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Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and

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Title: An English Garner: Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (8
of 8)
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN ENGLISH
GARNER: INGATHERINGS FROM OUR HISTORY AND
LITERATURE (8 OF 8) ***
 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
The Siege of Harfleur and the Battle of
John Lydgate. 13
Agincourt. (1415.) [Printed c. 1530.]
John Fox. How the Lord Cromwell helped Archbishop
Cranmer's Secretary. (July 1539.) 25
The History of Sir Thomas Wyat's Rebellion.
John Proctor.
(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 109
1561.)
Against the wilful inconstancy of his dear foe
R. W[itc]. 32
E. T. (? 1566.)
Is. W. To her unconstant Lover. (? 1566.) 227
A Love Letter to an unconstant Maiden. (?
W. G. 239
1566.)
[George Gascoigne.] The Spoil of Antwerp.It is better known as
The Spanish Fury at Antwerp. (Nov.
141
1576.)
A very true Report of the apprehension of
George Elliot.
that arch-Priest
Edmund Campion and three other
203
Jesuit Priests. (July 1581.)
[Mary.] The Scottish Queen's Burial at Peterborough.
(1 August 1587.) [Printed 1589.] 341
Six Idillia. Translated by E. D. [? Sir
Theocritus. 117
Edward Dyer]. (1588.)
Rev. Richard The Destruction, Capture, &c., of
Hakluyt Portuguese Carracks
 [Santa Cruz, Madre de Dios, Las
and Captain
Cinque Llagas,]
Nicholas
by English seamen. (1592-1594.) 245
Downton.
[Giles Fletcher, Licia, or Poems of Love—The Rising to the
413
LL.D.] Crown of Richard III. (Sept. 1593.)
Strange and wonderful things that happened
Richard Hasleton.
to him in his Ten Years'
Travels in many foreign countries.
367
(1582-1592.) [Printed 1595.]
Chloris, or the Complaint of the passionate
William Smith. 171
despised Shepherd. (1596.)
R[obert] T[ofte]. Laura [i.e., Mistress E. Caril].
The Toys of a Traveller, or The Feast of
267
Fancy. (1597.)
The Merchant's Daughter of Bristow
----- 399
[Bristol]. (? 1600.)
[? Thomas Deloney.] The Spanish Lady's Love. (? 1600.) 200
Account of the Death of Queen Elizabeth;
Sir Robert Carey,
and of his ride to King James
at Edinburgh. (25th-27th March 1603.)
afterwards Earl of 476
[Printed 1759.]
Monmouth.
The true Narration of the Entertainment of
T. M.
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.
---- 97
(1624.)
['Black Tom']. Short Memorials of some
Thomas, third Lord
things to be cleared during
Fairfax my Command in the Army. (1645-1650.) 564
 A Short Memorial of the Northern Actions,
---- 577
during the War there. (1642-1645.)
Cupid's Posies for Bracelets, Handkerchers,
---- 351
and Rings. (1674.)
An Epitaph on Thomas, third Lord Fairfax.
George Villiers, 611
(? 1677)
second Duke of
Buckingham.
Posies for Rings, or Mottoes fit for Presents.
W. P. 410
(1677.)
[Bishop Edward Advice to a young Reviewer: with a
Coplestone.] Specimen of the Art
[i.e., a Mock Criticism of Milton's
615
L'Allegro.] (1807.)
Old King Cole, his life and death. (? 1830-?
W. Hunneman. 633
1837.)
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
 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;
To our King they told their tale to the end;
Imprinted
What that the Dolphinatdid
London in Foster
to them say. lane,
in Saint
"I will him thank," then Leonard's parish,
said the King,
"By the grace of GOD,by meif IJohn
may!"Skot.
Yet, by his own mind, this Dolphin bold,
To our King he sent again F Ihastily;
NIS
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."

"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
1st August 1415.
At St. Peter's tide at Lammas;
For by the grace of GOD, and if I may,
O h l I hi k !"
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.

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:
7th August 1415.
And forth they went in the name of the Trinity.
 John Fox, the Martyrologist.
[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.]

MEntion was made before how King Henry, in the 31st year [1539-1540]
of The Archbishop Cranmer disputeth three days in Parliament against the Six Articles. 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.]

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) The name of this Secretary was
Master Ralph Morice, being yet alive [i.e., in 1570]. 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.
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.
A Bearbaiting upon [the] Thames before the King.

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 The Book
of Dr Cranmer against the Six Articles lost in the Thames. 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.
This Bearward was Princess Elizabeth's servant.
 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 Papist, 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!"
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.
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.
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 Papist 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.
 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:
 the door is made of grass:
And I mightF Ibless
N I Smy. hour of birth,
if it were come
Imprinted to pass.by
at London,
Richard Jones.
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.
The History of Wyat's
Rebellion:
Yet if thou chance to place thy love;
take heed What thou dost say!
And
Withseethe
thou place
order andthy talk in print,
manner
orofelse bewarethe
resisting a fray!
same.

