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The fruites of Warre,
written uppon this Theame,
Dulce Bellum inexpertis, and it was
written by peecemeale at sundrye
tymes, as the Aucthour had vacaunt ley-
sures from service, being begon at Delfe in
Hollande, and dyrected to the ryght
honourable the Lord Greye of
Wylton as appeareth
by the Epistle De-
dicatory next
following.

139

To the Right honorable and mine espe-

ciall good Lorde, The Lorde Greye

of Wylton.

MY Singular good Lorde: I am of opinion that long before this time your honour hath throughly perused the booke, which I prepared to bee sent unto you somewhat before my comming hyther, and therewithall I doe lykewise conjectour that you have founde therein just cause to laugh at my follies forepassed. So that I am partly in doubte whether I were more overseene in my first devising, or in my last dyrecting of the same? But as fantasticall humours are common imperfections in greene unmellowed braines: So hope I yet that your good Lordshippe wyll rather winke at my weakenesse in generallitie, then reprove my rashnesse in perticularitie. And because I would bee glad, to drawe your Lordshippe into forget fulnesse thereof, by freshe recorde of some more martiall matter, as also for that I would have your Honour perceave that in these lyngering broyles, I doe not altogeather passe over my time in ydlenesse: I have therefore thought meete nowe to present you with this Pamphlete written by stelth at such times as we Loytered from service. And the sobject thereof being warre, I could not more convenientlye addresse the same unto any Marshiall man, then unto your good Lordshippe: Whome I have heard to be an universall patrone of all Souldiours, and have found to bee an exceeding favourour of mee your unworthy follower. The verse is roughe. And good reason, sithence it treateth of roughe matters, but if the sence be good then have I hyt the marke which I shote at: Knowing that your Lordshippe can winne Honny out of the Thistle. And such as it is, I dyrect it unto your Honour. Beseeching the same, to take it in gree, and to perceave that I am and ever wyll continew.

Your Lordships most bounden
and assured: George Gascoigne.


140

Dulce bellum inexpertis.


TO write of Warre and wote not what it is,
Nor ever yet could march where War was made,
May well be thought a worke begonne amis,
A rash attempt, in woorthlesse verse to wade,
To tell the triall, knowing not the trade:
Yet such a vaine even nowe doth feede my Muse,
That in this theame I must some labor use.

2 And herewithal I cannot but confesse,
Howe unexpert I am in feates of warre:
For more than wryting doth the same expresse,
I may not boast of any cruell jarre,
Nor vaunt to see full valiant facts from farre:
I have nor bene in Turkie, Denmarke, Greece,
Ne yet in Colch, to winne a Golden fleece.

3 But nathelesse I some what reade in writte
O[f] high exploits by Martiall men ydone,
And thereupon I have presumed yet,
To take in hande this Poeme now begonne:
Wherin I meane to tell what race they ronne,
Who followe Drummes before they knowe the dubbe,
And bragge of Mars before they feele his clubbe.

4 Which talk to tell, let first with penne declare
à definito.

What thing warre is, and wherof it proceeds,
What be the fruites that fall unto their share
That gape for honor by those haughtie deeds,
What bloudie broyles in every state it breeds:
A weary worke uneths I shall it write,
Yet (as I may) I must the same endite.

141



5 The Poets olde in their fonde fables faine,
That mightie Mars is god of Warre and Strife,
Poetes &
Astronomers
definition.

These Astronomers thinke, where Mars doth raigne,
That all [d]ebate and discorde must be rife,
Some thinke Bellona goddesse of that life:
So that some one, and some another judge,
To be the cause of every greevous grudge.

6 Among the rest that Painter had some skill,
 
 
Painters description.

Which thus in armes did once set out the same,
A fielde of Geules, and on a Golden hill
A stately towne consumed all with flame,
On cheafe of Sable (taken from the dame)
A sucking babe (oh) borne to bide myschaunce,
Begoarde with bloud, and perced with a launce.

7 On high the Helme, I beare it well in minde,
The Wreath was Silver poudred all with shot,
About the which (gouttè du sang) did twinde
A roll of Sable, blacke and foule beblot,
The Creast two handes, which may not be forgot,
For in the Right a trenchand blade did stande,
And in the Left a firie burning brande.

8 Thus Poets, Painters, and Astronomers,
Have given their gesse this subject to defne,
Yet are those three, and with them travellers,
Not best betrust among the Worthies nine,
Their woordes and workes are deemed not divine:
But why? God knowes (my matter not [t]o marre,)
Unlesse it be bicause they faine to farre.

9 Well then, let see what sayth the common voice,
Common peoples opinion.

These olde sayde sawes, of warre what can they say?
Who list to harken to their whispring noise,
May heare them talke and tattle day by day,
That Princes pryde is cause of warre alway:
Plentie brings pryde, pryde plea, plea pine, pine peace,
Peace plentie, and so (say they) they never cease.

142



10 And though it have bene thought as true as steele,
Which people prate, and preach above the rest,
Yet could I never any reason feele,
To thinke Vox populi vox Dei est,
As for my skill, I compt him but a beast,
Which trusteth truth to dwell in common speeche,
Where every lourden will become a leech.

11 Then what is warre? defne it right at last,
And let us set all olde sayde sawes aside,
Let Poets lie, let Painters faigne as fast,
Astronomers let marke how starres do glide,
And let these Travellers tell wonders wide:
But let us tell by trustie proufe of truth,
What thing is warre which raiseth all this ruth.

12 And for my parte my fansie for to wright,
The Authors
definition.

I say that warre is even the scourge of God,
Tormenting such as dwell in princelie plight,
Yet not regarde the reaching of his rodde,
Whose deedes and dueties often times are odde,
Who raunge at randon jesting at the just,
As though they raignde to do even what they lust.

13 Whome neyther plague can pull into remorse,
Nor dearth can drawe to mende that is amisse,
Within whose hearts no pitie fndeth force,
Nor right can rule to judge what reason is.
Whome sicknesse salveth not, nor bale brings blisse:
Yet can high Jove by waste of bloudie warre,
Sende scholemaisters to teach them what they are.

14 Then since the case so plaine by proufe doth stande,
That warre is such, and such alwayes it was,
Howe chaunceth then that many take in hande
To joy in warre, whiles greater pleasures passe?
Who compt the quiet Burgher but an Asse,
That lives at ease contented with his owne,
Whiles they seeke more and yet are overthrowne.

143



15 If Mars moove warre, as Starcoonners can tel,
And Poets eke in fables use to faine,
Or if Bellona cause mennes heartes to swell
By deadly grudge, by rancor or dysdaine,
Then what delight may in that life remaine?
Where anger, wrath, teene, mischiefe and debate,
Do still upholde the pillers of the State?

16 If Painters craft have truly warre dysplayde,
Then is it woorsse (and badde it is at best)
Where townes destroyde, and fields with bloud berayde,
Yong children slaine, olde widdowes foule oppress,
Maydes ravished, both men and wives distress:
Short tale to make, where sworde and cindring flame
Consume as much as earth and ayre may frame.

17 If pryde make warre (as common people prate)
Then is it good (no doubt) as good may bee,
For pryde is roote of evill in everie state,
The sowrse of sinne, the very feend his fee,
The head of Hell, the bough, the braunch, the tree,
From which do spring and sproute such fleshlie seedes,
As nothing else but moane and myschiefe breedes.

18 But if warre be (as I have sayde before)
Gods scourge, which doth both Prince and people tame,
Then warne the wiser sorte by learned lore,
To flee from that which bringeth naught but blame,
And let men compt it griefe and not a game,
To feele the burden of Gods mightie hande,
When he concludes in judgement for to stande.

19 Oh Prince be pleasde with thine owne diademe,
Prince.

Confine thy countries with their common boundes,
Enlarge no lance, ne stretch thou not thy streame,
Penne up thy pleasure in Repentance poundes,
Least thine owne sworde be cause of all thy woundes:
Claime nought by warre where title is not good,
It is Gods scourge, then Prince beware thy bloud,

144



20 Oh Dukes, oh Earls, oh Barons, Knights & squiers,
Nobilitie.

Kepe you content with that which is your owne,
Let braverie never bring you in his briers,
Seeke not to mowe where you no seede have sowne,
Let not your neighbors house be overthrowne,
To make your garden straight, round, even and square,
For that is warre, (Gods scourge) then Lordes beware.

21 Oh bishops, deacons, prelates, priests and all,
Prelacie.

Strive not for tythes, for glebelande, nor for fees,
For polling Peter pens, for popish Pall,
For proud pluralities, nor newe degrees,
And though you thinke it rubberlike to leese
Yet shoulde you lende that one halfe of your cote:
Then Priests leave warre, and learne to sing that note.

