty, being accompanied with his own attendants, as
the Duke of LENOX, the Earl of ARGYLE, the Earl of MURRAY, the Earl
of CASSILLIS, the Earl of MAR, the Lord HOME, the Lord OLIPHANT, and
sundry others too tedious in this place to be repeated; for that
several their names shall hereafter be more particularly expressed.

Besides, there were in His Highness's train, many numbers of gallant
and well appointed English Knights and Gentlemen: who attended His
Majesty that day from Edinburgh unto Dunglass, a House of the Lord
HOME's; where His Excellence reposed himself that night.

       *       *       *       *       *

Wednesday, the 6th of April, His Majesty progressed from Dunglass
towards Berwick: having then attending on him many more Noblemen
Knights and Gentlemen; besides the Lords Wardens of the Borders of
England and Scotland, attended by the Borderers with several companies
to receive him. The Lord Governor of Berwick also, being accompanied
with all the Council of War, the Constables with their Cornets of
Horse, and divers of the Captains; the Band of Gentlemen Pensioners
[of Berwick] with divers Gentlemen; advanced forward to entertain and
conduct His Majesty into the town of Berwick.

Happy day, when peaceably so many warlike English Gentlemen went to
bring in an English and Scottish King, both included in one person,
into that town that, many a hundred years, hath been a town of the
enemy; or at the least held, in all leagues, either for one nation or
the other. But the King of Peace have glory, that so peaceably hath
ordained a King, descended from the royal blood of either nation, to
make that town, by his possessing it, a harbour for English and Scots,
without thought of wrong or grudging envy.

Not to digress longer, these gallants met him and were graciously
respected of His Highness; so falling in among the other Trophies, they
set forward.

And when His Highness came within some half mile of the town, and began
to take view thereof; it suddenly seemed like an enchanted Castle.
For from the mouths of dreadful engines (not long before full fed, by
moderate arts-men that knew how to stop and empty the brass and iron
paunches, of those roaring noises) came such a tempest as dreadful, and
sometimes more deathful, than thunder; that all the ground thereabout
trembled as in an earthquake, the houses and towers staggering:
wrapping the whole town in a mantle of smoke, wherein the same was a
while hid from the sight of his royal owner.

But nothing violent can be permanent. It was too hot to last: and yet
I have heard it credibly reported, that a better Peal of Ordnance
was never, in any soldier's memory (and there are some [of] old King
HARRY's lads in Berwick, I can tell you!) discharged in that
place. Neither was it very strange, for no man can remember Berwick
honoured with the approach of so powerful a Master.

Well, the King is now very near the gates: and as all darkness flies
before the face of the sun, so did these clouds of smoke and gunpowder
vanish at his gracious approach.

In the clearness of which fair time, issued out of the town Master
WILLIAM SELBY [co. Northumb.] Gentleman, Porter of Berwick,
with divers Gentlemen of good repute; and [he], humbling himself
before the King's Majesty, presented unto him the keys of all the
ports [_gates_]--who received them graciously: and when His Highness
was entered betwixt the gates, he restored to the said Master
SELBY the keys again, and graced him with the honour of
Knighthood, for this his especial service; in that he was the first man
that possessed His Excellence of those keys, Berwick indeed being the
gate that opened into all his dominions.

This done, His Highness entered the second gate, and being within both
the walls he was received by the Captain of the Ward: and so passed
through a double Guard of soldiers, well armed in all points; but, with
looks humble and words cheerful, they gave His Majesty to know their
hearts witnessed that their arms were worn only to be used in his royal
service.

Between this Guard, His Majesty passed on to the Market Cross, where
the Mayor and his Brethren [_the Aldermen_] received him with no
small signs of joy, and such signs of triumph as the brevity of
time for preparation would admit. But the common people seemed so
overwrapt with his presence, that they omitted nothing, their power
and capacities could attain unto, to express loyal duty and hearty
affection: kneeling, shouting, crying "Welcome!" and "GOD save King
JAMES!" till they were, in a manner, entreated to be silent.

As soon as it pleased the people to give him leave that he might speak,
Master PARKINSON, the Recorder of Berwick, being a man grave
and reverend, made a brief speech to His Majesty, acknowledging him
[as] their sole and Sovereign Lord. To whom, in the town's name, he
surrendered their Charter: presenting His Highness also from them with
a purse of gold; which, as an offering of their love, he graciously
received. And for their Charter, he answered them most benignly and
royally, That it should be continued: and that he would maintain their
privileges, and uphold them and their town in all equity; by reason it
was the principal and first place honoured with his mighty and most
gracious person.

These ceremonies amongst the townsmen ended: as his usual manner is
after any journey, His Majesty passed to the Church, there to humble
himself before the Exalter of the humble: and [to] thank him for the
benefits bestowed upon him and all his people. At which time preached
before him, the Reverend Father in God, Doctor TOBY MATTHEW,
Bishop of DURHAM: who made a most learned and worthy Sermon.

Which finished, the King departed to his Palace; and then they gave him
a Peel of great Ordnance, more hot than before: Berwick having never
had King to rest within her walls well nigh these hundred years.

The night was quickly overpassed especially with the townsmen that,
never in a night, thought themselves securer: but the journey of
the hours is always one, however they are made short or long by the
apprehension of joy, or [the] sufferance of grief.

       *       *       *       *       *

The morning's sun chased away the clouds of sleep from every eye; which
the more willingly opened that they might be comforted with the sight
of their beloved Sovereign: who, in his estate, attended upon by the
Governor and the Noblemen, together with the Magistrates and Officers
of the town, passed to the Church, where he stayed the Divine Prayers
and Sermon; which when with his wonted humility he had heard finished,
in the like estate he returned to his Palace.

This day, being Thursday the 7th of April, His Majesty ascended the
walls; whereupon all the Cannoniers and other Officers belonging to
the great Ordnance stood, everyone in his place: the Captains with
their Bands [_Companies_] of soldiers likewise under their several
Colours. Amongst which warlike train, as His Majesty was very pleasant
and gracious; so to shew instance how he loved and respected the Art
Military, he made a shot himself out of a cannon, so fair, and with
such sign of experience, that the most expert Gunners there beheld it
not without admiration: and there were none, of judgement, present but,
without flattery, gave it just commendation.

Of no little estimation did the Gunners account themselves after this
kingly shot: but His Majesty, above all virtues in temperance most
excellent, left that part of the wall, and their extraordinary applause.

Being attended by his Nobility both of Scotland and England (the Lord
HENRY HOWARD, brother to the late Duke of NORFOLK; and the Lord COBHAM,
being then newly come to the town), and guarded by the Gentlemen
Pensioners of Berwick; he bestowed this day in surveying of the plots
[_plans_] and fortifications, commending the manner of the soldiers,
and the military order of the town: being indeed one of the best
places of strength in all the north of England. All which, when, with
great liking, he had to his kingly pleasure beheld; he returned to his
Palace, and there reposed till the next day.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 8th of April, being Friday, the trumpets warned for the remove.
And, all that morning, His Majesty, with royal liberality, bestowed
amongst the garrison soldiers, and every Officer for war according to
his place, so rich and bounteous rewards that all soldiers, by his
bountiful beginning there, may be assured that they shall not, as they
have been, be curtailed of their duties [_what is due to them_] by
exacting Pollers; but used as the servants and servitors of a King:
which very name, but more his largess, adds double spirit to a man of
war.

After dinner, His Highness mounted on horseback and took leave of
Berwick: where, near the bridge, he knighted Master RALPH GREY
[co. Northumb.]; a Gentleman of great command and possession[s] near
the Borders.

As his Excellence left Berwick, and entered the Realm of England, he
was received by Master NICHOLAS FORSTER [of Bamburgh Abbey],
High Sheriff of Northumberland, [_whom he knighted at Widdrington_]:
who, besides his own servants and followers, was accompanied with
a number of gallant Gentlemen of the Shire; who, riding before His
Majesty, led the way towards Widdrington, where His Majesty intended to
rest that night.

By the way, of his kingly goodness, and royal inclinations to the
honour of arms and reverence of virtuous age, he vouchsafed to visit
that worthy honourable soldier, Sir WILLIAM READ: who, being
blind with age, was so comforted with the presence and gracious
speeches of the King, that his spirits seemed so powerful within
him, as he boasted himself to feel the warmth of youth stir in his
frost-nipt blood. The way His Majesty had to ride, being long, enforced
him to stay with this good Knight the less while: but that little time
was so comfortable that his friends hope it will be a mean[s] to
cherish the old Knight all his life long.

Not to be longer writing this than His Highness was riding the journey;
he departed thence upon the spur, scarce any of his train being able
to keep him company: for being near[ly] 37 miles, he rode it all in
less than four hours. And, by the way, for a note, the miles, according
to the Northern phrase, are a wey-bit longer than they be here in the
South.

Well, as long as the miles were, His Majesty made short work, and
attained [to] Widdrington [Castle]: where by the Master of the Place,
Sir ROBERT CAREY [Lord Warden of the Middle Marches. He was
afterwards made Earl of MONMOUTH. _See pages_ 476-484], and
his right virtuous Lady, he was received with all due affection; the
House being plentifully furnished for his entertainment. Besides for
situation and pleasure it stands very delightful.

His Majesty, having a little while reposed himself after his great
journey, found new occasion to travel further. For, as he was
delighting himself with the pleasure of the Park, he suddenly beheld a
number of deer near the place. The game being so fair before him, he
could not forbear; but, according to his wonted manner, forth he went,
and slew two of them.

Which done, he returned with a good appetite to the House, where he was
most royally feasted and banqueted that night.

       *       *       *       *       *

On Saturday the 9th April [1603], His Majesty prepared towards
Newcastle-[on-Tyne]. But before his departure from Widdrington; he
knighted Master HENRY WIDDRINGTON, Master WILLIAM FENWICK, Master
EDWARD GORGES [all co. Northum.].

After which, taking his leave with royal courtesy, he set forwards
towards Newcastle; being 16 miles from Widdrington.

To pass the occurrents by the way, being not very material; when His
Majesty drew near to Newcastle, the Mayor, the Aldermen, Council, and
best Commoners of the same besides numbers of other people, in joyful
manner met him.

The Mayor presented him with the Sword and Keys with humble duty and
submission: which His Highness graciously accepting, he returned
them again. He gave also to His Majesty, in token of their love and
hearty loyalty, a purse full of gold. His Majesty gave them full power
and authority under him as they lately held in Her Majesty's name:
ratifying all customs and privileges that they were possessed of, and
had a long time held.

And so, passing on, he was conducted to the Mayor's house, where he was
richly entertained; and remained there three days.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon Sunday, being the 10th April [1603], His Majesty went to
the Church, before whom [Dr TOBY MATTHEW] the Bishop of
DURHAM preached. And that day, as it is his most Christianlike
custom, being spent in devotion: he rested till Monday, which he
bestowed in viewing the town, the manner and beauty of the bridge
[over the Tyne] and key [_quay_]: being one of the fairest in all the
north parts. Besides, he released all prisoners; except those that lay
for treason, murder, and Papistry: giving great sums of money for the
release of many that were imprisoned for debt; who heartily praised
GOD, and blessed His Majesty, for their unexpected liberty.

So joyful were the townsmen of Newcastle of His Majesty there being,
that they thankfully bare all the charge of his Household during
the time of his abode with them, being from Saturday till Wednesday
morning. All things were in such plenty and so delicate for variety
that it gave great contentment to His Majesty; and on the townsmen's
part, there was nothing but willingness appeared; save only at His
Highness's departure, but [of that] there was no remedy. He hath yet
many of his people by his presence to comfort: and forward no doubt
he will; as he thence did, giving thanks to them for their loyal and
hearty affection.

And on the bridge, before he came at Gateside; he made Master ROBERT
DUDLEY [? DELAVALE, co. Northumb.], Mayor of Newcastle, Knight.

[JOHN PHILIPOT states that the following were also knighted at
Newcastle on this 13th of April 1603:

  Sir CHRISTOPHER LOWTHER, co. Cumb.
  Sir NICHOLAS CURWEN,     co. Cumb.
  Sir JAMES BELLINGHAM,    co. Westm.
  Sir NICHOLAS TUFTON,     co. Kent; _afterwards_ Earl of THANET.
  Sir JOHN CONYERS,        co. York.]

This Wednesday, being the 13th of April [1603], His Majesty set forward
towards Durham. And at Gateside, near Newcastle; he was met by the
Sheriff of the County and most of the Gentlemen in the same.

In his way, near Chester a Street, a little town betwixt Newcastle and
Durham, he turned on the left hand of the road to view [Lumley Castle,]
a pleasant castle of the Lord LUMLEY's: which being a goodly
edifice of free stone, built in quadrant manner, stands on the shoring
of a hill, in the middle of a green, with a river at the foot of it;
and woods about it on every side but to the townward, which is, by the
river [Wear], divided from it.

After His Highness had a while delighted himself with the pleasures of
the place; he returned on his way towards Durham, being 6 miles from
thence. Of which way he seldom makes [a] long journey.

And when he came near; the Magistrates of the city met him; and
behaving themselves as others before them, it was by His Highness
as thankfully accepted. And passing through the gates, whence His
Excellence entered the Market Place, there was an excellent oration
made unto him, containing in effect the universal joy conceived by his
subjects at his approach; being of power to divert from them so great a
sorrow as had lately possessed them all.

The oration ended, he passed towards the Bishop's House; where he was
royally received: [Dr. TOBY MATTHEW] the Bishop attending His
Majesty with a hundred Gentlemen in tawny liveries.

Of all his entertainment in particular at the Bishop's; [of] his [_the
King's_] merry and well seasoned jests, as well there as in other parts
of his journey; all his words being of full weight, and his jests
filled with the salt of wit: yet so facetious and pleasant as they were
no less gracious and worthy of regard than the words of so royal a
Majesty--it is bootless to repeat them, they are so well known.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thursday, being the 14th day [of April 1603], His Majesty took leave of
the Bishop of DURHAM: whom he greatly graced and commended for
his learning, humanity, and gravity: promising to restore divers things
taken from the Bishopric; which he hath accordingly in part done,
giving him already possession of Durham House in the Strand.

In brief, His Majesty left Durham, and removed towards [High] Walworth
[_also called_ Walworth Castle]; being 16 miles from Durham: where,
by the Gentlewoman of the House, named Mistress GENISON [_or
rather_ the Widow of THOMAS JENISON], he was so bountifully
entertained that it gave His Excellence very high contentment.

And after his quiet repose there that night, and some part of the next
day; he took his leave of the Gentlewoman, with many thankful and
princely congratulations for her extending costs in the entertainment
of him and his train.

       *       *       *       *       *

Friday, being the 15th of April [1603], His Majesty set forward from
Mistress GENISON's of Walworth, towards York. His train [was]
still increasing by the numbers of Noblemen and Gentlemen from the
south parts, that came to offer him fealty and to rejoice at his sight.
Whose love, although he greatly tendered; yet did their multitudes so
oppress the country and make provision[s] so dear that he was fain
to publish an Inhibition against the inordinate and daily access of
people's coming, that many were stopped of their way; and only those
that had affairs suffered to have access, some of great name and office
being sent home, to attend their places.

All this notwithstanding; a number there were in His Highness's train;
still increasing in every shire.

For now [Master HENRY BELLASSIS] the High Sheriff of Yorkshire,
gallantly accompanied, attended His Majesty to Master [WILLIAM]
INGLEBY's [_? at Baldersby Park_] besides Topcliffe, being about 16
miles from Walworth; who with great submission received His Majesty:
and there he rested for that night.

On Saturday, being the 16th of April [1603], His Majesty removed from
Master INGLEBY's towards York, being 16 miles from Topcliffe.

And when he came about some 3 miles from York, the Liberties of the
City extending so far; Master BUCKE and Master ROBINSON Sheriffs of the
City met him; and, with humble duty, presented him with their White
Staffs: which His Majesty receiving, he delivered them instantly again
[to them]. So they attended him towards the City.

Within a mile of which, when His Highness approached, there met him
[WILLIAM CECIL] the Lord BURLEGH, Lord President of the North, with
many worthy Knights and Gentlemen of the shire. These also attended on
his person to York.

Where, when he came near unto the City, there met him three of the
Sergeants at Arms, late servants to the deceased Queen: viz., Master
WOOD, Master DAMFORT, and Master WESTROP: who delivered up their maces;
which His Majesty, with royal courtesy, redelivered to them; commanding
them to wait on him in their old places, which presently they did.

And, at the same time, the Sergeant Trumpeter, with some others of
his fellows, did in like manner submit themselves, and render their
service; which he benignly accepted, and commanded them in like manner
to wait on him.

Then rode he on till he came to one of the gates of York; where
[ROBERT WALTER] the Lord Mayor of the City, the Aldermen, and
the wealthiest Commoners, with abundance of other people, met him.

There a long oration being made, the Lord Mayor delivered the Sword and
Keys to His Majesty, together with a cup of gold, filled full of gold:
which present His Majesty gratefully accepted; delivering the Keys
again to the Lord Mayor.

But about the bearing of the Sword, there was some contention; the Lord
President [of the North] taking it for his place, the Lord Mayor of the
city esteeming it his.

But to decide the doubt, the King's Majesty merrily demanded If the
Sword being his, they would not be pleased that he should have the
disposing thereof.

Whereunto when they humbly answered, It was all in his pleasure; His
Highness delivered the Sword to one that knew well how to use a sword,
having been tried both at sea and on shore, [GEORGE CLIFFORD]
the thrice honoured Earl of CUMBERLAND; who bare it before His
Majesty, riding in great state from the gate to the Minster.

In which way, there was a conduit that, all the day long, ran white,
and claret, wine[s]; every man to drink as much as he listed.

From the Minster His Majesty went on foot to his own House, being the
Manor of St Mary's; having all the way a rich canopy over his head,
supported by four Knights: and being brought hither, he was honourable
received by the Lord BURLEGH; who gave cheerful entertainment
to all the followers of His Majesty during the time of his continuance
in York.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 17th day [of April 1603], being Sunday, His Majesty passed towards
York Minster; being one of the goodliest Minsters in all the land:
England being as famous for churches as any one kingdom in Europe, if
they were kept in reparations as that Minster is.

To this Minster, the King passed to hear the Sermon; and at the gate
[_i.e., of the Manor House_] a coach was offered to His Highness. But
he graciously answered, "I will have no coach. For the people are
desirous to see a King, and so they shall: for they shall as well see
his body as his face." So, to the great comfort of the people, he went
on foot to the Church; and there heard the Sermon, which was preached
by [Dr JOHN THORNBOROUGH, Dean of York and also] the Bishop
of LIMERICK: whose doctrine and method of teaching was highly
by His Majesty commended. And what his judgment is, is as extant to us
all of any understanding as the light of the clear mid-day, or sun, to
every perfect eye.

The Sermon ended, His Majesty returned afoot, in the same sort as he
came, to his Manor; where he was royally feasted.

This Sunday was a Seminary Priest apprended, who before, under the
title [_appearance_] of a Gentleman had delivered a Petition to His
Majesty, in the name of all the English Catholics. When he was taken,
His Highness had some conference with him: but, by reason of other
great affairs, he referred him to be further examined by the Bishop of
LIMERICK; who, presenting the effects of his Examination, the
Priest was, the next day committed.

Dinner being ended, His Majesty walked into the garden of the Palace;
being a most delightful place: where there awaited him a number of
Gentlemen of great name and worth; whose commendations he received from
honourable persons, and beheld honour charactered in their faces. For
this is one especial note in His Majesty. Any man that hath aught with
him, let him be sure he have a just cause! for he beholds all men's
faces with steadfastness, and commonly the look is the window for the
heart.

Well, to that I should handle. Amongst these Gentlemen it pleased His
Majesty to make choice of these following; whom he graced with the
honour of Knighthood:

  Sir WILLIAM CECIL             [Lord BURLEGH].
  Sir EDMOND TRAFFORD           [co. Lanc.]
  Sir THOMAS HOLCROFT           [co. Lanc.]
  Sir JOHN MALLORY              [co. York]
  Sir WILLIAM INGLEBY           [co. York]
  Sir PHILIP CONSTABLE          [co. Durh.]
  Sir CHRISTOPHER HAWARD        [co. York]
  Sir ROBERT SWIFT              [co. York]
  Sir RICHARD WORTLEY           [co. York]
  Sir HENRY BELLASSIS           [co. York]
  Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX            [co. York]
  Sir HENRY GRIFFITH            [co. York]
  Sir FRANCIS BOYNTON           [co. York]
  Sir HENRY CHOLMLEY            [co. York]
  Sir RICHARD GARGRAVE          [co. York]
  Sir MARMADUKE GRIMSTONE       [co. York]
  Sir LANCELOT ALFORD           [co. York]
  Sir RALPH ILLERKER [or
       ELIKER]                  [co. York]
  Sir GEORGE FREVILE            [co. Durh.]
  Sir MAUGER VAVASOR            [co. York]
  Sir RALPH BABTHORPE           [co. York]
  Sir RICHARD LONDER            [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]
  Sir WALTER CRAPE              [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]

The same day, His Majesty caused five Gentlemen to be sworn his
servants, which served Queen Elizabeth before time: whose names were
Master RICHARD CONNIGSBY, Master GEORGE POLLARD, Ushers, Daily Waiters;
Master THOMAS ROLLES and Master HARIFFE, Gentlemen, Quarter Waiters;
and Master RICHARD READ-HEAD, Gentleman Sewer in Ordinary of His
Majesty's Chamber.

This day likewise, the Mayor of Kingston upon Hull delivered to His
Majesty a petition, which was also subscribed and justified by divers
Aldermen of the said town, to be done in the behalf of all the poor
inhabitants: who, with one voice, besought His Majesty that they might
be relieved and succoured against the daily spoils done to them by
those of Dunkirk, that had long molested them and others the English
coastmen.

His Highness, as he is naturally inclined to much pity, so at that time
he seemed to have great compassion of their wrongs and afflictions;
which were not hidden from him, though they had been silent: but he
comforted them with his princely and heroic reply, That he would defend
them; and no Dunkirker should after dare to do any of his subjects
wrong.

In which assurance they departed: and, no doubt, shall find the effect
of his kingly promise.

I told you before, what bounty the Lord BURLEGH used during
the continuance of the King's Majesty in the Manor [of St Mary's at
York]: but it was indeed exceeding all the rest in any place of England
before. Butteries, Pantries, and Cellars [being] always held open in
great abundance, for all comers.

       *       *       *       *       *

Monday, being the 18th day [of April 1603], His Majesty was feasted by
the Lord Mayor of York, whom he knighted by the name of Sir ROBERT
WALTER [co. York]: at whose house there was such plenty of all
delicates [_delicacies_] as could be possibly devised.

After dinner, His Majesty, following the rule of mercy he had begun
with, commanded all the prisoners to be set at liberty, except <DW7>s
and wilful murderers.

Which deed of charity effected, he left York, and rode to Grimstone
[Hall], being a house of Sir EDWARD STANHOPE's; where he
lay that night, and dined the next day: His Majesty and all his train
having their most bountiful entertainment; all the Offices in the
house standing open for all comers, every man without check eating and
drinking at pleasure.

Before His Majesty's departure from Grimstone, he knighted these
Gentlemen:

  Sir ROGER ASTON          [co. Chest.]
  Sir THOMAS ASTON         [co. Chest.]
  Sir THOMAS HOLT          [co. Chest.]
  Sir JAMES HARINGTON      [co. Rutl.]
  Sir CHARLES MONTAGUE     [co. Northt.]
  Sir THOMAS DAWNEY        [co. York]
  Sir WILLIAM BAMBROUGH    [co. York]
  Sir FRANCIS LOVELL       [co. Norf.]
  Sir THOMAS GERRARD       [co. Lanc.]
  Sir ROBERT WALTER [Lord]
       Mayor of York       [co. York]
  Sir RALPH CON[N]I[G]SBY  [co. Hertf.]
  Sir RICHARD MUSGRAVE     [co. York]

The 19th day [of April 1603] being Tuesday, His Majesty took his
journey towards Doncaster. Where, by the way, he went to Pomfret
[_Pontefract_], to see the Castle: which when he had at pleasure
viewed; he took horse and rode to Doncaster where he lodged all night
at the sign of the _Bear_ in an Inn; giving the host of the house, for
his good entertainment, a lease of a Manor House in a reversion, of
good value.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 20th day [of April 1603], being Wednesday, His Majesty rode
towards Worsop [Manor], the noble [GILBERT TALBOT] Earl of SHREWSBURY's
House: and at Batine [_? Bawtry_] the High Sheriff of Yorkshire took
his leave of the King, and there Master [ROGER] ASKOTH [_or_ ASCOUGH,
_or_ AYSCUE] the High Sheriff of Nottinghamshire received him; being
gallantly appointed both with horse and man.

And so he conducted His Majesty on, till he came within a mile of
Blyth: where His Highness lighted, and sat down on a bankside to eat
and drink.

After His Majesty's short repast, to Worsop His Majesty rides forward.
But, by the way, in the Park he was somewhat stayed. For there
appeared a number of Huntsmen, all in green; the chief of which, with
a woodman's speech, did welcome him, offering His Majesty to shew him
some game: which he gladly condescended [_agreed_] to see; and, with a
train set, he hunted a good space, very much delighted.

At last he went into the House, where he was so nobly received, with
superfluity of things, that still every entertainment seemed to exceed
others. In this place, besides the abundance of all provision[s] and
delicacie[s], there was most excellent soul-ravishing music; wherewith
His Highness was not a little delighted.

At Worsop, he rested on Wednesday night, and in the morning stayed
breakfast. Which ended, there was such store of provision left, of
fowl, of fish, and almost everything, besides bread beer and wine, that
it was left open for any man that would, to come and take.

After breakfast, His Majesty prepared to remove: but before his
departure he made these Gentlemen, Knights; whose names are following:

  Sir JOHN MANNERS        [co. Derb.]
  Sir HENRY GREY          [co. Bedf.]
  Sir FRANCIS NEWPORT     [co. Salop.]
  Sir HENRY BEAUMONT      [co. Leic.]
  Sir EDWARD LORAINE      [co. Derb.]
  Sir HUGH SMITH          [co. Som.]
  Sir EDMOND LUCY         [co. Warw.]
  Sir EDMOND COKAYN       [co. Derb.]
  Sir JOHN HARPER         [co. Derb.]
  Sir WILLIAM DAMCOURT    [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir HENRY PERPOINT      [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir THOMAS GRESLAY      [co. Notts]
  Sir JOHN BIRON          [co. Notts]
  Sir PERCIVAL WILLOUGHBY [co. Linc.]
  Sir PETER FRESCHVILE    [co. Derb.]
  Sir WILLIAM SKIPWITH    [co. Leic.]
  Sir RICHARD THEKESTON   [co. York]
  Sir THOMAS STANLEY      [co. Derb.]
  Sir WALTER COPE         [co. Oxon.]

The 21st [day of April 1603], being Thursday, His Highness took his way
towards Newark upon Trent; where, that night, he lodged in the Castle,
being his own house: where the Aldermen of Newark presented His Majesty
with a fair gilt cup, manifesting their duties and loving hearts to
him: which was very kindly accepted.

In this town, and in the Court, was taken a cutpurse, doing the deed;
and, being a base pilfering thief, yet was all Gentleman-like on the
outside. This fellow had [a] good store of coin found about him: and,
upon his examination, confessed that he had, from Berwick to that
place, played the cutpurse in the Court. His fellow was ill missed, for
no doubt he had a walking mate. They drew together like coach horses,
and it is pity they did not go hang together. For His Majesty, hearing
of this nimming gallant, directed a Warrant presently to the Recorder
of Newark, to have him hanged: which was accordingly executed.

This bearing small comfort to all the rest of his pilfering faculty,
that the first subject that suffered death in England, in the reign
of King James, was a cutpurse: which fault, if they amend not, heaven
suddenly send the rest [the same fate]!

