Abuses stript, and whipt. Or Satirical essayes. By George Wyther. Diuided into two bookes

THE SECOND BOOKE. Of the Vanitie, Inconstancie, Weaknes, and Presumption of MEN. OF VANITIE.

SATYR. 1.

MY Muse, that now hath done the best she can To blaze corrupted Passion bred in man, Goes further here, and meanes for to vndoe, Another knot of ill's he's prone vnto; From which, as out of the main root there growes, All whatsoeuer euill, Mankind knowes, With thousands of bad Humors, of which some, (Such as to mind by obseruation come; As also, such as are the proper crimes Of these vngodly and disorder'd times:) She means to treat off: the chiefe heads be these, (Consider of them Reader if thou please)

First VVanton, and light-headed Vanity, Next that, Camelion-like Inconstancy. Then, miserable Weaknes; lastly this, Damned Presumption, that ore-daring is. But ere I doe begin this worke, that I May speake to purpose with sinceritie, Lord I beseech thee help me to explaine, And teach me to contemne the thing that's vaine, I haue begun in thee this my endeauour, And constancie I craue for to perseuer; Also my knowledge I confesse is weake, Yet through thy strength and truth I hope to breake These mires of sinne, from which mankind, kept vnder, Must be let loose (like beds of Eelles by thunder) Then that I may man's pride the better see, From all Presumption Lord deliuer me. Likewise disperse the foggy mist of sinne, That to my purpose hath a hindrance bin, And th' euill by thy wisedome I perceiue, Lord let thy mercy giue me grace to leaue; That being free my selfe, I may not coldly, Tax others faults but reprehend them boldly. So hauing for this good assistance praid, My Muse goes forward trusting to thine ayd, To guide me in the Wildernes of Sinne, Great Vanities Suruey: for being in, I see now 'tis an intricate Maeander, In which (I feare) I shall confus'dly wander: It is a Labyrinth so full of wayes, And seemes so endlesse if my pen o••ce strayes,

As doth the Fisherman amazed stand, That knoweth not, which way to row to land, When all alone in some close misty day; Far from the Hauen he hath lost his way. Knowing he may as well strike vp the Maine, As turne vnto the wished Shore againe; So I doe feare least this may carry me, Into an Ocean where no Sea-marks be. Because what way so ere my course I bend, There Vanity I see without all end; Which hath not vnder her Subiection gain'd Such things alone as are on earth containd, Or vnderneath the Orbs of Ayre and Fire, But reaches farther and encroaches higher; According to his meaning, who said plaine, That all things vnderneath the Sunne were vaine: But now I thinke it may a question be, Whether the Sunne, the Moone and Starres be free, For sometimes false predictions they impart, Or are belyed by abused Art; But of Man onely here my Muse must tel's Who is by much more vaine then all things els. For Vanity his reason ouerswayes, Not onely on some certaine Monthes or Dayes, But is at all times in him resident, As if it were his proper accident; Neither doth age, in which he groweth on, Any thing lessen the proportion Of Vanities he had. But in the steed, Of some reiected follies there succeed

Others as bad: for we perceiue when boyes, Begin to Man, (asham'd of childish toyes) These then leaue off, their former idle chat, And foolish games; but what's the cause of that? For being ill? No; rather they contemne Those bad things as not bad enough for them; And as one poore, playes first for points and pins, Once growing rich leaues that, and then begins To venture Crownes, dislikes not gaming tho He shun the first game as not fit enough, For his estate; So yong men doe forsake, The rope-ripe tricks, that their first age did take Cheef pleasure in; not cause they wicked deem them But being men they think't will not beseeme them; Then Hounds & Haukes, & Whores a•• their delight; Quarrels and Braules doe fit their humors right, Disordred meetings, Drunken Reuellings, Consuming Dice, and lauish Banquettings, Proud, costly Robes, this is the yong mans Vaine, The which his Elder doth dislike againe, Not since ill neither: But because his yeares, Him vnto other Vanities endeares; As Selfe Conceit, much Care for worldly pelfe, Heaping vp what he nere enioyes himselfe, Prone to Contentions, much desiring still, Be it his weale, or woe, to haue his will. Extreamely louing lies, and giuen to prate, Yet making shew as if he both did hate: Yea old men boast of what they did in youth, VVhich none disproouing we must take for truth:

And thousands more or else they are belied, Each age is pester'd with; and yet beside, Vanities••proper vnto each degree, Millions of thousands I suppose there be. Princes haue these, They very basely can, Suffer themselues that haue the rule of man, To be oreberne by Villaines; so insteed, Of Kings they stand, when they are slaues indeed. By blood and wrong a heauenly Crowne thei'l danger T' assure their State heere (often to a stranger.) They quickly yeeld vnto the Battaries, Of slye insinuating flatteries, Most bountifull to fooles, too full of feare, And far to credulous of that they heare. So giuen to pleasure, as if in that thing, Consisted all the Office of a King. But if heere in my harmeles halting Rimes, Were onely ti'de vnto this Place and Times, And shold of none but of my Soueraigne tell, Spight of her heart she could not speake but well; For (I suppose) the Truth I must confesse. That Vanity no Prince ere harbord lesse Then IAMES hath done; vnlesse corrupted stories, Rob's former ages of deserued Glories. If any say to sooth I now deuise, His heart I know wil tel his tong he lies, For did I not thinke true what heere I Sing, I'de not wrong Iustice for to please the King. Great men are vaine toe, In much se••king Fames, With Nimrod and his Mates; they raise their Names

By building Babels; yea and they suppose, Honour consists in Titles and in showes. They Thraso-like in Parasites delight, That do in presence claw, in absence bite. They vse their Pleasures not as pleasures now, Or Recreations as 'twere fit, but how? 'Tis all their care, their cheefe and only ioy, In satisfying which; they doe employ, Both wealth and wit and all. if they would take Somthing in hand for recreations sake, They are wi••h pleasures so o'recloy•• we see, It must be that which their affaires should be, A wondrous Vanity! And their Care, Is for rich rayment and the Curioust fare; Pam••ring their flesh when all is but in vaine, For Dust it was and shal to Dust againe. Then since their euils we seeme not to see, In vaine they think that they wel thought of be; Tush, men their lewdnes cease for to repeat, Why: cause th' are faultles? no because th' are great•• But for their vices though now none dare shew the,̄ Vnlesse they mend another age shal know them; And therefore if they count their Honors deare, Let them be Good as wel as Great men heare; Let them leaue Vanity and not suppose, The World wil euer blinded be with showes, For that great mighty Peere that died so lately, Ere while was mighty, powerful, and stately, He was most croucht vnto and oft implor'd, Yea almost like a Demi-God ador'd;

He onely (as my selfe haue heard some prate,) Was the vpholder of the Brittaine State. And all the wit this Kingdome did containe, Some thought was harbor••d in his little braine, Ahd had he liu'd (if all be true men say) He might haue wel beene Pater Patriae. But now alas hees gone, and all his Fame You sees not able to preserue his name From foule Reproach; but each one breaks his mind Which shewes though they winkt they were not blind In spight of all his Greatnes, 'tis wel knowne That store of Rimes, and Libels now are sowne In his disgrace: But I heare diuers say, That they are slanders, (then the more knaues they That were the Authors) but if so it be, He were from those vild imputations free; If that his Vertue's paid with such a curse, What shal they looke for that are ten times worse? Wel Nobles Ile the Court ere long suruay, And if I find among you such as stray, Through Vanity or Pride; vnlesse it be, Into some small faults through infirmity, If there be no man that dare taxe you for't, My Muse shal do it e'ne to make me sport, For though she keepe but a plaine hobling forme, Shee shall haue wit enough to make you storme. I wil not spare you thus, til death do fet yee, But rub you whilst you are aliue to fret yee. Yet do not think •• meane to blaze your shame, In scattered Libels, that shal want a name.