And thus I end:

Whereunto, in thenot doubting
end, is added but
these words may well suffice
To
Anwarn thy Conference
earnest greedy heartwith of harm,
and
the ease thy roving
degenerate eyes.
and seditious
 rebels for the search of
Ease by Disease
the Cause of their
hath made me to halt:
daily disorder.
Time hath so turned
my sugar to salt.
Made and compiled by
J o h n P r o c R.
t oWITC
r.

[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.
 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!
 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!
 Wyat's Rebellion:
with the order and manner of
resisting the same.

WHat a restless evil Heresy is! ever travailing The dangerous nature of Heresy. 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,
Heresy the special ground of Wyat's Rebellion. 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
coloured 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 Rebellion, the only refuge of heretics. only refuge, as I said, that
indurate heretics have always sought, for maintenance of their heresy;
living under a Catholic Prince.
Wyat persuaded that the Queen and Heresy could not reign together.

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.
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 Wyat's return into Kent. 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.
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
Wyat preventeth the time. 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.
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 The
first day of Wyat's stir, at Maidstone. 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.
The cause why Wyat made not Religion the outward pretence of his 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 The colour of Wyat's Rebellion.
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.
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 Wyat's preparative to his Rebellion. 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.
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.
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?"
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."
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.

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, The apprehension of Master Christopher Roper by the rebels.
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, Master Christopher Roper's words to
Wyat. when he was brought to Rochester, he answered, "This tongue spake
it, and doth now avow it."
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.

Now ye shall understand that the evening afore [24th January 1554] the
publishing his pretence at How Wyat wrote to the Sheriff of his intent to stir.
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.

Wyat's false presumption of the best of the Shire.

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. Because. 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 Such Councillors he meaneth, as would favour heresy, &c.
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.
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.
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.

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.
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:
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?"
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.
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?

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 The Duke of Norfolk and Sir Henry Jerningham's coming to
Gravesend. 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.
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.
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.
 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.
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 A meaning of the rebels to burn Master George Clarke's house. 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.
The marching of the Lord Abergavenny and the Sheriff to encounter Isley.

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 Wrotham Heath. 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 Barrow Green. 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.
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.
The rebel's overtaken.

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 The displaying of the rebel's Ensigns. 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 Blacksoll 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, The Skirmish.
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.
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 The chase of the
Horsemen. 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.
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.
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 Thomas
Dorrell of Scotney the younger. 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.
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
Harper's running away from Wyat. 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.
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 Wyat bewailing his case with tears. 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 Wyat's coat of fence quilted with angels. 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 Wyat's practice to fly by sea. 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.
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.
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 The Duke's
marching from Stroud to Rochester. 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 The names of the
Gentlemen serving under the Duke. 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.
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."
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 The revolt of the Captains of the White Coats and their Band. 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.
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 Harper returned to his old mate. 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.
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.
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 The Sheriff's secret return to Malling. [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.
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:
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."

Such of those parts as hung in the wind, as Neuters, (whereof were no small
number that had lurked in caves An Invective against the Neuters. 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.

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.
One of them, taking upon him first to answer, thought nothing more
necessary than their sequestration: and if his A device to apprehend the Sheriff.
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.
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 The
misreckoning of the rebels upon London. 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.
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.

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.
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.
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, Pride.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
 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.
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,
A malepert Artificer. 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.

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.
His prisoners, as Master Christopher Roper, George Dorrel of Calehill
[and] John Tucke Esquires, who were kept very straitly, The departure of
Master Christopher Roper and Master Dorrel from Wyat. 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.
 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."
"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 Wyat's reckoning of the spoil of the Tower and London.
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.

The Lord William Howard, Admiral of England.

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
Wyat's coming into the Porter's Lodge at the Bridge foot. 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 Care away. 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.
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.

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.
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. 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:
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."
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."
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 Wyat's marching to Kingston. 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.
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 Wyat's passage at Kingston. 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.
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.

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.

Other poor men, being taken in Wyat's Band, and kept a time in divers
churches and prisons without the Of such as did penance by wearing halters before the
Queen. 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 coloured 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.

Footnotes
[1] This account of Wyat's Rebellion, printed by John Michel at
Canterbury, has apparently perished.—E. A.
 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.
 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.
 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.
 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.

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.
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
 But well I know, fair Nymph, the very cause why thus you fly.
Because upon my front,Polyphem's Emblem.
one only brow, with bristles strong
Ubi Dictamum inveniam?
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 coloured 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 TH only
E wrongeth
S I X T me;E EandN TherH I blame,
I D I Lfor
L she
ION.
Spake never yet to thee one good, or lovely, word of me:
And that, although she daily sees how I away do pine.
Argument.
But I will say, 'My head and feet do ache,' that she may whine,
The style of this Poem is more
And sorrow at the heart: because
lofty than anymy heart
of the rest, with
and grief is swoll'n.
Theocritus wrote it to
"O Cyclops, Cyclops! Hiero, King ofis Syracuse
whither thy wit inand reason flown?
Sicily. Wherein he reproveth
If thou would'st basketsthemake; andofcut
nigardise down
Princes andbrouzing from the tree,
And bring it to thy lambs,
Greata great
Men deal wiserthethou should'st be!
towards
Go, coy some present Nymph! Why dostnamely
Learned, and thou follow flying wind?
[especially] Poets: in whose
Perhaps another galate, and itfairer,
power is to thou
makeshalt
men find!