The King, ere he went from Newark, as he had commanded this silken base
thief, in justice, to be put to death; so, in his benign and gracious
mercy, he gives life to all the other poor and wretched prisoners:
clearing the Castle of them all.

This deed of charity done; before he left Newark [on the 22nd April],
he made these Knights:

  Sir JOHN PARKER        [co. Suss.]
  Sir ROBERT BRETT       [co. Devon.]
  Sir LEWIS LEWKENOR     [co. Suss.]
  Sir FRANCIS DUCKET     [co. Salop.]
  Sir RICHARD MOMPESSON  [co. Bucks.]
  Sir RICHARD WARBURTON  [co. Chest.]
  Sir RICHARD WIGMORE    [co. Heref.]
  Sir EDWARD FOXE        [co. Salop.]
  [Sir WILLIAM DAVENPORT  co. Chest.]

The 22nd day [of April 1603], being Friday, His Majesty departed from
Newark, towards Belvoir Castle; hunting all the way as he rode: saving
that, in the way, he made four Knights, [the first] one being the
Sheriff of Nottinghamshire.

  Sir ROGER ASKOTH [or ASCOUGH,
      or AYSCUE]                         [co. Chest.]
  Sir WILLIAM SUTTON                     [co. Notts.]
  Sir JOHN STANHOPE                      [co. Derb.]
  Sir BRIAN LASSELS                      [co. York]

Sir ROGER ASKOTH [or ASCOUGH, or AYSCUE], High Sheriff of
Nottinghamshire, being knighted, took leave of His Majesty; and Master
WILLIAM PELHAM, High Sheriff of Lincolnshire, received His Highness,
being gallantly appointed both with horse and men; divers worshipful
men of the same country [_County_] accompanying him: who convoyed and
guarded His Majesty to Belvoir Castle, being the Right Noble [ROGER
MANNERS, the] Earl of RUTLAND's. Where His Highness was not only
royally and most plentifully received: but with such exceeding joy of
the good Earl and his honourable Lady, that he took therein exceeding
pleasure.

And he approved his contentment in the morning [of the 23rd April
1603]; for, before he went to break his fast, he made these Knights
whose names follow:

  Sir OLIVER MANNERS        [co. Linc.]
  Sir WILLIAM WILLOUGHBY    [co. Linc.]
  Sir THOMAS WILLOUGHBY     [co. Linc.]
  Sir GREGORY CROMWELL      [co. Hunts.]
  Sir GEORGE MANNERS        [co. Linc.]
  Sir HENRY HASTINGS        [co. Leic.]
  Sir WILLIAM PELHAM        [co. Linc.]
  Sir PHILIP TIRWHIT        [co. Linc.]
  Sir VALENTINE BROWNE      [co. Linc.]
  Sir ROGER DALLISON        [co. Linc.]
  Sir THOMAS GRANTHAM       [co. Linc.]
  Sir JOHN ZOUCHE           [co. Derb.]
  Sir WILLIAM JEPSON        [co. Southt.]
  Sir EDWARD ASKOTH [or
      ASCOUGH, or AYSCUE]   [co. Linc.]
  Sir EVERARD DIGBY         [co. Rutl.]
  Sir ANTHONY MARKHAM       [co. Oxon.]
  Sir THOMAS CAVE           [co. Leic.]
  Sir WILLIAM TURPIN        [co. Leic.]
  Sir JOHN FERRERS          [co. Warw.]
  Sir HENRY PAGENHAM        [co. Linc.]
  Sir RICHARD MUSGRAVE      [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir WALTER CHUTE          [co. Kent]
  Sir WILLIAM LAMBERT       [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir EDWARD ROSSETER       [co. Linc.]
  Sir EDWARD COMINES        [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir PHILIP STIRLEY        [co. Leic.]
  Sir EDWARD SWIFT          [co. York]
  Sir BASIL BROOKE          [co. Salop.]
  Sir WILLIAM FAIRFAX       [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir EDWARD BUSSY          [co. Linc.]
  Sir EDWARD TIRWHIT        [co. Linc.]
  Sir JOHN THORNE[HAUGH]    [co. Notts.]
  Sir NICHOLAS SANDERSON    [co. Linc.]
  Sir EDWARD LITTLETON      [co. Salop.]
  Sir WILLIAM FOMPT [or
       FAWNT]               [co. Leic.]
  Sir THOMAS BEAUMONT       [co. Leic.]
  Sir WILLIAM SKEFFINGTON   [co. Leic.]
  Sir PHILIP SHERRARD       [co. Leic.]
  Sir JOHN TIRRIL [or
       THOROLD]             [co. Linc.]
  Sir EDWARD CARRE          [co. Linc.]
  Sir RICHARD OGLE          [co. Linc.]
  Sir HAMAN SWITHCOATE [_or
    rather_ HUGH WHICHCOT]  [co. Linc.]
  Sir WILLIAM HICKMAN       [co. Linc.]
  Sir WILLIAM FIELDING      [co. Warw.]
  Sir HUMPHREY CONI[G]SBY   [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  [Sir WILLIAM CARRE         co. Linc.]
  [Sir WILLIAM ERMINE        co. Linc.]
  [Sir JOHN WENTWORTH        co. Essex]

The 23rd day [of April], being Saturday, after the making of these
Knights, and having refreshed himself at breakfast; His Majesty took
kind leave of the Earl of RUTLAND, his Countess, and the rest:
and set forward towards Burlegh.

And, by the way, he dined at Sir JOHN HARINGTON's [House?
_at Harington-Burley_]; where that worthy Knight made him most royal
entertainment.

After dinner, His Highness removed towards Burlegh, being near Stamford
in Northamptonshire. His Majesty on the way was attended by many Lords
and Knights. And, before his coming, there were provided train-cents
and live hares in baskets [that] being carried to the Heath [_?
Empington Heath_], made excellent sport for His Majesty. All the way
between Sir JOHN HARINGTON's and Stamford, Sir JOHN's best hounds
with good mouths followed the game; the King taking great leisure and
pleasure in the same.

Upon this Heath, not far from Stamford, there appeared to the number
of a hundred high men, that seemed like the Patagones [_Patagonians_],
huge long fellows of twelve or fourteen feet high, that are reported
to live on the Main [_mainland_] of Brazil, near to the Straits of
Magellan. The King, at the first sight, wondered what they were; for
that they overlooked horse and man. But, when all came to all, they
proved a company of poor honest suitors, all going upon high stilts,
preferring a Petition against the Lady HATTON. What their
request was, I know not: but His Majesty referred them till his coming
to London; and so passed on from those giants of the Fens towards
Stamford.

Within half a mile whereof, the Bailiffs and the rest of the chief
townsmen of Stamford presented a gift unto His Majesty; which was
graciously accepted. So rode he forward through the town, in great
state, having the Sword borne before him; the people joyful on all
parts to see him.

When His Highness came to Stamford Bridge; the Sheriff of Lincolnshire
humbly took his leave, and departed greatly in the King's grace.

On the other part, the town standing in two Shires, stood ready [Master
WILLIAM TATE] the High Sheriff of Northamptonshire, bravely
accompanied, and gallantly appointed with men and horse; who received
his Majesty, and attended him to Burlegh: where His Highness with all
his train were received with great magnificence; the House seeming so
rich as if it had been furnished at the charges of an Emperor. Well, it
was all too little, His Majesty being worthy [of] much more; being now
the greatest Christian monarch, of himself as absolute.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day [24th April 1603], being Easter Day, there preached
before His Highness, [Dr _William Chaderton_] the Bishop of
LINCOLN; and the Sermon was no sooner done, but all [the]
Offices in the house were set open, that every man might have free
access to Butteries, Pantries; [and] Kitchens; to eat and drink in at
their pleasures.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day, being Monday the 25th of April [1603], His Highness rode
back again to Sir JOHN HARINGTON's [House at Harington-Burley]; and by
the way his horse fell with him, and [he] very dangerously bruised his
arm; to the great amazement and grief of all them that were about His
Majesty at that time. But he, being of an invincible courage, and his
blood yet hot, made light of it at the first: and being mounted again,
rode to Sir JOHN HARINGTON's; where he continued that night.

       *       *       *       *       *

And, on Tuesday morning, the pain received by his fall was so great
that he was not able to ride on horseback; but he turned from Sir
JOHN HARINGTON's, to take a coach: wherein His Highness
returned to Burlegh, where he was royally entertained as before; but
not with half that joy, the report of His Majesty's hurt had disturbed
all the Court so much.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day, being Wednesday the 27th day of April [1603], His Majesty
removed from Burlegh towards Master OLIVER CROMWELL's.

And, in the way, he dined at that worthy and worshipful Knight's, Sir
ANTHONY MILDMAY's [at Apethorpe]; where nothing wanted in a
subject's duty to his Sovereign, nor anything in so potent a Sovereign
to grace so loyal a subject. Dinner being most sumptuously furnished,
the tables were newly covered with costly Banquets [_Dessert_]: wherein
everything that was most delicious for taste proved [the] more delicate
by the art that made it seem beauteous to the eye: the Lady of the
House being one of the most excellent Confectioners in England; though
I confess many honourable women [to be] very expert.

Dinner and Banquet [_Dessert_] being past, and His Majesty at point to
depart; Sir ANTHONY, considering how His Majesty vouchsafed
to honour him with his royal presence, presented His Highness with a
gallant Barbary horse, and a very rich saddle with furniture suitable
thereto: which His Majesty most lovingly and thankfully accepted: and
so, taking his princely leave, set forward on the way.

In this remove towards Master OLIVER CROMWELL's did the people
flock in greater numbers than in any place northward. Though many
before pressed to see their Sovereign, yet here the numbers multiplied.

This day, as His Majesty passed through a great common (which, as the
people thereabout complain, Sir I. SPENSER [JOHN SPENCER] of London
hath very uncharitably molested [_enclosed_]), most of the country
[_district_] joined together, beseeching His Majesty that the common
might be laid open again for the comfort of the poor inhabiters
thereabouts: which His Highness most graciously promised should be
performed, according to their hearts' desire.

And so, with many benedictions of the comforted people, he passed
on till he came within half a mile of Master OLIVER CROMWELL's [at
Hinchinbrook Priory]; where met him the Bailiff of Huntingdon, who made
a long oration to His Majesty, and there delivered him the Sword, which
His Highness gave to the new[ly] released [HENRY WRIOTHSLEY] Earl of
SOUTHAMPTON [_the Patron of SHAKESPEARE_] to bear before him.

O admirable work of mercy! confirming the hearts of all true subjects
in the good opinion of His Majesty's royal compassion: not alone to
deliver from the captivity such high Nobility, but to use vulgarly
with great favours not only him, but also the children of his late
honourable fellow in distress [_i.e._ of ROBERT DEVEREUX Earl
of ESSEX]. Well, GOD have glory, that can send friends, in the
hour he best pleaseth, to help them that trust in him.

But to the matter. His Majesty passed, in state, the Earl of
SOUTHAMPTON bearing the Sword before him, as I before said he
was appointed, to Master OLIVER CROMWELL's house: where His
Majesty and all his followers, with all comers whatsoever, had such
entertainment, as the like had not been seen in any place before, since
his first setting forward out of Scotland.

There was such plenty and variety of meats: such diversity of wines,
and those not riffe ruffe but ever the best of the kind; and the
cellars open at any man's pleasure. And if it were so common with wine,
there is little question but the Butteries for beer and ale were more
common; yet in neither was there difference. For whoever entered the
house, which to no man was denied, tasted what they had a mind to: and
after a taste, found fullness: no man, like a man, being denied what he
would call for.

As this bounty was held back to none within the house; so for such
poor people as would not press in, there were many open beer-houses
erected: where there was no want of beef and bread for the comfort of
the poorest creatures. Neither was this provision for the little time
of His Majesty's stay; but it was made ready [for] fourteen days: and,
after His Highness's departure, distributed to as many as had [a] mind
to it.

There attended also at Master OLIVER CROMWELL's, the Heads of
the University of Cambridge, all clad in scarlet gowns and corner-caps:
who, having presence of His Majesty, there was made a most learned and
eloquent Oration in Latin, welcoming His Majesty, as also intreating
the confirmation of their Charter and privileges: which His Majesty
most willingly and free granted. They also presented His Majesty with
divers books published in commendation of our late gracious Queen: all
which was most graciously accepted of His Highness.

Also Master CROMWELL presented His Majesty with many rich and
acceptable gifts: as a very great and a very fair wrought Standing Cup
of gold, goodly horses, float [_? fleet_] and deep-mouthed hounds,
divers hawks of excellent wing. And at the remove, [he] gave £50 [_=
£200 now_] amongst His Majesty's Officers.

Upon the 29th day [of April 1603], being Friday, after His Highness had
broke his fast; he took kind and gracious leave of Master OLIVER
CROMWELL[18] and his virtuous Lady, late widow to that noble and
opulent Knight, Signor HORATIO PAULO VICINO.

Thence, with many regal thanks for his entertainment, he departed to
Royston.

And as he passed through Godmanchester, a town close by Huntingdon,
the Bailiffs of the town with their Brethren met him; and acknowledged
their allegiance. There, convoying him through their town, they
presented him with threescore and ten team[s] of horse all traced to
fair new ploughs; in shew of their husbandry.

Which, while His Majesty, being very well delighted with the sight,
demanded, Why they offered him so many horses and ploughs? he was
resolved [_answered_], That it was their ancient custom whensoever
any King of England passed through their town, so to present His
Excellence. Besides, they added, that they held their lands by that
tenure; being the King's tenants.

His Majesty not only took well in worth their good minds; but bade them
use well their ploughs: being glad he was landlord of so many good
husbandmen in one town.

I trust His Highness, when he knows well the wrong, will take order for
those, as Her Majesty began, that turn ploughland into pasturage: and
where many good husbandmen dwelt there is now nothing left but a great
house without [a] fire: the Lord commonly at sojourn near London; and
for the husbandmen and ploughs, he only maintains a shepherd and his
dog. But what do I talking of sheep! when I am to follow the gests of
a King. I will leave them and their wolfish Lords, that have eaten up
poor husbandmen like sheep: and proceed where I left [off].

His Majesty, being past Godmanchester, held on his way to Royston;
and drawing near the town, the Sheriff of Huntingdonshire humbly
took his leave. And there he was received by that worthy Knight, Sir
EDWARD DENNY, High Sheriff of Hertfordshire, attended upon by
a goodly company of proper men, being in number seven score, suitably
apparelled. Their liveries [were] blue coats, with sleeves parted in
the midst, buttoned behind in jerkin fashion; and white doublets: and
hats and feathers: and all of them mounted on horses with red saddles.

Sir EDWARD, after his humble duty done, presented His Majesty
with a gallant horse, a rich saddle, and furniture correspondent to the
same; being of great value: which His Majesty accepted very graciously,
and caused him to ride on the same before him. This worthy Knight,
being of a deliver spirit and agile body, quickly mounted, managing
the gallant beast with neat and eiduing workmanship [_? eye-doing
horsemanship_]: being in a rich suit of a yellow dun colour; somewhat
near the colour of the horse, and the furniture.

And thus, in brave manner, he conducted His Majesty to one Master
CHESTER's house [at Cockenhatch]: where His Highness lay that
night, at his own kingly charge.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 30th day [of April 1603], being Saturday, His Majesty took his
journey towards Standon, to Sir THOMAS SADLER's: and, by the way, [Dr
RICHARD BANCROFT] the Bishop of LONDON met him; attended on by a seemly
company of Gentlemen in tawny coats and chains of gold.

At SIR THOMAS SADLER's, His Majesty was royally entertained,
for himself and his kingly train: nothing being wanting the best
desired, nor the meanest could demand.

There His Majesty stayed [on] Sunday: before whom the Bishop of
LONDON preached.

His Majesty, now drawing near to London, the numbers of people more and
more increased, as well of Nobility, Gentry, Citizens, country people,
and all; as well of degree as of no degree. So great a desire had the
Noble that they pressed with the ignoble to see their Sovereign: this
being the difference of their desires, that the better sort, either in
blood or of conceit, came to observe and serve; the other to see and
wonder.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 1st of May [1603], being Monday, His Majesty removed to Sir
HENRY COCK's [at Broxburn Bury], being 9 miles from Sir
THOMAS SADLER's: where provision for His Majesty and his royal
train was so abundant that there was no man of what condition soever,
but had what his appetite desired. For His Majesty's private and most
to be respected entertainment: it was such as ministered His Highness
great contentment.

Continuing there but one night, and departing the next day; [he]
honoured the good Knight for his greater expenses.

       *       *       *       *       *

The 3rd of May [1603], being Tuesday, His Majesty took his journey
towards Theobalds, a house belonging to Sir ROBERT CECIL, and about
4 miles distant from Sir HENRY COCK's: where met him [Sir THOMAS
EGERTON, _afterwards_ Lord ELLESMERE,] the Lord Keeper [of the Great
Seal], [THOMAS SACKVILLE, Earl of DORSET,] the Lord Treasurer, [CHARLES
HOWARD, Earl of NOTTINGHAM,] the Lord Admiral, with most of the
Nobility of the land and [the] Council of Estate; who were graciously
received.

At which time, the Lord Keeper made a most grave, learned, brief, and
pithy oration to His Majesty: to which His Highness answered with great
grace and princely wisdom.

At this house there met His Majesty all, or the most part, of the old
servants and Officers in [the] Household of our late royal Mistress,
Queen ELIZABETH; and with them, the Guard of His Majesty's
Body: all of them being courteously received to their own content.

Also in this house of Theobalds, His Majesty made divers Noblemen of
Scotland, of his Honourable Privy Council [of England], viz:

 [LODOWICK STUART,] the Duke of LENOX.

 [JOHN ERSKINE,]    the Earl of MAR.

 [ALEXANDER HOME,]  the Lord HOME.

 Sir GEORGE HOME
  [, _afterwards_ Earl of DUNBAR], Treasurer of Scotland.

 Sir JAMES ELPHINSTON
 [,_afterwards_ Lord  BALMERINOCH], Secretary to the King.

 [EDWARD BRUCE,] the Lord of KINLOSS, now Master of
 His Majesty's Rolls. [He received that appointment on 18th May 1603.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Also of the English Nobility, he made these of his secret and
Honourable [Privy] Council;

 The Lord HENRY HOWARD
 [,_afterwards_ Earl of NORTHAMPTON].

 The Lord THOMAS HOWARD
 [,_afterwards_ Earl of  SUFFOLK]: who was also made there,
 Lord Chamberlain.

 [CHARLES BLOUNT,] the Lord MOUNTJOY
 [, _afterwards_ Earl of DEVONSHIRE].

       *       *       *       *       *

His Majesty stayed at Theobalds four days [_3rd-6th May 1603_]; where
to speak of Sir ROBERT's cost to entertain him were but to
imitate geographers that set a little o for a mighty Province: words
being hardly able to express what was done there indeed, considering
the multitude that thither resorted, besides the train; none going
hence unsatisfied. [_See Vol. V., pp. 623-656_].

At Theobalds, His Majesty made these Knights [on 7th May]:

  Sir WILLIAM KILLIGREW         [co. Cornw.]
  Sir FRANCIS BARRINGTON        [co. Essex]
  Sir ROWLAND LITTON            [co. Hertf.]
  Sir WILLIAM PETERS[? PETRE]   [co. Essex]
  Sir JOHN BROGRAVE             [co. Hertf.]
  Sir WILLIAM COOKE             [co. Essex]
  Sir ARTHUR CAPEL              [co. Hertf.]
  Sir HERBERT CROFT             [co. Heref.]
  Sir EDWARD GREVILL            [co. Warw.]
  Sir HENRY BOTELER             [co. Hertf.]
  Sir HENRY MAYNARD             [co. Essex]
  Sir RICHARD SPENCER           [co. Hertf.]
  Sir JOHN LEVENTHORP           [co. Hertf.]
  Sir MICHAEL STANHOPE          [co. Suff.]
  Sir THOMAS POPE BLOUNT        [co. Hertf.]
  Sir RICHARD GIFFORD.
  Sir THOMAS MEDCALFE           [co. York.]
  Sir GAMALIEL CAPEL            [co. Essex]
  Sir WILLIAM SMITH             [co. Essex]
  Sir JOHN FERRERS              [co. Hertf.]
  Sir ROBERT BITTON             [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir VINCENT SKINNER           [co. Middl.]
  Sir HUGH BEESTON              [co. Chest.]
  Sir JOHN LEIGH                [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir THOMAS BISHOP             [co. Suss.]
  Sir EDWARD LEWIS              [co. Glam.]

  Sir GERVASE ELWES [or ELLYS]
  Sir RICHARD BAKER             [the Chronicler, co. Kent]
  [Sir HENRY FANSHAW            co. Hertf.]

The 7th of May [1603], being Saturday, His Majesty removed from
Theobalds, towards London, riding through the meadows: where, within
two miles on this side of Waltham, Sir HENRY DENNY discharged
his followers.

And there, Master SWINNERTON, one of the Sheriffs of London,
accompanied with the Sheriff of Middlesex, met his Majesty, with sixty
men in livery cloaks; where an eloquent and learned oration was made to
His Highness.

Besides these men in livery cloaks that attended the Sheriff, all well
mounted on gallant horses; most of the Sheriff's Officers attended him:
who conducted His Majesty [to] within two miles of London.

And at Stamford Hill [Master ROBERT LEE] the Lord Mayor of
London presented him with the Sword and Keys of the City: with whom
were the Knights and Aldermen in scarlet gowns and great chains of gold
about their necks, with the Chief Officers and Council of the City.
Besides 500 citizens, all very well mounted, clad in velvet coats and
chains of gold; with the chief Gentlemen of the Hundreds: who made a
gallant shew to entertain their Sovereign.

There also met his Majesty, all his Officers of Estate, as Serjeants at
Arms with their rich maces; the Heralds with their Coats of Arms, and
Trumpeters: every one in their order and due place.

The Duke of LENOX bore the Sword of Honour before His Majesty:
and so His Highness passed on in royal and imperial manner.

At this time, that honourable old Knight Sir HENRY LEIGH met
with His Majesty, being attended by sixty gallant men well mounted on
fair horses, thirty of them being great horses: many of his men having
chains of gold; the rest wearing yellow scarfs embroidered with these
words, _Constantia et fide_. To this old Knight, His Majesty spake very
lovingly: and so paced through his troops very well pleased.

The multitudes of people in high ways, fields, meadows, closes, and
on trees, were such that they covered the beauty of the fields; and
so greedy were they to behold the countenance of the King that, with
much unruliness, they injured and hurt one another. Some even hazarded
to the danger of death. But as uncivil as they were among themselves;
all the way, as His Majesty past [they welcomed him] with shouts, and
cries, and casting up of hats (of which many never returned into the
owners' hands).

He passed by them, over the fields; and came in at the back side of the
Charterhouse.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thither being come, he was most royal received and entertained by the
Lord THOMAS HOWARD. Where was such abundance of provision
of all manner of things that greater could not be; both of rare wild
fowls, and many rare and extraordinary banquets; to the great liking of
His Majesty, and contentment of the whole train.

He lay there four nights [_7th to 10th May 1603_]: in which time the
Lords of the Council often resorted thither, and sat upon their serious
affairs.

At his departure [_11th May 1603_], he made divers Knights, whose names
are these:

  Sir CHARLES HOWARD        [co. Suss.]
  Sir AMBROSE WILLOUGHBY    [co. Linc.]
  Sir EDWARD HOWARD         [co. Surr.]
  Sir HENRY HASTINGS        [co. Leic.]
  Sir GILES ALLINGTON       [co. Camb.]
  Sir RICHARD VERNEY        [co. Warw.]
  Sir JOHN THINNE           [co. Wilts.]
  Sir WILLIAM FITZWILLIAMS  [co. Linc.]
  Sir WILLIAM CARREL        [co. Suss.]
  Sir EDWARD BACON          [co. Suff.]
  Sir FRANCIS ANDERSON      [co. Bedf.]
  Sir JOHN POULTNEY         [co. Notts.]
  Sir EDWARD DARCY          [co. York]
  Sir JOHN SYDENHAM         [co. Som.]
  Sir JOHN TUFTON           [co. Kent]
  Sir THOMAS GRIFFIN        [co. Northt.]
  Sir VALENTINE KNIGHTLEY   [co. Northt.]
  Sir RALPH WISEMAN         [co. Essex]
  Sir WILLIAM AYLOFFE       [co. Essex]
  Sir JAMES CROMER          [co. Kent]
  Sir THOMAS ROUSE          [co. Suff.]
  Sir        RODNEY         [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir HENRY VAUGHAN         [not in J. PHILIPOT's List]
  Sir JOHN SMITH            [co. Kent]
  Sir JOHN HUNNAM           [co. Chest.]
  Sir THOMAS MEDE           [co. Kent]
  Sir EUSEBIUS ISHAM        [co. Northt.]
  Sir ARTHUR COOPER         [co. Surr.]
  Sir ROBERT WINGFIELD      [co. Northt.]
  Sir THOMAS JOSLING        [co. Herts.]
  Sir HENRY GOODERICK       [co. York.]
  Sir MAXIMILIAN DALLISON   [co. Kent]
  Sir WILLIAM COPE          [co. Northt.]
  Sir GEORGE FLEETWOOD      [co. Bucks.]
  Sir PETER EVERS           [co. Linc.]
  Sir HENRY CLEERE          [co. Norf.]
  Sir FRANCIS WOLLEY        [co. Linc.]
  Sir ARTHUR MAINWARING     [co. Chest.]
  Sir EDWARD WATERHOUSE     [co. York]
  Sir WILLIAM TWYSDEN       [co. Kent]
  Sir HATTON CHEEKE         [? co. Essex]
  Sir HENRY GORING          [co. Suss.]
  Sir ROBERT TOWNSEND       [co. Salop.]
  Sir WILLIAM HYNDE         [co. Camb.]
  Sir RICHARD SANDYS        [co. Kent]
  Sir ROBERT BRUCE COTTON   [co. Hunts.]
  Sir OLIVER LUKE           [co. Bedf.]
  Sir THOMAS KNEVET         [co. Norf.]
  Sir HENRY SECKFORD        [co. Suff.]
  Sir EDWIN SANDYS          [co. Kent]
  Sir JOHN ASHLEY           [co. Kent]
  Sir WILLIAM FLEETWOOD     [co. Bedf.]
  Sir WALTER MILDMAY        [co. Essex]
  Sir EDWARD LEWKENOR       [co. Suff.]
  Sir MILES SANDYS          [co. Camb.]
  Sir WILLIAM KINGSMILL     [co. Southt.]
  Sir THOMAS KEMPE          [co. Kent]
  Sir EDWARD TYRREL         [co. Bucks.]
  Sir THOMAS RUSSELL        [co. Worc.]
  Sir RICHARD TICHBORNE     [co. Southt.]
  Sir THOMAS CORNWALL       [co. Salop.]
  Sir RICHARD FERMOR        [co. Northt.]
  Sir WILLIAM STAFFORD      [co. Hunts.]
  Sir THOMAS CARRELL        [co. Suss.]
  Sir EDWARD CARRELL        [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]
  Sir THOMAS PALMER         [co. Kent]
  Sir ROBERT NEWDIGATE      [co. Bedf.]
  Sir GEORGE RAWLEIGH       [co. Essex]
  Sir THOMAS BEAUFOE        [co. Warw.]
  Sir WILLIAM LOWER         [co. Cornw.]
  Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX        [co. York]
  Sir HENRY SIDNEY          [co. Norf.]
  Sir GEORGE HARVEY         [co. Essex]
  Sir HENRY CRIPPES
        [_or_ CRISPE           co. Kent]
  Sir JOHN HEVENINGHAM      [co. Norf.]
  Sir WILLIAM BOWYER        [co. Bucks.]
  Sir JEROME WESTON         [co. Essex]
  Sir EDMUND BOWYER         [co. Surr.]
  Sir NICHOLAS HASLEWOOD    [co. Northt.]
  Sir JOHN JENNINGS         [co. Worc.]
  Sir AMBROSE TURVILLE      [co. Linc.]
  Sir JOHN LUKE             [co. Bedf.]
  Sir JOHN DORMER           [co. Bucks.]
  Sir RICHARD SAUNDERS      [co. Linc.]
  Sir JOHN SHERLEY          [co. Suss.]
  Sir THOMAS WAYNEMAN       [co. Oxon.]
  Sir GODDARD PEMPTON
  Sir THOMAS METHAM         [co. York]
  Sir EDMUND BELLINGHAM     [co. Camb.]
  Sir JOHN HARINGTON        [co. York]
  Sir EDWARD HARINGTON      [co. York]
  Sir WILLIAM DYER          [co. Som.]
  Sir WILLIAM DYER          [co. Som.]
  Sir WALTER MONTAGUE       [co. Som.]
  Sir GUY PALMES            [co. Rutl.]
  Sir HENRY ASHLEY          [co. Surr.]
  Sir THOMAS VACKATHELL
         [_or_ VACHILL.]
  Sir THOMAS STUKELEY       [co. Suss.]
  Sir EDWARD WATSON         [co. Northt.]
  Sir THOMAS PRESTON        [co. Dors.]
  Sir WILLIAM LEEKE
  Sir CHARLES CORNWALLIS    [co. Suff.]
  Sir EDWARD FRANCIS        [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]
  Sir HUGH LOSSE            [co. Middl.]
  Sir WILLIAM LYGON         [co. Worc.]
  Sir THOMAS [LE] GROSSE    [co. Norf.]
  Sir JOHN TASKEROW
          [_or_ TASBURGH     co. Suff.]
  Sir THOMAS FOWLER         [co. Middl.]
  Sir EUSEBIUS ANDREW       [co. Northt.]
  Sir EDWARD ANDREW         [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]
  Sir WILLIAM KINGSMILL     [co. Southt.]
  Sir ROBERT LUCY           [co. Warw.]
  Sir WILLIAM WALTER
  Sir JOHN CUTTS            [co. Camb.]
  Sir RICHARD BLOUNT        [co. Oxon.]
  Sir ANTHONY DERING        [co. Kent]
  Sir H. VAUGHAN            [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]
  Sir JOHN CAREW            [co. Som.]
  Sir EDWARD APSLEY         [co. Suss.]
  Sir BERTRAM BOOMER
  Sir WILLIAM ALFORD        [co. York]
  Sir ROBERT LEE            [co. Linc.]
  Sir THOMAS BEAUMONT       [co. Leic.]
  Sir ROBERT MARKHAM        [co. Oxon.]
  Sir FRANCIS CASTILION     [co. Berks.]
  Sir GEORGE SAVILE         [co. York]
  Sir GEORGE MARTHAM        [not in J. PHILIPOT's List.]
  Sir ARTHUR ATTIE
        [_or_ ATEY           co. Middl.]
  Sir PECKSALL BROCAS       [co. Southt.]
  Sir JOHN WASHALL [or
        ? Sir ROBERT MARSHALL]
  Sir ROBERT CLEVELAND
  Sir RICHARD FERMOR        [co. Northt.]
  [Sir THOMAS CHEKE            co. Essex]
  [Sir THOMAS AYLOFFE          co. Essex]
  [Sir WALTER TICHBORNE                 ]
  [Sir THOMAS BAKER                     ]

Upon Wednesday, the 11th of May 1603, His Majesty set forward from the
Charterhouse, to the Tower of London; in going quietly on horseback to
Whitehall, where he took [his] barge.