22 Oh lawlesse Lawyers, stoppe your too long nose,
Lawyers.

Wherwith you smell your needle neighbors lacke,
Which can pretende a title to suppose,
And in your rules uplandish loutes can racke,
Till you have brought their wealth unto the wracke:
This is plaine warre, although you terme it strife
Which God will scourge, then Lawyers leave this life.

23 Oh Merchants make more conscience in an oth,
Sell not your Silkes by danger nor deceyte,
Merchants.

Breake not your bankes with coine and credite bothe,
Heape not your hoordes by wilinesse of weyght,
Set not to sale your subtilties by sleight
Breede no debate by bargayning for dayes,
For God will skourge such guiles tenne thousand wayes.

24 Oh countrie clownes, your closes see you keepe,
Husbandmen.

With hedge, & ditche, & marke your meade with meares,
Let not dame flatterie in your bosome creepe
To tell a fittone in your Landlordes eares,
And say the ground is his as playne appeares.
Where you but set the bouncers foorth to farre:
Plie you the plough and be no cause of warre.

G. K

145



25 Oh common people clayme nothing but right,
Communaltie.

And ceasse to seeke that you have never lost,
Strive not for trifles: make not all your might,
To put your neighbours purse to needelesse cost,
When your owne gilte is spent, then farewell frost:
The Lawyer gaynes, and leades a Lordly lyfe,
Whiles you leese all and begge to stinte your stryfe.

26 Knew Kings and Princes what a payee it were,
To winne mo realmes than any witte can weelde,
To pine in hope, to fret as fast for feare,
To see their subjects murdred in the field,
To loose at last, and then themselves to yeeld,
To breake sounde sleepe with carke and inward care,
They would love peace, and bidde warre well to fare.

27 If noble men and gentle bloodes yborne,
Wist what it were to have a widdowes curse,
Knew they the skourge of God (which wrongs doth skorne)
Who sees the poore still wronged to the worse,
Yet stayes revenge till he it list disburse:
Wist they what were to catche Gods afterclappes,
Then would they not oppresse somuch perhappes.

28 These spirituall Pastors, nay these spitefull Popes,
Which ought to lende a lanterne to the rest,
Had they themselves but light to see the ropes,
And snares of Hell which for their feete are drest,
Bicause they pill and pole, bycause they wrest.
Bycause they covet more than borrell men,
(Harde be their hartes) yet would they tremble then.

29 Lawyers and Marchants put them both yfeare,
Could they foresee how fast theyr heyres lashe out,
If they in minde this old Proverbe could beare,
De bonis malepartis vix (through out)
Gaudebit tertius hæres out of doubt,
They would percase more peace than plea procure,
Since goods ill got, so little time endure.

146



30 Whiles Pierce the Plowman hopes to picke a thanke,
By moving boundes (which got skarce graze his goose)
His Landlord lawes so long to winne that banke,
Till at the last the Ferme and all flies loose,
Then farewell Pierce the man proves but a mouse,
And seekes a cottage if he could one get
So fayre he fisht by moving mischief yet.

31 If common people could foresee the fine
Which lights at last by lashing out at lawe,
Then who best loves this question, Myne or Thyne,
Would never grease the greedy sergeants pawe,
But sit at home and learne this old sayde sawe,
Had I revenged bene of every harme,
My coate had never kept me halfe so warme.


32 But whether now? my wittes are went awrie,
I have presumde to preache to long God wote,
Where mine empryse was well to testife
How sweet warre is to such as knowe it not,
I have but toucht their yll luck and their lot
Which are the cause why strife and warres begin,
Nought have I sayd of such as serve therein.

33 And therwithal I termed have all strife,
All quarells, contecks, and all cruell jarres,
Oppressions, bryberes, and all greedy life,
To be (in genere) no bet than warres,
Wherby my theame is stretcht beyond the starres,
And I am entred in a feld so large,
As to much matter doth my Muse surcharge.

34 But as the hawke which soareth in the skie,
And clymbes aloft for sollace of hir wing,
The greater gate she getteth up on highe,
The truer stoupe she makes at any thing
So shall you see my Muse by wandering;
Finde out at last the right and ready way,
And kepe it sure though earst it went astray.

K 2

147



35 My promisse was, and I recorde it so,
To write in verse (God wot though lyttle worth)
That warre seemes sweete to such as little knowe
What commes therby, what frutes it bringeth forth:
Who knowes none evil his minde no bad abhorth,
But such as once have fealt the skortching fire,
Will seldome (efte) to play with flame desire.

36 Then warre is badde: and so it is in deede,
Yet are three sortes which therin take delight,
But who they be now herken and take heede,
For (as I may) I meane their names to wright,
The first hight Haughtie harte, a man of might,
The second Greedy minde most men do call,
And Miser (he the mome) commes last of all.

37 As for the frst, three sparkes of mighty moode
Haughty harts.

Desire of fame, disdayne of Idlenesse,
And hope of honor, so inflame his bloud,
That he haunts warre to winne but worthinesse,
His doughty deedes alwayes declare no lesse:
For whyles most men for gaines or malice fight,
He gapes for glory setting lyfe but light.

38 0 noble mind: alas and who could thinke,
So good a hart so hard a happe should have?
A sweete perfume to fall into a sinke,
A costly jewell in a swelling wave,
Is happe as harde as if in greedy grave,
The lustiest lyfe should shryned be perforce,
Before dyre deathe gyve sentence of divorce.

39 And such I counte the happe of Haughty hart,
Which hunts (nought els) but honor for to get,
Where treason, malyce, sicknesse, sore and smarte,
With many myschieves moe his purpose let,
And he meane while (which might have spent it bet)
But loseth time, or doth the same mispend,
Such guerdons gives the wicked warre at end.

148



40 I set aside to tell the restlesse toyle,
The mangled corps, the lamed limbes at last,
The shortned yeares by fret of fevers foyle,
The smoothest skinne with skabbes and skarres disgrast,
The frolicke favour frounst and foule defast,
The broken sleepes, the dreadfull dreames, the woe,
Which wonne with warre and cannot from him goe.

41 I list not write (for it becommes me not)
The secret wrath which God doth kindle oft
To see the sucklings put unto the pot,
To heare their giltlesse bloode send cries alofte
And call for vengeance unto him, but softe
The Souldiours they commit those heynous actes
Yet Kings and Captaynes answere for such factes.

42 What neede me now at large for to rehearse,
The force of Fortune, when she list to frowne?
Why should I heere display in barreyne verse,
How realmes are turned topsie turvie downe,
How Kings and Keysars loose both clayme and crowne?
Whose haughty harts to hent all honour haunte,
Till high mishaps their doughtiest deedes do daunte.

43 All these with mo my penne shall overpasse,
Since Haughty harte hath fixt his fansie thus,
Let chaunce (sayeth he) be fickell as it was,
Sit bonus (in re mala) Animus,
Nam omne solum viro forti Ius.

And fie (sayeth he) for goods or filthie gaine,
I gape for glorie, all the rest is vayne.

44 Vayne is the rest, and that most vayne of all
A smouldring smoke which flieth with every winde,
A tickell treasure, like a trendlyng ball,
A passing pleasure mocking but the minde,
A fickle fee as fansie well can finde.
A sommers fruite whiche long can never last,
But ripeneth soone, and rottes againe as fast.

149



45 And tell me Haughty harte, confesse a truth,
What man was aye so safe in Glories porte,
But traynes of treason (oh the more the ruth)
Could undermine the Bulwarkes of this forte,
And raze his ramparts downe in sundrie sorte?
Searche all thy bookes, and thou shalt finde therein,
That honour is more harde to holde than winne.

46 Aske Julius Cæsar if this tale be true,
Cæsar.

The man that conquered all the world so wide,
Whose onely worde commaunded all the crue,
Of Romayne Knights at many a time and tide,
Whose pompe was thought so great it could not glide.
At last with bodkins dubd and doust to death,
And all his glorie banisht with his breath.

47 Of malice more what should I make discource,
Pompey.

Than thy foule fall proude Pompey by thy name,
Whose swelling harte envying Cæsars force,
Did boyle and burne in will and wicked flame,
By his downe fall thy fonder clyme to frame,
Till thine owne head bebathed with enmies teares,
Did ende thy glorie with thy youthfull yeares.

48 Alas alas how many may we reade,
Whome sicknesse sithe hath cut as greene as grasse?
Whome colde in Campes hath chaungd as pale as leade?
Whose greace hath molt all caffed as it was,
With charges given, with skarmouching in chasse?
Some lamed with goute (soone gotten in the field)
Some forst by fluxe all glorie up to yeeld.