No; I hate that: Ile tell the illes you doe, And put my name for witnesse therevnto. Then 'tis but fetching me ad Magistratum, And laying to me Scandalum Magnatum, Which though you proue not, rather yet then faile, You were best hang or clap me into Iaile To stay my tongue; so much you may do to me, And thats the worst I know that you can do me. But whether runnes my ouer-sawcy Pen? There's Vanity, besides in Noblemen. The Gentleman, for some repute but Vaine, Beyond his power oftentimes doth straine, Our Yeomen toe that neuer Armes haue borne To Gentillize it makes themselues a scorne; But their Gaine's enuy, with a greater charge; Yet of these fooles the Catalogue is large. Then ere that lesson be halfe taken forth, They must ad Knight-hood or 'tis nothing worth: Mony may get it, therefore many sue it, Although with shame and Beggery they ••rue it. And Credit they expect in vaine thereby, For it turnes rather to their infamy; Because it is bestowne without deserts, And yet in troth our Knights haue done their parts. For most haue well deseru'd it, but as how? Brauely in field, en'e in a field at Plow. But why looke we in meere Humanity, For that which sauors not of Vanity, Since Diuine matters cannot quite be free, But with the same must oft corrupted be?

Diuines, striue not so much for to impart, The truest Doctrines as to shew their Art: The grace their speach more with vaine words for sound, Then with graue sayings, needful and profound; But tis a vaine thing, wondrous full of shame, And in my iudgement highly merits blame, To paint o're that whose beautie's neuer fuller, Then when it shines forth in it proper Colour. Againe they striue what Ceremonies fit And best beseemes the Church, meane while omit More weighty matters; who that's wise would stand, Like many wrangling spirits in this land, Vpon such idle Questions as they know, 'Tis no great matter on which side they goe? And such as best in my conceit befits, None but vnquiet and seditious wits. Heeres my Opinion: be they not the cheefe Grounds of Religion, or the same Beleefe Saluation comes by, that men go about By their inuentions for to bring in doubt, So't be not that they touch, (as sure they dare not) Let all the rest go which way 'twill I care not, Haue not our Lawyers many vaine delayes, Vnnecessary Writs and idle staies, For to prolong mens suites? when they might foile, The party faulty e'ne with halfe that quoile, They'l for their fee relate some pretty tale, Like the wise story of old Iack i'ith vale, Which (if they once haue thorowly begun) Vndo them quite that tarry til't be done.

Iack Doe, Dick Roe with whom y'ad ne're to doe, Theile bring to help your cause and God knowes who And for your benefit they can affoord, Many a foolish sencelesse idle word. Which they I know will not account as vaine, Since that 'tis with a Vengeance brings them gaine. Besides as I suppose their lawes they pen'd, In their old Pedlers French vnto this end The Vulgar should no farther knowledge reach, Then what shall please their Maisterships to teach; Or else they haue the selfe-fame policie, As the Professors of damn'd Papistry, Who Sacred writ in forraine tongues conceal'd, Least that their knauish trickes should be reueal'd. What can they not in our owne language find, Words of sufficient force t' expresse their mind? That cannot be denied, but tis a trouble, So easily to counterfeit and double In a knowne Tongue, when th' other but a few, Can vnderstand, but that obstreperous Crew. These make the lawes almost to none effect, Their courses are so wondrous indirect, To them they fauour they delaies can grant, Though Iustice her due expedition want. Sometimes vpon one matter we may see, That sundry iudgments shal pronounced be; Now theres a motion granted, next day crost, So fee and labour's to no purpose lost: And stil the Clrent shal be so deluded, That when he hope's al's done there's nought con∣cluded

Nay though we heare the vtmost sentence past, Which by all course of Law should be the last▪ Why then, I say, (though all seeme wholly ended) Yet may the Execution be suspended: And for some trifle, to the poore mans terror, Be cald in question by a Writ of Error. So that the right oft yeelds vnto the stronger, VVhen poore mens purses can hold out no longer. Oh miserable state! what should we say? May not the Country think themselues a prey These Rauens liue on? May we not suppose, By their delayes, and some such tricks as those, They practise only for to cheat and gull; And on our ruines fil their gorges full? Yes questionlesse; for they, Themselues do raise, Vnto this height on other mens decayes, Not their owne Vertu••s; Oh though't be too late, Yet let me wish that we had kept the State And Simple Innocence we once retain'd, For then we had not of this ill complain'd, Nor yet those moouers of sedition knowne, (Now to a mony-headed monster growne.) But since that time is past, we may complaine, Yet must nere looke to see those dayes againe, We haue good Lawes, but they too, seeme in vaine, Since they according to each Lawyers braine, May be now wrested too and fro to make The matter good that he doth vndertake; I'le say it plainely, and yet not belye them, Theres few but rich-men can haue iustice by them.

And pray you iudge now, is not that Law vaine? Which when it is enacted (to restraine, Some priuiledge or custome that hath stood As a great hinderance to the publike good) Should of it Vertue be so slightly gui'd, As by a licence to be disanuld. Moreouer there be some too much to blame, Or poenall lawes are onely lawes in vaine, Made in terrorem tantum, to affright And not for execution of the right: And I may liken them vnto those logges, That Iupiter threw downe to rule the frogges; At first they come forth with such thundring terror, That we doe tremble to commit an error, But in a day or two they are so still, For ought I see, we may doe what we will, Vnlesse that we be poore; or some despight vs, Then peraduenture thei'le go neere to fright vs A tweluemonth after; if so long they last, Twenty to one then all the furie's past. Did you but note it you would much admire, To see how strictly Iustices inquire, On daies of sitting, what Abuses raigne, How those they threate that slackly doe complain, How they wil raile and fume, and chafe, and storme As if all evils they would quite reforme Within a moment: But things violent Cannot you know be long time permanent, Nor is their zeale; for surely (God amend it) One twise twelue howers will begin and end it.