Having shot the Bridge [_London Bridge_], his present landing was
expected at [the] Tower Stairs. But it pleased His Highness to pass the
Tower Stairs, towards St. Katharine's: and there stayed on the water
to see the ordnance on the White Tower, commonly called JULIUS
CÆSAR's Tower, being in number 20 pieces; [together] with the
great ordnance on Tower Wharf, being in number 100; and chambers to
the number of 130, discharged off. Of which all services were so
sufficiently performed by the Gunners, that a peal of so good order was
never heard before: which was most commendable to all sorts, and very
acceptable to the King.

Then his royal person arrived at his own Stairs, so called the King's
Stairs; and with him these Nobles, besides other gallant Gentlemen of
worthy note, viz:

 [CHARLES HOWARD, the Earl of NOTTINGHAM,] the Lord
 Admiral,

 [HENRY PERCY,] the Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND,

 [EDWARD SOMERSET,] the Earl of WORCESTER, Lord
 THOMAS HOWARD, &c.

At his coming up the Stairs, the Sword was presented to His Majesty by
Sir THOMAS CONI[G]SBY, Gentleman Usher of his Privy Chamber;
and by the King delivered to the Duke of LENOX: who bare it
before him into the Tower.

Upon the Stairs, the Gentleman Porter delivered the Keys of the Tower
to [Sir JOHN PEYTON] the Lieutenant of the Tower; and the
Lieutenant presented them accordingly to the King's Majesty: who most
graciously acknowledged the most faithful discharge of the loyal and
most great trust put in him; so, taking him about the neck, [he]
redelivered them again.

After his repose in the Tower some [_i.e. about an_] hour; it was
His Majesty's pleasure to see some [of the] Offices: as the Armory,
the Wardrobe, the rich Artillery, and the Church. And after, for
recreation, he walked in the garden: and so rested for that night.

The next day, being Thursday and the 12th of May [1603] he saw the
Ordnance House; and after that, the Mint Houses; and, last of all, the
lions.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next day, being Friday the 13th of May [1603], he made these Lords
and Knights following, viz:

In his Presence Chamber, before dinner.

[Sir ROBERT CECIL,] Lord ESSENDON [, co. Rutl.: _afterwards_ Earl of
SALISBURY]. [Sir ROBERT SYDNEY,] Lord SYDNEY of Penshurst [, co. Kent:
afterwards Earl of LEICESTER]. [Sir WILLIAM KNOLLYS,] Lord KNOLLYS of
Grays [, co. Oxon.: _afterwards_ Earl of BANBURY]. [Sir EDWARD WOTTON,]
Lord WOTTON of Mar[her]ley [, co. Kent].

  Sir JOHN DEANE     [co. Essex]
  Sir JOHN TREAVOR   [co. Flint]
  Sir THOMAS SMITH   [co. Kent]
  Sir THOMAS HUBERT  [co. Norf.]

And [in the] afternoon, in the Gallery.

  Sir WILLIAM DETHICK, Garter
  [King at Arms                co. Surr.]
  Sir ROBERT MACKLARAND       [co. Oxon.]
  Sir GEORGE MORTON           [co. Dors.]
  Sir EDMUND BELL             [co. Norf.]
  Sir THOMAS PEYTON           [co. Kent]
  Sir DAVID FOWLES
  Sir WILLIAM GARDNER         [co. Surr.]

    [Footnote 17: As recorded in this Narrative, JAMES I. made 303
    Knights during his Progress to London; and, in all, 2323 during his
    reign in England. The spelling of their names is given here according
    to J. P. [JOHN PHILIPOT], Somerset Herald, his _A perfect
    Collection of all Knight Bachelors made by King JAMES, &c._
    London. 1660. 8vo. From which authority also, their Counties are here
    inserted between square brackets. Names in PHILIPOT, and not
    in this text, are also inserted in square brackets.
    E. A.]

    [Footnote 18: Sir OLIVER CROMWELL was uncle of his great
    namesake.
    E. A.]




 MICHAEL DRAYTON.

 _Odes._

 [1606, and 1619.]

  The following twelve _Odes_ made their first appearance in an undated
  Volume of _Poems Lyrical and Pastoral_: but its date is fixed, as
  being in 1606, mainly by the 11th _Ode_ on _The Virginian Voyage_.

  As will be seen from pages 358-359 of the Second Volume of this
  Series; JAMES I., on 10th April 1606, divided Virginia into two
  Colonies. The Southern (34° to 41° N.), or First, Colony, he granted
  to the London Company: and the Northern (38° to 45° N.), or Second,
  Colony, to the Plymouth Company.

  This 11th Ode must therefore have been written somewhat before 12th
  August 1606; as, on that day, the Plymouth Company sent off, for
  North Virginia, Captain HENRY CHALLON's ship: which was however taken
  by the Spanish Plate Fleet, and its crew brought prisoners into Spain.

  Of these twelve _Odes_; Nos. 4 and 8 were not reprinted in the Second
  Edition of 1619. The text of the other ten is largely that of that
  later edition, which was carefully revised by DRAYTON; who, amongst
  other changes, added in it those Headings which are here inserted
  between square brackets.


_To the Reader._

ODES I have called these, the first of my few Poems; which how happy
soever they prove, yet Criticism itself cannot say, That the name is
wrongfully usurped. For (not to begin with Definitions, against the
Rule of Oratory; nor _ab ovo_, against the Prescript of Poetry in a
poetical argument: but somewhat only to season thy palate with a slight
description) an Ode is known to have been properly a Song moduled to
the ancient harp: and neither too short-breathed, as hastening to the
end; nor composed of [the] longest verses, as unfit for the sudden
turns and lofty tricks with which APOLLO used to manage it.

They are, as the Learned say, divers:

Some transcendently lofty; and far more high than the Epic, commonly
called the Heroic, Poem--witness those of the inimitable PINDARUS
consecrated to the glory and renown of such as returned in triumph from
[the Games at] Olympus, Elis, Isthmus, or the like.

Others, among the Greeks, are amorous, soft, and made for chambers; as
others for theatres: as were ANACREON's, the very delicacies of the
Grecian ERATO; which Muse seemed to have been the Minion of that Teian
old man, which composed them.

Of a mixed kind were HORACE's. And [we] may truly therefore call these
mixed; whatsoever else are mine: little partaking of the high dialect
of the first

Though we be _all_ to seek Of PINDAR, that great Greek, [p. 531]

nor altogether of ANACREON; the Arguments being amorous, moral, or what
else the Muse pleaseth.

To write much in this kind neither know I how it will relish: nor,
in so doing, can I but injuriously presuppose ignorance or sloth in
thee; or draw censure upon myself for sinning against the decorum
of a Preface, by reading a Lecture, where it is enough to sum the
points. New they are, and the work of Playing Hours: but what other
commendation is theirs, and whether inherent in the subject, must be
thine to judge.

       *       *       *       *       *

But to act the Go-Between of my Poems and thy applause, is neither
my modesty nor confidence: that, oftener than once, have acknowledged
thee, kind; and do not doubt hereafter to do somewhat in which I shall
not fear thee, just. And would, at this time, also gladly let thee
understand what I think, above the rest, of the last Ode of the number;
or, if thou wilt, Ballad in my book. For both the great Master of
Italian rymes PETRARCH, and our CHAUCER, and others of the Upper House
of the Muses, have thought their Canzons honoured in the title of a
_Ballad_: which for that I labour to meet truly therein with the old
English garb, I hope as ably to justify as the learned COLIN CLOUT his
_Roundelay_.

Thus requesting thee, in thy better judgment, to correct such faults as
have escaped in the printing; I bid thee farewell.

 [M. DRAYTON.]




 _ODES._

 [1606.]




 ODE 1.

 _To Himself, and the Harp._


    AND why not I, as he
    That's greatest, if as free,
      (In sundry strains that strive,
    Since there so many be),
      Th' old Lyric kind revive?

    I will, yea; and I may:
    Who shall oppose my way?
      For what is he alone,
    That of himself can say,
      He's Heir of Helicon.

    APOLLO and the Nine
    Forbid no man their shrine,
      That cometh with hands pure;
    Else, they be so divine,
      They will not him endure.

    For they be such coy things;
    That they care not for Kings,
      And dare let them know it:
    Nor may he touch their Springs
      That is not born a Poet.

    [Sidenote: PYRENÆUS,
    King of Phocis
    attempting to
    ravish the
    Muses.]

    The Phocean it did prove,
    Whom when foul lust did move
      Those Maids, unchaste to make;
    Fell as with them he strove,
      His neck and justly brake.


    That instrument ne'er heard,
    Struck by the skilful Bard,
      It strongly to awake;
    But it th' infernals scared,
      And made Olympus quake.

    [Sidenote: 1 Samuel xvi.]

    As those prophetic strings,
    Whose sounds with fiery wings
      Drave fiends from their abode;
    Touched by the best of Kings,
      That sang the holy Ode.

    [Sidenote: ORPHEUS the
    Thracian Poet.
    _Caput, Hebre,
    lyramque
    excipis, &c._
    OVID.
    _Metam._ xi.]

    So his, which women slew:
    And it int' Hebrus threw;
      Such sounds yet forth it sent,
    The banks to weep that drew,
      As down the stream it went.

    [Sidenote: MERCURY,
    inventor of the
    harp, as HORACE.
    Ode 10, Lib. I.,
    _curvæque lyræ
    parentem_.]

    That by the tortoise shell,
    To MAYA's son it fell,
      The most thereof not doubt:
    But sure some Power did dwell
      In him who found it out.

    [Sidenote: Thebes feigned
    to have been
    raised by music.]

    The wildest of the field,
    And air, with rivers t' yield,
      Which moved; that sturdy glebes,
    And mossy oaks could wield,
      To raise the piles of Thebes.

    And diversely though strung,
    So anciently We sung
      To it; that now scarce known,
    If first it did belong
      To Greece, or if our own.

    [Sidenote: The ancient
    British Priests,
    so called of their
    abode in woods.]

    The Druids embrued
    With gore, on altars rude
      With sacrifices crowned,
    In hollow woods bedewed,
      Adored the trembling sound.

    [Sidenote: PINDAR, Prince of the Greek Lyrics, of whom
    HORACE, _PINDARUM quisquis studet, &c._ Ode 2, Lib. IV.]

    Though we be _all_ to seek
    Of PINDAR, that great Greek,
      To finger it aright;
    The soul with power to strike:
      His hand retained such might.

    [Sidenote: HORACE, first of
    the Romans in
    that kind.]

    Or him that Rome did grace,
    Whose Airs we all embrace:
      That scarcely found his peer;
    Nor giveth PHŒBUS place,
      For strokes divinely clear.

    [Sidenote: The Irish Harp.]

    The Irish I admire,
    And still cleave to that Lyre
      As our Music's mother:
    And think, till I expire,
      APOLLO's such another.

    As Britons that so long
    Have held this antique Song;
      And let all our carpers
    Forbear their fame to wrong:
      Th'are right skilful harpers.

    [Sidenote: SOOWTHERN, an English Lyric.
    [His _PANDORA_ was published in 1584.]]

    SOOWTHERN, I long thee spare;
    Yet wish thee well to fare,
      Who me pleasedst greatly:
    As first, therefore more rare,
      Handling thy harp neatly.

    To those that with despite
    Shall term these Numbers slight;
      Tell them, Their judgment's blind!
    Much erring from the right.
      It is a noble kind.

    [Sidenote: An Old English
    Rhymer.]

    Nor is 't the Verse doth make,
    That giveth, or doth take:
      'Tis possible to climb,
    To kindle, or to slake;
      Although in SKELTON's rhyme.


 ODE 2.

 _To the New Year._

    RICH statue double faced!
    With marble temples graced,
      To raise thy godhead higher;
    In flames where, altars shining.
    Before thy Priests divining,
      Do od'rous fumes expire.

    Great JANUS, I thy pleasure,
    With all the Thespian treasure,
      Do seriously pursue:
    To th' passed year returning,
    As though the Old adjourning;
      Yet bringing in the New.

    Thy ancient Vigils yearly,
    I have observèd clearly;
      Thy Feasts yet smoking be!
    Since all thy store abroad is;
    Give something to my goddess,
      As hath been used by thee!

    Give her th' Eoan Brightness!
    Winged with that subtle lightness
      That doth transpierce the air;
    The Roses of the Morning!
    The rising heaven adorning,
      To mesh with flames of hair;

    Those ceaseless Sounds, above all,
    Made by those orbs that move all;
      And ever swelling there:
    Wrapped up in Numbers flowing,
    Them actually bestowing
      For jewels at her ear.

    O rapture great and holy,
    Do thou transport me wholly
      So well her form to vary!
    That I aloft may bear her
    Where as I will insphere her
      In regions high and starry.

    And in my choice Composures,
    The soft and easy Closures
      So amorously shall meet,
    That every lively Ceasure
    Shall tread a perfect measure,
      Set on so equal feet.

    That spray to fame so fert'le,
    The lover-crowning myrtle,
      In wreaths of mixèd boughs;
    Within whose shades are dwelling
    Those beauties most excelling,
      Enthroned upon her brows.

    Those parallels so even,
    Drawn on the face of heaven,
      That curious Art supposes;
    Direct those gems, whose clearness
    Far off amaze by nearness,
      Each globe such fire encloses.

    Her bosom full of blisses,
    By Nature made for kisses;
      So pure and wondrous clear:
    Where as a thousand Graces
    Behold their lovely faces,
      As they are bathing there.

    O thou self-little Blindness!
    The kindness of unkindness,
      Yet one of those Divine:
    Thy Brands to me were lever,
    Thy Fascia, and thy Quiver,
      And thou this Quill of mine.

    This heart so freshly bleeding,
    Upon its own self feeding;
      Whose wounds still dropping be:
    O Love, thyself confounding,
    Her coldness so abounding,
      And yet such heat in me.

    Yet, if I be inspirèd,
    I'll leave thee so admirèd
      To all that shall succeed;
    That were they more than many,
    'Mongst all there is not any
      That Time so oft shall read.

    Nor adamant ingravèd,
    That hath been choicely savèd,
      IDEA's name outwears:
    So large a dower as this is;
    The greatest often misses,
      The diadem that bears.


 ODE 3.

 [_To Cupid._]

    MAIDENS, why spare ye?
    Or whether not dare ye
      Correct the blind Shooter?'
    "Because wanton VENUS,
    So oft that doth pain us,
      Is her son's tutor.

    "Now in the Spring,
    He proveth his wing;
      The field is his Bower:

    And as the small bee,
    About flyeth he,
      From flower to flower.

    "And wantonly roves
    Abroad in the groves,
      And in the air hovers;
    Which when it him deweth,
    His feathers he meweth
      In sighs of true Lovers.

    "And since doomed by Fate
    (That well knew his hate)
      That he should be blind;
    For very despite,
    Our eyes be his White:
      So wayward his kind!

    "If his shafts losing
    (Ill his mark choosing)
      Or his bow broken;
    The moan VENUS maketh,
    And care that she taketh,
      Cannot be spoken.

    "To VULCAN commending
    Her love; and straight sending
      Her doves and her sparrows,
    With kisses, unto him:
    And all but to woo him
      To make her son arrows.

    "Telling what he hath done;
    Saith she, 'Right mine own son!'
      In her arms she him closes.
    Sweets on him fans,
    Laid in down of her swans;
      His sheets, leaves of roses.

    "And feeds him with kisses;
    Which oft when he misses,
      He ever is froward.
    The mother's o'erjoying
    Makes, by much coying,
      The child so untoward."

    _Yet in a fine net,
    That a spider set,
      The Maidens had caught him.
    Had she not been near him,
    And chancèd to hear him;
      More good they had taught him!_


 _To my worthy friend Master JOHN SAVAGE of the Inner Temple._


 ODE 4.

    UPON this sinful earth,
      If Man can happy be,
    And higher than his birth,
      Friend, take him thus of me:

    Whom promise not deceives,
      That he the breach should rue;
    Nor constant reason leaves
      Opinion to pursue.

    To raise his mean estate,
      That soothes no Wanton's sin:
    Doth that preferment hate,
      That virtue doth not win.

    Nor bravery doth admire:
      Nor doth more love profess
    To that he doth desire,
      Than that he doth possess.

    Loose humour nor to please,
      That neither spares nor spends;
    But by discretion weighs
      What is to needful ends.

    To him deserving not,
      Not yielding: nor doth hold
    What is not his: doing what
      He ought, not what he could.

    Whom the base tyrants' will
      So much could never awe
    As him, for good or ill,
      From honesty to draw.

    Whose constancy doth rise
      'Bove undeservèd spite;
    Whose valuers to despise
      That most doth him delight.

    That early leave doth take
      Of th' World, though to his pain,
    For Virtue's only sake;
      And not till need constrain.

    No man can be so free,
      Though in imperial seat;
    Nor eminent: as he
      That deemeth nothing great.


 ODE 5.

 [_An Amouret Anacreontic._]

    MOST good! most fair!
    Or thing as rare!
    To call you 's lost;
    For all the cost
    Words can bestow
    So poorly show
    Upon your praise,
    That all the ways
    Sense hath, come short.
    Whereby Report
    Falls them under:
    That when Wonder
    More hath seized;
    Yet not pleased
    That it, in kind,
    Nothing can find,
    You to express.
    Nevertheless
    As by globes small
    This mighty ALL
    Is shewed, though far
    From life; each star
    A World being:
    So we seeing
    You, like as that,
    Only trust what
    Art doth us teach.
    And when I reach
    At Moral Things,
    And that my strings
    Gravely should strike;
    Straight some mislike
    Blotteth mine Ode;
    As, with the Load,
    The Steel we touch:
    Forced ne'er so much;

    Yet still removes
    To that it loves,
    Till there it stays.
    So to your praise
    I turn ever:
    And though never
    From you moving;
    Happy so loving.


 ODE 6.

 [_Love's Conquest._]

      WER'T granted me to choose,
    How I would end my days,
      Since I this life must lose;
    It should be in your praise:
    For there are no Bays
      Can be set above You.

      S'impossibly I love You;
    And for You sit so high
      (Whence none may remove You)
    In my clear Poesy,
    That I oft deny
      You so ample merit.

      The freedom of my spirit
    Maintaining, still, my cause;
      Your sex not to inherit,
    Urging the Salic Laws:
    But your virtue draws
      From me every due.

      Thus still You me pursue,
    That nowhere I can dwell;
      By fear made just to You,

    Who naturally rebel;
    Of You that excel
      That should I still endite.

      Yet will You want some rite.
    That lost in your high praise,
      I wander to and fro;
    As seeing sundry ways:
    Yet which the right not know
      To get out of this Maze.


 ODE 7.

 [_An Ode written in the Peak._]

    THIS while we are abroad,
      Shall we not touch our Lyre?
    Shall we not sing an Ode?
      Shall that holy fire,
    In us that strongly glowed,
      In this cold air expire?

    Long since the Summer laid
      Her lusty bravery down;
    The Autumn half is weighed,
      And BOREAS 'gins to frown:
    Since now I did behold
    Great BRUTE's first builded town.

    Though in the utmost Peak,
      A while we do remain:
    Amongst the mountains bleak,
      Exposed to sleet and rain:
    No sport our hours shall break,
      To exercise our vein.

    What though bright PHŒBUS' beams
      Refresh the southern ground:
    And though the princely Thames
      With beauteous Nymphs abound;
    And by old Camber's streams
      Be many wonders found:

    Yet many rivers clear
      Here glide in silver swathes;
    And what of all most dear,
      Buxton's delicious baths,
    Strong ale, and noble cheer,
      T'assuage breem Winter's scathes.

    Those grim and horrid caves,
      Whose looks affright the day;
    Wherein nice Nature saves
      What she would not bewray:
    Our better leisure craves,
      And doth invite our Lay.

    In places far, or near,
      Or famous, or obscure;
    Where wholesome is the air,
      Or where the most impure;
    All times, and everywhere,
      The Muse is still in ure.


 ODE 8.

    SING we the Rose!
    Than which no flower there grows
            Is sweeter;
        And aptly her compare
    With what in that is rare:
        A parallel none meeter.

        Or made posies,
    Of this that encloses
        Such blisses:
    That naturally flusheth,
        As she blusheth
    When she is robbed of kisses.

        Or if strewed,
    When with the morning dewed;
        Or stilling;
    Or how to sense exposed:
    All which in her enclosed,
    Each place with sweetness filling.

        That most renowned
    By Nature richly crowned
        With yellow;
    Of that delicious lair:
    And as pure her hair,
    Unto the same the fellow.

        Fearing of harm;
    Nature that flower doth arm
        From danger:
    The touch gives her offence,
    But with reverence
    Unto herself, a stranger.

        The red, or white,
    Or mixed, the sense delight,
        Beholding,
    In her complexion:
    All which perfection,
    Such harmony infolding,

        That divided,
    Ere it was decided
        Which most pure,
    Began the grievous War
    Of YORK and LANCASTER,
    That did many years endure.

        Conflicts as great
    As were in all that heat,
        I sustain:
    By her, as many hearts
    As men on either parts.
    That with her eyes hath slain.

        The Primrose flower.
    The first of FLORA's bower
        Is placed:
    So is She first, as best:
    Though excellent the rest;
    All gracing, by none graced.


 ODE 9.

 [_A Skeltoniad._]

    THE Muse should be sprightly;
    Yet not handling lightly
    Things grave: as much loath
    Things that be slight, to cloathe
    Curiously. To retain
    The Comeliness in mean
    Is true Knowledge and Wit.
    Nor me forced rage doth fit,
    That I thereto should lack
    Tobacco, or need Sack;
    Which to the colder brain
    Is the true Hippocrene.
    Nor did I ever care
    For Great Fools, nor them spare.
    Virtue, though neglected,
    Is not so dejected
    As vilely to descend
    To low baseness, their end:
    Neither each rhyming slave
    Deserves the name to have
    Of Poet. So, the rabble
    Of Fools, for the table,
    That have their jests by heart,
    As an Actor his part,
    Might assume them chairs
    Amongst the Muses' heirs.
    Parnassus is not clomb
    By every such Mome:
    Up whose steep side who swerves,
    It behoves t' have strong nerves.
    My resolution such
    How _well_, and not how _much_,
    To write. Thus do I fare
    Like some few good, that care
    (The evil sort among)
    How _well_ to live, and not how _long_.


 ODE 10.

 [_His Defence against the idle Critic._]

    THE Ryme nor mars, nor makes;
    Nor addeth it, nor takes,
      From that which we propose:
    Things imaginary
    Do so strangely vary
      That quickly we them lose.

    And what's quickly begot,
    As soon again is not;
      This do I truly know.
    Yea, and what's born with pain;
    That, Sense doth long'st retain,
      Gone with a greater flow.

    Yet this Critic so stern,
    (But whom, none must discern
      Nor perfectly have seeing)
    Strangely lays about him,
    As nothing without him
      Were worthy of being.

    That I myself betray
    To that most public way;
      Where the World's old bawd
    Custom, that doth humour,
    And by idle rumour,
      Her dotages applaud.

    That whilst she still prefers
    Those that be wholly hers,
      Madness and Ignorance;
    I creep behind the Time,
    From spertling with their crime;
      And glad too with my chance.

    O wretched World the while,
    When the evil most vile
      Beareth the fairest face;
    And inconstant lightness,
    With a scornful slightness,
      The best things doth disgrace!

    Whilst this strange knowing beast,
    Man; of himself the least,
      His envy declaring,
    Makes Virtue to descend,
    Her title to defend
      Against him; much preparing.

    Yet these me not delude,
    Nor from my place extrude,
      By their resolvèd hate;
    Their vileness that do know:
    Which to myself I show,
      To keep above my fate.


 ODE 11.

 _To the Virginian Voyage._

    YOU brave heroic minds,
    Worthy your country's name,
      That Honour still pursue;
      Go and subdue!
    Whilst loitering hinds
      Lurk here at home with shame.

    Britans, you stay too long;
    Quickly aboard bestow you!
      And with a merry gale
      Swell your stretched sail!
    With vows as strong
    As the winds that blow you.

    Your course securely steer,
    West-and-by-South forth keep!
      Rocks, Lee-shores, nor Shoals,
      When EOLUS scowls,
    You need not fear!
    So absolute the deep.

    And cheerfully at sea,
    Success you still entice,
      To get the pearl and gold;
      And ours to hold,
    Virginia,
    Earth's only Paradise.