}
famous to all posterity.
For many Maidens inTowards
the evening
the end, tide with me will play,
he praiseth
Hiero; and prayeth that Sicily
And all do sweetly laugh,
maywhen I stand heark'ning
be delivered by his what they say:
prowess from the invasions
And I somebody seem, and in the earth do bear a sway." of
the Carthaginians. This
Idillion is named Hiero in
Thus Polyphemus singing,respectfed hisperson
of the raging love of old;
to whom
it was written; or Charites,
Wherein he sweeter did, than had he sent her sums of gold.
that is, "Graces," in respect of
the matter whereof it treateth.

C H A R I T E S, or H I E R O .
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
Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary.
Emblem.
In King Antiochus
Si nihilhis Court, and
attuleris, ibis King Alevas'
Homere foras.too
To distribute the monthly bread a many had to do.
The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stalls
'Mong 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 coloured 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 EIGHTEENTH IDILLION.
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:
Argument.
The man shall rise that shall have need of me to set him out;
Twelve noble Spartan Virgins are
Doing such deeds of arms as Ajax,
brought or Achilles
in singing, in the stout,
Did in the field of Simois, where
evening, Ilus'
at the bones
chamber doordo rest.
of Menelaus and Helena on
And now the Carthaginians, inhabiting the West,
their Wedding Day. And first
Who in the utmost end they
of Liby' dwell,
prettily jest in
witharmsthe are prest:
And now the Syracuseans their spears
Bridegroom, do praise
then they carry in the rest;
Helena, last they wish them
Whose left arms laden both
are with targets made of willow tree.
joy of their marriage.
'Mongst whom King Hiero,Thereforethe this
ancient Worthies'
Idillion is match, I see
In armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.
entitled Helen's
Epithalamion, that is
"Helen's Wedding Song."
O Jupiter, and thou Minerva fierce in fight,
And thou Proserpina (who, with thy mother, has renown
By Lysimelia streams, Helen's
in EphyraEpithalamion.
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
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,
IN Sparta, long ago, where Menelaus wore the crown,
That shall invite me to their house, with all my Muses' train.
Twelve noble Virgins, daughters to the greatest in the town,
Nor you, will I forsake! For what to men can lovely be
All dight upon their hair in crowtoe [hyacinth] garlands
Without your company? The Graces always be with me!
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;
As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all;
Emblem.
Or in a garden is a cypress tree; or in a trace,
Usque adeo latet utilitas.
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 coloured 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!"
T H E T W E N T Y- F I R S T I D I L L I O N .

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.

N E AT H E R D .
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
How Venus, raving for a Neatherd s love, with him did dwell
Upon the hills of Phrygia; andEmblem.
how she loved again
Habitarunt
Adonis in the woods, and mourned Dii quoque sylvas.
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!"
T H E T H I R T Y- F I R S T I D I L L I O N .

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!
These needless teeth about!
Emblem.
If these may not suffice;
Raris forma viris, secula prospice,
Cut off my chaps likewise!"
To ruth heImpunita fuit.
Venus moves,
And she commands
F I N Ithe
S . 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.
 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 coloured 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.]

Footnotes
[2] The necessary corrections have been herein made.—E.A.
[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.
CHLORIS,
or

The Complaint of the

passionate despised
Shepherd.
By William Smith.
 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

If you may our foes be termed, gentle foes we have you
found:The Second Part.
With our city, you have won our hearts each one;
Then to your country, bear away that is your own!"
"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!"
 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-Papist 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.
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, Meaning the Queen of
Scots. [A.M.] "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.
 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 Papists, 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 Papist, 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 Papist, 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 Papist 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."
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.
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.
One Nun got away in country maid's apparel.

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.
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.
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.
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.
 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.

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 [or more
Priests.
properly Colleton,]
4. William Filbie,
5. Edward Yate,
6. Edward Keynes,
7. Humphrey Keynes,
Gentlemen.
8. John Cotton,
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.
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.
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: It seemeth she was privy
to some secret practice against me. 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 Papists 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.

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 Not for their religion; but for High Treason. [A.M.] 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.
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:
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, To build upon hearsay proveth but a slender foundation. [A.M.] 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.
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.
By that which followeth, written by George Elliot himself; consider the truth of this report.
[A.M.]

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.
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.
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 Papists, 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.

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.
Then was I appointed, in company with David Jenkins, one of the
Messengers of Her Majesty's Chamber; 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.] 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 Papist 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.
 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 Papist 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.
Footnotes
[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.
N e w ly j o i n e d t o

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!
 it shall your kindred stain!
Example take by many a one,
whose falsehood now is plain.
The Admonition by the Author to all young
Gentlewomen, and first
As by Eneas, to all
of other
all, Maids,
whobeing in love.
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.
 Butfrom
YE Virgins, that if hisCupid's
falsehood had to them
tents
been
do manifest
bear before;
away the foil!
They would
Whose heartshave rent
as yet theraging
with ship aslove
soon
as he painfully
most had gonedo from shore.
boil:

Now
To may
you, you hear
I speak! Forhow
you falseness
be they is
made
that manifest
good adviceindotime;
lack;
Although
O if I couldthey thatcounsel
good commitgive,
the same
think
my it a venial
tongue should crime.
not be slack!