But why are they so earnest then? oh know, That the small springs within the dales below, Glide gently on, vntill a land-flood fils Their empty channels from the higher hils. But when thei'le swell vntill they can discharge, Their Burthens in some plaine to runne at large, So these low Magistrates, would gladly sleepe, And their owne easie crooked Channels keepe; But when that any Streame of Ivstice showers, And comes downe to them from the Higher powers Then peraduenture the'le grow big a day, And Iustice shall haue course the nearest waie: Yet in a little space she must be faine, To runne within their winding banks againe. Some falsely haue affirmed Iusti••e blind, Yet I am sure she knows how to finde (If that she be disposed for to looke,) Who giues her daie-workes by her counting books. Nay she knowes Capon, Turkey, Goose or Swan And thee I warrant from another Man What ere thou be: But whilest she sees so plaine, It is no wonder we haue lawes in vaine, Also when Officers doe vndertake Their charge at first, Lord what a quoile they make A drunkard cannot with his capring feete, Cut out Indentures, as he walkes the streete, But he's straight stockt for't, or for his offence, By fining to the poore he must dispence. Then those perhaps that slackly doe frequent Gods deuine Seruice, somewhat shall be shent;

And many other goodly deeds thei'le do, But these grow quickly weary of them toe. Againe, sometimes comes out a Proclamation, Which threatens, on the paine of Confiscation, That no Recusant doe presume to stay Within ten miles oth' Court from such a day, Yet sure 'tis notwithstanding ment, that some Should daily to the Presence Chamber come, And shroud within a furlong on't or two; Some Great-one's may; and so I hope they doe, And by their owne Authority no doubt, May keepe the rest from danger thereabout, Pish, they at such a matter will but scoffe 'Cause they know surely how to put it off. Yet I'le not say it is in vaine; for why The Printer's sometime set on worke thereby: And 'tis moreouer for our satisfaction. Who else might think the State were out of action, But oh you noble English Senators Our Kingdomes Guard, and Princes Counsellors How can you see your labours so mis-vs'd? Or brooke, to haue your Soueraigne so abus'd? Doe you suppose that it deserues no blame, To make a Scar-crow of the Regall Name? And to erect it on some common stall, For to be gaz'd on, to no end at all? Respect it more; and vse it not for course Or fashions sake; but shew it hath some force. Pluck out those Vipers that for feare of harme Their chilled spirits in your bosomes warme:

D'ye not perceiue their stings? No danger feare yet? Oh 'tis apparant let them not shroud neere yee? For if you doe, 'tis doubtlesse the Conclusion, If God preuent not will be your Confusion. Yet all (for ought I see) should still remaine, Were there not some, who (out of zeale to Gaine More then Religion, or their Countries weale,) Their scuruie base conditions doe reueale, In begging and in rifling of some few; But they their owne corruptions rather shew Then redresse any. More I here could vtter But I methinkes already heare some mutter, As if I should be sure of R••mes great curse: But then ••'me sure I shall be ne're the worse. Yea, let them go to Rome, curse, ban, & spare not, I'le sit at home and laugh; because I care not, But why doe I of Lawes alone complaine, Since all Man deales in, is in some sort vaine? Religion is with Ceremonies stuft, And with vaine-glory and presumption puft, Now our Almes-de••ds and guifts of Charitie, Are done for shew and with hypocrisie. Yea, al's made vaine, for if you would but view Our Vniuersities; indeed 'tis true, There you may yet see, how that heretofore, In better daies, hath been erected store Of Pallaces; (whose curious build are still, A faire remembrance of the worke-mens skill) Which, least that knowledge in the land should fade, VVere by the Patrons of good learning made,

That there the Muses shelter'd from the rages Of former, present, and succeeding ages Might safely liue and not beholding be To Pyren for his hospitality. 'Tis also true, there wants not, to sustaine Their proper needs, nor yet to entertaine Such as desire knowledge, theres enough; The worthy Founders haue prouided so, But of these profits now why make they stay? Best sel't, or let some Courtier beg't away. For publike Guifts are turn'd to priuate vses, Faire Colledges are ful of foule Abuses. And their Reuenues I account as vaine, Because they lazy Dunces do maintaine, Who to themselues do claime the profits, by Nothing but witlesse Seniority. Such as saue Beard (with reuerence be it spoken) Of profound learning haue nor marke nor token. Good Founders dreaming not of these Abuses, Gaue them at first to charitable vses; But we find now all alter'd, and the dues, The which by right vpon desert ensues, Like Offices in Court, are bought and sould, And places may be had, but how? for gold, There as else-where they now are growne so bad, Without Quid dabis nothing can be had, 'Tis strange to see what Auarice can doe, But are the Muses taken with it to? Oh no? for they esteeme such gaine a losse, And their high Spirits scorne such earthly drosse▪

How then? There are some Cormorants crept in, Who in their youth pretended to haue bin Addicted vnto knowledge: when alas. Tis wel seene since that all their purpose was To snort in ease; augmenting still their store, Til they grow wealthy and their houses poore; Foule droanes, whose voices must be hir'd with mo∣ny Steruing the Bees, while they deuoure the hony. But oh you Birdes of Athens, cleare your Hals And driue those lazy Hornets from your stals. Through them it is men thinke you couetous, They make your groues and walks grow scanda∣lous, But how wil you discerne them? Marry thus, Since they haue made themselues notorious Ile point them out; And though their heads they shroud As Venus did Aeneas in a cloud, I'le so vnmask them; if their eares they show You shal be able to say, there they goe. First note them; there are some by Bribes and Fees, Can soone passe thorough two or three Degrees: And if they sue for ought are not deni'de it: When better Students must be put beside it. Then there be others who their nests to fether, Can keepe in office nineteene yeares together, Enforcing many vnto penury, To haue wherewith to feed their luxury. Note you not some at fifty winters study, That haue their wits so thin and braines so muddy, They must procure of other men to doe, The excercises they were cal'd vnto?

And sit there not of Dunces pretty store, From Sunne to Sunne at euery tradesman dore? Huge fat Curm••dgeons? tell me, I think no, Do Commons of Three halfe-pence feed them so? Or can such puffes so Humberkinlike set, Into a Pulpit once in seauen yeare get? Sure if they do, their memorie's so weake, When they come there they know not what to speake, Nor are they halfe so fit if't came to proofe. To serue for Pastors as to hang at Roofe, It is no maruaile then that blockish rout, Retaine their places and keep better out, For no good Patron that doth Conscience make, Will vnto them the Charge of soules be take: Because if such, the flock of Christ should keepe, No question they would make but Carion Sheepe. Then they must stay, yet in their stay thei'le be A plague vnto the Vniuersity. For ouer and aboue the mischeefes nam'd The vice for which the younger sort is blam'd, They are most guilty of; for forc't to tarry, Through want; and by their lawes forbid to marry. Thence springs it that the Townes-men are reputed, Thus by a common voyce to be Cornuted: For I haue knowne that such haue daily beene, Where younger scollers neuer durst be seene. And all (vnlesse that they haue eyes like Moles) May see those Foxes vse the Badgers holes. Nor hath their lewdnesse in that action staid, But on the place a fouler blemish laid.