    Where Nature hath in store
    Fowl, venison, and fish:
      And the fruitful soil;
      Without your toil,
    Three harvests more,
    All greater than your wish.

    And the ambitious vine
    Crowns, with his purple mass,
      The cedar reaching high
      To kiss the sky.
    The cypress, pine,
    And useful sassafras.

    To whose, the Golden Age
    Still Nature's laws doth give:
      No other cares that tend,
      But them to defend
    From winter's age,
    That long there doth not live.

    When as the luscious smell
    Of that delicious land,
      Above the seas that flows,
      The clear wind throws,
    Your hearts to swell,
    Approaching the dear strand.

    In kenning of the shore
    (Thanks to GOD first given!)
      O you, the happiest men,
      Be frolic then!
    Let cannons roar!
    Frightening the wide heaven.

    And in regions far,
    Such heroes bring ye forth
      As those from whom We came!
      And plant our name
    Under that Star
    Not known unto our North!

    And as there plenty grows
    Of laurel everywhere,
      APOLLO's sacred tree;
      You it may see
    A Poet's brows
    To crown, that may sing there.

    Thy _Voyages_ attend,
    Industrious HAKLUYT!
      Whose reading shall inflame
    Men to seek fame;
    And much commend
      To after Times thy wit.


 ODE 12.

 _To the Cambro-Britans and their Harp, his Ballad of Agincourt._

 [Besides this Ballad: MICHAEL DRAYTON published, in 1627, a
 much longer Poem upon this celebrated Battle.]

    FAIR stood the wind for France,
    When we our sails advance;
    Nor now to prove our chance
        Longer will tarry.
    But putting to the main;
    At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
    With all his martial train
        Landed King HARRY.

    And taking many a fort
    Furnished in warlike sort,
    Marcheth towards Agincourt
        In happy hour;
    Skirmishing, day by day,
    With those that stopped his way,
    Where the French General lay
        With all his Power.

    Which, in his height of pride,
    King HENRY to deride;
    His ransom to provide,
        To the King sending.

    Which he neglects the while,
    As from a nation vile:
    Yet, with an angry smile,
        Their fall portending.

    And turning to his men,
    Quoth our brave HENRY then:
    "Though they to one be ten
        Be not amazèd!
    Yet have we well begun:
    Battles so bravely won
    Have ever to the sun
        By Fame been raised!"

    "And for myself," quoth he,
    "This my full rest shall be:
    England ne'er mourn for me,
        Nor more esteem me!
    Victor I will remain,
    Or on this earth lie slain:
    Never shall She sustain
        Loss to redeem me!

    "Poitiers and Cressy tell,
    When most their pride did swell,
    Under our swords they fell.
        No less our skill is,
    Than when our Grandsire great,
    Claiming the regal seat,
    By many a warlike feat
        Lopped the French lillies."

    The Duke of YORK so dread
    The eager Vanward led;
    With the Main, HENRY sped
        Amongst his henchmen:
    EXETER had the Rear,
    A braver man not there!
    O Lord, how hot they were
        On the false Frenchmen!

    They now to fight are gone;
    Armour on armour shone;
    Drum now to drum did groan:
        To hear, was wonder.
    That, with cries they make,
    The very earth did shake;
    Trumpet, to trumpet spake;
        Thunder, to thunder.

    Well it thine age became,
    O noble ERPINGHAM!
    Which didst the signal aim
        To our hid forces:
    When, from a meadow by,
    Like a storm suddenly,
    The English Archery
        Stuck the French horses.

    With Spanish yew so strong;
    Arrows a cloth-yard long,
    That like to serpents stung,
        Piercing the weather.
    None from his fellow starts;
    But, playing manly parts,
    And like true English hearts,
        Stuck close together.

    When down their bows they threw;
    And forth their bilbowes [_swords_] drew
    And on the French they flew:
        Not one was tardy.
    Arms were from the shoulders sent
    Scalps to the teeth were rent,
    Down the French peasants went:
        Our men were hardy.

    This while our noble King,
    His broad sword brandishing,
    Down the French host did ding
        As to o'erwhelm it.

    And many a deep wound lent;
    His arms with blood besprent,
    And many a cruel dent
        Bruisèd his helmet.

    GLOUCESTER that Duke so good,
    Next of the royal blood,
    For famous England stood
        With his brave brother.
    CLARENCE, in steel so bright,
    Though but a Maiden Knight;
    Yet in that furious fight,
        Scarce such another!

    WARWICK, in blood did wade;
    OXFORD, the foe invade,
    And cruel slaughter made,
        Still as they ran up.
    SUFFOLK his axe did ply;
    BEAUMONT and WILLOUGHBY
    Bare them right doughtily:
        FERRERS, and FANHOPE.

    Upon Saint CRISPIN's Day,
    Fought was this noble Fray;
    Which Fame did not delay
        To England to carry.
    O when shall English men
    With such acts fill a pen?
    Or England breed again
        Such a King HARRY?

 FINIS.


 PREFACE TO THE ADDITIONAL ODES OF 1619.


_To the worthy Knight, and my noble friend,
 Sir HENRY GOODERE, a Gentleman of
 His Majesty's Privy Chamber._


    THESE Lyric pieces, short, and few,
    Most worthy Sir, I send to you;
      To read them be not weary!
    They may become JOHN HEWES his lyre,
    Which oft, at Polesworth,[19] by the fire,
      Hath made us gravely merry.

    Believe it, he must have the trick
    Of Ryming, with Invention quick,
      That should do Lyrics well:
    But how I have done in this kind,
    Though in myself I cannot find,
      Your judgment best can tell.

    Th' old British Bards (upon their harps
    For falling Flats, and rising Sharps,
      That curiously were strung)
    To stir their Youth to warlike rage,
    Or their wild fury to assuage,
      In these loose Numbers sung.

    No more I, for fools' censure pass,
    Than for the braying of an ass;
      Nor once mine ear will lend them:
    If you but please to take in gree
    These _Odes_, sufficient 'tis to me:
      Your liking can commend them.

  Yours,

  MICHAEL DRAYTON.




 ODES,

 WITH OTHER LYRIC POESIES.


 _To his Valentine._

    MUSE, bid the Morn awake!
      Sad Winter now declines,
    Each bird doth choose a Make;
      This day's Saint VALENTINE's.
    For that good Bishop's sake
    Get up, and let us see
    What Beauty it shall be
      That Fortune us assigns!

    But, lo, in happy hour,
      The place wherein she lies;
    In yonder climbing Tower,
      Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise!
    O, JOVE, that in a shower
    (As once that Thunderer did,
    When he in drops lay hid)
      That I could her surprise!

    Her canopy I'll draw,
      With spangled plumes bedight:
    No mortal ever saw
      So ravishing a sight;
    That it the Gods might awe,
    And pow'rfully transpierce
    The globy Universe,
      Outshooting every light.

    My lips I'll softly lay
      Upon her heavenly cheek,
    Dyed like the dawning day,
      As polished ivory sleek;
    And in her ear I'll say:
    "O thou bright Morning Star!
    'Tis I, that come so far,
      My Valentine to seek.

    "Each little bird, this tide,
      Doth choose her lovèd pheere;

    Which constantly abide
      In wedlock all the year,
    As Nature is their guide;
    So may we Two be true
    This year, nor change for new;
      As turtles coupled were.

    "The sparrow, swan, the dove,
      Though VENUS' birds they be;
    Yet are they not for love,
      So absolute as we!
    For reason us doth move;
    But they by billing woo.
    Then try what we can do!
      To whom each sense is free.

    "Which we have more than they,
      By livelier organs swayed;
    Our Appetite each way
      More by our Sense obeyed.
    Our Passions to display,
    This season us doth fit;
    Then let us follow it.
      As Nature us doth lead!

    "One kiss in two let's breathe!
      Confounded with the touch,
    But half words let us speak!
      Our lips employed so much,
    Until we both grow weak:
    With sweetness of thy breath,
    O smother me to death!
      Long let our joys be such!

    "Let's laugh at them that choose
      Their Valentines by lot;
    To wear their names that use,
      Whom idly they have got."
    Saint VALENTINE, befriend!
    We thus this Morn may spend:
      Else, Muse, awake her not!


 _The Heart._

    IF thus we needs must go;
    What shall our one Heart do,
    This One made of our Two?

    Madam, two Hearts we brake;
    And from them both did take
    The best, one Heart to make.

    Half this is of your Heart,
    Mine in the other part;
    Joined by an equal Art.

    Were it cemented, or sewn;
    By shreds or pieces known,
    We might each find our own.

    But 'tis dissolved and fixed;
    And with such cunning mixed,
    No diff'rence that betwixt.

    But how shall we agree,
    By whom it kept shall be:
    Whether by you or me?

    It cannot two breasts fill;
    One must be heartless still,
    Until the other will.

    It came to me to-day:
    When I willed it to say,
    With Whether would it stay?

    It told me, "In your breast,
    Where it might hope to rest:
    For if it were my guest,

    "For certainty, it knew
    That I would still anew
    Be sending it to you!"

    Never, I think, had two
    Such work, so much, to do:
    A Unity to woo!

    Yours was so cold and chaste:
    Whilst mine with zeal did waste;
    Like Fire with Water placed.

    How did my Heart intreat!
    How pant! How did it beat,
    Till it could give yours heat!

    Till to that temper brought,
    Through our perfection wrought,
    That blessing either's thought.

    In such a height it lies
    From this base World's dull eyes;
    That Heaven it not envies.

    All that this Earth can show,
    Our Heart shall not once know!
    For it's too vile and low.


 _The Sacrifice to APOLLO._

    PRIESTS of APOLLO, sacred be the room
    For this learned meeting! Let no barbarous groom,
            How brave soe'er he be,
            Attempt to enter!
            But of the Muses free,
            None here may venture!
    This for the Delphian Prophets is prepared:
    The profane Vulgar are from hence debarred!

    And since the Feast so happily begins;
    Call up those fair Nine, with their violins!
          They are begot by JOVE.
          Then let us place them
          Where no clown in may shove,
          That may disgrace them:
    But let them near to young APOLLO sit;
    So shall his foot-pace overflow with wit.

    Where be the Graces? Where be those fair Three?
    In any hand, they may not absent be!
          They to the Gods are dear:
          And they can humbly
          Teach us, ourselves to bear,
          And do things comely.
    They, and the Muses, rise both from one stem:
    They grace the Muses; and the Muses, them.

    Bring forth your flagons, filled with sparkling wine
    (Whereon swollen BACCHUS, crownèd with a vine,
          Is graven); and fill out!
          It well bestowing
          To every man about,
          In goblets flowing!
    Let not a man drink, but in draughts profound!
    To our god PHŒBUS, let the Health go round!

    Let your Jests fly at large; yet therewithal
    See they be Salt, but yet not mixed with Gall!
          Not tending to disgrace:
          But fairly given,
          Becoming well the place,
          Modest and even,
    That they, with tickling pleasure, may provoke
    Laughter in him on whom the Jest is broke.

    Or if the deeds of Heroes ye rehearse:
    Let them be sung in so well-ordered Verse,
          That each word have its weight,
          Yet run with pleasure!

          Holding one stately height
          In so brave measure
    That they may make the stiffest storm seem weak;
    And damp JOVE's thunder, when it loud'st doth speak.

    And if ye list to exercise your vein,
    Or in the Sock, or in the Buskined strain;
          Let Art and Nature go
          One with the other!
          Yet so, that Art may show
          Nature her mother:
    The thick-brained audience lively to awake,
    Till with shrill claps the Theatre do shake.

    Sing Hymns to BACCHUS then, with hands upreared!
    Offer to JOVE, who most is to be feared!
          From him the Muse we have.
          From him proceedeth
          More than we dare to crave.
          'Tis he that feedeth
    Them, whom the World would starve. Then let the lyre
    Sound! whilst his altars endless flames expire.


 _To his Rival._

        HER loved I most,
        By thee that 's lost,
    Though she were won with leisure;
        She was my gain:
        But to my pain,
    Thou spoilest me of my treasure.

        The ship full fraught
        With gold, far sought,
    Though ne'er so wisely helmèd,
        May suffer wrack
        In sailing back,
    By tempest overwhelmèd.

        But She, good Sir!
        Did not prefer
    You, for that I was ranging:
        But for that She
        Found faith in me,
    And She loved to be changing.

        Therefore boast not
         Your happy lot;
    Be silent now you have her!
        The time I knew
        She slighted you,
    When I was in her favour.

        None stands so fast
        But may be cast
    By Fortune, and disgracèd:
        Once did I wear
        Her garter there,
    Where you her glove have placèd.

        I had the vow
        That thou hast now,
    And glances to discover
        Her love to me;
        And She to thee,
    Reads but old lessons over.

        She hath no smile
        That can beguile;
    But, as my thought, I know it:
        Yea to a hair,
        Both when, and where,
    And how, she will bestow it.

        What now is thine
        Was only mine,
    And first to me was given;
        Thou laugh'st at me!
        I laugh at thee!
    And thus we two are even.

        But I'll not mourn,
        But stay my turn;
    The wind may come about, Sir!
        And once again
        May bring me in;
    And help to bear you out, Sir!


 _The Crier._

    GOOD folk, for gold or hire,
    But help me to a Crier!
    For my poor Heart is run astray
    After two Eyes, that passed this way.

        Oh yes! O yes! O yes!
        If there be any man,
        In town or country, can
        Bring me my Heart again;
        I'll please him for his pain.

    And by these marks, I will you show
    That only I this Heart do owe [_own_]:
        It is a wounded Heart,
        Wherein yet sticks the dart.
    Every piece sore hurt throughout it:
    Faith and Troth writ round about it.
    It was a tame Heart, and a dear;
        And never used to roam:
    But having got this haunt, I fear
        'Twill hardly stay at home.

    For God's sake, walking by the way,
        If you my Heart do see;
    Either impound it for a Stray,
        Or send it back to me!


 _To his coy Love._

 A Canzonet.

    I PRAY thee leave! Love me no more!
      Call home the heart you gave me!
    I but in vain that Saint adore
      That can, but will not, save me.
    These poor half kisses kill me quite!
      Was ever man thus servèd?
    Amidst an ocean of delight.
      For pleasure to be starvèd.

    Show me no more those snowy breasts
      With azure riverets branchèd!
    Where whilst mine Eye with plenty feeds,
      Yet is my thirst not staunchèd.
    O TANTALUS, thy pains ne'er tell!
      By me thou art prevented:
    'Tis _nothing_ to be plagued in Hell;
      But, _thus_, in Heaven, tormented!

    Clip me no more in those dear arms;
      Nor thy "Life's Comfort" call me!
    O these are but too powerful charms;
      And do but more enthrall me.
    But see how patient I am grown,
      In all this coil about thee!
    Come, nice Thing, let thy heart alone!
      I cannot live without thee!


 _A Hymn to his Lady's Birth-place_.

    [Sidenote: Coventry finely walled.]

    [Sidenote: The shoulder-bone of a Boar of mighty bigness.]

    COVENTRY, that dost adorn
    The country [_County_] wherein I was born:
    Yet therein lies not thy praise;
    Why I should crown thy Towers with bays?
    'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds;
    Thy Ports; nor thy proud Pyramids;
    Nor thy trophies of the Boar:
    But that She which I adore,
    (Which scarce Goodness's self can pair)
    First there breathing, blest thy air.

    IDEA; in which name I hide
    Her, in my heart deified.
    For what good, Man's mind can see;
    Only her ideas be:
    She, in whom the Virtues came
    In Woman's shape, and took her name.
    She so far past imitation
    As (but Nature our creation
    Could not alter) she had aimed
    More than Woman to have framed.
    She whose truly written story,
    To thy poor name shall add more glory,
    Than if it should have been thy chance
    T' have bred our Kings that conquered France.

    [Sidenote: Two famous Pilgrimages: one in Norfolk, the other in Kent.]

    Had she been born the former Age,
    That house had been a Pilgrimage;
    And reputed more Divine
    Than Walsingham, or BECKET's Shrine.

    [Sidenote: GODIVA, Duke LEOFRIC's wife, who obtained
    the freedom of the city of her husband, by riding through it naked.]

    That Princess, to whom thou dost owe
    Thy Freedom (whose clear blushing snow
    The envious sun saw; when as she
    Naked rode to make thee free),
    Was but her type: as to foretell
    Thou shouldst bring forth One should excel
    Her bounty; by whom thou shouldst have
    More Honour, than she Freedom gave.

    [Sidenote: Queen ELIZABETH.]

    And that great Queen, which but of late
    Ruled this land in peace and State,
    Had not been; but Heaven had sworn
    A Maid should reign when She was born.

    [Sidenote: A noted street in Coventry.]

    [Sidenote: His Mistress's birthday.]

    Of thy streets, which thou hold'st best,
    And most frequent of the rest;
    Happy _Mich Park!_ Every year,
    On the Fourth of August there,
    Let thy Maids, from FLORA's bowers,
    With their choice and daintiest flowers
    Deck thee up! and from their store,
    With brave garlands crown that door!

    The old man passing by that way,
    To his son, in time, shall say:
    "There was that Lady born: which
    Long to after Ages shall be sung."
    Who, unawares being passed by,
    Back to that house shall cast his eye;
    Speaking my verses as he goes,
    And with a sigh shut every Close.

    Dear City! travelling by thee,
    When thy rising Spires I see,
    Destined her Place of Birth;
    Yet methinks the very earth
    Hallowed is, so far as I
    Can thee possibly descry.
    Then thou, dwelling in this place,
    (Hearing some rude hind disgrace
    Thy city, with some scurvy thing
    Which some Jester forth did bring)
    Speak these Lines, where thou dost come,
    And strike the slave for ever dumb.

    [Footnote 19: In Warwickshire.]

[Illustration]




 THOMAS, third Lord FAIRFAX.

 _Short Memorials
 of some things to be cleared
 during my Command in the Army._

 [1645 to 1650 A.D.]

  [From the holograph,
  now _Fairfax MS._ 36,
  in the Bodleian Library,
  Oxford.]

 [These _Memorials_ are not written in a strictly chronological
 sequence. They are of surpassing interest: being the recollections,
 about 1665, of many stirring events in England between 1642 and 1650,
 by a chief Actor in the same; whose personal motto was, _Mon DIEU, je
 servirai tant que je vivrai_.]

NOW when GOD is visiting the nation [? _an allusion to the Plague of
London in 1665_] for the transgressions of their ways, as formerly
he did to one sort of men so doth he it to another sort; so that all
may see their errors and his justice: and as we have cause to implore
his mercy, having sinned against him; so must we still vindicate his
justice, who is always "clear when he judgeth." [_Ps._ li. 4.]

Now therefore, by his grace and assistance, I shall truly set down
the grounds my actions moved upon during that unhappy War; and those
actions which seemed to the World the more questionable in my steering
through the turbulent and perilous seas of that time.

The first embarking into the sad calamities of War was about the year
1641 when the general distemper of the Three Kingdoms had kindled such
a flame even in the hearts (I mean the Difference between the King
and Parliament), as every one sought to guard his own house by the
authority of both these. But the different judgements and ways were
so contrary that, before a remedy could be found out, almost all was
consumed to ashes.

I must needs say my judgement was for the Parliament, as the King's,
and Kingdom's, great and safest Council; as others were for the King,
and averse to Parliament, as if it could not go high enough for the
Perogative.

Upon which division, different Powers were set up, viz.: The Commission
of Array for the King; and [the Militia for] the Parliament. But those
of the Array so exceeded their Commission by oppressing many honest
people; whom, by way of reproach, they called Roundheads: they being
(for Religion, Estates, and Interest) a very considerable part of the
country; that occasioned them to take up arms in their own defence,
which was afterwards confirmed by Parliamentary authority.

Now my father being yet at his house at Denton, where I then waited
on him, though he had notice from his friends that it was resolved
that he should be sent for, as a prisoner, to York: yet he resolved
not to stir from his own house; not knowing anything in himself to
deserve it. But the country [_Yorkshire_] suffering daily more and
more, many were forced to come and intreat him to join with them in
defence of themselves and country [_Yorkshire_]; which [were] being
sadly oppressed by those of the Array, which afterwards had the name of
Cavaliers.

And being much importuned by those that were about him; he was
resolved, seeing his country [_Yorkshire_] in this great distress, to
run the same hazard with them for the preservation of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Then did the Parliament grant a Commission to him, to be General of
the Forces in the North: myself also having a Commission under him, to
be General of the Horse. But it is not my intention, in this place,
to mention the several Services that were done in this Cause of the
Parliament: being rather desirous to clear my actions in it than to
declare them. Therefore I shall say no more [_See however pp. 577-610_]
of this Three Years' War in the North; there being nothing, I thank
GOD! in all that time to be alleged against me.

       *       *       *       *       *

But now I shall come to say something how I came to be engaged in the
South.

There being some years spent, in those parts, in a lingering War
between the forces of the King and [the] Parliament; and several
battles so equally fought, as could scarce be known on which side the
business in dispute would be determined; though it must be confessed
the Parliament's Army was under the command of a very noble and gallant
person, [ROBERT DEVEREUX] the Earl of ESSEX: yet finding Time and
Delay gaining more advantage on their affairs than Force had done;
the Parliament resolved to make a change in the constitution of their
Army; hoping by it to find a change also in businesses, which were then
something in a declining condition.

So as, in this distemper of affairs, the Army was New Modelled; and
a new General was proposed to command it. For which, by the Votes of
the Two Houses of Parliament [in February 1645], myself was nominated;
though most unfit: and so far from desiring of it, that had not so
great an authority commanded obedience, [I also] being then unseparated
from the royal Interest; besides the persuasions of nearest friends,
not to decline so free and general a Call; I should have "hid myself
[among the stuff," 1 _Samuel_ x. 22.] to have avoided so great a
charge. But whether it was from a natural facility in me, that betrayed
my modesty; or the powerful hand of GOD, which all things must obey: I
was induced to receive the Command.

Then was I immediately voted by the Parliament [in February 1645], to
come to London to take up my charge [_where he arrived on 18th February
1645_]; though not fully recovered of a dangerous wound, which I had
received a little before; and which, I verily believe, without the
miraculous hand of GOD had proved mortal.

But here, alas! when I bring to mind the sad consequences that
designing men have brought to pass since, from these first innocent
undertakings, I am ready to let go that confidence I had, with
JOB to say: "Till I die, I will not remove my integrity from
me; nor shall my heart reproach me so long as I live" [_Job_ xxvii. 5].
But now more fit to take up his Complaint with a little alteration and
to say, Why did I not die when I had that hurt? Why did I not give up
the ghost when my life was on the confines of the grave? [See _Job_ x.
18.]

But GOD having been pleased thus to give me my life as a prey; I took
my journey southward: hoping I might be someway serviceable to the
Public. But when I came thither, had it not been in the simplicity
of my heart, I could not have supported myself under the frowns and
displeasures showed me by those who were disgusted at this alteration;
in which many of them were themselves so much concerned: and these did
not only outwardly express it, but sought by all means to obstruct my
proceedings in this new charge. Who though they could not prevent what
the necessity of affairs pressed most to do, viz.: To march speedily
out with the Army; yet were we, by them, made so inconsiderable for
want of fit and necessary accommodations, as it rather seemed that we
were sent to be destroyed and ruined than to do any service for the
Kingdom by it. Insomuch as when I went to take my leave of a Great
Person [_Can this have been DENZIL HOLLES?_]; he told me, He
was very sorry I was going out with the Army, for he did believe we
should be beaten.

Surely then had some of our ends been Self Interest merely, this might
have discouraged us: but it working no such effects, gave the more
hopes of future success; as it did to the Parliament's advantage. But
if any ill use hath been made of such mercies, let the mercies be
acknowledged from GOD: but let the abuses receive their due reward of
shame and punishment.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus, being led on by good success, and clear intentions of a Public
Good; some of us could not discern the serpent which was hid in these
spreading leaves of so Good Fortune: nor could believe the fruits of
our hopes would prove as cockatrice's eggs; from whence so viperous a
brood should afterwards spring up.

But, how ill deserving so ever we were: yet still it pleased GOD to
give the Army such success in the years [16]45 and [16]46; that there
remained in England neither Army nor fortress to oppose the Parliament
in settling the peace of the Kingdom.

But this shining mercy soon became clouded with the mists of abominable
hypocrisy [and] deceit; even in those men, who had been instrumental in
bringing this War to a conclusion. Here was the vertical point on which
the Army's honour and reputation turned into reproach and scandal. Here
the power of the Army, which I once had, was usurped by the Forerunners
of Confusion and Anarchy, viz.: the Agitators. [_The Army appointed a
Committee of Adjutators on 14th May 1647._]

My Commission as General bound me to act with [the co-operation of my]
Council: but the arbitrary and unlimited power of this new Council
would act without a General: and all that I could do, could not prevail
against this stream; especially when the Parliament itself became
divided, so that the pay was withheld from the Army, which heightened
their distempers.

Then followed, Free Quarter [in November 1647]; and that brought a
general discontent through the whole nation: which gave these factious
Agitators matter enough for the carrying on of their designs; viz., To
raise their own fortunes by the ruin of others.

But now, being much troubled to see things in this condition, I did
rather desire to be a sufferer than to be a Commander: but, before I
laid down my Commission, I thought it fit to consult with some friends
rather than gratify my private sense and reason, which much desired
it; especially having received it from a Public Authority, which might
justly expect to have notice of it before I laid it down. Which was
the cause of my continuing in the Army longer than I would have done
(seeing I could not have my desire granted): which did indeed preserve
the Parliament for some time, from those confusions and breakings,
which afterwards Time and Confidence emboldened these men to.

       *       *       *       *       *

But now I shall descend to some particulars of their Agitation:

At Nottingham was the first time that I took notice of it, by the
soldiers' meetings to frame a _Petition_ to the Parliament about their
arrears [of pay]. The thing seemed just: but, not liking the way, I
spake with some Officers that were principally engaged in it; and got
it suppressed for that time.

Which was but as the cutting off of Hydra's head, which soon sprang
up again (though not so near the Head Quarters; but in more remote
corners of the Army, which I could not so timely prevent) so that they
presented it to the Parliament; which they were highly displeased with.
And now falling into difference[s]; the consequence of which proved
fatal not only to the King, but also destructive to one another. The
one striving to uphold his authority: the other (who had a spirit
of unsettlement) to preserve themselves from the ruin they feared.
This (with a natural inclination to change) I believe created the
thoughts of a New Government; which, in time, attained the name of a
Common Wealth: though it never arrived to the perfection of it; being
sometimes Democratical, sometimes Oligarchial, lastly Anarchial--as
indeed all the ways attaining to it seemed nothing but a Confusion.

For now the Officers of the Army were placed and displaced by the
will of the new Agitators; who, with violence, so carried all things,
as it was above my power to restrain it. This made me have recourse
to my friends to get me a discharge of my Command; so as there was a
consultation with several Members of Parliament, who met about it: but
none would undertake to move it to the House, as affairs then stood.
And they perceiving that such a Motion would be unpleasing to them:
which was the answer I received from them. And further that I should
satisfy myself: for it would be the Parliament's care to compose all
things in as good order as might be most for the good and settlement
of the Kingdom. But these hopes, though they something supported my
spirit; yet could not they balance the grief and trouble I had, that
I could not get my discharge. So that, if you find me carried on with
this stream; I can truly say, It was by the violence of it, and no
consent of mine.

       *       *       *       *       *

But the Army, having gotten this power and strength by correspondence
with some in Parliament (who themselves did after find it [to their
disadvantage] in the end) they [_the_ _Army_] march nearer London
[26th June 1647]: and, at Windsor [20th November 1647], after two days'
debate in a Council of War, it was resolved to remove all out of the
House [of Commons] whom they conceived to "obstruct," as they called
it, "the Public Settlement."