For such
But they, as
forI their unfaithfulness,
can give, I will
did get perpetual fame.
here in a few words express:
Fame! if
Which Wherefore did I term
you do observe, it so?
it will
I should
some havecare
of your called it shame.
redress.

Let Theseus
Beware of fairbe! letpainted
and Jason pass!
talk!
let Parisofalso
Beware 'scape, tongues!
flattering
ThatMermaids
The brought destruction
do pretendunto Troy,
no good,
all through
for all their the Grecian
pleasant rape.
Songs!

And unto
Some me tears
use the a Troilus be!
of crocodiles,
If not, you
contrary to may
their compare
heart:
Withifany
And theyofcannot
these persons
always that
weep,
above
they wetexpressèd are. by Art.
their cheeks

But if within
Ovid, I cannothisplease
Art ofyour mind,
Love,
for wants
doth teachthat
them rest insame
this me: knack:
Wed
To wetwhom
their you
hand,list!
andI am content
touch their eyes;
your
as oftrefuse forthey
as tears to be.
lack.

It shall
Why suffice
have me, deceit
ye such simpleinsoul,
store?
of thee
have youtosuch
be forsaken:
crafty wile?
And craft
Less it maythan
chance, although
this, God notwould
knows, yet, soon
yousimple
us wish, souls
you had me taken.
beguile!

But will
But rather
yethan you should
not leave off; buthave
stillcause
to wishus
delude this, through
in this wise?your Wife:
 delude us in, this wise? g y
I wish
Sith it istoso,
her,weeretrust
youwehershall
have,
no more
take heedbut loss of life.
to feignèd lies.

For she
Trust notthat shallatso
a man thehappy be,
first sight!
of thee
but to bewell
try him elect;before:
II wish
wish all
herMaids,
virtueswithin
to be such,
their breasts,
she need not be suspect!
to keep this thing in store.

I rather
For trial wish
shall her Helen's
declare this face,
truth,
than one of Helen's trade!
and show what he doth think:
With chasteness
Whether of Penelope,
he be a Lover true,
thedowhich
or intenddidtonever fade.
shrink.

A Scylla
If Lucrecehadfornot
hertrust
constancy,
too much
and Thisbe
before for did
that she her try;
truth!
If such
She thou
could nothave,
havethen
beenPeto
cleanbe:
forsake,
not Paris,
When thathelp
she for weredidruth!
cry.

Perchance,
Or if she hadyehad
willgood
thinkadvice,
this thing rare
in onehad
Nisus woman
livèdtolong!
find.
Save durst
How Helen's
she beauty, all the rest
trust a stranger, and
theher
do gods have
dear me wrong!
father assigned.

TheseNisus
King wordshad
I do not speak,
a hair by fate;thinking
from thy
which hairnew Love
while he to
didturn thee!
keep,
Thou
He knowest
never shouldbybeproof what I deserve!
overcome,
I need not
neither to inform
on land thee.
nor deep.

But stranger,
The let that pass!
that Would God I loved,
the daughter had
Cassandra's
did war againstgift
theme lent!
King;
Thenalways
And either thy ill chance,
sought orhe
how that mine,
might
my foresight might prevent.
them in subjection bring.

But all
This in vainstole
Scylla for away
this I seek.
the hair,
Wishes
for may her
to obtain not will:
attain it!
Therefore
And gave itmay hapstranger,
to the to me what that shall;
andstraight
did I cannotherrefrain
fatherit.kill.
Wherefore
Then I pray,
she, who GODherself
thought be my most
guide,sure
and
to alsoher
have thee defend!
whole desire,
No worser
Was than I and
clean reject, wishleft
myself,
behind;
until thy life shall end!
When he did home retire.

Which
Or life,falsehood
if such I pray GOD, may again
had been once
King Nestor's
unto Œnone known; life renew!
And after
About the that,
fieldsyour soul
of Ida may rest
wood,
amongst
Paris hadthe heavenly
walked crew!
alone!

Thereto
Or I wish Kingdeceit,
if Demophoon's Xerxes's wealth,
or Phillis
to else KinghadCrœsus's gold!
been told;
Withhad
She as much resttransformèd
not been and quietness
so,
as Poets
as man may have
tell of old.on mold!

And when
Hero did tryyou shall this truth
Leander's letter have
let it bethat
before kept indid
she store!
trust;
For she that
Therefore shesent the him
found same, hath
unto sworn
her
as yetconstant
both to send true
no more.
and just.

Andhenow,
For "Farewell!"
always did swimFor thewhy?
sea, At large
my mind
when starsisinhere
skyexprest:
did glide;
Till he was drownèd perceive,
The which you may by the way,if that
you do
near handperuse
unto the
the rest.
side.