Which heere Indeed I do forbeare to name, Least it be to the place I loue, a shame; And for because I feare some spitefull mates, May taxe them with it that such dealing hates, Brought in by them; for who is so impure, But he that liueth like an Epicure. Oh Mues seeke in time to root these weeds, That mar your Gardens, and corrupt your seeds, And you that are appoynted Visitors, Who ought for to be strict Inqui••••tors, To search the foule abuses of these Times And see them punisht Oh! let these my Rimes Moue you for to reforme this villany; Or let the hate of damned Periury Stir vp your zeale these euils to restraine If not for loue of good for feare of paine: Which else (though you set light as at your heele) As sure as God is Iust, your soules shall feele. Do you not see now all the wondrous Cost Of worthy Benefactors vainely lost, The Lands, Reuenues, Customes, Charters, Rents Which they haue left for diuers good intents Vainely employed; see the Student poore For whom it was ordain'd stands at the doore And may not enter, whilst the golden Asse, Is quietly admitted for to passe, And shroud himselfe within those sacred gates, Which wer't not for commodity he hates. You sacred Genii that did once attend Those wel deuoted Patrons to their end;

Although your bodies be entoomb'd in claie, Since you suruiue, because you liue for aye; Looke downe on your abused guifts and see, be, What oddes twix't th' vse and your good meanings Come and behold how the laborious sits, Sharing some hungry Commons, scarce two bits; And that but when a double gauday haps Full glad alas at other times with scraps; While that the Lazy Dunce on dainties feeds; Oh come (I say) if you respect your deeds, And fright them with some ghastly visions thence, They may haue more remorse for their offence. If I could take on me some monstrous forme; I'de either make them their bad liues reforme, Or hare them quicke to hell: But I am vaine, Thus for to inuocate, or to complaine, Because I doubt this fault will nere be mended, Vntill all euill with the world be ended. Learning is vaine too, or so made at least, Consider it, I speake it not in iest; Doe we not see that those who haue consum'd, Halfe a mans age in Schooles, and haue assum'd Degrees of Art, and howrely ouer-looke, Many a leafe, many a wise-mans booke, Still studying to know; fellowes that can, As they themselues thinke, put downe any man, That dares of Predicables to dispute, Yea such as can to, if need be, refute Knowne Truths; and that in Metaphisicall, Much more I thinke in matters Naturall,

Seeme greatly read. Doe we not see I say? That these from study being tane away, For some employments in the Publike weale, A man would be ashamed to reueale Their simple carriage? sooner theile speak Treason, Then any thing that shall be law, or Reason. Aske their opinions but of this or that, Thei'le tell a Tale they scarcely know of what; And at the last you must be well apaid, With This the Poet, or This Tully said; So other mens opinions shall be showne, But very seldome any of their owne: What is't to heape vp a great multitude, Of words and sayings like a Chaos rude, For to be able for to bring in Plato, Great Aristotle, with the wiseman Cato: And diuers more, yet like a blockish Elfe, Be able to say nought at all himselfe? As if it were all well and he had paid it, If he can once say, Such a man hath said it. Then by their actions, who gather can They haue more knowledge then another man? Since they doe worse absurdities commit, Then thoe that seeme their Iuniors in wit, As if they thought it were enough to know, And not with knowledge vnto practise goe. Those may be learned and of learning p••ate, But for affaires of Country, or of State In my conceit they are as farre vnfit As fooles and mad-men that haue lost their wit;

And notwithstanding all their studious paine, I count their learning and their Knowledge vaine▪ But thinke not I, hold Knowledge vaine to be, Or all that in the Vniuersitie, Mispend their Times; vntiftting men to deale About employments of the Common-weale. No; for I euer this accompt did make, That there are those know best to vndertake, Great Offices; and surely such as haue Both knowledge and desert: yet shall they saue But their owne credits: Th'other who are knowne To haue no gifts of nature of their owne, For all their knowledge gotten in the Schooles, Are worse by much ods then vnlearned Fooles. Now thou that wouldst know rightly these mens state Goe but a while and talke with Coryate And thou wilt soone be able to maintaine, And say with me that Learning's somewhere vaine. Then if there were ordain'd no other place, Where now-despised-Vertue should haue grace, She were vaine to, and those that lou'd her best Were to be counted vaine aboue the rest. For they be sure, of these worldly Crosses, And whosoere gaine, theirs must be the losses, Iustice is wanting so; for if that men Commit an ill, the Law giues smart, but when They doe performe a vertuous deed 'tis hard, There's no Law heere that giues them a Reward. Nay if a man by wrong suspition be, Brought vnto any wofull misery.

If he be wrackt and tortur'd so that Death May pleasure him by stopping of his breath: And if at last by proofes it doth appeare, That he of the suspected crime is cleare, Onely he may his life by that meanes saue, But shall no other satisfaction haue. Yea, and he must be glad and well content He hath his life for being Innocent: Whereof he would full glad haue ridden bin, To scape the torments they had plung'd him in, Tis meere Iniustice, And I say againe For to be vertuous in this age 'twere vaine; But that it one day shall rewarded be, By heauens chast iustice with eternitie. I will not heere take paines for to reueale The vaine trades crept into our Common-weale: Onely Ile say, and so I thinke will any, Would there were lesse, for such there be too many. But I must needesly shew their Sympathy, Who make their treasures and felicitie Of things meere friuolous, As Honour, Srength, Pleasure, and VVealth, & Beauty, which at length, Yea in short time must Fade; Titles wrong plac't Without desert, are not alone disgrac't, And loose that reputation of their owne, But shame them too, on whom they are bestowne▪ VVhat Noblenesse of Birth but meerely vaine, Vnlesse that in the linage there remaine, Some noble qualitie? which in them bred, They haue deriu'd from predecessors dead?

What's Honor? but e'ne Smoke and Idle 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ A thing consisting onely in a name? Which if you take away then you take all, (For Alexanders glory was not small,) Yet were he namelesse, what would then remaine, For to inherit Honour for his paine, Since that his best part from the earth is fled, And t'other though remaining here, now dead? Then if that Honour doe aduantage bring, To Soule nor Body, but doth wholly cling Vnto the name: who Care, or Paines would take If he be wise, such Trophirs for to make Vnto the same, which may inioyed be, By many thousand other men, whilst he Rots; and which three mens vertues, I'le maintaine, Grace not so much as one mans vice shall staine? Wer't onely for a name, that men did well, And stroue in vertues others to excell, What good had Symon the Apostle gain'd More then the wicked Sorcerer obtain'd? And how should we giue each of them his fame Who liuing, being two, had but one name? Were outward Honour all that vertue got, He were a wise-man that esteem'd it not. But shee's the bodies comfort till it die, And soules Companion to eternitie. Vulgar Repute, what is thereby acquired? Why is't so glorious, and so much desired? But I doe chiefely maruell what they ment, That haue prefer'd it before their content.