Upon which expedition in this march, I was vehemently pressed: but here
I resolved to use a restrictive power, when I had not a persuasive
one. So when the Lieutenant General [_Oliver Cromwell_] and others
pressed me to sign orders for marching, I still delayed the doing of
it [in November 1647]; as always dreading the consequences of breaking
Parliament, and at a time when the Kingdom was falling into a new War:
which was so near, that my delaying but three or four days giving out
Orders, diverted this humour of the Army from being Statesmen to their
more proper duty of soldiers.

For, even then, Colonel POYER declared [for the King] in
Wales; great forces were raised with the Lord GORING in
Kent; and Duke [of] HAMILTON (almost at the same time) with
a powerful Army of the Scots. All which set out work enough for that
summer [of 1648].

This I write to shew how, by Providence, a few days' delay did prolong
the Parliament more than a year from the violent breaches that
afterwards happened to them.

Here again might be mentioned the great and difficult businesses the
Army went through that year [1648]: hoping, as well aiming, it would
be a good service to the Kingdom. But, seeing the factious Party grew
more insolent as success made them more powerful, I shall forbear to
relate those Actions; which would, otherwise, have deserved a better
remembrance than, in modesty, [it] were fit for me to record: and [I]
will rather punish myself here, with the continuance of the Story of
the Army's Irregularities.

       *       *       *       *       *

But one thing, of very great concernment in all after changes, should
have been inserted before the mention of this Second War: but [it] will
come in well enough in this place, without much interruption of this
Discourse, viz.:

  THE KING'S REMOVAL FROM HOLMBY,

the sad consequences whereof fill my heart with grief with the
remembrance of it now; as it did then, with thoughts and care how to
have prevented it.

Being then at Saffron Walden in Essex, I had notice that Cornet
JOYCE (an arch-Agitator that quartered about Oxford) had [on
4th June 1647] seized on the King's person, and removed his Quarters:
and [had] given such a check to the Commissioners of Parliament which
were ordered to attend His Majesty, that they refused to act any
further in their Commission; being so unwarrantably interrupted.

But, as soon as I heard it, I immediately sent away two Regiments of
Horse, commanded by Colonel WHALLEY to remove this force; and
to set all things again in their due order and course.

But before he reached Holmby [or Holdenby]; the King was advanced two
or three miles [from thence] on his way towards Cambridge; attended by
JOYCE. Here Colonel WHALLEY acquainted the King, That he was sent by
the General to let him know how much he was troubled at those great
insolencies that had been committed so near his person: and as he had
not the least knowledge of it before it was done, so he had omitted no
time in seeking to remove the force; which he had orders from me to see
done. And therefore [Colonel WHALLEY] desired that His Majesty would
be pleased to return again to Holmby, where all things should again be
settled in as much order and quietness as they were before. And also he
[_Colonel WHALLEY_] desired the Commissioners to resume their Charge,
as the Parliament had directed them: which he had in charge also to
desire them to do, from the General.

But the King refused to return; and the Commissioners refused also to
act any more as Commissioners. Which Colonel WHALLEY still
further urged, saying, He had an express command to see all things
well settled again about His Majesty; which could not be but by his
returning again to Holmby.

Which the King said positively, He would not do.

So Colonel WHALLEY pressed him no further: having indeed a
special direction from me to use all tenderness and respect, as was
due, towards His Majesty.

       *       *       *       *       *

So the King came that night, or the second [6th June 1647] to Sir
JOHN CUTT's house [at Childerley] near Cambridge: where,
the next day, I waited on His Majesty. It being also my business to
persuade his return to Holmby. But he was otherwise resolved.

I pressed the Commissioners also to act again, according to the power
that Parliament had given them: which they also refused to do.

So having spent the whole day [7th June 1647] about this business; I
returned to my Quarters.

       *       *       *       *       *

But before I took my leave of the King, he said to me, "Sir, I have
as great an Interest in the Army as you." By which I plainly saw the
broken reed he leaned upon.

These Agitators [_or Adjutators_], chameleon-like, could change into
that colour which best served their ends; and so had brought the King
into an opinion that the Army was for him: though [it was] never less
for his safety and rights, than when it was theirs.

       *       *       *       *       *

And that it might appear what real trouble this act was to me;
notwithstanding the Army was almost wholly infected with the humour
of Agitation, I called for a Court of War, to proceed against
JOYCE for this high offence, and the breach of the _Articles
of War_. But the Officers (whether for fear of the distempered
soldiers; or rather, as I fear, from a secret allowance of what was
done) made all my endeavours herein ineffectual: and now (no punishment
being able to reach them) all affairs steer after this compass:

The King and all his Party are in hopes. Those of the Parliament,
and others who kept to their Covenant Interest, in fears. So as, for
many months, Public Councils were turned into private Junto's. Which
would have been less criminal, if it had ended in General Consent.
But, on the contrary, it begat greater emulations and jealousies one
of another. So that the Army would not entrust the King any longer
with the liberty he had; nor would the Parliament suffer the King
to undertake that which was properly their work to do, viz.: [the]
Settling [of] the Kingdom with its just rights and liberties. And the
Army were as jealous of the Parliament, that they [_the Parliament_]
would not have care enough of their [_the Army's_] security.

All things growing worse and worse made the King endeavour his own
escape, as he did [11th-14th November 1647]; but out of a larger
confinement at Hampton Court, to a straiter one in the Isle of Wight.

Here the Parliament treated upon _Propositions of Peace_ with the King.
But, alas, the Envious One sowed tares that could not be rooted out,
without plucking up the corn also.

And here was the King, as the golden ball, tossed before the two great
Parties; the Parliament, and the Army: [which] grew to a great contest,
which must again have involved the kingdom in blood.

But the Army, having the greater power, got the King again into their
hands; notwithstanding all the means that could be used. The _Treaty_
[_? of Newport, ? October 1648_] was scarcely ended, before the King
was seized upon by the hands of the same person, Lieutenant Colonel
COBBETT, who took him from Holmby [; _and who now removed him,
on 1st December 1648, from Carisbrooke Castle to Hurst Castle_]. Soon
after followed his Trial.

       *       *       *       *       *

But to prepare a way to this work [_the Trial_] this Agitating Council
had thought first how to remove out of the Parliament all those who
were likely to oppose them in that work; which they carried on with
that secrecy as that I had not the least intimation of it, till it was
done: as some Members of the House can witness, with whom I was met,
at that very time, upon especial business, when that horrible attempt
was made by Colonel PRIDE upon the Parliament [on 6th December
1648]. It was so secretly carried on that I should get no notice of
it: because I always prevented those designs when I knew of them. But
by this "Purging of the House," as they called it, the Parliament was
brought into such a consumptive and languishing condition as that it
could never recover again that healthful Constitution which always kept
the Kingdom in its strength and vigour.

But now, this Three-fold Cord being cut by the sword, the Trial of the
King was the easier for them to accomplish. My afflicted and troubled
mind for it, and my earnest endeavours to prevent it, will, I hope,
sufficiently testify my abhorrence of the fact. And what might they not
now do to the lower shrubs, having thus cut down the cedar? For, after
this, [the] Duke [of] HAMILTON, [the] Earl of HOLLAND, and Lord CAPEL,
and others, were condemned to death.

       *       *       *       *       *

But here it is fit to say something for my own vindication about
my Lord CAPEL, Sir CHARLES LUCAS, and Sir GEORGE LISLE; who were
_prisoners at mercy_ upon the rendition of Colchester: seeing some have
questioned the just performance of those _Articles_ [_of Surrender_].

I (having laid siege to the town, and several assaults being made upon
it) finding their forces within [to be] much more numerous than those
I had without, forced me to take another course: blocking them up; and
so, by cutting off all supplies, to bring them to a surrender. Which,
after [a] four months' siege, they were necessitated to; and that _upon
mercy_: they being between 3,000 and 4,000 men.

Now by _Delivering upon mercy_ is to be understood, that some are to
suffer, and the rest to go free.

So those forementioned persons only were to suffer; and all the rest
freed.

So immediately after our entrance into the town [on 26th August 1648],
a Council of War being called; those persons were sentenced to die, the
rest to be quit.

Yet, on they being so resolved, I thought fit to manumit the Lord
CAPEL, the Lord NORWICH, &c. over to the Parliament (being the Civil
Judicature of the Kingdom, consisting then of Lords and Commons) as the
most proper Judges of their cases: being considerable for estates and
families.

But Sir CHARLES LUCAS and Sir GEORGE LISLE being mere
Soldiers of Fortune; and falling into our hands by the chance of war,
execution was done upon them. And in this distribution of Justice I did
nothing but according to my Commission, and the trust reposed in me.

       *       *       *       *       *

But it may be objected that I went into the Court during the Trial.

To this, I answer. It was upon the earnest entreaties of my Lord
CAPEL's friends; who desired me to explain there, what I meant
by _Surrendering to mercy_: otherwise I had not gone, being always
unsatisfied with the Court.

But for this I shall need to say no more: seeing I may as well be
questioned for the _Articles_ of Bristol, Oxford, Exeter; or [for] any
other Action in the War, as for this.

       *       *       *       *       *

And now I have related the most remarkable things that might be alleged
against me during the prosecution of the War.

Yet one thing more requires that I should say something to it, before
I conclude, viz.: Concerning Papers and Declarations of the Army that
came out in my name and the Council of Officers. I must needs say. From
the time they declared their Usurped Authority at Triplow Heath [10th
June 1647], I never gave my free consent to anything they did: but
(being then undischarged of my place) they set my hand [_signature_] by
way of course, to all their Papers; whether I consented or not.

And unto such failings all Authority may fall. As sometimes Kingly
Authority may be abused to their, and the Kingdom's, prejudice;
sometimes, under a Parliamentary Authority, much injury hath been
done: so here, hath a General's Power been broken and crumbled into a
Levelling Faction, to the great unsettlement of the Nation.

Yet, even in this, I hope all impartial judges will interpret as a
force and ravishment of a good name; rather than a voluntary consent
whereby it might make me seem to become equally criminal. Though I
must confess, if in a multitude of words, much more in a multitude of
actions, there may be some transgressions: yet, I can as truly say,
they were never designedly or wilfully committed by me.

       *       *       *       *       *

But now, when all the power was got into the Army, they cut up the root
of Kingly Government. After this, were Engagements to relinquish the
Title. Then [was] War declared against Scotland for assisting the King
[CHARLES II.]: and several Leagues made with foreign Princes
to confederate with their new Government, which was now a Common
Wealth, against the Kingly Power.

Seeing which, with grief and sorrow, though I had as much the love
of the Army as ever; though I was with much importunity solicited
by the remaining Parliament, the Lieutenant General [OLIVER
CROMWELL], and other Officers and soldiers, to continue my
Command; and though I might, so long as I acted their designs, attain
to the height of power and other advantages I pleased (for so I
understood from themselves): yet (by the mercy and goodness of GOD,
ever valuing Loyalty and Conscience before this perishing felicity)
I did, so long as I continued in the Army, oppose all those ways in
their counsels; and, when I could do no more, I also declined their
actions, though not their Commission I had from the Parliament, till
the remaining part of it, took it from me [25th June 1650].

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus I have given you, in short, the sum of the most considerable
things that the World may censure me for, during this unhappy War. Yet,
I hope, among many weaknesses and failings there shall not be found
crimes of that magnitude [for me] to be counted amongst those who have
done these things through ambition and dissimulation. Hoping also that
GOD will, one day, clear this Action we undertook, so far as concerns
his honour; and the integrity of such as faithfully served in it. For
I cannot believe that such wonderful successes shall be given in vain.
Though cunning and deceitful men must take shame to themselves; yet
the purposes and determination of GOD shall have happy effects to his
glory, and the comfort of his people.

[Illustration]




 THOMAS, third Lord FAIRFAX.

 _A Short Memorial of the Northern Actions;
 during the War there,
 from the year 1642 till the year 1644._


I DID not think to have taken up my pen any more, to have written on
this subject: but that my silence seemed to accuse me of ingratitude
to GOD for the many mercies and deliverances I have had; and of
injuriousness to myself in losing the comfort of them, by suffering
them to be buried in the grave of Oblivion in my lifetime.

Wherefore I shall set down, as they come to my mind, such things
wherein I have found the wonderful assistance of GOD to me in the
time of the War I was in the North: though not in that methodical and
polished manner as might have been done; being but intended only for my
own satisfaction, and the help of my memory.

       *       *       *       *       *

As I said, in the First Part [_p. 565_], my father was called forth
by the importunity of the country [_Yorkshire_], to join with them
in the defence of themselves: and [was] confirmed by a Commission of
the Parliament [_by Vote on the 23rd August 1642. He however did not
actually receive the Commission till the 3rd December following._]

       *       *       *       *       *

The first Action we had was at Bradford, where we had about 300 men.
The Enemy, having about 700 or 800 and 2 pieces of ordnance, came
thither to assault us [in October 1642]. We drew out close to the town
to receive them. They had [the] advantage of [the] ground, the town
being compassed with hills; which made us more exposed to their cannon
shot, from which we received some hurt. Yet notwithstanding, our men
defended the passages, which they [_the Enemy_] were to descend, so
well that they got no ground of us. And now, the day being spent, they
drew off; and returned back again to Leeds.

       *       *       *       *       *

A few days after, Captain HOTHAM, with 3 Troops of Horse and
some Dragoons, came to me; and then we marched to Leeds. But the Enemy,
having notice of it, quitt[ed] the town in haste; and fled to York.

And that we might have more room, and be less burthensome to our
friends; we presently advanced [in November 1642] to Tadcaster, 8 miles
from York.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now we being increased to 1,000 men, it was thought fit, for securing
of the West Riding, at least the greatest part of it, from whence our
greatest supply came, to keep the Pass at Wetherby; whither my father
sent me with about 300 Foot and 40 Horse. The Enemy's next design, from
York, was to fall on my Quarters there; which was a place very open and
easy for them to do: there being so many back ways to enter in; and
friends enough to direct and acquaint them with all we did.

About six of the clock in the morning [in November 1642], they set upon
us with 800 Horse and Foot. The woods thereabouts favoured them so much
as that our Scouts could get no notice of them; so as no alarm was
given till they were ready to enter the town, which they might soon do
for the Guards were all asleep in houses.

For in the beginning of the War, men were as impatient of Duty as
ignorant of it.

Myself only was on horseback; going out, at the other end of the town,
to Tadcaster: where my father lay.

One came running to me, and told me, The Enemy was entering the town. I
presently galloped to the Court of Guard [_the Piquet_], where I found
not above four men at their arms; as I remember, two Foot Sergeants
and two Pike men, [who] withstood with me when Sir THOMAS
GLENHAM, with about six or seven Commanders more, charged us:
where, after a short but sharp encounter, in which Major CARR
was slain, they retired. And in this time more of the Guard were gotten
to their arms. But I must confess I know [of] no strength, but the
powerful hand of GOD, that gave them this repulse.

Afterward they made another attempt, in which Captain ATKINSON
was slain.

And here again, there fell out another remarkable Providence. During
this conflict, our Magazine was blown up: which struck such a terror
in the Enemy, thinking we had cannon (which they were informed we had
not), that they instantly retreated. And though I had but a few Horse;
they pursued the Enemy some miles, and took many prisoners.

We lost about eight or ten men, whereof seven were blown up with [the]
powder: the Enemy, many more.[20]

       *       *       *       *       *

At this time [HENRY CLIFFORD] the Earl of CUMBERLAND
commanded the Forces in Yorkshire for the King.

But (being of a peaceable nature; and by his amiable disposition
having but few enemies, or rather because he was an enemy to few)
he did not suit with their present condition and apprehension of
fears. Therefore they sent to [WILLIAM CAVENDISH] the Earl
of NEWCASTLE, who had an Army of 6,000 men, to desire his
assistance: which he answered by a speedy march to York.

       *       *       *       *       *

Being now encouraged by this increase of force, they resolved to fall
on Tadcaster. My father drew all his men thither. But by a Council of
War the town was judged untenable; and that we should draw out to an
advantageous piece of ground by the town. But before we could all march
out; the Enemy advanced [on 7th December 1642] so fast that we were
necessitated to leave some Foot in a slight Work above the bridge to
secure our retreat.

But the Enemy pressing still on us, forced us to draw back [_return
back_], and maintain that ground.

We had about 900 men. The Enemy above 4,000: who, in Brigades, drew up
close to the Works, and stormed us. Our men reserved their shot till
they were very near; which then they disposed to so good purpose as
forced them to retire, and shelter themselves behind the hedges that
were hard by.

And here did the fight continue from 11 a clock at noon till 5 at
night, with cannon and musket, without intermission.

They had, once, possessed a house by the bridge; which would have cut
us [off] from our reserves that were in the town: but Major General
GIFFORD, with a commanded party, beat them out again; where
many of the enemies were slain and taken prisoners.

They attempted at another place; but were also repulsed by Captain
LISTER, who was there slain: which was a great loss, [he]
being a discreet Gentleman.

And now, it growing dark, the Enemy drew off into the fields hard by;
with intention to assault us again the next day. They left that night
about 200 dead and wounded upon the place.

But our ammunition being all spent in this day's fight; we drew off
that night, and marched to Selby: and the Enemy entered, the next day
[8th December 1642], into the town [of Tadcaster]. And thus, by the
mercy of GOD, were a few delivered from an Army who, in their thoughts,
had swallowed us up.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now, the Earl of NEWCASTLE lay between us and our friends in
the West Riding; and so [was] equally destructive to us both. But, to
give them encouragement and help, I was sent [on Friday, 9th December
1642], with about 200 Foot and 3 Troops of Horse and some arms, to
Bradford. I was to go by Ferrybridge: our intelligence being that the
Enemy was advanced yet no further than Sherburn.

But when I was within a mile of the town [_i.e. Ferrybridge_]; we took
some prisoners who told us That my Lord NEWCASTLE laid at
Pontefract, 800 men in Ferrybridge, and the rest of the Army in all the
towns thereabouts.

So as now, our advance, or retreat, seemed [to be] alike difficult.
But, there being not much time to demur in, a retreat was resolved on
back again to Selby. 300 or 400 of the Enemy's Horse shewed themselves
in our rear, without making any attempt upon us; and so, through the
goodness of GOD, we got safe thither.

[_Here, chronologically, comes in the Fight at Sherburn in Elmet, on
Wednesday, 14th December 1642, described at page 584._]

And, in three days after,[21] having better intelligence how they lay,
with the same number as before, I marched in the night by several towns
where they lay, and arrived, the next day, at Bradford: a town very
untenable; but, for their good affections, deserving all we could
hazard for them.

Our first work there was to fortify ourselves; for we could not but
expect strong opposition in it: seeing there lay at Leeds 1,500 of the
Enemy, and 1,200 at Wakefield; neither above six or seven miles from
us. They visited us every day with their Horse; for ours went not far
from the town, being so unequal in number: yet they seldom returned
without loss. Till, at length, our few men grew so bold; and theirs, so
disheartened: as they durst not stir a mile out of their garrison.

But while these daily skirmishes were among the Horse; I thought it
necessary to strengthen ourselves with more Foot. So, summoning the
country [_i.e. the West Riding of Yorkshire_], which now our Horse had
given some liberty to come into us; I presently armed them with the
arms we brought along with us: so that, in all, we were now about 800
Foot.

       *       *       *       *       *

But being too many to lie idle, and yet too few to be in continual
duty; we resolved rather, through the assistance of GOD, to attempt
them in their garrison than endure longer this trouble. So summoning
the country in again; we made a body of about 1,200 or 1,300 men: with
which we marched to Leeds, and drew them up [on Monday, 23rd
 January 1643] within
[a] half cannon shot of their Works, in Battalia; and then sent in a
Trumpet[er] with a Summons to deliver up the town to me, for the use of
[the] King and Parliament.

They presently returned this answer, That it was not civilly done to
come so near before I sent the Summons; and that they would defend the
town, the best they could, with their lives.

So presently ordering the manner of the Storm, we all fell on at one
time. The business was hotly disputed for almost two hours: but, after,
the Enemy were beaten from their Works. The Barricadoes were soon
forced open into the streets: where Horse and Foot resolutely entering,
the soldiers cast down their arms, and rendered themselves prisoners.
The Governor and some chief Officers swam the river and escaped. One
Major BEAUMONT was drowned, as was thought. In all, there were
about 40 or 50 slain; and [a] good store of ammunition [was] taken,
which we had much want of.

But the consequence of this Action was yet of more importance. For
those that fled from Leeds and Wakefield, (for they also quitted that
garrison) gave my Lord NEWCASTLE such an alarm at Pontefract,
where he lay; as he drew all his Army back again to York: leaving once
more a free intercourse between my father [at Selby] and me, which he
had so long time cut off.

But, after a short time, the Earl of NEWCASTLE returned again
to the same Quarters [at Pontefract]; and we to our stricter duties.

       *       *       *       *       *

But, after some time, we found that our men must either have more
room, or more action. [_This Fight at Sherburn took place on the
14th December 1642; and should have been mentioned earlier in this
Narrative._[22]] Therefore Captain HOTHAM and I took a resolution,
early in the morning to beat up a Quarter [_Encampment_] of the Enemy
that lay at [Church] Fenton. But they being gone, we marched towards
Sherburn [in Elmet]; intending only to give them an alarm there.

But they might see us, a mile or two, march over a plain common which
lay by the Town; and therefore had sent about 20, or 30, Horse to
guard a Pass near the town. I having the Van (For, at this time we
[_FAIRFAX and HOTHAM_] commanded our Troops distinct one from another;
both making 5 Troops of Horse and 2 of Dragoons), I told him, If he
would second me, I would charge those Horse; and if they fled, I would
pursue them so close[ly] as to get into the town with them. He promised
to second me. I went to the head of my Troops, and presently charged
them: who fled, and we pursued [them] close to the Barricado. But they
got in, and shut it upon us; where my horse was shot at the breast. We
so filled the lane; being strait [_narrow_] that we could not retreat
without confusion, and danger of their falling in our rear. So we stood
to it; and stormed the Work with pistol and sword. At the end of the
Barricado, there was a straight passage for one single horse to go in.
I entered there, and others followed one by one. Close at one side of
the entrance stood a Troop of Horse: but so soon as eight or ten of
us got in they fled. And by this time, the rest of our men had beaten
them from their Barricado, and entered the town, which soon cleared the
streets, and pursued those that fled. And now my horse, which was shot
in the lane, fell down dead under me: but I was presently mounted again.

They in the towns about having taken the alarm, now made us think
of securing our retreat with the prisoners we had gotten: and some
of them [were] very considerable; among whom was Major General
WINDHAM. But we scarce[ly] got into good order before General
GORING came, with a good body of Horse, up to us: and as we
marched on, he followed close in the rear, without [our] receiving
any hurt; only my Trumpet[er] had his horse shot close by me. So we
returned again to Selby.

But though this could not free us wholly from a potent Enemy; yet we
lay more quietly by them a good while after.

       *       *       *       *       *

In this recess of action, we had several treaties [_negotiations_]
about prisoners. And this I mention the rather, for that Captain
HOTHAM here began to discover his intention of leaving the
Parliament's Service, by making conditions for himself with the Earl of
NEWCASTLE (though [it was] not discovered till a good while
after): which had almost ruined my father, and the forces that were
with him.

For, being now denied help and succour from Hull and the East Riding;
he was forced to forsake Selby, and retire to Leeds and those western
parts where [I] myself was.

But to make good this retreat, I was sent to, to bring what men I could
to join with him at Sherburn. For NEWCASTLE's forces lay so,
as he might easily intercept us in our way to Leeds: which he had
determined [to do], and to that end lay with his Army on Clifford Moor;
having perfect intelligence of our march.

But while my father, with 1,500 men ordnance and ammunition,
continued [on 2nd April 1643] his way from Selby to Leeds; I, with
those I brought to Sherburn, marched a little aside, between my Lord
NEWCASTLE's Army and ours. And to amuse [_deceive_] them the
more, [I] made an attempt upon Tadcaster: whither they had 300 or 400
men; who presently quitted the town, and fled to York. Here we stayed
three or four hours sleighting [_destroying_] the Works.

This put NEWCASTLE's Army to a stand, which was on their march
to meet us: thinking that he was deceived in his intelligence; and that
we had some other design upon York.

He presently sent back the Lord GORING, with 20 Troops of
Horse and Dragoons, to relieve Tadcaster. We were newly drawn off when
they came. GORING pressed over the river to follow us.

But seeing we were far unequal to him in Horse, for I had not above 3
Troops; and [having] to go over Bramham Moor, a large plain: I gave
direction to the Foot to march away, while I stayed with the Horse to
interrupt the Enemy's passage in those narrow lanes that lead up to
the Moor. Here was much firing at one another. But, in regard of their
great number, as they advanced we were forced to give way: yet had
gained by it sufficient time for the Foot to be out of danger.

But when we came up to the Moor again, I found them where I left them:
which troubled me much, the Enemy being close upon us, and a great
plain yet to go over. So [I] marched the foot in two Divisions, and the
Horse in the rear. The Enemy followed, about two musket shot from us,
in three good bodies: but yet made no attempt upon us. And thus we got
well over the open _campania_.

But having again gotten to some little enclosures, beyond which was
another Moor, called Seacroft Moor [_now called Whin Moor. It is
about five miles from Leeds_], much less than the first. Here our men
thinking themselves more secure, were more careless in keeping order;
and while their officers were getting them out of houses, where they
sought for drink, [it] being an exceedingly hot day; the Enemy got,
another way, as soon as we, on to the Moor. But we had almost passed
this plain also.

They [_the Royalists_] seeing us in some disorder, charged us both in
Flank and Rear. The countrymen presently cast down their arms, and
fled. The Foot soon after: which, for want of pikes, were not able to
withstand their Horse. Some were slain; and many taken prisoners. Few
of our Horse stood the charge. Some Officers, with me, made our retreat
with much difficulty; in which Sir HENRY FOULIS had a slight
hurt. My Cornet was taken prisoner. Yet [we] got to Leeds about two
hours after my father, with those forces with him, was arrived safe
thither.

This was one of the greatest losses we ever received. Yet was it a
great Providence that it was a part, and not the whole, [of the] Force
which received this loss: it being the Enemy's intention to have fought
us that day with their whole Army, which was, at least, 10,000 men; had
not the Attempt at Tadcaster put a stand to them. And so concluded that
day with this storm that fell on us.

       *       *       *       *       *

But now, being at Leeds, it was thought fit to possess some other place
also: wherefore I was sent to Bradford, with 700 or 800 Foot and 3
Troops of Horse. These two towns being all the garrisons we had. At
Wakefield, six miles off, lay 3,000 of the Enemy: but yet [we] had not
much disturbance from them.

Being most busied about releasing our prisoners that were taken at
Seacroft Moor, most of them being countrymen [_Yorkshire peasants_];
whose wives and children were still importunate for their release:
which was as earnestly endeavoured by us; but no conditions would
be accepted. So their continual cries, and tears, and importunities
compelled us to think of some way to redeem these men: so as we thought
of attempting Wakefield; our intelligence being that the Enemy had not
above 800 or 900 men in the town.

I acquainted my father with our design: who approved of it; and sent
[to Bradford] some men from Leeds; which enable us to draw out 1,100
Horse and Foot.

So upon Whit-Sunday [21st May 1643], early in the morning, we came
before the town. But they had notice of our coming, and had manned all
their Works, and set about 800 Musketeers to line the hedges about the
town: which made us now doubt our intelligence; which was too late.
Notwithstanding, after a little consultation, we advanced, and soon
beat them back into the town; which we stormed in three places.

After two hours' dispute, the Foot forced open a Barricado, where
I entered with my own Troop. Colonel ALURED, and Captain
BRIGHT, followed with theirs. The street which we entered
was full of their Foot: which we charged through, and routed; leaving
them to the Foot which followed close behind us. And presently we were
charged again with Horse led by General GORING: where, after a
hot encounter, some were slain; and [he] himself taken prisoner by [the
brother of] Colonel ALURED.