49 Of sodayne sores, or clappes caught unaware,
Montacute Earle of Salisbury.

By sworde, by shotte, by mischief, or by mine,
What neede I more examples to declare,
Then Montacute which died by doome devine?
For when he had all France defayct, in fine,
From lofty towre discovering of his foes,
A Cannons clappe did all his glorie lose,

150



50 I had forgot (wherein I was to blame)
Of bolde brave Bourbon somewhat for to say
That Haughty hart whome never Prince could tame,
Bourbon.

Whome neyther towne could stoppe nor wall let way,
Nor king nor Keyser could his jorney stay:
His Epitaph downe set upon his Tombe
Declares no lesse: I leave it to your doome.


Devicto Gallo, Aucto Imperio, Pontifice obsesso, Italia superata,
Borbons Epitaph.

Roma capta, Borbonii hoc marmor habet cineres.



51 Oh glorious title ringing out renowne,
Oh Epitaph of honor and high happe,
Who reades the same as it is there set downe,
Would thinke that Borbon sate in fortunes lappe,
And could not fall by chaunce of after clappe:
Yet he that wrote this thundring flattering verse,
Left out one thing which I must needes rehearse.

52 For when he had his king by warre foredone,
Enlargde the Empyre and besiegde the Pope,
Tane Rome, and Italy had overronne,
Yet was he forst, alwayes from lawes to lope,
And trudge from triall so to scape the rope:
Yea more than that a banisht man be served,
Least loved of them whose thanks he most deserved.

53 Lo lordings here a lesson for the nones,
Behold this glasse and see yourselves therein,
This Epitaph was writte for worthy ones,
For Haughty harts which honor hunt to winne.
Beware beware, what broyles you do begin.
For smiling lucke hath oft times Finem duram,
And therefore thinke possit victoria Curam.

54 And yet if glory do your harts inflame,
Or hote desire a haughty name to have,
Or if you thirst for high renowne or fame,
To blase such brute as time might not deprave
You leese the labour that you might well save
For many a prayse in that meane while you past,
Which (bet than warre) might make your name to last.

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55 As first (percase) you skipt Phylosophie,
That noble skill which doth surmount the rest,
Wherto if you had tied your memorie,
Then bruntes of warre had never bruzde your brest,
Yet had our name bene blazde, and you bene blest:
Aristotle.

Aske Aristotle if I speake amis,
Fewe Souldiers fame can greater be than his.

56 Next Rethorike, that hoonnie harmelesse arte,
Which conquers moe than warre can well subdue,
You past it by, and therfore loose your parte
Of glories great, which thereunto are due,
And might by right your names for aye renue:
Cicero.

Such glory loe did Cicero attaine,
Which longer lasts, than other glories vaine.

57 Of Physike speake for me king Avicen,
Avicene.

Who more esteemde the meane to save himselfe,
Than lessons leude of proude ambitious men,
Which make debate for mucke and worldly pelfe:
Yet was his glory never set on shelfe,
Nor never shal, whyles any worlde may stande,
Where men have minde to take good bookes in hande.

58 What shoulde I stretch into Astronomie?
Or marvels make of Musikes sugred sounde?
Or beate my braynes about Geometrie?
Or in Arithmetike of artes the grounde?
Since evermore it is and hath bene founde,
That who excels in any of the same,
Is sure to winne an everlasting fame.

59 My meaning is no more but to declare,
That Haughtie hartes do spende their time in vaine,
Which followe warres, and bring themselves in snare,
Of sundrie ylls, and many a pinching paine,
Whiles if they list to occupie their braine,
In other feates with lesser toile ygot,
They might have fame when as they have it not.

52



60 Well, Greedie minde is of another moode,
Greedy minde.

That man was framde out of some other molde,
He followes warres for wealth and worldlie good,
To fill his purse with grotes and glistring golde,
He hopes to buie that Haughtie harte hath solde:
He is as hote as any man at spoile,
But at a breach he keepeth no such coyle.

61 Alas good Greedie minde, and canst thou finde
No better trade, to fill thy boystrous baggs?
Is witte nowe wente so wandring from thy minde?
Are all thy points so voice of Reasons taggs?
Well so mayst thou come roysting home in raggs,
And lose thy time as Haughtie harte doth eke,
Whiles like a dolt thou wealth in warre cost seke.

62 O bleareyde foole, are both thine eyes beblast?
Canst thou not see? looke up (what man?) God mend thee,
Looke at these Lawyers howe they purchase fast,
Marke wel these Marchants (better minde God send thee)
See howe the sutes of silke that they woulde lende thee,
And many mo so fine in fashion stande,
Till at the last they pay for unthriftes lande.

63 The Grasier gets by feeding fatte his neate,
The Clothier coynes by carding locks of wooll,
The Butcher buildes by cutting out of meate,
The Tanners hydes do fill his budget full,
The Sheep maister his olde cast croanes can cull,
The Shoomaker can shift by shaping shooes,
The Craftie bawde can live by keeping stewes.

64 The gorgeous Goldesmith getts the Divell and all,
The Haberdasher heapeth wealth by hattes,
The Barber lives by handling of his ball,
The Coupers house is heelde by trooping fattes,
The Roge rubbes out by poysoning of Rattes,
The Chanell raker liveth by his fee,
Yet compt I him more worthie prayse than thee.

153



65 To rake up rytches evermore by wrong,
To multiplie by mooving of myschiefe,
To live by spoile which seeldome lasteth long,
To hoorde up heapes whiles others lacke reliefe,
To winne all wealth by playing of the theefe,
Is not so good a gaine I dare avowe,
As his that lives by toyling at the plowe.

66 And yet the drudge that delveth in the grounde,
The poorest pesant and the homeliest hinde,
The meanest man that ever yet was founde,
To get a gaine by any trade or kinde,
Lives more at rest and hath more ease of minde,
More sure to winne, much lesser dread to leese,
Than any page that lives by Mars his fees.

67 Ne will I yet affray the doubtfull hartes
Of such as seeke for welth in warre to fal,
By thundring out the sundrie sodaine smartes
Which daily chaunce as fortune trifles the ball:
Suffiseth this to proove my theame withall,
That every bullet hath a lighting place,
Though Greedie minde forseeth not that disgrace.

68 The myst of More would have, doth bleare his eyes,
So is he armde with avarice alway,
And as he covets more than may suffise,
So is he blinde and dazled day by day,
For whiles he ventures for a double pay,
He quite forgets the pay that payes for all,
Til Leade (for Golde) do glut his greedie gal.

69 Yea though he gaine & cram his purse with crounes,
And therewith scape the foemens force in fielde,
He nought foreseeth what treasons dwells in Townes,
Ne what mishappes his yll got goods may yeelde:
For so may chaunce (and seene it is not seelde)
His owne companions can contrive a meane,
To cutte his throate and rinse his budgets cleane.

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70 But if he wist, or had the witte to knowe,
What dangers dwell, where might beares right adowne,
What inwarde griefes to quiet mindes may growe
By greedie thyrst of ryches or renowne,
Where wrong of warre oft times erects the crowne,
He would percase confesse among the rest,
That Dulce bellum inexpertis est.

71 So that I say as earst I sayde before,
That even as Haughtie harte doth hunt in vaine
Which seekes to winne most honor evermore,
By haunting warres: so can I see no gaine,
(With calme content) to feede that others vaine:
Wherfore my worde is still (I change it not)
That Warre seemes sweete to such as raunge it not.

72 Well then, let see what reason or what rule
Miser.

Can Miser move, to march among the rest:
I meane not Miser he that sterves his Mule
For lacke of meate: no that were but a jest:
My Miser is as brave (sometimes) as best,
Where if he were a snudge to spare a groate,
Then Greedie minde and he might weare one coate.

73 But I by Miser meane the very man,
Which is enforst by chip of any chaunce,
To steppe aside and wander nowe and than,
Till lowring lucke may pipe some other daunce,
And in meane while yet hopeth to advaunce
His staylesse state, by sworde, by speare, by shielde,
Such bulwarkes (loe) my Misers braine doth builde.

74 The forlorne hope, which have set up their rest
By rash expence, and knowe not howe to live,
The busie braine that medleth with the best,
And gets dysgrace his rashnesse to repreeve,
The man that slewe the wight that thought to theeve,
Such and such moe which flee the Catchpols fist,
I compt them Misers, though the Queene it wist.