I hold it vaine and wondrous friuolous, Extreamely foolish, or ridiculous, That any man should stand in greater feare, What they doe vnto other men appeare Then their owne consciences; or striue, (poore elues) To seeme to other, God, when to themselues Th'are worse then Diuels; why, I say, should they With vaine repute be so much borne away? And why boast men of strength that lasts no longer? And seeing the brute creatures are farre stronger; A woman may blind Sampson with her charmes, And little Dauid slay a man at armes, For God doth make, as holy Scriptures speake, Strong things to be confounded by the weake. Then some are vaine in pleasures, like to him, VVho for because he in delights would swim, In these his daies to please his fiue brute senses, Made twenty hundred crowns one nights expences▪ I onely cease for to declare his name, Least he should hap to vaunt vpon the same. But why in Beauty should men glory so? As well we may perceiue there's many do; Since 'tis no better then a fading flower, That florishes, and withers in an hower. It could not saue the good King Dauids sonne For being iustly by his foes vndone; Nay, their's searce any that enioy the same Can keepe vnto themselues an honest name. VVe see moreouer men vaine-glorious grow, In building and apparrell; al's for show;

And yet the Prince that's gorgioust in array, Must lie as naked as his Groome in clay. And though that men to build so curious be, How worthy of contempt it is we see, In that th'arch-King of heauen, earth and all, Was very well contented with a Stall. What mind are they in who suppose to raise, By such a vanity an endlesse praise? VVhen as they dayly see by obseruation, Time vtterly decayes the strongst Foundation. Where are those wondrous high Pyramides, That were admired at in former daies? And of those huge Colossi what remaines? (Which to erect now were an endlesse paines) Nothing almost; no scarce his name that spent The paine and cost of such a Monument: If that be so, how much more vanity, Is it to hope for fames eternity, By such sleight trifles whose ground-worke needs mending Before the roofe be brought vnto an ending? Againe some thinke how e're their liues they spend Yet if they can attaine to in the end A glorious Funerall, and be inter'd VVith idle pompe and show, or be prefer'd In a bald Sermon, for some one good deed They did the Common-wealth for their owne need, Or by their owne, or friends procurement haue On their vnworthy scarce-deserued graue A goodly Epitaph; they thinke al's well; Alas poore silly men! what can they tell

How long 'twill stand, before 't be razed downe? But say it bide a while, what faire renowne, Can in a peece of carued Marble be? VVhat can a guilded Tombe then profit thee? Preserue thy fame? I know it cannot passe, The wondrous Heape that once erected was, And yet e'ne at this day doth now remaine Not farre from Sarum on the VVesterne plaine, Yet who can say directly, (or what story Doth absolutely mention) for whose glory That was first founded? or by whom? or why? And if a Deed of such great wonder die, Dost thou suppose by a few Carued stones, Scarcely enough to couer all thy bones To be immortall? If thou long to liue After thy death, why then let Vertue giue And adde that liuing glory to thy name; Let her sound forth the Trumpet of thy fame, And it shall last; for she knowes how to place it; Nor time, nor enuy shall haue power to race it. I say endeuour to be vertuous heere, So shall thy sacred memory be deere To those that liue, aud whil'st thy Body lies, Entomb'd on earth, thy Soule shall mount the skies. But if in pleasure thou hast liued long, And tooke delight in seeking bloud and wrong: VVhen that the euill day shall come to end thee, The curse of the oppressed shall attend thee, Thy soule shall pay for't; and the selfe-same Graue Thou for thy Honour didst suppose to haue

Shall be thy Shame; for those that trauell by it Shall often curse it, yea deride, defie it; And to each other say, There doth he lie, That acted such, or such a villany. Then why should gay clothes be delighted in, Since they are but a badge of our first sinne? And yet 'tis strange to know how many fashions, We borrow now a daies from sundry Nations. Some, but a few, in Irish trouzes goe, And they must make it with a codpeece too, Some (as the fashion they best like) haue chose The soruce diminitiue neat Frenchmans hose Another lik't it once but now hee'll chop, Or chang't as we say for the Switzers slop; And cause sometimes the fashions we disdaine, Of Italy, France, Netherland and Spaine, Weele fetch them farther yet, for by your leaues We haue Morisco gownes, Barbarian sleeues, Polonian shooes, with diuers far-fetcht trifles, Such as the wandring English gallant rifles Strange Countries for; Besides our Taylors know, How best to set apparell out for show. It either shall be gathered, sticht; or lac't, Else plated, printed, iag'd, or cut and rac't, Or any way according to your will, For we haue now a daies learn'd much vaine skill: But note you when these geu-gaues once be made, And that this cunning Maister of his Trade Must bring it home, Then lies all the iest, To see vvhen the poore slaue hath done his best

To mend what faults he can (for by his trade, He can set right what Nature crooked made) VVhen he hath fitted to his power, and trickt, Whom he wold please; when he hath brusht & pickt E'ne till he sweate againe: Yet (though he spies Scarce any fault) You Rogue the Gallant cries. A plague confound thee; looke here how this sits, Zounds 'tis a mile too wide; where were thy wits? See, this is halfe too long that halfe too short, 'Sbloud I could finde in heart to knock thee for't. Then for the faults behind he lookes in glasse, Straight raues againe and cals his Tayler Asse, Villaine, and all the Court-like names he can, Why I'le be iudg'd (saies he) here by my man, If my left shoulder seeme yet in his sight, For all this bumbast halfe so big's the right. How is he seru'd? This day he should haue went, With such a Lord or Lady into Kent: To Hampton Court to morrow comes the Queene, And there should he with certain friends haue bin, Now he shall faile. Villaine go straight and mend it And see with all the speed you can, you send it: Or by my sword the Gallant sweares he will Make thee to wait twise twelu-months with thy Bil If e're he pay thee. Then the other takes it, Carries it home againe: turnes, rubs, and shakes it, Lets it lye still an houre or so, and then As if 'twere alter'd beares it back againe; Then 'tis so fit, our Gallant cannot tell That e're he had Apparel made so well.

Ere-while, saies he, faith I was anger'd sore, Why couldst thou not haue done it thus afore▪ With many gentle speeches in amends, And so these two vaine fooles grow quickly friends, VVhat shall Isay of our superfluous fare? Our beastly, vaine, and too excessiue care To please the belly? We, that once did feed On homely rootes and hearbs, do now exceed The Persian Kings for dainties; In those coates A man would think they liu'd with hay and ••a••es, The diet they are growne vnto of late, Excels the Feasts, that men of high estate Had in times past, for there's both flesh and fish, With many a dainty new deuised dish. For bread they can compare with Lords or Knights, For they haue raueld, manchet, browne and white, Of finest wheate: Their drinkes are good and stale, For Perry, Cider, Mead, Metheglin, Ale, Or Beere they haue great plenty of; but then This cannot serue the richer sort of men. They with all sorts of forraine wines are sped; Their cellers are oft fraught with white and red, Be 't French, Italian, Spanish, if they craue it: Nay Grecian or Canarian, they may haue it, Catepument, Veruage, if they doe desire, Or Romney, Bastard, Capricke, Oley, Tire, Muscadel, Malmsey, Clarey, what they will; Both head and belly each may haue their fill. Then if their stomacks doe disdaine to eate, Beefe, Mutton, Lambe, or such like Butchers meate;

If that they cannot feed on Capon, Swan, Duck, Goose, or common houshold Poultry; than Their storehouse will not very often faile, To yeeld them Partrich, Phesant, Plouer, Quaile, Or any dainty fowle that may delight, Their gluttonous and beastly appetite. So they are pamper'd whilst the poore man sterues, Yet there's not all, for Custards, Tarts, Conserues, Must follow to; And yet they are no let For Suckets, March-panes, nor for Marmalet. Frute, Florentines▪ sweet sugar meats and spice, VVith many an other idle fond deuise, Such as I cannot name, nor care to know; And then besides the tast 'tis made for show, For they must haue it cullour'd, guilded, Printed, With shapes of Beasts & Fowles, cut, pincht, indented, So idly that in my conceit 'tis plaine, That men are foolish and exceeding vaine, And howsoe'er they of Religion boast, Their belly is the God they honour most. But see whereto this dainty time hath brought vs, The time hath been that if a Famine caught vs, And left vs neither Sheepe, nor Oxe, nor Corne, Yet vnto such a diet were we borne, Were we not in our Townes kept in bith' foe, The woods and fields had yeelded vs enough To content Nature: And then in our needs Had we found either leaues, or grasse, or weeds, We could haue liu'd, as now at this day can Many a fellow-subiect Iris••man.