F I Nher
She scrat[ched] I Sface,
. she tare her hair,
it grieveth me to tell,
When she did know theIs.end
W.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!
A Love Letter,
He thinks his hap right good to be,
that he the same could spy;
or an
And so thepersuasion
earnest of doth
simple fool a Lover,
trust
sent,too
of late, to a young Maiden;
much before he try.
to whom he was betrothed:
O little fish, what hap hadst thou,
to have such spiteful fate!
Who, afterward,
To come into being
one'sovercome
cruel hands,with
flattery, out
sheofseemed utterly
so happy state. to swerve
from her former promise, without
Thou didst suspect
occasion; and no
so harm,
to when thou
uponforsake
the bait him.
didst look:
O that thou hadst had Lynceus's eyes,
for to have seen the hook!
Bythou,
Then hadst W. G.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.
W. G.
A LoveAnd
Letter
now sent
he from
pries aonfaithful
every bait,
Lover,
tosuspecting still that
an unconstant prick
Maiden.
For to lie hid in everything,
wherewith the fishers strike.
 Andsosince
AS duty wills, themoves
Nature fish, that reason lacks,
once warnèd,
thy friend dothlines
these beware:
to write
Why should not we take
Wherein thy fraud, O faithlessheed to Thou!
that
that turneth
I mind us to to
to bring care.
light.
And
CanI,plightèd
who wasfaith,
deceivèd late plight,
so firmly
bywithout
one's unfaithful tears,
desert be moved?
Trust now for
Or should thetoman
beware, if that is,
that faithful
I so
liveslenderly
this hundred years.
be loved?
Is. W.
Should hate his guerdon thus remain
in place of thy goodwill?
Should rigour reign within thy breast,
F I Nreason's
to vanquish I 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!
 thy double deeds, be sure!
No forgèdF I style,
N I Snor
. flatt'ring phrase,
Imprintedtheir favour by
at London may allure.Jones.
Richard
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,
 p g ,
Pretend by sleights, the perfect joys
of friends for to exile.
The destruction, capture, &c. of Portuguese
O should a prattling parasite
Carracks, by thee
so egg English seamen.
with disdain;
That thou, the presence of thy friend,
1592-1594 A.D.
through flattery, shouldst refrain?

Not vouching once to speak R. Hakluyt.

with him,Voyages, III.,
whose heart thou hadst in hold: 194, Ed. 1600.
In the Third Volume of this Sith
SeriesLiking famethehath
will be found granted
fullest and mostgrace;
exact description in
should
our language of the annual Fleets, Love
usually so soon
consisting be cold!
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
Consider
reached Lisbon, on 2nd January 1592 [III.these
470]. my letters well,
Some additional particulars from and answer
a very them
rare tract, Theagain!
Seaman's Triumph, London, 1592,
For I, thy friend in covert zeal,
4to, are given in the footnotes.
this time hath closed my pen.
A true Report of the honourable ServiceTen
Farewell! Adieu! at sea performed
thousand times by Sir John
Burrough Knight, Lieutenantto GOD General of the Fleet prepared by the
I thee commend!
Honourable Sir Walter Ralegh
Beseeching Knight, Lord
him his Wardengrace
heavenly of the Stanneries of
Cornwall and Devon. Wherein,
unto chiefly,
thee stillthe
to Santa
send! 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 Thy
forced; the in
friend one burnt,thy
wealth, thefriend
other in
taken
woe:and brought
into Dartmouth the 7th ofThy
September 1592.life shall flit me fro.
friend while
And whilst that you enjoy your breath,
Sir Walter Ralegh, upon Leave not your friend
Commission untofrom
received the death!
Her Majesty for an
For greater praise cannot
Expedition to be made to the West Indies, slacked not be wonhis uttermost
Thanofto all
diligence to make full provision observe
thingsTrue Love begun.
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 W. in G.
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.

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.
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 Sir
John Burrough in great danger of the Spanish Fleet. [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.

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. The Isle of St. Michael. Michael; running so
near by Villa Franca, that he might easily discern the ships lying there at
anchor.
 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.
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 Santa Cruz, a village in
the Isle of Flores. 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.
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, News of the East Indian Carracks. 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.
But first, that nothing might be left commodious to our men; [they] set fire
to that which they could not A Carrack, called the Santa Cruz, set on fire. 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.
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:
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 Angola, a new watering place for the Carracks.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

IN the latter end of the year 1593, the Right Besides these three ships; there was a
Pinnace, called the Violet, or the Why not I? 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.
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 Commodities fit for
Angola. part: with some Rusk in chests and barrels, with 5 butts of blue
coarse cloth, and certain coarse linen cloth for Negroes' 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 Negroes; 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 negroes, 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].
Footnotes
[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.
[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.
[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 Negroes, 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.
[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.
 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.

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.]
 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.

[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, divèd 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 coloured 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 coloured 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.
PHɶbus 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 darky 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 coloured 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.

Footnotes
[9] These four Corrections have been embodied in the text. E. A.
 1589.
Est natura hominum novitatis avida.

THE SCOTTISH QUEEN's

Burial at Peterborough,
upon Tuesday, being Lammas Day
[1st August] 1587.

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.]
 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 Papist; 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.