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75 And yet forsooth these love to live in warre,
When (God he knowes) they wote not what it meanes,
Where if they sawe how much deceyved they are,
Whiles they be brought into mine uncles beanes,
And hoppe in hazarde by their headie meanes:
Then woulde they learne and love to live at home,
Much rather yet than wide in warres to rome.

76 The unthrift he that selles a roode of lande,
Unthriftes.

For Flemish stickes of Silkes and such like wares,
Weenes yet at last to make a happie hande
By bloudie warre, and hopes to shredde such shares,
In goods yll got to countervaile his cares,
That he may once recover his estate,
To royst againe in spite of Catchpolles pate.

77 The restlesse tong [that] tattleth still at large,
Praters.

Till just correction cause it to be still,
Is banisht oft, and sifts in Misers barge,
To brydle so the wandring of his will:
Yet when he heares a trumpet sounding shrill,
He followes fast, and to himselfe he sayes,
Nowe can I keepe me out of Catchpols wayes.

78 The bloudie murdrer and the craftie theefe,
Felons.

Which have by force or fraude done what offence,
To creepe in corners, oh they thinke it leefe,
Though Miser there do pay for their expence:
But when they heare a pay proclaimde for pence,
Loe then they trudge, and gape to get such wealth,
As may discharge their heads from hangmans health.

79 Of these three sortes full many have I seene,
Some hate the streates, bicause the stones were hot,
Some shunde the Court (& though they lovde our Queene)
Yet in the Counsellors wayes they stumbled not,
Some might not drinke of Justice Griffyns pot:
But all and some had rather fight with foes,
Than once to light within the lappes of those.

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80 As for the first what neede I much to wright?
Since now adayes the Sunne so hote doth shine,
That fewe yong blouds (unlesse it be by night)
Can byde the streates: no, narrowe lanes be fine,
Where every shade may serve them for a shrine:
But in Cheapside the Sunne so scaldes the streete,
That every paving stone would partch their feete.

81 So of the seconde somwhat coulde I say,
Howe tattling tungs and busie byting pennes,
Have fledde from Court long sithens many a day,
And bene full gladde to lurke in Misers dennes,
Some for their owne speech, some for other mennes,
Some for their bookes bicause they wrote too much,
Yea some for rymes, but sure I knowe none such.

82 And for the thirde, I cannot blame them I,
If they at barre have once helde up their hande,
And smelt the smoke which might have made them frie,
Or learnde the leape out of their native lande,
Me thinke if then their cause be rightly scande,
That they should more delight to follow drummes,
Than byde at home to come in hangmans thumbes.

83 But holla yet, and lay a strange thereby,
For whyles they scape for one offence or twaine,
They goe so long to schole with fellonie,
And learne such lessons in the Soldiers traine,
That all delayes are dalied but in vaine:
For commonly at their home come they pay,
The debt which hangman claimde earst many a day.

84 How much were better then, with contrite harte
First to repent, and then to make amendes?
And therwithall to learne by troubles smarte,
What sweete repose the lawfull life us lendes:
For when such plagues the mightie God us sendes,
They come aswell to scourge offences past,
As eke to teach a better trade at last.

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85 And eke how much were better for the first,
To beare lowe sayle, beginne the worlde anewe,
And stande content to muster with the worst,
Till God convey them to some better crewe,
It better were to bydde all pryde adieu,
And stoupe betimes in hope to ryse againe,
Than still to strive against the streame in vaine.

86 So were more meete for mealy mouthed men,
And busie medlers with their Princes mates,
Wryters and rimers for to turne their penne
In humble style unto the loftie states,
And eke with tongue attending at their gates,
In lowly wise their favour to beseeche,
Than still to stande in stoute and sturdie speech.

87 But mighty Mars hath many men in store,
Which wayte alwayes to keepe his kingdome up,
Of whome no one doth shewe his service more,
Than lingring Hope which still doth beare his cuppe,
And flatteringly lendes every man a suppe,
Which haunts his course or in his progresse passe.
Hope brings the bolle whereon they all must quasse.

88 Th' ambitious Prince doth hope to conquer all,
The Dukes, Earles, Lords, & Knights hope to be kings,
The Prelates hope to pushe for Popish pall,
Hope is cupbearer to war.

The Lawyers hope to purchase wonderous things,
The Merchaunts hope for no lesse reckenings,
The peasant hopes to get a Ferme at least,
All men are guesses where Hope doth holde the feast.

89 Amongst the rest poore Miser is so drie,
And thristeth so to taste of some good chaunge
That he in haste to Hope runnes by and by.
And drinkes so deepe (although the taste be straunge,)
That madding moode doth make his wittes to raunge,
And he runnes on w[h]ere Hope doth leade the way,
Most commonly (God knowes) to his decaye.

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90 So that for companie he sings the same
Which Haughty harte and Greedy minde do sing
He saieth that Bellum breedeth grief of game:
And though at first it seeme a pleasant thing
At last (sayeth he) it striketh with a sting,
And leaves a skarre although the wound be heald,
Which gives disgrace and cannot be conceald.

91 To prove this true how many in my dayes,
(And I for one) might be rehearced here,
Who after proofe of divers wandring wayes,
Have bene constreynd to sit with sorie cheere,
Close in a corner fumbled up for feare?
Till from such dennes, drummes dubbe hath calld them forth,
To chaunge their chaunce for lottes (ofte) little worth.

92 But here (me thinks) I heare some carping tong,
That barkes apace and killes me with his crie,
[M]e thinkes he sayes that all this geare goeth wrong,
When workes of warre are wrotte by such as I,
Me thinkes I heare him still this text applie,
That evill may those presume to teache a trade,
Which nay themselves in Schollers roome did wade.

93 And for bycause my selfe confessed have,
That (more than might by writte expressed be)
I may not seeme above my skill to brave,
Since yet mine eyes the warres did never see:
Therefore (say some) how fonde a foole is he,
That takes in hande to write of worthy warre,
Which never yet hath come in any jarre?

94 No jarre (good sir) yes yes and many jarres,
For though my penne of curtesie did putte,
A difference twixt broyles and bloudie warres,
Yet have I shot at maister Bellums butte,
And throwen his ball although I toucht no tutte:
I have percase as deepely dealt the dole,
As he that hit the marke and get the gole.

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95 For I have seene full many a Flushyng fraye,
Flushyng frayes & fleesing of Flaunders.

And fleest in Flaunders eke among the rest,
The bragge of Bruges, where was I that daye?
Before the walles good sir as brave as best,
And though I marcht all armde withouten rest,
From Aerdenburgh and back againe that night,
Yet madde were he that would have made me knight.

96 So was I one forsooth that kept the towne,
Aerdenburgh.

Of Aerdenburgh (withouten any walles)
From all the force that could be dressed downe,
By Alba Duke for all his cries and calles,
A high exployte. Wee held the Flemings thralles,
Seven dayes and more without or bragges or blowes,
For all that while we never herd of foes.

97 I was againe in trench before Tergoes,
Tergoes.

(I dare not say in siege for bothe mine eares)
For looke as oft as ever Hell brake lose,
I meane as often as the Spainish peares,
Made salie foorth (I speake this to my pheares)
It was no more but which Cock for a groate,
Such troupes we were to keepe them up in coate.

98 Yet surely this withouten bragge or boast,
Our English bloudes did there full many a deede,
Which may be Chronicled in every coaste,
For bolde attempts, and well it was agreed,
That had their heades bene rulde by warie heede,
Some other feate had bene attempted then,
To shew their force like worthie English men.

99 Since that siege raysde I romed have about,
The Prince of Orenge his name is Guillam of Nassau.

In Zeeland, Holland, Waterland, and all,
By sea, by land, by ayre, and all throughout,
As leaping lottes, and chance did seeme to call,
Now here, now there, as fortune trilde the ball,
Where good *Guyllam of Nassau badde me be,
There needed I none other guyde but he.

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100 Percase sometimes S. Gyptians pilgrymage,
Dyd carre me a moneth (yea sometimes more)
To brake the Bowres, and racke them in a rage,
Bicause they had no better cheere in store,
Beefe, Mutton, Capon, Plover, Pigeons, Bore,
All this was naught, and for no Souldiours toothe,
Were these no jarres? (speake now Sir) yes forsoothe.

101 And by my troth to speake even as it is,
Such prankes were playde by Souldiours dayly there,
And though my self did not therein amisse,
(As God he knowes and men can witnesse beare,)
Yet since I had a charge, I am not cleare,
For seldome climes that Captaine to renowne,
Whose Souldiours faults so plucke his honour downe.