But in this age, if onely Wheate doe rise To any extraordinary prize: Of if that we haue Cheese or Butter scant, Though almost nothing else that is, we want; Lord how we murmor, grumble, fret and pine, As if we would vpbraid the powers Diuine; Yea we prouoke God, as sometime the Iewes Did Moses; and with vs it is no newes. But you that are so like to sterue in plenties, Because you are a little bar'd your dainties, Leaue of your Luxury; let me intreat; Or there will come a Famine shall be great: When Soule nor Body neither, shall haue food, Or any thing to comfort them that's good. We talke of scarcity: yet here there came No want this twenty ages, worth the name Of Famine; but our gentle God hath bin, Exceeding mercifull vnto our sin. VVheat at ten shillings, makes no dearth of bread, Like theirs; where once (we read) an Asses head, Cost foure-score siluer peeces; where Doues dong, VVas highly pris'd: and mothers eate their yong; There famine raign'd. Pray in the like we fall not; If we can fast with Niniue we shall not. But truely much I feare the same, vnlesse VVe doe leaue off our gluttonous excesse, For though we quaffe and swill much time away, Yet three set Meales will scarce suffice a day To satisfie our lust; whereas but one, Suffis'd our predecessors, sometime none.

It were a worke too tedious to quote The sundry vanities that we may note Sprung from this Greedinesse, as our Long-sitting, A custome rather in my mind befitting Pagans and Epicures, then honest men. But 'tis a vse now common growne; and then This Fo••lery we haue; we nothing deeme Worthy of our desire, or esteeme, Saue that which we haue either dearely bought, Or far-away from forraine kingdomes brought: Yea notwithstanding here in our land, Those things be better; and more neere at hand. Yet we out of an idle humor are, Much more affected to all Forraine ware Then to our owne: although the same be best. So that this vainenesse doth not onely rest In meates, and in apparell; but 'tis showne In many things; we least affect our owne. Our home-made Cloth, now quoddam est inanum, We are for Serges and Perpetnanum; With other stuffe, as Crow-graine, Chamblets, Rash. And such like new deuised forraine trash. Yea though our natiue country-men excell In any Trade, we like them not so well As we doe strangers: (and in very deed) I thinke for vaine inuentions they exceed. And then moreouer when we doe not want Any good wholesome hearbe, or fruit, or plant, That may be necessary, fit or good, Either to serue for Phisick or for food,

Yet those we leaue, as if we did abhorre them, And send to seeke in other Kingdomes for them. So while we onely make our vse of them, Our better home-bred Simples we contemne. (Oh Vanity) our country yeelds enough, VVhat need we Grecian or Arabian stuffe? Why send we for them to those Countries thus? 'Twas planted there for them and not for vs: What though it help them of diseases there? The Climate, yea, and our complexions are So different, for ought that I can gather, Heer 't may not help our griefs, but poison's rather. My selfe haue heard some Trauellers to say, That which will salue their wounds within a day, That of the farthest Easterne Countries be, VVill not recure an Englishman in three. Then sure if we should vse that medicine heere, It would not help nor cure vs in a yeare. Trust me I thinke, this ouermuch respecting Of Forraine Compounds, and the still neglecting Of our owne Symples is the cause that wee So little better for our Phisicke be; Some in their writings praise Tobacco much, Perhaps the vertue of it may be such As they haue said, where first the simple grew, But if it be replanted heere a new, From it owne soile where natures hand did place it, I dare not with those properties to grace it VVhich there it had; nor can the Vertue bide VVhen 'tis transported to our region, dri'd.

Yet almost 'tis a wonder to behold, How generally now both yong and old Suck on that forraine weed: for so they vse it, Or rather (to speake right) so they abuse it, In too oft taking, that a man would thinke It were more needfull then their meate or drinke▪ But what's their reason? doe not aske them why, For neither can they tell you that, nor I: Vnlesse 't be this: So they haue seene some doe Forsooth, and therefore they must vse it too. Nay, wonder not; The Sunne lights not a Nation That more addicteth Apish imitation Then doe we English: Should a stranger come And weare his doublet fastned to his Bumme: Pluck gloues on's feet, & put his hands in's shoes, And we are his Rings and Iewels on his toes. And come so tired to our English Court, Attended in some strange preposterous sort; Most of our Courtiers would make much ado, But they would get into that fashion too. For when they did but happen for to see, Those that with Rhume a little troubled be, Weare on their faces a round masticke patch, Their fondnes I perceiu'd, sometime to catch That for a Fashion. Nay, we cannot name That thing so full of Barbarisme and shame That they'le not imitate: witnesse this smoake, VVhich though at first it was enough to choake Or stifle vp the sence; though 'twere vnpleasing In taste and sauour, oftentimes diseasing

The takers bodies; yet like men halfe mad, Not knowing neither what effect it had, Onely because a rude and sauage Nation, Took't for some vnknowne need; thei'le mak't a fashion, Alas what profit England at thy need, Hast thou attain'd to, by this Indian weed? What hath it lengthen'd life or maintain'd health Or hath it brought thee more encrease of wealth? It dries superfluous moistures; doth't? indeed Tane with discretion it may stand insteed, And surely it deserues to be excus'd, Being with honest moderation vs'd. But I doe greatly wonder what they ment, That first did tak't in way of complement. For now it is as common at each meeting, As how d' yee, or, God saue yee for a greeting; Hee's no good fellow that's without the Pox, Burnd pipes, Tobacco, and his Tinder-boxe: And therefore there be some who scarce abide it, Yet alwaies will for company prouide it; With whom (though they alone the same eschew) Thei'le take it till they spit and cough and spue. Me thinkes they may as well since this thei'le doe, At all their meetings take Purgations too. There's not a Tinker, Cobler, shepheard now Or Rascall Ragamuffin that knowes how In a blind Ale-house for to drinke a pot, Or swagger kindly, if he haue it not; You shall haue some among them will not sticke, To sweare that they are for Tobacco sicke;

When by their ragged outsides you would gather, It were for want of bread and victuals rather; And so I tak't; But now if you deny, Th' Affecting forraine drugges, a Vanity, Yet you, I hope will grant, (because 'tis plaine) The vsing of Tobacco thus is vaine. I meane in those that daily sit and smoake, Ale••ouse and Tauerne till the windowes roke. And you must yeeld if euer; Quod nunc sumus, E'ne as the old verse saies, flos, foenum, fumus, Some vainely much acquaintance seeke to get, And often in a strangers cause will sweate. VVhen none (vnlesse some one for rarity) VVill to their Kinne shew loue or charitie. The loue of men some striue for to attaine, And they haue iust their labour for their paine▪ For what's the fauour or the loue of Men? A thing long getting and soone lost agen, For him I know whose company hath seem'd, In my poore iudgement to be so esteem'd By many, that in show he hath appear'd To be more neerely to their soules indear'd Then their owne brothers; And sure for the time, (But that inconancie's a humane crime) He hath been so; For when he hath departed, As if his absence inwardly had smarted; Out of their eyes full oft against their will, I haue seene, sorrow looke, and teares to trill. And yet againe hath my experience seen, The selfe-same man that hath so made of been,