Footnotes
[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.
[11] In the discourse of his Text, he only dealt with general doctrine, of
the vanity of all flesh. Dean R. Fletcher.
[12] The total of Queen Elizabeth's expenses for this Funeral amounted
to £321. 14s. 6d.
 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 coloured 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 coloured 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.
 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.

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.]
 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.
 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.
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?
 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.
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.
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.
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.

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.

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].
[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
With sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore.
He saith, when heF Ihis
N Ihands
S . 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,
 , y, y,
He brings her garments then with speed;
Wherein she doth herself array.
The Merchant's Daughter of
And ere her father did arise,
She meets Bristow [Bristol].
her Master as he walkèd in the Hall;
She did attend on him likewise,
Even till her
Thefather did him
Second call.
Part.
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
WElcome, sweet the sea fair
Maudlin, fromMaudlin
the sea! is gone,
With her gentle
Where Master.
bitter GOD
storms andsend
cruelthem a merry
tempests didwind!
arise:
WhereThewe awhile must leave them
pleasant banks of Italy, alone,
Till you the
We maySecond Part
behold do joyful
with find. 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:
Except he would his faith and his religion turn:
But rather thanFheI Nwould
I S . go to Mass,
In fieryatflames
Printed Londonhefor
vowed to burn.
William Blackwall
[about 1600].
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:
 y
And to her Love that lay distresst,
She doth a letter straightway convey.
Posies forWhen
Rings, or Mottoes fit for Presents,
he had read her gentle lines,
collected
His heavy heart bywith inward joy:
was ravished
Where now sheW. was,P.
full well he finds.
The Friar likewise was not coy;
The Wits Academy, 1677.
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
I love you well,noyourself
persuasioncan would
tell. prevail,
Nor change
Let her mind
Virtue in anything
guide my lawful thatBride!
she had said:
She wasSurewithyouhim condemned
mistake! to die, to make.
That bargain's
And forMythemtenderboth one disdain
heart, fire made. makes smart.
My love shall ever faithful prove!
And arm in arm,
I moan most Ijoyfully,
because lie alone.
These Lovers twain unto
Absence ne'er parts two the fire loving
then didhearts.
go.
The mariners,
This andmost faithfully,
the giver are thine for ever.
Were likewise
I vow to kiss her thattheir
partners of reads woe.this.
The love I owe in this I show.
But when the Judges
No turtle dove shallunderstood
shew more love!
The faithful friendship in them
As I affect thee, so respect all that
me.did remain,
They saved
The gift their lives; and
is small, afterward,
but Love is all.
To England
Whensent this them
you see, home again. me!
remember
This to a friend I freely send.
Now were
Well their sorrows
directed, turned
if well to joy,
accepted.
And faithful Lovers
I'll not hadwhat
express now you theirmay hearts' desire.
guess.
Their pains
Whenso well
this youthey see,did employ,
think well of me!
GOD granted what they did
Virtue and Love are from above. require.
More near to me than life can be.
And when
Though theyfriends
were incross England
love, come,
we'll meet above!
And to merry Bristow arrivèd
'Tis Love alone makes two but at the last;one.
Great You
joy there
and Iwas willofLovers
all anddie. some,
That heard
I seekthe to dangers
be both thinethey had and past.
thee.
I am sure to die, if you deny.
Her father,
In thee heeach
was part
dead,doth GOD wot:a heart.
catch
And eke Myher true
mother lovewas joyful of
is endless asherthis.sight;
Their wishes
When Cupid she denièdfails, not,
the eye prevails.
But wedded them with heart's
Your blest sight is my delight. delight.
I wish to have, but blush to crave.
Her gentle
I wishMaster
you knew she desired
what I owe you.
To be herMyFather,
constant love shall to
and at church giveremove.
ne'er her then.
It was Take
fulfilled,
this inas part
she required,
of my true heart.
Unto the
For one sweet kissmen.
joy of all good 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
 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.
 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 L I C I A.
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.
 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 coloured 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:
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."

Footnotes
[13] Spelt waste in the original edition—E.A.
[14] Spelt waste in the original edition—E.A.

FINIS.
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
Footnotes
[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.

Footnotes
[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 ┐
Sir Walter Crape └ 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 Papists 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 [co. Chest.]
[or Ascough, or Ayscue]
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.
[, co. Rutl.: afterwards Earl of
[Sir Robert Cecil,] Lord Essendon
Salisbury].
[Sir Robert Sydney,] Lord Sydney of [, co. Kent: afterwards Earl of
Penshurst Leicester].
[Sir William Knollys,] Lord Knollys [, co. Oxon.: afterwards Earl of
of Grays Banbury].
 [Sir Edward Wotton,] Lord Wotton of
[, co. Kent].
Mar[her]ley
Sir John Deane [co. Essex]
Sir John Treavor [co. Flint]
Sir Thomas Smith [co. Kent]
Sir Thomas Hubert [co. Norf.]

e] afternoon, in the Gallery.

Sir William Dethick, Garter [King at

co. Surr.]
Arms
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.]
Footnotes
[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.
[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.

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.
 1 Samuel xvi.
As those prophetic strings,
Whose soundsODEwith2.
fiery wings
Drave fiends from their abode;
Touched by the New
To the best of Kings,
Year.
That sang the holy Ode.