And I cannot but here acknowledge GOD's goodness to me this day: who
being advanced a good way single [_alone_] before my men, having a
Colonel and a Lieutenant Colonel, who had engaged themselves to be my
prisoners, only with me; and many of the enemies between me and my men,
I light[ed] on a Regiment of Foot standing in the Market Place.

Thus encompassed, and thinking what to do; I espied a lane which I
thought would lead me back to my men again. At the end of this lane,
there was a Corps du Guard [_Piquet_] of the Enemy's, with 15 or 16
soldiers; who were then just quitting it, with a Serjeant leading them
off: whom we met. Who, seeing their [two] Officers, came up to us;
taking no notice of me. They asked them, What they would have them do?
for they could keep the Work no longer; because the Roundheads, as they
called them, came so fast upon them.

But the Gentlemen, who had passed their words to me to be my true
prisoners, said nothing. So, looking upon one another, I thought it
not fit now to own them; as so much less to bid the rest to render
themselves to me: so, being well mounted, and seeing a place in the
Work where men used to go over, I rushed from them, seeing no other
remedy, and made my horse leap over the Work. And so, by a good
Providence, got to my men again: who, before I came, had, by the
direction of Major General GIFFORD, brought up a piece of
ordnance, and planted it in the Churchyard, against the body that stood
in the Market Place; who presently rendered themselves.

All our men being got into the town, the streets were cleared, [and]
many prisoners taken. But the Horse got off almost entire. But this
seemed the greater mercy when we saw our mistake: now finding 3,000 men
in the town, [and] not expecting half the number. We brought away 1,400
prisoners, 80 Officers, 28 Colours; and [a] great store of ammunition,
which we much wanted.[23]

But seeing this was more a Miracle than a Victory; more the effect of
GOD's divine power than human force; and more his Providence than the
success of our prudence in making so hazardous an attempt: let the
honour and praise of it be His only!

After this, we exchanged our men that were prisoners, with these: and
were freed, a good while; from any trouble or attempt from [the] Enemy.

       *       *       *       *       *

But then again it pleased GOD to mix water with our
wine; and to bring us into a better
condition by the brinks of ruin and destruction.

Hitherto, through His mercy, we had held up near[ly] two years against
a potent Army: but they finding us now almost tired, with continual
Services; treacherously used by our friends; and in want of many things
necessary for support and defence--the Earl of NEWCASTLE
marched with an Army of 10,000 or 12,000 men to besiege us; and
resolved to sit down before Bradford, which was a very untenable place.

My father drew all the forces he could spare out of the garrisons
hither.

But seeing it impossible to defend the town but by strength of men; and
not [having] above ten or twelve days' provisions for so many as were
necessary to keep it: we resolved [on 29th June 1643] the next morning,
very early, with a party of 3,000 men, to attempt his whole Army, as
they lay in their Quarters, three miles off; hoping thereby, to put
him into some distraction; which could not, by reason of the unequal
numbers, be done any other way.

For this end, my father appointed four of the clock next morning [30th
June 1643] to begin the march. But Major General [JOHN]
GIFFORD, who had the ordering of the business, so delayed the
execution of it that it was seven or eight before we began to move: and
not without much suspicion of treachery in it; for when we came near
the place we intended, the Enemy's whole Army was drawn up in Battalia.

We were to go up a hill to them, which our Forlorn Hope [_or Advanced
Guard_] gained by beating theirs into their Main Body; which was
drawn up half a mile further, upon a plain called Adderton [_the
correct spelling is Adwalton_] Moor. [_It is also spelt Atherston and
Atherton._]

We, being all up the hill, drew into Battalia also. I commanded the
Right Wing, which was about 1,000 Foot and 5 Troops of Horse; Major
General [JOHN] GIFFORD, the Left Wing, which was about the same number.
My father commanded all in chief.

We advanced through the enclosed grounds till we came to the Moor;
beating the Foot that lay in them to their Main Body.

10 or 12 Troops of Horse charge us in the Right Wing [_which was at
the head of Warren's Lane_]. We kept [to] the enclosures, placing our
Musketeers in the hedges next the Moor; which was a good advantage to
us, that had so few Horse.

There was a gate, or open place, to the Moor: where five or six might
enter abreast. Here they strove to enter: we, to defend. But, after
some dispute, those that entered the pass found sharp entertainment;
and those that were not yet entered, as hot welcome from the
Musketeers, that flanked them in the hedges. All, in the end, were
forced to retreat; with the loss of Colonel HOWARD, who
commanded them.

The Left Wing, at the same time, was engaged with the Enemy's Foot.
Ours gained ground of them.

The Horse came down again, and charged us: being about 13 or 14 Troops.
We defended ourselves as before; but with much more difficulty, many
having got in among us: but [they] were beat[en] off again, with some
loss; and Colonel HERNE, who commanded that party, was slain.
We pursued them [back] to their cannon.

       *       *       *       *       *

And here I cannot omit a remarkable passage of Divine Justice. Whilst
we were engaged in the fight with those Horse that entered the gate,
four soldiers had stripped Colonel HERNE naked; as he lay
dead on the ground, [and] men still fighting round about him: and
so dextrous were these villains, as they had done it, and mounted
themselves again, before we had beaten them off. But after we had
beaten them to their ordnance, as I said; and [were] now returning to
our ground again; the Enemy discharged a piece of cannon in our rear.
The bullet fell into Captain COPLEY's Troop, in which these
four men were: two of whom were killed; and some hurt or mark remained
on the rest, though dispersed into several Ranks of the Troop, which
was [the] more remarkable.

We had not yet Martial Law amongst us: which gave me a good occasion to
reprove it; by shewing the soldiers the sinfulness of the act, and how
GOD would punish when men wanted power to do it.

This charge, and the resolution our soldiers shewed in the Left Wing,
made the Enemy think of retreating. Orders were given for it; and some
marched off the Field.

Whilst they were in this wavering condition, one Colonel
SKIRTON, a wild and desperate man, desired his General to
let him charge [on our Left Wing] once more, with a Stand of Pikes.
With which he brake in upon our men; and they not [being] relieved by
our Reserves, ([which were] commanded by some ill-affected Officers;
chiefly Major General GIFFORD, who did not his part as he
ought to do), our men lost ground: which the Enemy seeing, pursued
this advantage by bringing on fresh troops. Ours, being herewith
discouraged, began to flee; and so [were] soon routed.

The Horse also charged us again. We, not knowing what was done in the
Left Wing; our men maintained their ground till a command came for us
to retreat: having scarce any way now to do it; the Enemy being almost
round about us, and our way to Bradford cut off. But there was a lane
[_Warren's Lane_] in the field we were in, which led to Halifax: which,
as a happy Providence, brought us off without any great loss; save of
Captain TALBOT and twelve more, which were slain in this last
encounter.

Of those [on the Left Wing] that fled, there were about 60 killed, and
300 taken prisoners.

       *       *       *       *       *

This business, having such ill success, our hopes of better could not
be much: wanting all things that were necessary for defence, and [no]
expectations of helps from any place.

The Earl of NEWCASTLE presently lay siege to the town [of
Bradford]: but before he had surrounded it, I got in with those men I
brought from Halifax.

       *       *       *       *       *

I found my father much troubled; having neither a Place of Strength to
defend ourselves in, nor a garrison in Yorkshire to retreat to. For
[Sir JOHN HOTHAM the Elder,] the Governor of Hull had declared
himself, If we were forced to retreat thither, that he would shut the
gates on us.

But, while he was musing on these sad thoughts, a messenger was sent
from Hull to let him know, The townsmen had secured [_taken prisoner_]
the Governor [on the morning of the 29th June 1643]; and if he had
any occasion to make use of that place, for they were sensible of
the danger he was in, he should be very readily and gladly received
[there]. Which news was joyfully received, and acknowledged as a great
mercy of GOD to us: yet was it not made use of till a further necessity
compelled it.

So my father, having ordered me to stay here [at Bradford] with 800
Foot and 60 Horse: he intruded [_retired_] that night [of 30th June
1643] for Leeds, to secure it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now NEWCASTLE, having spent three or four days in laying his
Quarters about the town; they brought down their cannon: but needed
to raise no batteries, for the hills, within half [a] musket shot,
commanded all the town; which [cannon], now being planted in two
places, shot furiously upon us. [They] making also Approaches; which
made us spend very much [ammunition].

Our little store was not above five and twenty, or thirty, barrels of
powder at the beginning of the siege: yet, notwithstanding, the Earl
of NEWCASTLE sent a Trumpet[er] to offer us Conditions; which
I accepted so they were honourable for us to take, and safe for the
inhabitants.

Upon which, two Captains were sent to treat with him, and a Cessation
[was agreed upon] during the time; but he continued working still,
contrary to [the] agreement: whereupon I sent for the Commissioners
again, suspecting a design of attempting something against us; but he
returned them not till eleven a clock at night [of 1st July 1643], and
then with a slight answer.

Whilst they were delivering it to us, we heard great shooting of cannon
and muskets. All ran presently to the Works, which the Enemy was
storming. Here, for three-quarters of an hour, was very hot service:
but, at length they retreated.

They made a second attempt: but were also beaten off.

After this, we had not above one barrel of powder left; and no Match.
So I called the Officers together: where it was advised and resolved
[_evidently about 1 a.m. on the 2nd July 1643_] to draw off presently,
before it was day; and by forcing a way, which we must do (they having
surrounded the town), [in order] to retreat to Leeds.

Orders were despatched, and speedily put in execution.

The Foot, commanded by Colonel ROGERS, was sent out, through
some narrow lanes; who were to beat up the Dragoons' Quarters
[_Encampment_]; and so to go on to Leeds.

[I] myself, with some other Officers, went with the Horse, which were
not above 50, in an opener way.

Here I must not forget to mention my Wife, who ran great hazards with
us in this retreat as any others; and with as little expression of
fear: not from any zeal or delight, I must needs say, in the War; but
through a willing and patient suffering of this undesirable condition.

But now I sent two or three Horsemen to discover what they could of
the Enemy: which presently returned, and told us, There was a Guard of
Horse close by us.

Before I had gone forty paces, the day beginning to break, I saw them
on the hill above us; being about 300 Horse.

I, with some 12 more, charged them. Sir HENRY FOULIS, Major
General GIFFORD, and myself, with three more [_i.e._, _6 out
of 13_] brake through. Captain MUDD was slain: and the rest
of our Horse, being close by, the Enemy fell upon them, taking most of
them prisoners; amongst whom my Wife was, the Officer behind whom she
was [on horseback] being taken.

I saw this disaster; but could give no relief. For after I was got
through, I was in the Enemy's Rear alone; for those that had charged
also through, went on to Leeds; thinking I had done so too.

But being unwilling to leave my company: I stayed till I saw there was
no more in my power to do; but to be made a prisoner with them. Then I
retired to Leeds.

The like disorder fell amongst the Foot that went the other way, by a
mistake. For after they had marched a little way, the Van fell into
the Dragoons' Quarters [_Encampment_], clearing the way. But through
a cowardly fear of him that commanded those men who were in the Rear;
[he] made them face about, and march again into the town [of Bradford]:
where, the next day [2nd July 1643], they were all taken prisoners.

Only 80, or thereabouts, of the Front, which got through, came to
Leeds; all mounted on horses which they had taken from the Enemy: where
I found them when I came thither; which was some joy to them, all
concluding I was either slain or taken prisoner.

       *       *       *       *       *

I found all in great distraction here [_i.e., at Leeds_].

The Council of War was newly risen, where it was resolved to quit the
town, and make our retreat to Hull; which was 60 miles off, and many
garrisons of the Enemy on the way. Which, in two hours time was done:
for we could expect no less than that the Enemy should presently send
Horse to prevent it. For they had 50, or 60, Troops within three miles.

       *       *       *       *       *

But we got well to Selby; where there was a ferry: and, hard by, a
garrison at Cawood.

My father, being a mile before, with a few men getting over the ferry;
word came to us that he was in danger to be taken. I hastened to him
with about 40 Horse: the rest [of the Horse] coming on after in some
disorder. He was newly got into the boat.

The Enemy, with 3 Cornets of Horse, entering the town; I was drawn up
in the Market Place, just before the street they came down. When they
were almost half come into the Market Place, they turned on the right
hand.

With part of my Troop, I charged them in the Flanks; [and] so divided
them. We had the chase of them down the long street that goes to
Brayton.

It happened, at the same time, [that] those men [which] I left behind,
were coming up that street: [but] being in disorder, and under [the]
discouragements of the misfortunes of many days before, [they] turned
about, and gave way; not knowing that we were pursuing them in the
rear. [_That is, there were tearing along the Brayton road; (1)
FAIRFAX's disordered Cavalry; then (2) the Royalist Cavalry;
followed by (3) FAIRFAX with a part of his Troop._]

At the end of this street, was a narrow lane which led to Cawood. The
Enemy strove to pass away there; but [it] being strait [_narrow_],
caused a sudden stop: where we were mingled one among another.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here I received a shot in the wrist of my arm, which made the bridle
fall out of my hand: which [wound], being among the nerves and veins,
suddenly let out such a quantity of blood as that I was ready to fall
from my horse. So taking the reins in the other hand, wherein I had my
sword; the Enemy minding nothing so much as how to get away: I drew
myself out of the crowd, and came to our men that turned about; which
were standing hard by. Seeing me ready to fall from my horse, they laid
me on the ground: and [I] now, [being] almost senseless. My Chirurgeon
came seasonably, and bound up the wound, [and] so stopped the bleeding.

After a quarter of an hour's rest there, I got on horseback again.

The other part of our Horse also beat the Enemy to Cawood back again,
that way they first came to us.

So, through the goodness of GOD, our passage here was made clear. Some
went over the ferry, after my father.

       *       *       *       *       *

Myself, with others, went through the Levels [_of the Fen Country, in
North Lincolnshire; and south of the Humber_] to Hull. But it proved a
very troublesome and dangerous passage; having oft interruptions from
the Enemy; sometimes in our front, sometimes in our rear.

And now I had been at least twenty hours on horseback, after I was
shot [at Selby], without any rest or refreshment: and as many hours
before. [_40 hours from 1 a.m. on the night of 2nd July 1643, when
FAIRFAX decided to cut his way out of Bradford, would make it
about 5 p.m. of the 3rd July 1643._]

And, as a further addition to my affliction, my daughter [_MARY, who
afterwards married GEORGE VILLIERS, second Duke of BUCKINGHAM, see
p. 611_], not above five years old, being carried before her maid,
endured all this retreat on horseback: but, Nature not [being] able to
hold out any longer, [she] fell into frequent swoonings; and [was], in
appearance, ready to expire her last [breath]. And having now passed
the Trent [_and therefore come into North Lincolnshire_], and seeing a
house not far off, I sent her, with her maid only, thither: with little
hopes of seeing her any more alive; but intending, the next day, to
send a ship from Hull for her.

So I went on to Barton [_upon Humber: nearly opposite_ _Hull_]; having
sent before to have a ship ready against my coming thither.

Here I lay down a little to rest; if it were possible to find any
in a body so full of pain; and [in] a mind so full of anxiety and
trouble. Though I must acknowledge it, as the infinite goodness of GOD,
methought my spirits were nothing at all discouraged from doing still
that which I thought to be my work and duty.

But I had not laid [down] a quarter of an hour before the Enemy came
close to the town [of Barton]. I had now not above 100 Horse with me.
We went to the ship; where, under the covert of her ordnance, we got
all our men and horses aboard.

So passing [the] Humber, we arrived at Hull; our men faint and tired:
[and I] myself having lost all, even to my shirt; for my clothes were
made unfit to wear, with rents and the blood which was upon them.
Considering which, in all humility and reverence, I may say, I was in
JOB's condition when he said, "Naked came I out of my mother's
womb, and naked shall I return thither. The Lord gave, and the Lord
hath taken away. Blessed be the Name of the Lord." [_Job_ i. 21.]

       *       *       *       *       *

But GOD, who is a GOD of Mercy and Consolation, doth not always leave
us in distress.

I having sent a ship, presently after I came into the town, for my
daughter: she was brought, the next day [4th July 1643], to Hull;
pretty well recovered of her long and tedious journey.

And, not many days after, the Earl of NEWCASTLE sent my
Wife back again, in his coach, with some Horse to guard her: which
generosity gained more than any reputation he could have gotten in
detaining a Lady prisoner upon such terms.

And many of our men, which were dispersed in this long retreat, came
hither again to us.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our first business now, was to raise new forces: which, in a short
time, were about 1,500 Foot and 700 Horse.

The town [of Hull] being little; I was sent to Beverley with the Horse
and 600 Foot.

But my Lord [of] NEWCASTLE, who now looked upon us as
inconsiderable, was marched with his whole Army into Lincolnshire: only
leaving some few garrisons at York and other few places. He took in
Gainsborough and Lincoln; and intended [to take] Boston next, which was
the Key of the Associated Countries [_Counties_]. For his Orders, which
I have seen, were to go into Essex; and block up London on that side.

But we, having laid a great while [_from 4th July to 26th August
1643_] still, were now strong enough in the Field for those forces
that remained in the Country [_Yorkshire_]. So we sent out a good
party to make an attempt upon Stamford Bridge, near York. But the
Enemy, upon the alarm, fled thither [_i.e. to York_]; which put them
all there in such a fear as they sent earnestly to desire him to
return, or the Country [_Yorkshire_] would again be lost: for the Lord
FAIRFAX had considerable forces.

Upon which, he returned again into Yorkshire; and, not long after, came
to besiege Hull.

       *       *       *       *       *

I, lying then at Beverley in the way of his march, finding that we were
not able to maintain such an open place against an Army, desired Orders
from my father to retire back to Hull.

But the Committee there (having always more mind of raising money,
than to take care of the Soldiers; yet these [Committee] Men had the
greatest share in command at this time) would not let any Orders be
given for our retreat; and [it were] unfit for us to return without
[them].

The Enemy marcheth from York, with his whole Army, towards us. Retreat,
we must not. Keep the town, we could not. So to make our retreat more
honourable, and useful both; I drew out all the Horse and Dragoons
toward the Enemy, and stood, drawn up by a wood side, all that night.

The next morning [2nd September 1643], by day[time], our Scouts, and
theirs, fired on one another. They march[ed] on with their whole body;
which was about 4,000 Horse and 12,000 Foot.

We stood till they were come very near [to] us. I then drew off (having
given directions before for the Foot to march away toward Hull),
thinking to make good the retreat with the Horse.

The Enemy, with a good party, were upon our rear. The lane being but
narrow, we made good shift with them till we got into Beverley, and
shut the gates: which we had scarce time to do; they being so close
upon us. But, in this business, we lost Major LAYTON, and not
above 2 more.

The Enemy, not knowing what forces we had in the town, stayed till the
rest of the Army came up; which was about a mile behind. This gave
our Foot some advantage in their retreat: it being 5 miles to Hull,
on narrow banks [and] so fittest for our Foot. I sent the Horse by
Cottingham, an opener road; who got well thither.

But they [_the Royalists_] overtook the Foot: which, notwithstanding,
made good their retreat till we got to a little bridge, 2 miles from
Hull; where we made a stand.

The Enemy following close, our men here gave them a good volley of
shot; which made them draw back, and advance no further. So, leaving a
small Guard at the bridge, we got safe to Hull.

Thus not only for want of military skill in the Gentlemen of the
Committee; but, to say no more, for want of good nature: we were
exposed to this trouble and danger.

       *       *       *       *       *

My Lord of NEWCASTLE now lay siege to Hull, but at a great
distance. The sluices being open, drowned the land two miles about the
town: yet upon a bank, which was the highway, he approached so near
as to shoot cannon shot at random into the town; which were, for the
most part, fiery bullets. But the diligence and care of the Governor
(who caused every inhabitant to watch his own house; and wheresoever
they saw these bullets fall, to be ready to quench them) prevented the
danger.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our Horse was now useless: and many [horses] died every day; having
nothing but salt water about the town.

I was therefore sent with the Horse, over [the Humber] into
Lincolnshire, to join with [EDWARD MONTAGU,] the Earl of
MANCHESTER's forces; which were then commanded by Major
General [OLIVER] CROMWELL: who received us at our
landing, with his troops.

Sir JOHN HENDERSON lay within three or four miles of this
place with 5,000 men, to prevent our conjunction: but durst not attempt
[it].

He marched three or four days near to us: but, for want of good
intelligence, we did not know so much. For I altogether trusted to the
care of our new friends, being a stranger in those parts: till one
morning [9th October 1643] he set upon our Guards at Horncastle; which,
being but newly raised in that Country [_Lincolnshire_], fled towards
Lincoln, without giving any alarm to our Quarters, who lay dispersed
and secure.

But Sir JOHN HENDERSON, marching slowly with his Army, gave
the alarm to some of our Quarters; which was soon taken by the rest:
but, with some disorder, before we could get into a considerable body.
My Lord WILLOUGHBY with his Horse, and my Dragoons commanded
by Colonel MORGAN, brought up the Rear. After some skirmishes,
we lodged that night all in the Field.

And, next day [10th October 1643], the Earl of MANCHESTER came
to us with his Foot.

The day following [11th October 1643], we advanced again towards the
Enemy; and choosing a convenient ground to fight on, we drew up the
Army there. The Enemy did so on the side of another hill close by,
having a little plain betwixt us.

Lieutenant General [OLIVER] CROMWELL had the Van [of
Horse]; I, the Reserve [of Horse]: my Lord [of] MANCHESTER all
the Foot. After we had faced one another a little while; the Forlorn
Hopes [_Advanced Guards_] began the fight. Presently the [Main] Bodies
met in the plain: where the fight was hot for half an hour; but then we
forced them to a rout. Above 200 killed, and 2000 taken prisoners. This
was the issue of Horncastle Fight, or, as some call it, Winceby Fight.

At the same instant, we heard great shooting of ordnance towards Hull:
which was a sally my father made [out of the town] upon my Lord of
NEWCASTLE's Trenches; who drew out most part of his Army to
relieve them. But our men charged so resolutely as they possessed
themselves of the cannon; and so pursued their advantage as [they]
put the enemy into a total rout. Upon which, he raised the Siege, and
returned again to York.

These two defeats together, the one falling heavy on the Horse, the
other on the Foot, kept the Enemy all that Winter [of 1643-1644] from
attempting anything.

And we, after the taking of Lincoln, settled ourselves in Winter
Quarters.

       *       *       *       *       *

But, in the coldest season of it, I was ordered by the Parliament to go
and raise the Siege of Nantwich; which the Lord BYRON, with
the Irish Army, had reduced to great extremity.

I was the most unfit of all the forces; being ever the worst paid;
my men sickly, and almost naked for want of clothes. I desired the
Parliament that they would be pleased to supply these wants: not to
excuse myself, as some who had no will to stir, though well enough
accommodated with all these; and a business of so much importance. But
their answer was a positive direction to march; for it would admit of
no delay: which indeed was as grievous to me as that injunction was to
the Israelites, to make bricks without straw.

But, foreseeing I should have such a return to my desires, I had,
seeing the necessity of the business, upon my own credit got so much
cloth as clothed 1,500 men: and [they were] all ready to march when
these Orders came to me.

So, the 29th of December [1643], we got forwards from Falkingham in
Lincolnshire to Nantwich, with 1,800 Horse and 500 Dragoons; and a
Power to call the Regiments [of Foot] of Lancashire and Cheshire to
make up the body of the Army. But it was not a little trouble to me,
when I came to Manchester, to find some of them 30, some 40 miles
distant: besides the disaffection of some of their Colonels, who went
as their peculiar [_individual_] safety or Interest swayed them. But,
finding more readiness in the inferior Officers and common soldiers, I
got up, in a few days, near[ly] 3,000 Foot.

With this Army, we marched [from Manchester, on the 21st January 1644]
to Nantwich; which was at the point of surrendering.

When we were within two days' march, I had intelligence that the Lord
BYRON had drawn off his Siege; and intended to meet us in the
Field. I put my men into the order I intended to fight [in]; and so
continued my march till we came within 3 miles of the town.

There, was a Pass kept with about 250 men. I sent Colonel
MORGAN, with his Dragoons, to beat them off: in which, his
brother, who was his Lieutenant, was slain. The Major who commanded the
other party, with some others, were taken prisoners.

We marched on till we came within cannon shot of their Works, where
half of their Army was drawn up. The river [Weaver], which runs through
the town, being raised with the melting of the snow, hindered, as
we were informed, those that lay on the other side of the town from
joining with them.

We called a Council [of War, on 25th January 1644] wherein it
was debated, Whether we should attempt those in their Works
[_Entrenchments_], being divided from the rest of the Army: or march
into the town and relieve them; and, by increase of more force be
better able, the next day [26th January 1644] to encounter them.

The latter was resolved on. So, making a way with [the] Pioneers
through the hedges, we marched to[wards] the town.

But, after we had gone a little way, word came that the Enemy were in
the Rear. So, facing about two Regiments [of Foot] and my own Regiment
of Horse, commanded by Major ROUSBY, we relieving those that
were already engaged. And so the fight began on all sides. These that
fell on our Rear were those that lay [on] the other side of the town;
which had passed the river [Weaver]. Those that were drawn up under
their Works [about Acton Church], fell upon our Van, which was marching
to the town. Thus was the battle divided; there being a quarter of a
mile betwixt us.

In the division first engaged, our Foot, at the beginning, gave a
little ground: but our Horse recovered this, by beating the Enemy's
Horse out of the lanes that flanked our Foot; which did so encourage
our men as they gained now of the Enemy, so as they made them retire
from hedge to hedge till, at length, they were forced to fly to their
Works [_Entrenchments_]. But their Horse retreated in better order
towards Chester, without much loss.

Our other Wing [_the Van_], being assisted from the town, who sallied
out with 700 or 800 Musketeers, beat the Enemy also back into the same
Works [at Acton Church]; which we presently surrounded. ["_Where_," _as
Sir T. FAIRFAX said in his despatch_, "_they were caught as in
a trap_."]

But, being in great disorder and confusion, [they] sooner yielded
themselves prisoners; with all their Chief Officers, arms, Colours, and
ammunition.

Thus, by the mercy of GOD, was this victory obtained: being yet the
more signal in that we were not to deal with young soldiers, but with
men of great experience; and an Army which had ever been victorious.

       *       *       *       *       *

After this, we took in several garrisons in Cheshire: Lathom [House]
only in Lancashire held out; which was besieged by the forces of that
Country [_County_], but afterwards [the siege was] raised by Prince
RUPERT.

       *       *       *       *       *

Having spent three or four months in this Expedition; my father
commanded me back into Yorkshire, that by the conjunction of forces he
might be the more able to take the Field.

We met about Ferrybridge [in April 1644]: he being come out of Hull
thither, with intention to fall upon the Enemy's garrison at Selby.

And here I received another Command from the Parliament, to march
immediately with my Horse and Dragoons, into Northumberland, to join
with the Scots Army. The Earl of NEWCASTLE, who was then at
Durham, being much stronger in Horse than they; for want of which they
could not advance no further. But it being resolved, within a day or
two to storm Selby; I stayed till that business was over: which proved
as effectual for the relief of the Scots Army.

The Governor of York lay in the town with 2,000 men. We drew Horse and
Foot close to it. Sir JOHN MELDRUM led on the Foot; which had
their General Posts appointed, where they should storm: I, with the
Horse, ready to second them.

The Enemy within defended themselves [on the 11th April 1644] stoutly
a good while. Our men at length beat them from the Line; but could not
advance farther because of the Horse within.

I getting a Barricado open, which let us in betwixt the houses and the
river. Here we had an encounter with their Horse. [After one charge,
they fled over a Bridge of Boats to York.]

Other Horse came up, and charged us again, where my horse was
overthrown; [I] being single [_alone_] a little before my men: who
presently relieved me, and forced the Enemy back; who retreated also
to York. In this charge, we took Colonel [Lord] BELLASIS,
Governor of York.

By this, the Foot had entered the town; and also took many prisoners.