Euen of those men he hath been so respected, After some absence either much neglected, Wholly forgotten or they so estranged, As if their loue and good conceit were changed. Which hauing found, I weighed well the end, And thought them vaine that on the like depend. Also methinkes it makes me pretty sport, To note the Vainenesse of the greater sort; How full of Congees, curtesies, and greetings, Embracements, & kind words they be at meetings. Or else what Me••orandums past betweene, Of great good turnes that nere perhaps haue been, VVhat commendations, and ioyes there be, For one anothers good prosperitie. VVhen howsoeuer they their malice smother, They care not what becomes of one another. To see me well, hee's glad at heart, one cries, When 'tis well knowne that in his heart he lies, Another bids me welcome to my face, VVhen he would leaue my presence for my place. Yea and to sweare it too he will not tremble, Although he knowes, I know he doth dissemble: VVhich in my iudgement is a Vanity, Too full of shamelesse grosse absurditie, And I much wonder men delight to spend Time that's so precious to so little end, As to consum't in idle Complement, And not so much as to a good intent; Crouching and kneeling, when each peasant knowes Much curtesie, much craft: the prouerbe goes.

A quality beseeming men I deem't, For to be Courteous and I much esteem't, Yet sure without good meaning tis vnfit, And extreame vaine when men are cloy'd with it. When some man's Table's furnished with store, Of Dainties, that a Prince can haue no more, Hee'le bid you welcome, though that by your cheere, It doth not (as hee'le say himselfe) appeare, And yet he sees and knowes well that his Bordes, Haue what the Water, Earth, and Ayr affords: With pray d'yee eat, I drink t'yee, nay be merry; And such like words; I oft haue beene as weary To thank, to pledge, and say I do not spare, As ere was Sommers of his trotting mare, But now I think of this, I'le without ieasting, Tell one absurdity l'ue seene in feasting, Amongst my Countrymen; when one intends For to be merry he bids home his friends, And for them all things needfull doth prepare, That they may well perceiue they welcome are; Yea, he would haue them frolick, and 'tis good, A signe of loue and honest neighbourhood, But then with all he oftentimes inuites, Som lofty Statesmen or proud neighbouring knights Who all their merriment doth ouerthrow, Because they looke for reuerence you know, And he must be a slaue vnto that guest, Contenting him, though he displease the rest. Now thats his fault, were I as he, my Boord, Should neuer entertaine that Knight or Lord

In way of feasting; that allow'd not me, To be as merry and as blith as he; Or that through his disdaine would thinke amisse, To beare some iests of mine as I beare his; For who but fooles would while their guest is bai∣ting Stand with bare heads like Alehouse-keepers waiting (As if they were some strangers wanted chearing) In their owne houses? while they dominering Say what they list; be therefore rul'd by me, Bid none but equals if you'le merry be: At least let them be such as can abide, To lay Superiority aside. Moreouer (if they haue the prouidence To bid their friends & keep these mar-feasts thence) They are too lauish and doe much deuize, How they the appetite may best suffize. But 'tis a signe their vnderstanding's weake, And they haue small good matter for to speake; It showes a shallow pate and muddy braine, When men haue no discourse to entertaine Their friends withall, but whiffes of smoake or drinke, Or curious fare; as if that they did thinke They could not shew their honest loue, vnlesse They did abound in gluttonous excesse. But there be many greedy-guts indeed, That will finde fault vnlesse their cates exceed. Such Socrates shewes how to answer best, Who hauing for his friends prepar'd a feast, And hearing one to discommend his store Told him directly, friend arrow_forward there needs no more,

For be they vertuous her's enough for such, If otherwise (quoth he) there is too much A fitter answere we can neuer finde, For such nice gluttons; differing in minde From certaine deere and learned friends of mine: Whom, when I late requested for to dine Or sup with me one night; would not agree, Vnlesse I drest that they appointed me: I will said I, and not a bit beside, Why then (quoth they) we charge thee to prouide One dish, no more, we loue not him that crams, And let our second course be Epigrams. Well, that they had with more good mirth & laugh∣ing, Then those that had their dainties, & their quaffing, Who can declare that Vanity man shewes, In hearing and reporting idle newes? The foolish tales, and lies that he doth faine, Are more then any numbers can containe. And now I thinke on that same lying euill, A mischiefe first inuented by the diuell, I cannot chuse but greatly wonder why, Men should delight so in that Vanity. It is not onely vicious and base, But also doth their credits quite deface. And truth out of their mouthe•• is mis-esteem'd Because, oft lying, they are lyers deem'd. I meane not any falshood to maintaine, No though they be officious, or for gaine. Yet worst like them, who their wits bo bend To inuent tales vnto no other end.

But for to find the company some talke, And cause they loue to heare their owne tonges walke Some I haue knowne (iudge of their Vanity) They haue told tales to their owne infamy; And yet vntrue, 'tis like they haue small care Of others credits when they wil not spare To wrong th••mselues: Another crew beside Among these ly••rs I haue also spide, Who, as it may appeare, do like so well, Strange newes, and matters past beleefe to tell, That notwithstanding they do surely know, It makes not only modest eares to glow, But that 'tis knowne they lie, yet stil they dare Gainst Truth, their owne, & al mens knowledge swear. Yea, when they may aswell, and speake as right, Sweare that each man is blind, and all Crows white Oh too presumptuous and lewd offence Sprung from a brazen, ••ellish impudence! Then there's a number to, that do suppose, All that beyond their little reason growes, Is surely false; And vainely do vphold That all reports which trauellers vnfold Of forraine lands are lies; because they see No such strange thinges in their owne parish be, If that I may not terme such fellowes vaine, I'le say th'are dul and of a shallow braine. And him I count no wiseman that imparts, To men of such base misconceiuing hearts Any rare matter, for their bruitish wit, Will very quickly wrong both him and it.

For thus the saying goes, and I hold so, Ignorance onely, is true wisedomes foe. Then thou art vaine that wilt vouchsafe to spend Thy breath, with witlesse fooles for to contend In weighty matters; when it is well knowne Thei'le like of no opinions but their owne. Euer disabling what thou dost recite, Yea notwithstanding it be ne're so right. And be their owne case false, and all amisse, They'le proue it true; How? Thus: Because it is. So if there be no more wise men in place, Thou bear'st the shame, & thei'le haue all the grace. And yet the mischiefe hath not there an end, For tell me, you that euer did contend VVith such; is not their wayward disputation A meere confusion and a strong vexation? I know 'tis so; for I my selfe haue tride it, And since that time could neuer yet abide it; But let those follow Vanity together With purb••ind ignorance; and I'le send thither To keep them company, those that take pleasure In tedious discourse, they be at leasure, And those that loue to heare their owue tong••es walke Or still seeke out occasion for to talke Shall not stray from them: Yet I haue beheld More Vanities which must not be conceal'd. As foolish wishes: Many a silly Asse, Couets those things that cannot come to passe. Another that in wishing is as heedlesse, Desires some trifling bables which are needlesse.