102 Well let that passe. I was in rolling trench,
At Ramykins, where little shotte was spent,
Ramykins.

For gold and groates their matches still did quenche,
Which kept the Forte, and forth at last they went,
So pinde for hunger (almost tenne dayes pent)
That men could see no wrincles in their faces,
Their pouder packt in caves and privie places.

103 Next that I servde by night and eke by daie,
By Sea, by lande, at every time and tide,
* A Coronel of the kings side.

Against *Mountdragon whiles he did assaie,
To lande his men along the salt sea side,
For well he wist that Ramykins went wide,
And therfore sought with victuall to supplie,
Poore Myddleburgh which then in suddes did lie.

104 And there I sawe full many a bold attempt,
By seelie soules best executed aye,
And bravest bragges (the foemens force to tempt)
Accomplished but coldely many a daye,
The Souldiour charge, the leader lope away,
The willing drumme a lustie marche to sounde,
Whiles ranke retyrers gave their enimies ground.

G. L

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105 Againe at Sea the Souldiour forward still,
When Mariners had little lust to fight,
And whiles we staie twixt faynte and forward will,
Our enemies prepare themselves to flight.
They hoyste up sayle (o wearie woorde to wri[gh]t)
They hoyste up saile that lacke both streame and windes,
And we stand still so forst by frowarde mindes.

106 0 victorie: (whome Haughty hartes do hunte)
O spoyle and praye (which greedy mindes desire)
O golden heapes (for whom these Misers wonte
To follow Hope which settes all hartes on fire)
O gayne, O golde, who list to you aspyre,
And glorie eke, by bolde attempts to winne,
There was a day to take your prisoners in.

107 The shippes retyre with riches full yfraught,
The Souldiours marche (meane while) into the towne,
The tide skarce good, the winde starke staring naught,
The haste so hoate that (eare they sinke the sowne)
They came on ground, and strike all sayles adowne:
While we (ay me) by backward saylers ledde,
Take up the worst when all the best are fledde.

108 Such triumphs chance where such Lieutenants rule,
Where will commaundes when skill is out of towne,
Where boldest bloudes are forced to recule,
By Simme the boteswayne when he list to frowne,
Where Captaynes crouch, and fishers weare the Crowne.
Such happes which happen in such haplesse warres,
Make me to tearme them broyles and beastly jarres.

109 And in these broyles (a beastly broyle to wryte,)
My Colonell, and I fell at debate,
So that I left both charge and office quite,
A Captaynes charge and eke a Martials state,
Whereby I proved (perhaps though all to late)
How soone they fall whiche leane to rotten bowes,
Such faith finde they, that trust to some mens vowes.

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110 My harte was high, I could not seeme to serve,
In regiment where no good rules remayne,
Where officers and such as well deserve,
Shall be abusde by every page and swayne
Where discipline shall be but deemed vayne,
Where blockes are stridde by stumblers at a strawe,
And where selfe will must stand for martiall lawe.

111 These things (with mo) I could not seeme to beare,
And thereupon I crackt my staffe in two,
Yet stayde I still though out of pay I were,
And learne to live as private Souldiours do,
(a) An Iland so called which was sore spoyled by our countrymen.

(b) A Coronel of the kings side whiche was governour of Middelburgh next before Mountdragon.

I lived yet, by God and lacked too:
Till at the last when Beavois fledde amayne,
Our campe removde to streine (a) the lande van Strayne.

112 When (b) Beavois fledde, Mountdragon came to towne,
And like a Souldiour Myddelburgh he kept,
But courage now was coldly come adowne,
On either side: and quietly they slept,
So that my self from Zeland lightly lept,
With full entent to taste our English ale,
Yet first I ment to tell the Prince my tale.

113 For though the warres waxt colde in every place,
And small experience was there to be seene,
Yet thought I not to parte in such disgrace,
Although I longed much to see our Queene:
For he that once a hyred man hath bene,
Must take his Maisters leave before he goe,
Unlesse he meane to make his freend his foe.

114 Then went I straight to *Delfe, a pleasant towne,
* A towne in Holland.

Unto that Prince, whose passing vertues shine,
And unto him I came on knees adowne,
Beseeching that his excellence in fine,
Would graunt me leave to see this countrey mine:
Not that I wearie was in warres to serve,
Nor that I lackt what so I did deserve.

L 2

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115 But for I found some contecke and debate,
In regiment where I was woont to rule,
And for I founde the staie of their estate,
Was forced now in townes for to recule,
I craved leave no longer but till *Yewle,
* Christmas.

And promist then to come againe Sans fayle,
To spende my bloud where it might him avayle.

116 The noble Prince gave graunt to my request,
And made me passeporte signed with his seale,
But when I was with baggs and baggage prest,
The Prince began to ring another peale,
And sent for me, (desiring for my weale)
That I woulde stay a day or two, to see,
What was the cause he sent againe for mee.

117 My Colonell was nowe come to the Courte,
With whome the Prince had many things to beate,
And for he hoapte, in good and godlie sorte,
Tweene him and me to worke a friendlie feate,
He like a gracious Prince his braines did beate,
To set accorde betweene us if he might,
Such paynes he toke to bring the wrong to right.

118 0 noble Prince, there are too fewe like thee,
If Vertue wake, she watcheth in thy will,
If Justice live, then surely thou art hee,
If Grace do growe, it groweth with thee still,
O worthy Prince would God I had the skill,
To write thy worth that men thereby might see,
How much they erre that speake amisse of thee.

119 The simple Sottes do coumpt thee simple too,
Whose like for witte our age hath seldome bredde,
The rayling roges mistrust thou darest not do,
As Hector did for whom the Grecians fledde,
Although thou yet werte never seene to dredde,
The slandrous tongues do say thou drinkst to much,
When God he knowes thy custome is not such.

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120 But why do I in worthlesse verse devise,
To write his prayse that doth excell so farre?
He heard our greeves himself in gratious wise,
And mildly ment to joyne our angry jarre,
He ment to make that we beganne to marre:
But wicked wrath had some so farre enraged,
As by no meanes theyr malice could be swayed.

121 In this meane while the Spainiards came so neare
That Delfe was girte with siege on every side,
And though men might take shippyng every where,
And so be gone at any time or tide,
Yet truth to tell (I speake it for no pryde)
I could not leave that Prince in such distresse,
Which cared for me and yet the cause much lesse.

122 But see mishappe how craftely it creepes,
Whiles fawning fortune fleareth full in face,
My heavie harte within my bellie weepes,
To recken here a droppe of darke disgrace,
Which fell upon my pleasant plight apace,
And brought a packe of doubts and dumps to passe,
Whiles I with Prince in love and favour was.

123 A worthie dame whose prayse my penne shal write
(My sworde shall eke hir honour still defende)
A loving letter to me did endight
And from the Campe the same to me did sende,
I meane from Campe where foes their force did bende:
She sent a brief unto me by hir mayde,
Which at the gates of Delfe was stoutely stayde.

124 This letter sane, I was mistrusted much,
And thought a man that were not for to truste,
The frute of fansie.

The Burghers streight began to beare me grutche,
And cast a snare to make my necke be trust,
For when they had this letter well discust:
They sent it me by hir that brought it so,
To trie if I would keepe it close or no.

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125 I redde the lines, and knowing whence they came,
My harmelesse harte began to pant apace,
Wel to be playne, I thought that never Dame,
Should make me deale in any doubtfull case,
Or do the thing might make me hide my face:
So that unto the Prince I went forthwith,
And shewed to him of all this packe the pith.

126 The thing God knowes was of no great emport,
Some freendly lines the vertuous Lady wrote
To me hir freend: and for my safe passeporte,
The Camepomaster Valdes his hand was gotte,
And seale therewith, that I might safely trotte,
The pleasauntest village (as I thinke) that is in Europe.

Unto the Haghe a stately pleasaunt place,
Whereas remaynd this worthy womans grace.

127 And here I set in open verse to showe,
The whole effect wherfore this work was wrought,
She had of mine (whereof few folkes did knowe)
A counterfayte, a thing to me deare bought,
Which thing to have I many time had sought
And when shee knew how much I did esteeme it
Shee vowde that none but I should thence redeeme it.

128 Lo here the cause of all this secrete sleight,
I sweare by Jove that nothing els was ment,
The noble Prince (who sawe that no deceipt
Was practised) gave trust to mine entent:
And leave to write from whence the same was sent,
But still the Bowgers (Burghers should I saye)
Encreast their doubles and watcht me day by day.

129 At every porte it was (forsoth) (a) belast,
(a) forbidden.
(b) the Greene captaine.

That I (b) (die groene Hopman) might not go out,
But when their foes came skirmishing full fast,
Then with the rest the Greene knight for them fought,
Then might he go without mistrust or doubt:
O drunken plompes, I playne without cause why,
For all cardes tolde there was no foole but I.