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.

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.

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.

The ancient British Priests, so called of their abode in woods.

Th D id b d
 The Druids embrued
RIchWith gore,
statue on altars
double rude
faced!
With sacrifices
With marblecrowned,temples graced,
In hollow Towoodsraisebedewed,
thy godhead higher;
AdoredIn theflames
trembling
where, sound.
altars shining.
Before thy Priests divining,
Pindar, Prince of theDo od'rous
Greek Lyrics,fumes expire.
of whom Horace, PINDARUM
quisquis studet, &c. Ode 2, Lib. IV.
Though
GreatweJanus,
be all to seek
I thy pleasure,
Of Pindar,
With allthat
thegreat Greek,
Thespian treasure,
To finger it aright;pursue:
Do seriously
The soul
To th'with power
passed yearto returning,
strike:
HisAshand retained
though such
the Old might.
adjourning;
Yet bringing in the New.
Horace, first of the Romans in that kind.
Or him
Thythat RomeVigils
ancient did grace,
yearly,
Whose Airsobservèd
I have we all embrace:
clearly;
That Thy
scarcely found
Feasts his peer; be!
yet smoking
Nor giveth Phœbus
Since all place,
thy store abroad is;
ForGive
strokes divinelytoclear.
something my goddess,
As hath been used by thee!
The Irish Harp.
The Irish
GiveIheradmire,
th' Eoan Brightness!
And still
Wingedcleave
withto that
that subtle
Lyre lightness
As ourThatMusic's mother: the air;
doth transpierce
And think, till I of
The Roses expire,
the Morning!
Apollo's
The risingsuch another.
heaven adorning,
To mesh with flames of hair;
As Britons that so long
HaveThose
held this antiqueSounds,
ceaseless Song; above all,
And let all
Made byour
thosecarpers
orbs that move all;
ForbearAndtheirever
fame to wrong:
swelling there:
Th'are right up
Wrapped skilful harpers. flowing,
in Numbers
Them actually bestowing
ForLyric.
Soowthern, an English jewels
[HisatPANDORA
her ear.was published in 1584.]
Soowthern, I long thee spare;
Yet wish thee well
O rapture greattoand
fare,holy,
WhoDome thoupleasedst
transportgreatly:
me wholly
 Do thou p transportg me wholly
y
As first,So therefore
well hermore
formrare,
to vary!
Handling thy harp
That I aloft may neatly.
bear her
ODE 3.
Where as I will insphere her
To thoseInthat with high
regions despite
and starry.
Shall term these Numbers slight;
[To Cupid.]
Tell
Andthem,
in myTheir judgment's
choice blind!
Composures,
MuchThe erring
softfrom the right.
and easy Closures
It is aSonoble kind. shall meet,
amorously
That every lively Ceasure
Shall tread a perfect measure,
An Old English Rhymer.
Nor is't Setthe on
Verse doth make,
so equal feet.
That giveth, or doth take:
'TisThat
possible
spraytotoclimb,
fame so fert'le,
To kindle, or to slake; myrtle,
The lover-crowning
Although in Skelton's
In wreaths of mixèd rhyme.
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,
Th F i d h Q i
 Thy Fascia, and thy Quiver,
MAidens,And
whythou spare thisye?
Quill of mine.
Or whether not dare ye
This heart
Correct so freshly
the blindbleeding,
Shooter?'
Upon "Because
its own self feeding;
wanton Venus,
Whose wounds
So oft that doth pain us, still dropping be:
O Love,
Is herthyself confounding,
son's tutor.
Her coldness so abounding,
And in
"Now yetthe such heat in me.
Spring,
He proveth his wing;
Yet,Theif I field
be inspirèd,
is his Bower:
I'll
And leave
as the thee so admirèd
small bee,
To allflyeth
About that shall
he, succeed;
That wereflower
From they more than many,
to flower.
'Mongst all there is not any
Thatwantonly
"And Time so oft shall read.
roves
Abroad in the groves,
NorAndadamantin theingravèd,
air hovers;
That
Which when itchoicely
hath been him deweth,savèd,
HisIdea's
feathersnameheoutwears:
meweth
So large
In sighs a dower
of trueasLovers.
this is;
The greatest often misses,
The since
"And diadem that bears.
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 love; and straight sending
Her doves and her sparrows,
With kisses, unto him:
To my worthy friend
And all but Master John Savage
to woo him
ofTothe Inner
make herTemple.
son arrows.