       *       *       *       *       *

This good success put them into great distraction and fears at York:
who speedily sent to the Earl of NEWCASTLE, to haste back
thither; believing we would presently attempt them. This news suddenly
called him back, leaving the Scots: who, with cold and oft alarms, were
reduced to great extremity; but now advanced without delay after him.

The Earl of NEWCASTLE gets into York [on 19th April 1644].

The Scots joined their forces with my father's at Wetherby: altogether
making 16,000 Foot and 4,000 Horse. They marched on to York [, from
Tadcaster, on 19th April 1644].

But for this work, it was thought fit to have more men; the town [of
York] being large in compass, and strongly manned. Therefore the
Earl of CRAWFORD, [Lord] LINDSAY and myself were sent to the Earl
of MANCHESTER, to desire him to join with us in the Siege: which he
willingly consented to, bringing an addition of 6,000 Foot and 3,000
Horse [on 2nd June 1644].

So now the Army had three Generals, [ALEXANDER]
LESLIE [, Earl of LEVEN], MANCHESTER, and
FAIRFAX; who lay apart in three Quarters before the town. But
the north side still remained open to the town.

Some time was spent here without any considerable action till, in
my Lord of MANCHESTER's Quarters, approaches were made to St Mary's
Tower; and soon came to mine it. Which Colonel [LAURENCE] CRAWFORD, a
Scotsman, who commanded that Quarter, (ambitious to have the honour
alone of springing the mine [on 16th June 1644] undertook, without
acquainting of the other two Generals with it, for their advice and
concurrence): which proved very prejudicial. For, having engaged his
party against the whole strength of the town, without more force to
second him, he was repulsed with the loss of 300 men. For which, he had
been surely called to account; but that he escaped the better by reason
of this triumviral goverment.

So after, Prince RUPERT came to relieve the town. We raised
the siege [_which had lasted from Monday the 3rd June to Monday the 1st
July 1644_] and Hessa[y] Moor [_a portion of Marston Moor, 7 miles from
York_] being appointed the rendezvous, the whole Army drew thither.

About a mile from whence, Prince RUPERT lay; the river Ouse
being only betwixt us: which he, that night, passed over at Poppleton.
And, the next day, [he] drew his Army into the same Moor we were on:
who, being now joined with the Earl of NEWCASTLE's forces,
made about 23,000 or 24,000 men. But we, something more.

       *       *       *       *       *

We were divided in our opinions what to do. The English were for
fighting them; the Scots, for retreating, to gain (as they alleged)
both time and place of more advantage. This latter being resolved on;
we marched away [on Tuesday 2nd July 1644] to[wards] Tadcaster; which
made the Enemy to advance the faster.

Lieutenant General CROMWELL, Major General [DAVID]
LESLIE, and myself, being appointed to bring up the Rear; we
sent word to the Generals, of the necessity of making a stand. For
else, the Enemy, having the advantage, might put us in some disorder;
but, by the advantage of the ground we were on, we hoped to make it
good till they came back to us.

[Which they did.]

The place was Marston Fields, which afterwards gave the name to this
battle.

       *       *       *       *       *

Here we drew up our Army. The Enemy was drawn up in Battalia on the
Moor a little below us.

The day being, for the most part, spent in preparation we now began to
descend toward them.

Lieutenant General CROMWELL commanded the Left Wing of Horse; and [was]
seconded by Major General [DAVID] LESLIE. I had the Right Wing [of
Horse], with some Scotch Horse and Lances for my Reserves. The three
Generals were with the Foot.

Our Left Wing charged first the Enemy's Right Wing; which was performed
for a while with much resolution on both sides; but the Enemy, at
length, was put to the worst.

Our Right Wing had not, all, so good success, by reason of the whins
[_furze_] and ditches which we were to pass over before we could get to
the Enemy, which put us into great disorder: notwithstanding, I drew
up a body of 400 Horse. But because the intervals of [their] Horse,
in this Wing only, were lined with Musketeers; which did us much hurt
with their shot: I was necessitated to charge them. We were a long time
engaged one with another; but at last we routed that part of their
Wing. We charged, and pursued them a good way towards York.

[I] myself only [_alone_] returned presently, to get to the men I left
behind me. But that part of the Enemy which stood [opposite to them],
perceiving the disorder they were in, had charged and routed them,
before I could get to them. So that the good success we had at first
was eclipsed much by this bad conclusion.

But our other Wing, and most of the Foot, went on prosperously till
they had cleared the Field.

       *       *       *       *       *

But I must not forget to remember with thankfulness GOD's goodness
to me this day. For having charged through the Enemy, and my [400]
men going after [in] the pursuit; returning back [alone] to go to my
other troops, I was gotten in among the Enemy, which stood up and
down the Field in several bodies of Horse. So, taking the Signal [_a
white handkerchief, or a piece of paper_] out of my hat, I passed
through, for one of their own Commanders; and so got to my Lord of
MANCHESTER's Horse in the other Wing; only with a cut in my
cheek which was given me in the first charge, and a shot [which] my
horse received.

       *       *       *       *       *

In which [first] charge also, many of my Officers and soldiers were
hurt and slain. The Captain of my own Troop was shot in the arm.
My Cornet had both his hands cut, that rendered him ever after
unserviceable. Captain MICKELTHWAITE, an honest stout man, was
slain. And [there was] scarce[ly] any Officer which was in this charge,
which did not receive a hurt.

But Colonel LAMBERT (who should have seconded me; but could
not get up to me) charged in another place. Major FAIRFAX, who
was Major to his Regiment, had, at least, thirty wounds: of which he
died; after he was abroad [_out of doors_] again, and [had] good hopes
of his recovery.

But that which nearest of all concerned me, was the loss of my brother
[CHARLES FAIRFAX]: who, being deserted of his men, was sore
wounded; of which, in three or four days after, he died.

So as, in this charge, as many were hurt and killed as in the whole
[Parliamentary] Army besides.[24]

Of the Enemy's part, there were above 4,000 slain, and many taken
prisoners.

       *       *       *       *       *

Prince RUPERT returned into the South. The Earl of
NEWCASTLE went beyond the seas [on 5th July 1644], with many
of his Officers. York presently surrendered [on the 15th July 1644],
and the North now was wholly reduced by the Parliament's forces, except
some garrisons.

       *       *       *       *       *

Soon after this, I went to Helmsley, to take in the Castle there: but
received a dangerous shot in my shoulder; and was brought back to York.
All, for some time, being doubtful of my recovery.

Yet, at the same time, the Parliament voted me to command in the South.

       *       *       *       *       *

But my intention being only to keep in mind what I had been present in,
during this Northern War; I shall put an end to this Discourse, where
it pleased GOD to determine my service there.

Yet thus, with some smart from his rod, to let me see I was not
mindful enough of returning my humble thanks and acknowledgments for
the deliverances and mercies I received; and for which, alas, I am
not yet capable enough to praise him as I ought. [I] that may say
by experience, "Who is a GOD like unto our GOD?" [_Ps._ lxxi. 19.]
Therefore, "Not unto us, O Lord; not unto us, but unto Thy Name; give
we the praise!" [_Ps._ cxv.]

But as for myself, and what I have done, I may say with
SOLOMON, "I looked on all the works that my hands have
wrought; and on the labour that I had laboured to do: and, behold, all
was Vanity and Vexation of Spirit. For there is no remembrance of the
Wise more than of the Fool for ever; seeing that which now is, in the
days to come shall be forgotten." _Eccles._ ii. 16.

FINIS.

[Illustration]

    [Footnote 20: _Sir HENRY SLINGSBY gives the following Account
    of this Action:_

    My Lord of CUMBERLAND sent out Sir THOMAS GLENHAM
    once again to beat up Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX's Quarters at
    Wetherby; commanding out a party both of Horse and Dragoons. He comes
    close up to the town, undiscovered, a little before sunrise; and
    PRIDEAUX and some others enter the town through a back yard.
    This gave an alarm quite through the town.

    Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX was, at this juncture, drawing on his
    boots, to go to his father at Tadcaster. He gets on horseback, draws
    out some Pikes, and so meets our Gentlemen. Every one had a shot at
    him: he only making at them with his sword; and then retired again,
    under the guard of his Pikes.

    At another part, Lieutenant Colonel NORTON enters with his
    Dragoons. Captain ATKINSON encounters him on horseback: the
    other being on foot. They meet. ATKINSON missed with his
    pistol. NORTON pulls him off horseback by the sword-belt.
    Being both on the ground; ATKINSON's soldiers come in, fell
    NORTON into the ditch with the butt ends of their muskets, to
    rescue their Captain. NORTON's soldiers come in, and beat down
    ATKINSON; and with repeated blows break his thigh; of which
    wound, he died. A sore scuffle between two that had been neighbours
    and intimate friends. After this they [_NORTON's Dragoons_]
    retreated out of the town; with the loss of more than one Trooper
    killed, and one Major CARR, a Scotchman.

      _Memoirs_, p. 40, Ed. 1806, 8vo.]

    [Footnote 21: _This is clearly wrong, and a slip of the memory.
    The Writer did not again go to Bradford until after the Victory of
    the Club Men there, on Sunday, 18th December 1642; which is thus
    described by FERDINANDO, Lord FAIRFAX, in a letter from Selby on
    29th December 1642._

    I have formerly advertised that the Earl of NEWCASTLE's Army have
    seized upon Leeds: where they plunder the well-affected party; and
    raise a very great sum of money out of those that they can draw to
    compound for their securities.

    And from Leeds, they marched on Sunday, the 18th of this month,
    with 5 Troops of Horse, 6 Companies of Dragoons, 200 Foot, and
    two drakes [_small cannon, or field pieces_], of the Earl of
    NEWCASTLE's Army; besides Sir WILLIAM SAVILE and divers other
    Gentlemen of Yorkshire and their forces, that joined themselves
    with them: and came to Bradford, about ten a clock in the morning;
    intending to surprise  the town, in [the] time of Prayer.

    But the town, having scouts abroad, had notice of their coming; and
    gave the alarm to the country [_district_]: who came in to their
    succour from the parts adjoining.

    Yet they had not in all above 80 muskets: the rest being armed with
    clubs and such rustic weapons; with which small force, they put the
    cause to trial with [_against_] the great strength of the Enemy.
    Who planted their drakes, and discharged each of them seventeen
    times upon the town; until a townsman, with a fowling piece, killed
    one of the Cannoniers. And then they all, with great courage,
    issued from the town upon the enemies; and killed many of them, and
    took about 30 prisoners: and forced the rest to retreat, leaving
    40 of their muskets and [a] barrel of powder, with much other
    provision, behind them. And this, with [the] loss of 3 Bradford men.

    The report of the country is that [of] the enemies, amongst those
    that were killed were Colonel EVERS, and Captain BINNS, and another
    Commander; and that Colonel GORING, General of the Horse with the
    Earl of NEWCASTLE, was wounded; and Serjeant Major CARR, taken
    prisoner. And it is generally spoken, That 150 more are run away,
    upon the retreat; and are not since returned to Leeds.

    In which victory the hand and power of GOD was most evident, the
    town being open on all sides and not defensible; assaulted on
    every side by a malicious and bloody Enemy; and defended by a few
    half-naked [_half-armed_] men: there being in the town not above 80
    muskets before they got 40 more by the spoils of their enemies; so
    that [the] slaughter was, for the most part, with clubs and scythes
    mounted on poles, and came to hand blows.

    With this defeat, the enemies are so enraged as they threaten
    revenge to Bradford.

    Whereupon the Bradford men sent to me for succour of men and arms.
    And I have sent my son [Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX] and Sir HENRY FOULIS
    to them, with 3 Troops of Horse and 120 Dragooners; who are safely
    arrived  there: and [have been] received with great joy and
    acclamation of the country [_district_]; who flock to him and offer
    themselves most willingly to serve against their Popish enemies, if
    arms could be furnished to them.

    He hath already surprised some victuals [_convoys of provisions_]
    sent in, upon warrants [_requisitions_], to the Enemy at Leeds,
    by the over-awed country [_district_]. And he hath sent Captain
    MILDMAY, with his Troop of Horse, into Craven [_i.e. the upper
    Wharfe-dale_] to stop the raising of forces and money in that
    country: which is attempted by the Earl of CUMBERLAND; who is
    lately retired from York to Skipton. And I hope he may leave
    nothing unattempted that may conduce to the safety of the country,
    so far as can be expected from the few forces he hath with him.

    _A Second Letter from the Lord FAIRFAX._ Printed 5th Jan. 1642[-3].
    British Museum Press Mark, E. 84. (15).

    _Another Account of the Bradford Victory, dated 21st December 1642,
    states:_

    They appeared in Barker End, about 9 a clock, when we had not in
    [the] town above 40 Musketeers; planted their ordnance in WILLIAM
    COOKE's Barn; marched down the Causey [_Causeway_] with their Foot,
    whilst their Horse coasted about the town to hinder aid from coming
    in; possessed themselves of those houses under the Church; and from
    thence played hotly upon our Musketeers in the Church till 11 a
    clock: about which time [the] Halifax men, and other neighbours,
    came in to our help.

    The fight, before hot, was then hotter. Our men, impatient to be
    cooped up in the Church, rushed out [and] forced a passage into the
    foresaid houses; and there our Club Men did good execution upon
    them. Thereabouts the fight continued till it was dark. Many of
    theirs were slain....

    Their cannon, one of which shoots a 9 lb. ball [_if so, it was a
    Demi-Culverin: see Vol. IV., p. 251_] played all that time upon the
    town: but hurt no man, praised be GOD! who hath delivered those
    that were ordained to death, &c.

    _Brave News of the taking of Chichester, &c. &c._ Printed 30th Dec.
    1642. British Museum Press Mark, E. 83. (36).]

    [Footnote 22: _Sir HENRY SLINGSBY says of this Fight:_

     Two days after, His Excellency [the Earl of NEWCASTLE] came to
    York [5th December 1642]; he undertook to attempt to beat Lord
    FAIRFAX out of Tadcaster: in this he succeeded pretty well [on 7th
    December 1642]; and marched to Pomfret [_Pontefract_], which he
    made his Head Quarters. His Horse [was] at Sherburn, and towns next
    adjacent.

    Here we were a little too secure. Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX (with a party
    of 300 Horse; and, it seems, hearing the Officers in Sherburn were
    to have a feast) comes at noon-day, beats up our Quarters; [and]
    takes Commissary WINDHAM, Sir WILLIAM RIDDALL, and many others,
    prisoners.

    _Memoirs_, p. 42, Ed. 1806, 8vo.

    _The date of this Fight is fixed by the following passage:_

    On Tuesday last [13th December 1642], about four of the clock in
    the morning, Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX marched from Selby; fetching a
    compass, as if he declined Sherburn: yet, at last, [he] wheeled
    about, and assaulted that town about one of the clock, the next
    day [14th December 1642] &c. &c. _A True Relation of the Fight at
    Sherburn, &c._ Written on [Friday] 16th December 1642. British
    Museum Press Mark, E. 83. (15).]

    [Footnote 23: Saturday night, the 20th of May [1643]. The Lord
    General [i.e. FERDINANDO, Lord FAIRFAX] gave Order for a party of
    1,000 Foot, 3 Companies of Dragooners, and 8 Troops of Horse, to
    march from the garrisons of Leeds, Bradford, Halifax, and Howley.
    Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX commanded in chief. The Foot were commanded by
    Serjeant Major General GIFFORD and Sir WILLIAM FAIRFAX. The Horse
    were divided into two bodies: 4 Troops commanded by Sir THOMAS
    FAIRFAX, and the other 4 Troops by Sir HENRY FOULIS.

    Howley was the rendezvous, where they all met on Saturday [20th
    May] last, about twelve a clock at night.

    About two, next morning, they marched away: and coming to Stanley,
    where 2 of the Enemy's Troops lay, with some Dragooners; that
    Quarter was beaten up, and about one and twenty prisoners taken.

    About four a clock in the morning [of 21st May 1643], we came
    before Wakefield. Where, after some of their Horse were beaten into
    the town, the Foot, with unspeakable courage, beat the enemies from
    the hedges, which they had lined with Muskeeters, into the town;
    and assaulted it in two places, Wrengate and Norgate: and, after
    an hour and a half's fight, we recovered [_captured_] one of their
    Pieces [of Ordnance] and  turned it upon them; and entered the
    town, at both places, at one and the same time.

    When the Barricadoes were opened, Sir THOMAS FAIRFAX, with the
    Horse, fell into the town; and cleared the street: where Colonel
    GORING was taken by Lieutenant ALURED, brother to Captain ALURED, a
    Member of the House [of Commons].

    Yet in the Market Place, there stood 3 Troops of Horse; and
    Colonel LAMPTON's Regiment: to whom Major General GIFFORD sent a
    Trumpet[er], with offer of Quarter, if they would lay down their
    arms.

    They answered, They scorned the motion.

    Then he fired a Piece of their own Ordnance upon them: and the
    Horse fell in upon them, [and] beat them out of [the] town. We took
    39 Officers, 27 Colours of Foot, 3 Coronets of Horse, and about
    1,500 common soldiers.

    The Enemy had in the town 3,000 Foot and 7 Troops of Horse: besides
    Colonel LAMPTON's Regiment; which came into the town, after we had
    entered the town.

    The Enemy left behind them 4 Pieces of Ordnance, with Amunition;
    which we brought away.

    THOMAS FAIRFAX. JOHN GIFFORD. JOHN HOLMAN. TITUS LEIGHTON. HENRY
    FOULIS. WILLIAM FAIRFAX. ROBERT FOULIS. FRANCIS TALBOT.

    _A Miraculous Victory...at Wakefield_. Printed 27th May 1643.
    British Museum Press Mark, E. 104. (13).]

    [Footnote 24: A modest Refutation of an Error published in print by
    Master [THOMAS] FULLER, in his book of _Worthies_ [_of England_].
    Title, [_Yorkshire_] _Battles_, pagina 225 [, Ed. 1662], in these
    words, viz.

    GORING, [at the fight of Marston Moor,] _so valiantly charged the
    Right Wing of the Enemy, that they fairly forsook the Field_.

    On this, Lord FAIRFAX made the following marginal Note in his copy:

    I envy none the honour they deservedly got in this battle; nor am
    I ambitiously desirous of a branch of their laurel. But I see no
    reason to be excluded [from] the Lists: in which I underwent equal
    hazards  with any others that day.

    But [it] being my lot to be cast upon many disadvantages, having
    command of the Right Wing, with much difficulty I could get but
    5 Troops in order: with which I charged the Enemy's Left Wing;
    when the business was hotly disputed a long time, at [the] sword's
    point. We broke through; and had the chase of many of them.

    But, indeed, the rest of the Horse, [that] I could not draw up to
    charge with me, were soon routed with that part of the Enemy we
    left behind.

    But to shew that some did their parts: having routed some of the
    Enemy, and taken GORING's Major General prisoner; few of us came
    off  without dangerous wounds; and many [of them] were mortal.

    Which shews that the Right Wing did not wholly leave the Field; as
    the Author of that book relates.

    F. GROSE, _Antiquarian Repertory_, 2nd Ed., III., p. 31, 1808, 4.]




 GEORGE VILLIERS,
 second Duke of BUCKINGHAM.

 _An Epitaph on
 THOMAS, third Lord FAIRFAX_.

  [Sidenote: [_A Third Collection of...Poems,
  Satires, Songs, &c. against Popery
  and Tyranny_. London, 1689. 4to.]

 [Lord FAIRFAX, the great General on the side of the
 Parliament, died in 1671; and his son-in-law, the Writer of this
 _Epitaph_, in 1688. VILLIERS never wrote a nobler Poem,
 irregular though it be.]

  Under this stone does lie
    One born for Victory,


 1.
    FAIRFAX the valiant; and the only He
    Whoe'er, for that alone a Conqueror would be.
      Both sexes' virtues were in him combined:
    He had the fierceness of the manliest mind,
      And eke the meekness too of womankind.
    He never knew what Envy was, or Hate.
    His soul was filled with Worth and Honesty;
    And with another thing, quite out of date,
                Called Modesty.

 2.
    He ne'er seemed impudent but in the Field: a place
    Where Impudence itself dares seldom show her face.
    Had any stranger spied him in the room
    With some of those whom he had overcome,
    And had not heard their talk; but only seen
      Their gestures and their mien:
    They would have sworn he had, the vanquished been.
    For as they bragged, and dreadful would appear;
    While they, their own ill lucks in war repeated:
    His modesty still made him blush to hear
      How often he had them defeated.

 3.
    Through his whole life, the Part he bore
      Was wonderful and great:
    And yet it so appeared in nothing more
      Than in his private last retreat.
      For it's a stranger thing to find
      One man of such a glorious mind,
      As can dismiss the Power he has got;
    Than millions of the Polls and Braves
    (Those despicable fools and knaves),
      Who such a pother make,
      Through dulness and mistake,
    In seeking after Power: but get it not.

 4.
     When all the nation he had won,
    And with expense of blood had bought;
      Store great enough, he thought,
      Of fame and of renown:
      He then his arms laid down
      With full as little pride
    As if he had been of his Enemies' side;
    Or one of them could do that were undone.
      He neither wealth, nor Places sought.
      For others, not himself, he fought.
        He was content to know
        (For he had found it so)
    That when he pleased, to conquer he was able;
    And left the spoil and plunder to the rabble.
        He might have been a King:
        But that he understood
      How much it is a meaner thing
    To be unjustly Great, than honourably Good.

 5.
    This from the World, did admiration draw;
    And from his friends, both love and awe:
    Remembering what in fight he did before.
        And his foes loved him too,
        As they were bound to do,
    Because he was resolved to fight no more.
    So blessed of all, he died. But far more blessed were we,
    If we were sure to live till we could see
    A Man as great in War, in Peace as just, as he.

[Illustration]




  ADVICE

  TO A

  YOUNG REVIEWER,

  WITH A

  SPECIMEN OF THE ART.

  OXFORD:

  SOLD BY J. PARKER AND J. COOKE;
  AND BY

  F. C. AND J. RIVINGTON, ST. PAUL's
  CHURCHYARD, LONDON.

  1807.


  [This splendid piece of irony was occasioned by
  the omniscient arrogance of the first Writers of
  the _Edinburgh Review_, then in its fifth year of
  publication, with, as Sir WALTER SCOTT tells us, a sale
  of 9,000 copies each quarter, and a paramount influence
  in British society.

  One usually looks to the reign of Queen ANNE, to a
  DEFOE, a SWIFT, or an ARBUTHNOT, for depth and subtilty
  of invention in prose; but here it is in abundance: not
  so much, perhaps, in what is so wittily said, as in the
  management and studied unfairness of the pettifogging
  malignant sham Review; where everything is said that
  ought to have been left out, and everything is left out
  that ought to have been said.

  The Writer, of course, would only take a noble Poem
  for such maltreatment; and we must note the extreme
  liberality of his mind that, being a strong Churchman,
  and also at that time Tutor of Oriel College, Oxford,
  he selected a poem of the then scouted MILTON for his
  example.

  Among the brilliant strokes of this Satire, two seem
  pre-eminent:

  (1) The designation of the Archangel of English Song
  as--_Mr. M._

  (2) Speaking thus of one whose life and thought were
  Purity itself--_But we have already had occasion to
  remark on the laxity of Mr M.'s amatory notions._]




[Illustration]




 ADVICE

 TO A

 YOUNG REVIEWER, &c.


YOU are now about to enter on a Profession which has the means of doing
much good to society, and scarcely any temptation to do harm. You
may encourage Genius, you may chastise superficial Arrogance, expose
Falsehood, correct Error, and guide the Taste and Opinions of the Age
in no small degree by the books you praise and recommend. And this
too may be done without running the risk of making any enemies; or
subjecting yourself to be called to account for your criticism, however
severe. While your name is unknown, your person is invulnerable: at the
same time your aim is sure, for you may take it at your leisure; and
your blows fall heavier than those of any Writer whose name is given,
or who is simply anonymous. There is a mysterious authority in the
plural, _We_, which no single name, whatever may be its reputation,
can acquire; and, under the sanction of this imposing style, your
strictures, your praises, and your dogmas, will command universal
attention; and be received as the fruit of united talents, acting on
one common principle--as the judgments of a tribunal who decide only on
mature deliberation, and who protect the interests of Literature with
unceasing vigilance.

Such being the high importance of that Office, and such its
opportunities; I cannot bestow a few hours of leisure better than
in furnishing you with some hints for the more easy and effectual
discharge of it: hints which are, I confess, loosely thrown together;
but which are the result of long experience, and of frequent reflection
and comparison. And if anything should strike you, at first sight, as
rather equivocal in point of morality, or deficient in liberality and
feeling; I beg you will suppress all such scruples, and consider them
as the offspring of a contracted education and narrow way of thinking,
which a little intercourse with the World and sober reasoning will
speedily overcome.

       *       *       *       *       *

Now as in the conduct of life nothing is more to be desired than some
Governing Principle of action, to which all other principles and
motives must be made subservient; so in the Art of Reviewing I would
lay down as a fundamental position, which you must never lose sight of,
and which must be the mainspring of all your criticisms--_Write what
will sell!_ To this Golden Rule every minor canon must be subordinate;
and must be either immediately deducible from it, or at least be made
consistent with it.

Be not staggered at the sound of a precept which, upon examination,
will be found as honest and virtuous as it is discreet. I have already
sketched out the great services which it is in your power to render
mankind; but all your efforts will be unavailing if men did not read
what you write. Your utility therefore, it is plain, depends upon your
popularity; and popularity cannot be attained without humouring the
taste and inclinations of men.

Be assured that, by a similar train of sound and judicious reasoning,
the consciences of thousands in public life are daily quieted. It is
better for the State that their Party should govern than any other.
The good which they can effect by the exercise of power is infinitely
greater than any which could arise from a rigid adherence to certain
subordinate moral precepts; which therefore should be violated without
scruple whenever they stand in the way of their leading purpose. He who
sticks at these can never act a great part in the World, and is not
fit to act it if he could. Such maxims may be very useful in ordinary
affairs, and for the guidance of ordinary men: but when we mount into
the sphere of public utility, we must adopt more enlarged principles;
and not suffer ourselves to be cramped and fettered by petty notions of
Right and Moral Duty.

       *       *       *       *       *

When you have reconciled yourself to this liberal way of thinking; you
will find many inferior advantages resulting from it, which at first
did not enter into your consideration. In particular, it will greatly
lighten your labours, to _follow_ the public taste, instead of taking
upon you to _direct_ it. The task of Pleasing is at all times easier
than that of Instructing: at least it does not stand in need of painful
research and preparation; and may be effected in general by a little
vivacity of manner, and a dexterous morigeration [_compliance, or
obsequiousness_], as Lord BACON calls it, to the humours and
frailties of men. Your responsibility too is thereby much lessened.
Justice and Candour can only be required of you so far as they coincide
with this Main Principle: and a little experience will convince you
that these are not the happiest means of accomplishing your purpose.

It has been idly said, That a Reviewer acts in a judicial capacity, and
that his conduct should be regulated by the same rules by which the
Judge of a Civil Court is governed: that he should rid himself of every
bias; be patient, cautious, sedate, and rigidly impartial: that he
should not seek to shew off himself, and should check every disposition
to enter into the case as a partizan.

Such is the language of superficial thinkers; but in reality there is
no analogy between the two cases. A Judge is promoted to that office
by the authority of the State; a Reviewer by his own. The former is
independent of control, and may therefore freely follow the dictates
of his own conscience: the latter depends for his very bread upon the
breath of public opinion; the great law of self-preservation therefore
points out to him a different line of action. Besides, as we have
already observed, if he ceases to please, he is no longer read; and
consequently is no longer useful. In a Court of Justice, too, the
part of amusing the bystanders rests with the Counsel: in the case of
criticism, if the Reviewer himself does not undertake it, who will?