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130 I was the foole to fight in your defence,
Which know no freende, nor yet your selves full well,
Yet thus you see how paye proclaymde for pence,
Pulles needle soules in steade of heaven to hell,
And makes men hope to beare away the bell.
Whereas they hang in ropes that never rotte,
Yet warre seemes sweete to such as know it not.

131 Well thus I dwelt in Delfe a winters tyde,
In Delfe (I say) without one pennie pay:
My men and I did colde and hunger bide,
To shew our truth, and yet was never day,
Wherein the Spanyard came to make us play,
(c) a proverbe.

But that the Greene knight was amongst the rest,
Like (c) John Greyes birde that ventred with the best.

132 At last the Prince to Zeland came himselfe,
To hunger Middle[b]urgh, or make it yeeld,
And I that never yet was set on shelf,
When any sayld, or winde, or waves could weeld,
Went after him to shew my selfe in field.
The selfe same man which earst I vowed to be,
A trustie man to such a Prince as he.

133 The force of Flaunders, Brabant, Geldres, Fryze,
Henault, Artoys, Lyegeland, and Luxembrough,
Were all ybent, to bryng in new supplies
To Myddleburgh: and little all enough,
For why the (a) Gælx would neyther bend nor bough.
(a) protestaunts.

(b) The Iland wherein Flushing doth stand.

But one of force must breake and come to nought,
All (b) Walkers theirs, or Flushing dearly bought.

134 There once agayne I served upon seas,
And for to tell the cause and how it fell,
It did one day the Prince (my chieftayne) please,
To aske me thus: Gascoigne (quoth he) you dwell
Amongst us still: and thereby seemeth well,
That to our side you beare a faithfull harte,
For else long since we should have seene you starte.

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135 But are (sayde he) your Souldiours by your side?
O Prince (quoth I) full many dayes be past,
Since that my charge did with my Cronell glyde.
Yet byde I here, and meane to be with last:
And for full proofe that this is not a blast
Of glorious talke: I crave some fisher boate,
To shew my force among this furious floate.

136 The Prince gan like my fayth and forward will,
(c) Rigged up and fully furnished.

(c) Equyppt a Hoye and set hir under sayle,
Wherein I served according to my skill,
My minde was such, my cunning could not quayle,
Withouten bragge of those that did assayle
The foemens fleete which came in good aray,
I put my selfe in formost ranke alway.

137 Three dayes wee fought, as long as water served,
And came to ancor neyghbourlike yfeere,
The Prince himselfe to see who best deserved,
Stoode every day attending on the peere,
And might behold what barke went formost there:
Ill harte had he that would not stoutely fight,
When as his Prince is present still in sight.

138 At last our foes had tidings over lande,
(d) a Towne.
(e) a River.
(f) Lusty gallants.
(g) The admiral of flushing.
(h) Julian de Romero.

That neare to (d) Bergh their fellowes went to wracke,
On (e) Scheld they mette by Rymerswaell a bande
Of (f) Edellbloets, who put their force abacke,
(g) Lewes de Boyzott did put them there to sacke,
And lost an eye, bicause he would resemble
(h) Dan Juliane, whome (there) he made to tremble.

139 When this was knowen (i) Sancio de Avila,
(i ) The castellane of Anwerp.
(k) A River.

Who had the charge of those that fought with us,
Went up the (k) Hont and tooke the ready way,
To Anwerpe towne: leaving in daunger thus,
Poore Myddelburgh which now waxt dolorous,
To see all hope of succour shrinke away,
Whiles they lackt bread and had done many a day.

68



140 And when Mountdragon might no more endure,
He came to talke and rendred all at last,
With whome I was within the Cittie sure,
Before he went, and on his promisse past,
Such trust I had to thinke his fayth was fast:
I dinde, and supt, and laye within the towne,
A daye before he was from thence ybowne.

141 Thus Middleburgh, Armew, and all the rest,
Of Walkers Ile became the Princes pray,
Who gave to me bycause I was so prest,
At such a pinche, and on a dismall day,
Three hundreth gilderns good above my pay.
And bad me bide till his abilitie,
Might better gwerdon my fidelitie.

142 I will not lie, these Gilderns pleasd me well,
And much the more bycause they came uncraved,
Though not unneeded as my fortune fell,
But yet thereby my credite still was saved,
My skores were payde, and with the best I braved,
Till (lo) at last, an English newe relief,
Came over seas, and Chester was their chief.

143 Of these the Prince perswaded me to take,
A band in charge with Coronels consent,
At whose requests I there did undertake,
To make mine ensigne once againe full bent,
And sooth to say, it was my full entent,
To loose the sadle or the horse to winne,
Such haplesse hope the Prince had brought me in.

144 Souldiours behold and Captaynes marke it well,
Hope is the herbenger of mishappe.

How hope is harbenger of all mishappe,
Some hope in honour for to beare the bell.
Some hope for gaine and venture many a clappe,
Some hope for trust and light in treasons lappe.
Hope leades the way our lodging to prepare
Where high mishap (ofte) keepes an Inne of care.

169



145 I hoapt to shew such force agaynst our foes,
That those of Delf might see how true I was,
I hopt in deede for to be one of those
Whome fame should follow, where my feete should passe,
I hoapt for gaynes and founde great losse alas:
I hoapt to winne a worthy Souldiours name,
And light on lucke which brought me still to blame.

146 In Valkenburgh (a fort but new begonne)
With others moe I was ordeynde to be,
And farre beforne the worke were half way done,
Our foes set forth our sorie seate to see,
They came in time, but cursed time for me,
They came before the courtine raysed were,
One onely foote above the trenches there.

147 What should we do, foure ensignes lately prest,
Five hundreth men were all the bulke we bare,
Our enimies three thousand at the least,
And somuch more they might alwayes prepare:
But that most was, the truth for to declare,
We had no store of pouder, nor of pence,
Nor meate to eate, nor meane to make defence.

148 Here some may say that we were much to blame,
Which would presume in such a place to byde,
And not foresee (how ever went the game)
Of meate and shotte our souldiours to provide:
Who so do say have reason on their side,
Yet proves it still (though ours may be the blot)
That warre seemes sweete to such as know it not.

149 For had our forte bene fully fortified,
Two thousand men had bene but few enow,
To man it once, and had the truth bene tried,
We could not see by any reason how,
The Prince could send us any succour now,
Which was constreynd in townes himself to shield,
And had no power to shew his force in field.

170



150 Herewith we had nor powder packs in store,
Nor flesh, nor fishe, in poudring tubbes yput,
Nor meale, nor malt, nor meane (what would you more?)
To get such geare if once we should be shut.
And God he knowes, the English Souldiours gut,
Must have his fill of victualles once a day,
Or els he will but homely earne his pay.

151 To scuse ourselves, and Coronell withall,
We did foretell the Prince of all these needes,
Who promised alwayes to be our wall,
And badde us trust as truely as our creedes,
That all good wordes should be performd with deedes,
And that before our foes could come so neare,
He would both send us men and merrie cheare.

152 Yea Robyn Hoode, our foes came downe apace,
And first they chargde another Forte likewise,
Alphen I meane, which was a stronger place,
And yet to weake to keepe in warlike wise:
* footemen.

Five other bandes of English *Fanteries,
Were therein set for to defend the same,
And them they charade for to beginne the game.

153 This Forte fro ours was distant ten good miles,
I meane such myles as English measure makes,
Betweene us both stoode Leyden towne therewhiles
Which everie day with fayre wordes undertakes,
To feede us fat and cramme us up with cakes:
It made us hope it would supplie our neede,
For we (to it) two Bulwarkes were in deede.

154 But when it came unto the very pinche
Leyden farewell, we might for Leyden sterve,
I like him well that promiseth an inche,
And payes an ell, but what may he deserve
That flatters much and can no fayth observe?
[An]d old sayd sawe, that fayre wordes make fooles fayne,
Which proverbe true we proved to our payne.

171



155 A conference among our selves we cald,
Of Officers and Captaynes all yfeere,
For truth (to tell) the Souldiours were apald,
And when we asks, nowe mates what merie cheere?
Their aunswere was: it is no bidyng here.
So that perforce we must from thence be gone,
Unlesse we ment to keepe the place alone.

156 Herewith we thought that if in time we went,
Before all streights were stops and taken up,
We might (perhaps) our enimies prevent,
And teach them eke to taste of sorowes cuppe:
At Maesland Sluyse, wee hoped for to suppe,
A place whereas we might good service do,
To keepe them out which tooke it after too.