"TellingODE
what 4.
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!
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;
 Bove undeservèd spite;
Whose valuers to despise
That most doth him delight.
ODE 5.
That early leave doth take
[An Of th' World,
Amouret though to his pain,
Anacreontic.]
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.
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 A L L
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
 Yet still removes
To that it loves,
Till there it stays.
ODE
So to your6.praise
I turn ever:
And though
[Love's never
Conquest.]
From you moving;
Happy so loving.
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;
 Whose looks affright the day;
Wherein nice Nature saves
What she would not bewray:
ODE
Our better 8. craves,
leisure
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.
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
Or mixed, the sense delight,
Beholding,
In her complexion:
ODE 9.
All which perfection,
Such harmony infolding,
[A Skeltoniad.]
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.
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
 When the evil most vile
Beareth the fairest face;
And inconstant lightness,
ODE 11.slightness,
With a scornful
The best things doth disgrace!
To the Virginian Voyage.
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.
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
Crowns, with his purple mass,
The cedar reaching high
To kissODE
the sky.
12.
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
AP ' b
 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
F I NCressy
I S . tell,
When most their pride did swell,
Under our swords they fell.
No less our skill is,
Than when our Grandsire great,
Preface to the additional
Claiming the regal seat,Odes of 1619.
By many a warlike feat
To the worthy
LoppedKnight, and mylillies."
the French noble friend,
Sir Henry Goodere, a Gentleman of
His
TheMajesty's Privy Chamber.
Duke of York so dread
The eager Vanward led;
With
THese Lyric the Main,
pieces, short, Henry sped
and few,
Amongst his henchmen:
Most worthy Sir, I send to you;
Exeter had the
To read them Rear,
be not weary!
A They
bravermay
manbecome
not there!
John Hewes his lyre,
Which oft, at Polesworth,were
O Lord, how hot they [19]
by the fire,
Onmade
Hath the false Frenchmen!
us gravely merry.
They it,
Believe nowhe to
mustfight arethe
have gone;
trick
Armour on armour shone;
Of Ryming, with Invention quick,
Drumshould
That now to dodrum
Lyrics didwell:
groan:
To hear, was wonder.
But how I have done in this kind,
That, in
Though with criesIthey
myself cannot make,
find,
The very earth did shake;
Your judgment best can tell.
Trumpet, to trumpet spake;
Thunder,
Th' old to thunder.
British Bards (upon their harps
For falling Flats, and rising Sharps,
Wellcuriously
That it thine age became,
were strung)
O noble Erpingham!
To stir their Youth to warlike rage,
Or Which didst
their wild thetosignal
fury assuage,aim
To ourloose
In these hid forces:
Numbers sung.
When, from a meadow by,
NoLike
morea I,storm suddenly,
for fools' censure pass,
The English Archery
Than for the braying of an ass;
NorStuck
once themine French
ear willhorses.
lend them:
If you but please to take in gree
With
These Spanish
Odes, yew so'tisstrong;
sufficient to me:
Arrows a cloth-yard
Your liking can commend them. long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather.
None fromYours,his fellow starts;
But, playing manly parts, Michael Drayton.
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?
 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 areThe Heart.
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!
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.
The Sacrifice to Apollo.
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.
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 eachToword
his Rival.
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.
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,The
she Crier.
will bestow it.

What
GOod folk, for goldnow is thine
or hire,
Washelp
But onlymemine,
to a Crier!
AndForfirstmyto poor
me was given;
Heart is run astray
Thoutwo
After laugh'st
Eyes,atthat
me!passed this way.
I laugh at thee!
And thus Ohwe yes!two are even.
O yes! O yes!
If there be any man,
But InI'lltown
not mourn,
or country, can
But stay my
Bring me my turn;
Heart again;
The wind may come
I'll please him about,
for his Sir!
pain.
And once again
And by May bring
these me in;
marks, I will you show
Andonly
That help Itothis
bear you do
Heart out,owe
Sir![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.

 Coventry finely walled.

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;
The shoulder-bone of a Boar of mighty bigness.
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.

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.
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.
Queen Elizabeth
 Queen Elizabeth.
Footnotes And that great Queen, which but of late
Ruled this land in peace and State,
[19] In Warwickshire.
Had not been; but Heaven had sworn
A Maid should reign when She was born.

Of thy streets, which thou hold'st best,

And most frequent of the rest;
AHis
noted
Mistress's
street inbirthday.
Coventry.
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.
 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.
 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.
 FINIS.

Footnotes
[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.
[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).
[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).
[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).
[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.
[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.
 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.]
 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 Lesbos
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.

THE END OF THE

Eighth Volume
 OF
AN ENGLISH GARNER,
INGATHERINGS FROM OUR HISTORY AND LITERATURE:
COMPLETING THE SERIES.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES.
1. Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible.

2. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors.

3. The footnotes have been moved to the end of their relevant chapters.

4. Page 7: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Original "All that this earth"
should read "All that this Earth". Corrected.

5. 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.

6. 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.

7. Page 9: "Index of First Lines of Poems and Stanzas": Original; "Painter, in lovely":
should read "Painter, in lively". The index has been corrected.

8. 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.

90. 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.

10. 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.

11. 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.

12. 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.

13. Page 56: Hyphenated words left to match original format.

14. 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.

15. Page 119: Illustrated "[W]th lovely Neatherd" should read illustrated "[W]Ith lovely
Neatherd". Corrected.
16. Page 344: Closing square bracket ] missing from end of paragraph: "p. 78, Ed.
1686.]". Corrected.

17. Page 508: The original text reads "[Sir Walter Cope co. Oxon.]"; it should read "Sir
Walter Cope [co. Oxon.]". Corrected.

18. Page 520: 'Master ROBERT LEF' corrected to 'Master ROBERT LEE'.
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