Instead of vainly aspiring to the gravity of a Magistrate; I would
advise him, when he sits down to write, to place himself in the
imaginary situation of a cross-examining Pleader. He may comment, in a
vain of agreeable irony, upon the profession, the manner of life, the
look, dress, or even the name, of the witness he is examining: when he
has raised a contemptuous opinion of him in the minds of the Court, he
may proceed to draw answers from him capable of a ludicrous turn; and
he may carve and garble these to his own liking.

This mode of proceeding you will find most practicable in Poetry,
where the boldness of the image or the delicacy of thought (for
which the Reader's mind was prepared in the original) will easily be
made to appear extravagant, or affected, if judiciously singled out,
and detached from the group to which it belongs. Again, since much
depends upon the rhythm and the terseness of expression (both of which
are sometimes destroyed by dropping a single word, or transposing a
phrase), I have known much advantage arise from _not_ quoting in the
form of a literal extract: but giving a brief summary in prose, of the
contents of a poetical passage; and interlarding your own language,
with occasional phrases of the Poem marked with inverted commas.

These, and a thousand other little expedients, by which the arts of
Quizzing and Banter flourish, practice will soon teach you. If it
should be necessary to transcribe a dull passage, not very fertile in
topics of humour and raillery; you may introduce it as a "favourable
specimen of the Author's manner."

       *       *       *       *       *

Few people are aware of the powerful effects of what is philosophically
termed Association. Without any positive violation of truth, the whole
dignity of a passage may be undermined by contriving to raise some
vulgar and ridiculous notions in the mind of the reader: and language
teems with examples of words by which the same idea is expressed,
with the difference only that one excites a feeling of respect,
the other of contempt. Thus you may call a fit of melancholy, "the
sulks"; resentment, "a pet"; a steed, "a nag"; a feast, "a junketing";
sorrow and affliction, "whining and blubbering". By transferring the
terms peculiar to one state of society, to analogous situations and
characters in another, the same object is attained. "A Drill Serjeant"
or "a Cat and Nine Tails" in the Trojan War, "a <DW26>s smack putting
into the Piræus," "the Penny Post of Jerusalem," and other combinations
of the like nature which, when you have a little indulged in that vein
of thought, will readily suggest themselves, never fail to raise a
smile, if not immediately at the expense of the Author, yet entirely
destructive of that frame of mind which his Poem requires in order to
be relished.

I have dwelt the longer on this branch of Literature, because you are
chiefly to look here for materials of fun and irony.

       *       *       *       *       *

Voyages and Travels indeed are no barren ground; and you must seldom
let a Number of your _Review_ go abroad without an Article of this
description. The charm of this species of writing, so universally
felt, arises chiefly from its uniting Narrative with Information. The
interest we take in the story can only be kept alive by minute incident
and occasional detail; which puts us in possession of the traveller's
feelings, his hopes, his fears, his disappointments, and his pleasures.
At the same time the thirst for knowledge and love of novelty is
gratified by continual information respecting the people and countries
he visits.

If you wish therefore to run down the book, you have only to play off
these two parts against each other. When the Writer's object is to
satisfy the first inclination, you are to thank him for communicating
to the World such valuable facts as, whether he lost his way in the
night, or sprained his ankle, or had no appetite for his dinner.
If he is busied about describing the Mineralogy, Natural History,
Agriculture, Trade, etc. of a country: you may mention a hundred books
from whence the same information may be obtained; and deprecate the
practice of emptying old musty Folios into new Quartos, to gratify that
sickly taste for a smattering about everything which distinguishes the
present Age.

       *       *       *       *       *

In Works of Science and recondite Learning, the task you have
undertaken will not be so difficult as you may imagine. Tables of
Contents and Indexes are blessed helps in the hands of a Reviewer; but,
more than all, the Preface is the field from which his richest harvest
is to be gathered.

In the Preface, the Author usually gives a summary of what has been
written on the same subject before; he acknowledges the assistance he
has received from different sources, and the reasons of his dissent
from former Writers; he confesses that certain parts have been less
attentively considered than others, and that information has come to
his hands too late to be made use of; he points out many things in the
composition of his Work which he thinks may provoke animadversion, and
endeavours to defend or palliate his own practice.

Here then is a fund of wealth for the Reviewer, lying upon the very
surface. If he knows anything of his business, he will turn all these
materials against the Author: carefully suppressing the source of his
information; and as if drawing from the stores of his own mind long ago
laid up for this very purpose. If the Author's references are correct,
a great point is gained; for by consulting a few passages of the
original Works, it will be easy to discuss the subject with the air of
having a previous knowledge of the whole.

Your chief vantage ground is, That you may fasten upon any position in
the book you are reviewing, and treat it as principal and essential;
when perhaps it is of little weight in the main argument: but, by
allotting a large share of your criticism to it, the reader will
naturally be led to give it a proportionate importance, and to consider
the merit of the Treatise at issue upon that single question.

If anybody complains that the greater and more valuable parts remain
unnoticed; your answer is, That it is impossible to pay attention to
all; and that your duty is rather to prevent the propagation of error,
than to lavish praises upon that which, if really excellent, will work
its way in the World without your help.

Indeed, if the plan of your _Review_ admits of selection, you had
better not meddle with Works of deep research and original speculation;
such as have already attracted much notice, and cannot be treated
superficially without fear of being found out. The time required for
making yourself thoroughly master of the subject is so great, that you
may depend upon it they will never pay for the reviewing. They are
generally the fruit of long study, and of talents concentrated in the
steady pursuit of one object: it is not likely therefore that you can
throw much new light on a question of this nature, or even plausibly
combat the Author's propositions; in the course of a few hours, which
is all you can well afford to devote to them. And without accomplishing
one or the other of these points; your _Review_ will gain no celebrity,
and of course no good will be done.

       *       *       *       *       *

Enough has been said to give you some insight into the facilities
with which your new employment abounds. I will only mention one
more, because of its extensive and almost universal application to
all Branches of Literature; the topic, I mean, which by the old
Rhetoricians was called ἐξ ἐναντίων, That is, when a Work
excels in one quality; you may blame it for not having the opposite.

For instance, if the biographical sketch of a Literary Character is
minute and full of anecdote; you may enlarge on the advantages of
philosophical reflection, and the superior mind required to give a
judicious analysis of the Opinions and Works of deceased Authors.
On the contrary, if the latter method is pursued by the Biographer;
you can, with equal ease, extol the lively colouring, and truth, and
interest, of exact delineation and detail.

This topic, you will perceive, enters into Style as well as Matter;
where many virtues might be named _which are incompatible_: and
whichever the Author has preferred, it will be the signal for you to
launch forth on the praises of its opposite; and continually to hold
up that to your Reader as the model of excellence in this species of
Writing.

       *       *       *       *       *

You will perhaps wonder why all my instructions are pointed towards the
Censure, and not the Praise, of Books; but many reasons might be given
why it should be so. The chief are, that this part is both easier, and
will sell better.

Let us hear the words of Mr BURKE on a subject not very
dissimilar:

"In such cases," says he, "the Writer has a certain fire and alacrity
inspired into him by a consciousness that (let it fare how it will with
the subject) his ingenuity will be sure of applause: and this alacrity
becomes much greater, if he acts upon the offensive; by the impetuosity
that always accompanies an attack, and the unfortunate propensity which
mankind have to finding and exaggerating faults." Pref., _Vindic. Nat.
Soc._, p. 6.

       *       *       *       *       *

You will perceive that I have on no occasion sanctioned the baser
motives of private pique, envy, revenge, and love of detraction. At
least I have not recommended harsh treatment upon any of these grounds.
I have argued simply on the abstract moral principle which a Reviewer
should ever have present to his mind: but if any of these motives
insinuate themselves as secondary springs of action, I would not
condemn them. They may come in aid of the grand Leading Principle, and
powerfully second its operation.

       *       *       *       *       *

But it is time to close these tedious precepts, and to furnish you
with, what speaks plainer than any precept, a Specimen of the Art
itself, in which several of them are embodied. It is hastily done: but
it exemplifies well enough what I have said of the Poetical department;
and exhibits most of those qualities which disappointed Authors are
fond of railing at, under the names of Flippancy, Arrogance, Conceit,
Misrepresentation, and Malevolence: reproaches which you will only
regard as so many acknowledgments of success in your undertaking; and
infallible tests of an established fame, and [a] rapidly increasing
circulation.




 _L'Allegro._ A Poem.

 By JOHN MILTON.

 No Printer's name.


IT has become a practice of late with a certain description of
people, who have no visible means of subsistence, to string together
a few trite images of rural scenery, interspersed with vulgarisms in
dialect, and traits of vulgar manners; to dress up these materials in
a Sing-Song jingle; and to offer them for sale as a Poem. According
to the most approved recipes, something about the heathen gods and
goddesses; and the schoolboy topics of Styx and Cerberus, and Elysium;
are occasionally thrown in, and the composition is complete. The stock
in trade of these Adventurers is in general scanty enough; and their
Art therefore consists in disposing it to the best advantage. But if
such be the aim of the Writer, it is the Critic's business to detect
and defeat the imposture; to warn the public against the purchase
of shop-worn goods and tinsel wares; to protect the fair trader, by
exposing the tricks of needy Quacks and Mountebanks; and to chastise
that forward and noisy importunity with which they present themselves
to the public notice.

How far Mr. MILTON is amenable to this discipline, will best
appear from a brief analysis of the Poem before us.

In the very opening he assumes a tone of authority which might better
suit some veteran Bard than a raw candidate for the Delphic bays: for,
before he proceeds to the regular process of Invocation, he clears the
way, by driving from his presence (with sundry hard names; and bitter
reproaches on her father, mother, and all the family) a venerable
Personage, whose age at least and staid matron-like appearance, might
have entitled her to more civil language.

    Hence, loathèd Melancholy!
    Of CERBERUS and blackest Midnight born,
    In Stygian cave forlorn, &c.

There is no giving rules, however, in these matters, without a
knowledge of the case. Perhaps the old lady had been frequently warned
off before; and provoked this violence by continuing still to lurk
about the Poet's dwelling. And, to say the truth, the Reader will have
but too good reason to remark, before he gets through the Poem, that it
is one thing to tell the Spirit of Dulness to depart; and another to
get rid of her in reality. Like GLENDOWER's Spirits, any one
may order them away; "but will they go, when you do order them?"

But let us suppose for a moment that the Parnassian decree is obeyed;
and, according to the letter of the _Order_ (which is as precise and
wordy as if Justice SHALLOW himself had drawn it) that the
obnoxious female is sent back to the place of her birth,

    'Mongst horrid shapes, shrieks, sights, _&c._

At which we beg our fair readers not to be alarmed; for we can assure
them they are only words of course in all poetical Instruments of this
nature, and mean no more than the "force and arms" and "instigation of
the Devil" in a common Indictment.

       *       *       *       *       *

This nuisance then being abated; we are left at liberty to contemplate
a character of a different complexion, "buxom, blithe, and debonair":
one who, although evidently a great favourite of the Poet's and
therefore to be received with all due courtesy, is notwithstanding
introduced under the suspicious description of an _alias_.

    In heaven, ycleped EUPHROSYNE;
    And by men, heart-easing Mirth.

Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this gay Nymph;
one might guess there were good reasons for a change of name as she
changed her residence.

       *       *       *       *       *

But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of slanderous
insinuation. We shall therefore confine our moral strictures to the
Nymph's mother; in whose defence the Poet has little to say himself.
Here too, as in the case of the _name_, there is some doubt. For the
uncertainty of descent on the Father's side having become trite to a
proverb; the Author, scorning that beaten track, has left us to choose
between two mothers for his favourite: and without much to guide our
choice; for, whichever we fix upon, it is plain she was no better than
she should be. As he seems however himself inclined to the latter of
the two, we will even suppose it so to be.

    Or whether (as some sager say)
    The frolic _wind that breathes the Spring_,
    ZEPHYR with AURORA playing,
    _As he met her once a Maying_;
    There on beds of violets blue,
    And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, _&c._

Some dull people might imagine that _the wind_ was more like _the
breath of Spring_; than _Spring, the breath of the wind_: but we are
more disposed to question the Author's Ethics than his Physics; and
accordingly cannot dismiss these May gambols without some observations.

In the first place, Mr. M. seems to have higher notions of the
antiquity of the May Pole than we have been accustomed to attach to it.
Or perhaps he sought to shelter the equivocal nature of this affair
under that sanction. To us, however, who can hardly subscribe to the
doctrine that "Vice loses half its evil by losing all its grossness";
neither the remoteness of time, nor the gaiety of the season, furnishes
a sufficient palliation. "Violets blue" and "fresh-blown roses" are,
to be sure, more agreeable objects of the Imagination than a gin
shop in Wapping or a booth in Bartholomew Fair; but, in point of
morality, these are distinctions without a difference: or it may be
the cultivation of mind (which teaches us to reject and nauseate these
latter objects) aggravates the case, if our improvement in taste be not
accompanied by a proportionate improvement of morals.

If the Reader can reconcile himself to this latitude of principle, the
anachronism will not long stand in his way. Much indeed may be said
in favour of this union of ancient Mythology with modern notions and
manners. It is a sort of chronological metaphor--an artificial analogy,
by which ideas, widely remote and heterogeneous, are brought into
contact; and the mind is delighted by this unexpected assemblage, as it
is by the combinations of figurative language.

Thus in that elegant Interlude, which the pen of BEN JONSON has
transmitted to us, of the loves of HERO and LEANDER:

    Gentles, that no longer your expectations may wander,
    Behold our chief actor, amorous LEANDER!
    With a great deal of cloth, lapped about him like a scarf:
    For he yet serves his father, a Dyer in Puddle Wharf:
    Which place we'll make bold with, to call it our Abydus;
    As the Bankside is our Sestos, and _let it not be denied us_.

And far be it from us to deny the use of so reasonable a liberty;
especially if the request be backed (as it is in the case of Mr. M.) by
the craving and imperious necessities of rhyme. What man who has ever
bestrode Pegasus for an hour, will be insensible to such a claim?

  _Haud ignara mali miseris succurrere disco._

       *       *       *       *       *

We are next favoured with an enumeration of the Attendants of this
"debonair" Nymph, in all the minuteness of a German _Dramatis Personæ_,
or a Ropedancer's Handbill.

    Haste thee, Nymph; and bring with thee
    Jest and youthful Jollity,
    Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
    Nods and becks and wreathed smiles,
    Such as hang on HEBE's cheek
    And love to live in dimple sleek;
    Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
    And Laughter holding both his sides.

The Author, to prove himself worthy of being admitted of the crew,
skips and capers about upon "the light fantastic toe," that there is
no following him. He scampers through all the Categories, in search
of his imaginary beings, from Substance to Quality, and back again;
from thence to Action, Passion, Habit, &c. with incredible celerity.
Who, for instance, would have expected _cranks_, _nods_, _becks_, and
_wreathèd smiles_ as part of a group in which Jest, Jollity, Sport,
and Laughter figure away as full-formed entire Personages? The family
likeness is certainly very strong in the two last; and if we had not
been told, we should perhaps have thought the act of _deriding_ as
appropriate to Laughter as to Sport.

But how are we to understand the stage directions?

    _Come_, and trip it as you _go_.

Are the words used synonymously? Or is it meant that this airy gentry
shall come in a Minuet step, and go off in a Jig? The phenomenon of a
_tripping crank_ is indeed novel, and would doubtless attract numerous
spectators.

But it is difficult to guess to whom, among this jolly company, the
Poet addresses himself: for immediately after the Plural appellative
_you_, he proceeds,

    And in _thy_ right hand lead with _thee_
    The mountain Nymph, sweet Liberty.

No sooner is this fair damsel introduced; but Mr M., with most
unbecoming levity, falls in love with her: and makes a request of her
companion which is rather greedy, that he may live with both of them.

    To live with her, and live with thee.

Even the gay libertine who sang "How happy could I be with either!" did
not go so far as this. But we have already had occasion to remark on
the laxity of Mr M.'s amatory notions.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Poet, intoxicated with the charms of his Mistress, now rapidly runs
over the pleasures which he proposes to himself in the enjoyment of
her society. But though he has the advantage of being his own caterer,
either his palate is of a peculiar structure, or he has not made the
most judicious selection.

To begin the day well, he will have the _sky-lark_
    to come _in spite of sorrow_
    And at his window bid "Good Morrow!"

The sky-lark, if we know anything of the nature of that bird, must come
"in spite" of something else as well as "of sorrow," to the performance
of this office.

In the next image, the Natural History is better preserved; and, as
the thoughts are appropriate to the time of day, we will venture to
transcribe the passage, as a favourable specimen of the Author's manner:

    While the Cock, with lively din,
    Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
    And to the stack, or the barn door,
    Stoutly struts his dames before;
    Oft listening how the hounds and horns
    Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
    From the side of some hoar hill,
    Through the high wood echoing still.

Is it not lamentable that, after all, whether it is the Cock, or
the Poet, that listens, should be left entirely to the Reader's
conjectures? Perhaps also his embarrassment may be increased by a
slight resemblance of character in these two illustrious Personages, at
least as far as relates to the extent and numbers of their seraglio.

       *       *       *       *       *

After a _flaming_ description of sunrise, on which the clouds attend in
their very best liveries; the Bill of Fare for the day proceeds in the
usual manner. Whistling Ploughmen, singing Milkmaids, and sentimental
Shepherds are always to be had at a moment's notice; and, if well
grouped, serve to fill up the landscape agreeably enough.

On this part of the Poem we have only to remark, that if Mr JOHN
MILTON proposeth to make himself merry with

    Russet lawns, and fallows grey
    Where the nibbling flocks _do_ stray;
    Mountains on whose barren breast
    The labouring clouds _do_ often rest,
    Meadows trim with daisies pied,
    Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,
    Towers and battlements, &c. &c. &c.

he will either find himself egregiously disappointed; or he must
possess a disposition to merriment which even DEMOCRITUS
himself might envy. To such a pitch indeed does this solemn indication
of joy sometimes rise, that we are inclined to give him credit for a
literal adherence to the Apostolic precept, "Is any merry, let him sing
Psalms!"

       *       *       *       *       *

At length, however, he hies away at the sound of bell-ringing, and
seems for some time to enjoy the tippling and fiddling and dancing of
a village wake: but his fancy is soon haunted again by spectres and
goblins, a set of beings not, in general, esteemed the companions or
inspirers of mirth.

    With stories told of many a feat,
    How fairy MAB the junkets eat.
    She was pinched, and pulled, she said:
    And he, by friar's lanthern led,
    Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat
    To earn his cream-bowl duly set;
    When, in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
    His shadowy Flail hath threshed the corn
    That ten day-labourers could not end.
    Then lies him down the lubbar Fiend;
    And, stretched out all the chimney's length,
    Basks at the fire his hairy strength:
    And, crop-full, out of door he flings
    Ere the first cock his Matins rings.

Mr. M. seems indeed to have a turn for this species of Nursery Tales
and prattling Lullabies; and, if he will studiously cultivate his
talent, he need not despair of figuring in a conspicuous corner of Mr
NEWBERY's shop window: unless indeed Mrs. TRIMMER should think fit to
proscribe those empty levities and idle superstitions, by which the
World has been too long abused.

       *       *       *       *       *

From these rustic fictions, we are transported to another species of
_hum_.

    Towered cities please us then,
    And the busy hum of men;
    Where throngs of Knights and Barons bold,
    In woods of peace, high triumphs hold:
    With _store of Ladies_, whose bright eyes
    _Rain influence_, and judge the Prize
    Of Wit or Arms; while both contend
    To win her grace, whom all commend.

To talk of the bright eyes of Ladies judging the Prize of Wit is indeed
with the Poets a legitimate species of humming: but would not, we may
ask, the _rain_ from these Ladies' bright eyes rather tend to dim their
lustre? Or is there any quality in a shower of _influence_; which,
instead of deadening, serves only to brighten and exhilarate?

Whatever the case may be, we would advise Mr. M. by all means to keep
out of the way of these "Knights and Barons bold": for, if he has
nothing but his Wit to trust to, we will venture to predict that,
without a large share of most undue influence, he must be content to
see the Prize adjudged to his competitors.

Of the latter part of the Poem little need be said.

The Author does seem somewhat more at home when he gets among the
Actors and Musicians: though his head is still running upon ORPHEUS and
EURYDICE and PLUTO, and other sombre personages; who are ever thrusting
themselves in where we least expect them, and who chill every rising
emotion of mirth and gaiety.

He appears however to be so ravished with this sketch of festive
pleasures, or perhaps with himself for having sketched them so well,
that he closes with a couplet which would not have disgraced a
STERNHOLD.

    These delights if thou canst give,
    Mirth, with thee I _mean_ to live.

Of Mr. M.'s good _intentions_ there can be no doubt; but we beg leave
to remind him that there are two opinions to be consulted. He presumes
perhaps upon the poetical powers he has displayed, and considers them
as irresistible: for every one must observe in how different a strain
he avows his attachment now, and at the opening of the Poem. Then it was

    If I give thee honour due,
    Mirth, admit me of thy crew!

But having, it should seem, established his pretensions; he now thinks
it sufficient to give notice that he means to live with her, because he
likes her.

       *       *       *       *       *

Upon the whole, Mr. MILTON seems to be possessed of some fancy and
talent for rhyming; two most dangerous endowments which often unfit men
for acting a useful part in life without qualifying them for that which
is great and brilliant. If it be true, as we have heard, that he has
declined advantageous prospects in business, for the sake of indulging
his poetical humour; we hope it is not yet too late to prevail upon him
to retract his resolution. With the help of COCKER and common industry,
he may become a respectable Scrivener: but it is not all the ZEPHYRS,
and AURORAS, And CORYDONS, and THYRSIS's; aye, nor his "junketing Queen
MAB" and "drudging Goblins," that will ever make him a Poet.




 W. HUNNEMAN.

 _Old King COLE, his life and death._

  [? Written between 1830 and 1837]


    1.
    OLD King COLE was a merry old Soul,
      And a merry old Soul was he:
    He called for his Pipe, and he called for his Glass,
      And he called for his Fiddlers three.
    There were PA-GAN-IN-I and SPAGNIOLETTI,
      And to make up the three, MORI:
    For King COLE he was fond of a Tri-
      O, fond of a Trio was he.

        For old King COLE was a merry old Soul,
          And a merry old Soul was he:
        He called for his Pipe, and he called for his Glass,
          And he called for his Fiddlers three.

    2.
    Old King COLE kept Court at the "Hole
      'o the Wall" in Chancery
    lane, near the street which is termèd "Fleet"
      (A queer name for Chancery!):
    So his subjects to cloak from the very provok-
      ing Bills of an Attorney;
    Old King COLE turned his eyes to COKE,
      and a very good Lawyer was he.

        For old King COLE, _&c._

    3.
    Old King COLE, though a merry old Soul,
      Not read nor write could he;
    For to read and write, 'twere useless quite
      When he kept a Secretary.
    So his mark for _Rex_ was a single "X,"
      And his drink was ditto double:
    For he scorned the fetters of four and twenty Letters,
      And it saved him a vast deal of trouble.

        For old King COLE, _&c._

    4.
    Old King COLE was a musical Soul,
      So he called for his Fiddlers three;
    And he served 'em out a dozen pounds of best German resin,
      And they played him a Symphony.
    SPAGNIOLETTI and MORI, they play an Oratori;
      While the great PA-GAN-IN-I
    Played _God save the King_, on a single string;
      And he went twelve octaves high!

        For old King COLE, _&c._

    5.
    Old King COLE loved smoking to his Soul,
      And a Pipe hard, clean, and dry;
    And Virginny and Canaster, from his Baccy Box went faster
      Than the "Dart" or the Brighton "Fly."
    With his Fiddlers three, and his Secretary,
      He'd kick up such a furious fume;
    You'd think all the gas of London in a mass
      Had met in his little back room.

        For old King COLE, _&c._

    6.
    Old King COLE was a mellow old Soul
      And he loved for to lave his clay:
    But not with water; for he had in that quarter
      An hy-dro-pho-bi-a.
    So he always ordered Hemp for those that joined a Temp-
      erance Society;
    And he swore a _Drop_ too much, should always finish such
      As refused for to wet t'other eye.

        For old King COLE, &c.

    7.
    On old King COLE left cheek was a mole,
      So he called for his Secretary;
    And bade him look in a Fortune-telling Book,
      And read him his destiny.
    And the Secretary said, when his fate he had read,
      And cast his nativity,
    A mole on the face boded something would take place;
      But not what that something might be.

        For old King COLE, &c.

    8.
    Old King COLE, he scratched his poll;
      And resigned to his fate was he:
    And he said, "It is our will, that our Pipe and Glass you fill,
      And call for our Fiddlers three."
    So PAGAN-IN-I took VIOTTI in G;
      And his _Concerto_ played he:
    But at page forty-four, King COLE began to snore:
      So they parted company.

        For old King COLE, &c.

    9.
    Old King COLE drank so much Alcohol
      That he reeked like the worm of a still;
    And, while lighting his pipe, he set himself alight,
      And he blew up like a gunpowder mill.
    And these are the whole of the records of King COLE
      From the COTTON Library;
    If you like you can see 'em at the British Museum
      In Russell Street, Bloomsbury.

        For old King COLE was a merry old Soul,
          And a merry old Soul was he:
        He called for his Pipe, and he called for his Glass,
          And he called for his Fiddlers three.

[Illustration]


 THE END OF THE
  Eighth Volume
  OF
  _AN ENGLISH GARNER_,
  _INGATHERINGS FROM OUR HISTORY AND LITERATURE_:
  COMPLETING THE SERIES.





       *       *       *       *       *

 TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES.

1. Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal signs=.

2. Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
    possible.

3. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical
    errors.

4. The footnotes have been moved to the end of their relevant chapters.

5. Page 7: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Original "All that
    this earth" should read "All that this Earth". Corrected.

6. Page 8: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": The reference to
    Page 229 shows two entries. "If so you would" and "If you so would".
    They both link to the same stanza on Page 229. "If you so would" is
    correct. The incorrect entry has been removed.

7. Page 9: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Error in
    index: "Non convitia" shown in Index as Page 416 and in italics. It
    should read "Non convitia" (no italics) Page 415. The index has been
    corrected.

8. Page 9: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Original;
    "Painter, in lovely": should read "Painter, in lively". The
    index has been corrected.

9. Page 9: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Original; "Si
    coelum patria Page 416". It should read "Page 415". The index has been
    corrected.

10. Page 10: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Original; "The
     cruel, thou" Page 327. It should read; "If cruel, thou" Page 327. The
     index has been corrected and the reference moved to Page 8.

11. Page 10: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": The reference to
     Page 540 shows two entries. "Thus while we" and "This while we are".
     They both link to the same stanza on Page 540. "This while we are" is
     correct. The original error in the index has been removed.

12. Page 10: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": The
     reference to Page 532 showed two entries. "Thy ancient" and "The
     ancient". They were both link to the same stanza on Page 453. 'Thy
     ancient' is correct. The error in the index has been removed.

13. Page 10: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": The reference to
     Page 453 showed two entries. "Thy Love, fair"' and "The love fair".
     They were both link to the same stanza on Page 453. "Thy love fair" is
     correct. The incorrect entry has been removed.

14. Page 56: Hyphenated words left to match original format.

15. Page 67: "(and yet, by long imprisonment"; Round bracket [(] unclosed.
     Left as the original as unable to ascertain where the author intended
     to place the closing bracket.

16. Page 119: Illustrated "[W]th lovely Neatherd" should read illustrated
     "[W]Ith lovely Neatherd". Corrected.

17. Page 344: Closing square bracket ] missing from end of paragraph: "p.
     78, Ed. 1686.]". Corrected.

18. Page 508: The original text reads "[Sir Walter Cope co. Oxon.]"; it
     should read "Sir Walter Cope [co. Oxon.]". Corrected.

19. Page 520: 'Master ROBERT LEF' corrected to 'Master ROBERT LEE'.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of An English Garner (8 of 8), by Various

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