157 Whiles thus we talke, a messenger behold,
From Alphen came, and told us heavy newes,
Captaynes (quoth he) hereof you may be bolde,
Not one poore soule of all your fellowes crewes,
Can scape alive, they have no choyse to chuse:
They sent me thus to bidde you shifte in time,
Els looke (like them) to sticke in Spainish lime.

158 This tale once tolde, none other speech prevaylde,
But packe and trudge, al leysure was to long,
To mende the marte, our watche (which never faylde)
Descried our foes which marched all along,
And towards us began in hast to throng,
So that before our laste could passe the porte,
The foremost foes were now within the Forte.

159 I promest once and did performe it too,
To bide therein as long as any would,
What booted that ? or what could Captaynes doo,
When common sorte would tarie for no gould?
To speake a troth, the good did what they could,
To keepe the badde in rankes and good araye,
But labour lost to hold that will away.

172



160 It needelesse were to tell what deedes were donne,
Nor who did best, nor who did worst that day,
Nor who made head, nor who began to runne,
Nor in retreate what chief was last alway,
But Souldiour like we held our enimies play:
And every Captayne strave to do his best,
To stay his owne and so to stay the rest.

161 In this retyre three English miles we trodde,
With face to foes and shot as thicke as hayle,
Of whose choyce men full fiftie soules and odde,
We rayed on ground, this is withouten fayle,
Yet of our owne, we lost but three by tale:
Our foes themselves confess they bought full deere,
The hote pursute whiche they attempted there.

162 Thus came we late at last to Leyden walles,
Too late, too soone, and so may we well say,
For notwithstanding all our cries and calles,
They shut their gates and turnd their eares away:
In fine they did forsake us every way,
And badde us shifte to save ourselves apace,
For unto them were fonde to trust for grace.

163 They neither gave us meate to feede upon,
Nor drinke, nor powder, pickax, toole nor spade,
So might we sterve, like misers woe begone,
And fend our foes, with blowes of English blade,
For shotte was shronke, and shift could none be made:
Yea more than this, wee stoode in open fielde,
Without defense from shotte our selves to shielde.

164 This thus wel weyed, whe weary night was past,
And day gan peepe, wee heard the Spainish drommes,
Which stroke a marche about us round to cast,
And foorth withall their Ensignes quickly commes,
At sight whereof, our Souldiours bitte their thommes:
For well they wist it was no boote to flie,
And biding there, there was no boote but die.

173



165 So that we sent a drumme to summone talke,
And came to Parlee middle way betweene,
Monsieur de Licques, and Mario did walke,
From foemens side, and from our side were seene,
My self, that matche for Mario might bene:
And Captayne Sheffeld borne of noble race,
To matche de Licques, which there was chief in place.

166 Thus met we talkt, and stoode upon our toes,
With great demaundes whome little might content,
We craved not onely freedome from our foes,
But shippyng eke with sayles and all full bent,
To come againe from whence we first were went:
I meane to come, into our English coast,
Which soyle was sure, and might content us most.

167 An old sayde sawe, (and ofte seene) that whereas,
Thou comste to crave, and doubtst for to obtayne,
Iniquum pete (then) ut æquum feras,
This had I heard, and sure I was full fayne,
To prove what profite we thereby might gayne:
But at the last when time was stolen away,
We were full gladde to play another play.

168 We rendred then with safetie for our lives,
Our Ensignes splayed, and manyging our armes,
With furder fayth, that from all kinde of gives,
Our souldiours should remayne withouten harmes:
And sooth to say, these were no false allarmes,
For why? they were within twelve dayes discharged,
And sent away from pryson quite enlarged.

169 They were sent home, and we remayned still,
In pryson pent, but yet right gently used,
To take our lives, it was not Licques will,
(That noble blood, which never man abused,)
Nor ever yet was for his faith accused,
Would God I had the skill to write his prayse,
Which lent me comfort in my dolefull dayes.

174



170 We bode behind, foure moneths or little lesse,
But whereupon that God he knowes not I,
Yet if I might be bolde to give a geese,
Then would I say it was for to espie,
What raunsome we would pay contentedly:
Or els to know how much we were esteemde,
In England here, and for what men ydeemde.

171 How so it were, at last we were dispatcht,
And home we came as children come from schoole,
As gladde, as fishe which were but lately catcht,
And straight againe were cast into the poole:
For by my fay I coumpt him but a foole,
Which would not rather poorely live at large,
Than rest in pryson fedde with costly charge.

172 Now have I tolde a tedious tale in rime,
Of my mishappes, and what ill lucke I had,
Yet some may say, that all to lowde I chime,
Since that in warres my fortune was not badde,
And many a man in pryson would be gladde,
To fare no worse, and lodge no worse than wee,
And eke at last to scape and go so free.

173 I must confesse that both we were well used,
And promise kept according to contract,
And that nor wee, nor Souldiours were abused,
No rigour shewed, nor lovely dealing lackt:
I must confesse that we were never rackt,
Nor forst to do, nor speake agaynst our will,
And yet I coumpt it froward fortune still.

174 A truth it is (since warres are ledde by chaunce,
And none so stoute but that sometimes may fall,)
No man on earth his honour might advaunce,
To render better (if he once were thrall)
Why who could wishe more comforte at his call,
Than for to yeeld with ensigne full displayde,
And all armes borne in warlike wise for ayde?

175



175 Or who could wishe dispatche with greater speede,
Than souldiours had which taried so few dayes?
Or who could wishe, more succour at his neede,
Than used was to them at all assayes?
Bread, meate, and drinke, yea wagons in their wayes,
To ease the sicke and hurte which could not go,
All tane in warres, are seldome used so.

176 Or who could wishe (to ease his captive dayes)
More libertie than on his fayth to rest?
To eate and drinke at Barons borde alwayes,
To lie on downe, to banquet with the best,
To have all things, at every just request,
To borowe coyne, when any seemde to lacke,
To have his owne, away with him to packe?

177 All this and more I must confesse we had,
God save (say I) our noble Queene therfore,
Hinc illæ lachrimæ, there laye the padde,
Which made the strange suspected be the more,
For trust me true, they coveted full sore,
To keepe our Queene and countrie fast their friendes,
Till all their warres might grow to luckie endes.

178 But were that once to happy ende ybrought,
And all stray sheepe come home agayne to folde,
Then looke to dore: and thinke the cat is nought,
Although she let the mouse from out hir holde:
Beleve me now, me thinkes I dare be bolde,
To thinke that if they once were freendes againe,
We might soone sell, all freendship found in Spaine.

179 Well these are woordes and farre beyod my reach,
Yet by the way receyve them well in worth,
And by the way, let never Licques appeach
My rayling penne, for thoughe my minde abhorrth,
All Spainish prankes: yet must I thunder forth
His worthy prayse, who held his fayth unstayned,
And evermore to us a freend remayned.

176



180 Why sayed I then, that warre is full of woes?
Or sowre of taste, to them that know it best?
Who so demaundes, I will my minde disclose,
And then judge you the burdens of my brest:
Marke well my wordes and you shall finde him blest,
That medleth least with warres in any wise,
But quiet lives, and all debate defies.

181 For though we did with truth and honour yeeld,
Yet yeelding is alwayes a great disgrace,
And though we made a brave retyre in field,
Yet who retyres, doth alwayes yeeld his place:
And though we never did our selves embase,
But were alwayes at Barons table fedde,
Yet better were at home with Barlie breade.

182 I leave to tell what losse we did sustaine,
In pens, in pay, in wares, and readie wealth,
Since all such trash may gotten be againe,
Or wasted well at home by privie stelth:
Small losse hath he which all his living selth,
To save his life, when other helpe is none,
Cast up the saddle when the horse is gone.

183 But what I sayde, I say and sweare againe,
For first we were in Hollande sore suspect,
The states did thinke, that with some filthie gaine
The Spainish peeres us Captaines had infect
They thought we ment our ensignes to erect
In Kings behalfe: and eke the common sorte,
Thought privy pay had made us leave our forte.

184 Againe, the Kings men (onely Licques except,
* A coronell of the kings side.

And good *Verdugo) thought we were too well,
And that we were but playde with in respect,
When as their men in great distresse did dwell:
So that with hate their burning hartes did swell,
And bad hang up or drowne us everychone,
These bones we had alway to byte upon.

G. M

177



185 This sause we had unto our costly fare,
And every day we threatned were in deede,
So that on both sides we must byde the care,
And be mistrust of every wicked deede,
And be revilde, and must our selves yet feede
With lingring Hope, to get away at last,
That selfe same Hope whiche tyed us there so fast.

186 To make up all, our owne men playde their parte,
And rang a peale to make us more mystrust,
For when they should away from us departe,
And sawe us byde, they thought we stayed for lust,
And sent them so in secrete to be trust:
They thought and sayde, thus have our Captaines solde
Us silly soules, for groates and glistring golde.

187 Yea, when they were to England safely brought,
Yet talkte they still even as they did before:
For slaundrous tongues, if once they tattle ought,
With mickell payee will chaunge their wicked lore:
It hath bene proved full many dayes of yore,
That he which once in slander takes delight,
Will seldome frame his woordes to sounde aright.

188 Straunge tale to tell, we that had set them free,
And set ourselves on sandes for their expence,
We that remaynd in daunger of the tree,
When they were safe, we that were their defence,
With armes, with cost, with deedes, with eloquence:
We that saved such, as knew not where to flie,
Were now by them accusde of trecherie.

189 These fruits (I say) in wicked warres I founde,
Which make me wryte much more than else I would,
For losse of life, or dread of deadly wounde,
Shall never make me blame it though I could,
Since death doth dwell on everie kinde of mould:
And who in warre hath caught a fatall clappe,
Might chaunce at home to have no better happe.

178



190 So losse of goodes shall never trouble me
Since God which gives can take when pleaseth him,
But losse of fame or slaundred so to be,
That makes my wittes to breake above their brimme,
And frettes my harte, and lames me every limme:
For Noble minds their honour more esteeme
Than worldly wights, or wealth, or life can deeme.


19l And yet in warres, such graffes of grudge do growe,
Such lewdnesse lurkes, such malice makes mischief,
Such envie boyles, such falshood fire doth blowe,
That Bountie burnes, and truth is called thief,
And good desertes are brought into such brief,
That Saunder snuffe which sweares the matter out,
Brings oftentimes the noblest names in doubt.

192 Then whether I be one of Haughty harte,
Or Greedy minde, or Miser in decay,
I sayde and say that for mine owne poore parte,
I may confesse that Bellum every way,
Is Sweete: but how? (beare well my woordes away)
Forsooth, to such as never did it trie,
This is my Theame I cannot chaunge it I.


Peroratio.

193 O noble Queene, whose high foresight provides,
Prince.

That wast of warre, your realmes doth not destroye,
But pleasaunt peace, and quiet concord glydes,
In every coast, to drive out darke anoye,
O vertuous dame? I say Pardonez moy,
That I presume in worthlesse verse to warne,
Thambitious Prince, his dueties to descerne.

194 Your skilfull minde (O Queene without compare)
Can soone conceyve that cause coinstraynes me so,
Since wicked warres have bredde such cruell care,
In Flaunders, Fraunce, in Spaine and many mo,
Which reape thereby none other worth but wo:
Whiles you (meane while) enjoy the fruites of peace,
Styll praysing God, whose bounties never cease.

M 2

179



195 If you (my liege) vouchsafe in gratious wise,
To pardon that which passeth from my Muse,
Then care I not what other kings devise,
In warres defense: nor though they me accuse,
And say that I their bloudie deedes abuse:
Your onely grace my soveraigne Lady be,
Let other Kings thinke what they list of me.

196 And you my Lordes to whome I dueties owe,
Nobilitie.

And beare such love as best becommeth me,
First Earle of Bedford, whome I right well know,
To honour armes: and woorthie Warwyke he,
In whose good grace I covet sore to be:
Then Leyster next, (Sussex not set behinde)
And worthy Essex men of noble minde.

197 Yong Oxenford as toward as the best,
Northumberland, and Ormount woorthy prayse,
Lyncolne, Kildare, and Worster with the rest
Of noble Earles, which hold your happy dayes
In high renowme, as men of warre alwayes:
With others mo to many to recite,
Vouchsafe my Lordes to pardone that I write.

198 Of Wilton Grey (to whome these rimes I wrote)
With all the Barons bold of English soyle,
I humbly crave that it may be forgotte,
Although my Muze have seemde to keepe a coyle
With mighty men which put the weake to foyle:
I ment not you since, by your deedes appeares,
You rule with right, like wise and worthy peares.

199 Right reverend, of Canterbury chiefe,
Prelace.

London, and Lincoln, Bishoppes by your name,
Good Deane of Pawles (which lend a great relief,
To naked neede) and all the rest of fame,
In pastors place: with whome I were too blame,
If Nevynsone my maister were not plaste,
Since by his helpe I learning first embraste.

180



200 Beare with my verse, and thinke I ment not you,
Whereas I spake of pride in Prelacie,
But let it bide even there where first it grew,
Till God vouchsafe to quench hipocrisie,
Which by pretence to punish heresie,
Doth conquere realmes, and common concords breake,
You know my mind, I neede no playner speake.

201 You gemmes of Justice, chiefe of either bench,
Lawyers.

And he that keepes hir Majesties great seale,
Good Queenes attorney, he whose pitties quench
(I say sometimes) the rigour of his zeale,
When miserie, to mercy must apeale,
And Sergeant Lovelace, many ways my friend,
As I have found (yet let me there not end,)

20[2] But hold my tale to Rugge and all the rest
Of good Grayes Inne, where honest Yelverton,
And I Per se sometimes yfeere did rest,
When amitie first in our brests begonne,
Which shall endure as long as any Sunne
May shine on earth, or water swimme in Seas,
Let not my verse your lawlike minds displease,

203 For well wot you, our master Christ himselfe,
Which had but twelve Apostles in his trayne,
Had Judas yet, which solde for worldly pelfe
Our Saviour: this text is true and playne:
And where so many Lawyers do remayne,
There may be some although that you be none,
Which breede debate and love to cast a bone.

204 In Chancerie I neede no man suspect,
Since conscience, in that court beareth sway,
Yet in the same I may no wayes neglect,
Nor worthy Powle, nor Cordell by the way,
Of whome that one, is of my keepe the keye,
That other once did lende me such advise,
As was both sounde and good, had I bene wise.

181



205 He tolde me once, (I beare it well in minde,
And shall it nay forget whyles lyfe doth last)
That harde it is a noble name to finde,
In such attempts as then in service past:
Beleve me now I founde his wordes no blast,
Wherfore I pray both him and his compeere,
To beare with that which I have written heere.

206 And as for Merchants, though I finde the most
Hard harted men and compting cunningly,
Merchaunts.

Yet Albany shall thinke I do not boast
In rayling wise: for sure his curtesie,
Constreynes me now to prayse him worthely.
And gentle Rowe with Luntley make me say,
That many Merchaunts beare even what they may.

207 But to conclude, I meane no more but thus,
In all estates some one may treade awrye,
And he that list my verses to discusse,
Shall see I ment no more, but modestly
To warne the wise, that they such faults do flie
As put downe peace by covine or debate,
Since warre and strife bryng wo to every state.

FINIS.

182

L'envoie.


GO little Booke, God graunt thou none offende,
For so meant hee which sought to set thee foorth,
And when thou commest where Soldiers seeme to wend,
Submit thy selfe as writte but little woorth:
Confesse withall, that thou hast bene too bolde,
To speake so plaine of Haughtie hartes in place,
And say that he which wrote thee coulde have tolde
Full many a tale, of blouds that were not base:
He coulde have writte Dan Dudleyes noble deedes,
Whose like hath since bene harde on earth to finde,
Although his Vertue shewes it selfe in Seedes,
Which treade his tracks, and come not farre behinde.
He might have sung of Grey the woorthie prayse,
Whose ofspring holdes the honor of his sire:
He coulde declare what Wallop was alwayes,
What Awdelie seemde, what Randell did require.
He coulde say what desertes in Drewrie be,
In Reade, in Bryckwell, and a meany moe:
But bashfulnesse did make him blush, least he
Should but eclypse their fames by singing so.
Suffiseth this, that still he honors those
Which wade in warres to get a woorthie name,
And least esteemes the greedie snudge, which goes
To gayne good golde, witho[u]t respecte of fame.
And for the thirde sorte, those that in dystresse
Do drive their dayes, till drummes do draw them out,
He coumpts him selfe to bee nor more nor lesse,
But even the same: for sure withouten doubt,
If drummes once sounde a lustie martch in deede,
Then farewell bookes, for he will trudge with speede.

FINIS.

Tam Marti quàm Mercurio.

Corected, perfected, and finished.

183



WHo soever is desirous to reade this proposicion more at large and cunningly handled, let him but peruse the Proverbe or adage it self in the first Centurian of the fourth Chyllyade of that famouse Clarke Erasmus Roterodamus: the whiche is there also Entituled: Dulce bellum inexpertis.

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