Nay, I haue heard, without regard of shame, Such beastly wishes as I blush to name, VVhat damn'd infernall curses can each brother, In euery angry fit wish one another? When such as these their iesting words thei••e make ye A Pox, a Pestelence and a Murraine take yee. Which if the Lord should in his iustice send them, Their owne vaine wishes wold e're long time and thē. Some free-borne men I haue obserued too Who are thought wise, yet very vainely do. These, as if they lackt troubles of their owne For other men are slaues and drudges growne. I tax not such as honestly haue stood In the mainetaining a poore neighbours good. But rather those who are so out of measure Giuen to be for other men at leasure: That they can finde almost no time to bee Emploid about their owne commoditee. Others there are, more knauish, and as vaine, Who seeming carefull of an others gaine, Intrude themselues into their actions; when 'Tis not for any good they wish the men, But for this cause, and sure for nothing more, In each mans boate they loue to haue an oare. 'Tis good men looke to their affaires, but yet, I hold it for a vaine thing, and vnfit They should be vexed with such extreame care In following them as I perceiue they are: For vnto me it seemes, the greatest part. Take businesse not in hand now, but in heart.

What meane our wealthy Vsurers to hoord More vp for others then they can affoord Vnto themselues? whereas they do not know Whether it shall be for a arrow_back friend arrow_forward or foe. Sure such me thinkes should be deseruedly, Recorded for their sottish Vanity. Now as these too well, of the world doe deeme, So others make thereof too small esteeme: As of a thing whose vse were of no weight, But both are led away with Vaine conceit. Then some mans care is, that when this life ends, Hee dying, may be buried with his friends. As if he fear'd his foes had not forgotten To do him mischiefe though their bones were rottē Others extremely are distempered To thinke what men will do when they be dead. And vainely sit, (More wit God one day send) Lamenting what they know not how to mend. For worthlesse matters some are wondrous sad, Whome if I call not vaine, I must tearme mad. If that their noses bleed some certaine drops: And then againe vpon the suddaine stops. Or if the babling foule we call a Iay, A Squirrel or a Hare, but crosse the way. Or if the salt fall toward them at table, Or any such like superstitious bable, Their mirth is spoild, because they hould it true That some mischance must therevpon ensue. But I doe know no little numbers bee Seduced with this foolish Vanity:

And questionlesse although I discommend it, There wants not some that stoutly will defend it, But all their proofe is onely this, I know By dayly triall they doe finde it so. Indeed 'tis true, God often by permission, To see if they will trust to superstition More then to him, doth willingly supply, VVhat they so look't for by their Augury. Then some for to be deemed men of State, Of nothing but the Court-affaires doe prate, If they but come amongst vs Countri-men, Lord what Magnificoes they will be then. Yea though they blow but the Kings Organ-••ellows VVe must suppose them Earles and Barons fellowes Or else we wrong them: 'Twas my chance to light, In a friends house, where one of these that night Tooke vp his lodging; At the first I deem'd him A man of some great place and so esteem'd him; And be tooke me for some soft Country gull, Thinking my wit (as tis indeed) but dull, But I perceiu'd his pride, I must confesse, And seem'd as If I had a great deale lesse. I made him more fine congees by a score, Then ere he had at Court in's life before, The worship, and the Honour too I gaue him, But from the charge of either I dare saue him. Yet my high tearmes so pleas'd the Courtiers vaine, That vp he rips me newes of Fra••ce and Spaine, Of Germany, of Denmarke, and of Sweed; And he had French store, thereof I tooke heed,

Then next he tels me all their life at Court, Relates St. Georges showes and Christmas sport, With such like talke; which I in shew desir'd, And (as if I had neuer seen't before) admir'd: Which he perceiuing falls for to deuise, More strange reports, and tels me sundry lyes, Which stil I wondred at; and in his talke I noted though his tongue did euer walke He neuer spake of others then the best, For Earles, and Lords, and Ladies were the least I heard him mentioning; when sure the foole, Is but some seruant to the Groome o'th stoole. But howsoeuer for this once he passes, To shew the Nature of his fellow-Asses, I am affraid 'twill be to little end, If I should words and pretious leasure spend, To tel our Gallants what vaine, friuolous, Discourse they haue, and how ridiculous They are at meetings; I haue been for laughter, Often beholding to them a weeke after. And trust me I'le not giue a cue so soone, To see an Ape, a Monkey, or Baboone Play his forc't trickes, as I would giue a tester, To come and view them and their apish gesture, When they are either frollick in their Cans, Or courting of their light hee'ld Curtezans They thinke themselues fine men, I know they do, What will they giue me and I'le think so to, And yet I shall not sure, do what I can, They haue so little in them that is man.

For my few yeares hath noted many fruits Producted in fine silkes and satten sutes VVorth obseruation: I could recite, Their braue behauiour in their Mistres sight: But sure thei'le nere endure't, they cannot do't, Yet if I list now I could force them to't, But I spare them; they are beholding to me, And may perhaps as great a fauour doe me. But faith I may not, nor I cannot hold Nor keep in all their vanities vntol'd: At least one humorous tricke I must not misse, VVhich lately I obseru'd; and that was this. Two lads, of late, disposed to be merry, Met at a Towne not farre from Canterbury, Where though their busines scarce would let them stay, They'd frolicke out a night, and then away; So there they sup't and slept, where I let passe To tell their mirth in what good fashion 'twas: But as I heard the parish clocke strocke one, Before their merry-mad-conceits were done: And then they went to bed, where I dare say They'd more deuotion for to sleepe then pray. Next morne th' one awaking suddenly vpstart, And lightly gert out such a boystrous— It wak't his fellow, who suppriz'd with wonder, Leapt vp amaz'd and swore he heard it thunder: And where there was a storme or no, 'twas sed, The chamber-pot ore-flow'd and drown'd the bed. Then hauing prai'd a curse or two, th' one rises, Yea, of his businesse with himselfe deuises,

And therevpon like a considerete man, Sweares he will thence with all the speed he can, Come prethee rise (quoth he) and lets begone, Why goe (quoth th' other) I will come anon, Zonnds harke, I thinke the clock striks eight, why when? Oh soon: enough to breaks my fast by ten. Then Chamberlaine one cals aloud, dost heare? Come bring vs vp a double Iugge of beere. So either hauing drunke a good carouse, Downe come the Gallants to discharge the house, But taking leaue, oh what d' yee thinke they mist? Their Hostesse (pretty woman must be kist) Then vp she's cal'd, and in her night attire, Downe claps she on a stoole before the fire; Where hauing bid her welcome from her nest, Come say (quoth he) what Wine is't you like best? Truely (quoth she) I vse to drinke no wine, Yet your best morning's draught is Muskadine: With that the Drawer's cald to fill a quart (Oh! 'tis a wholesome liquor next the heart.) And hauing drunk it, whilst their heads were steddy They bad the Hostler make their horses ready Nay (quoth the Hostesse) what needs al this hast? In faith you shal not goe til dinner's past; I haue a dish prepared for the none's Arich Potato Pie, and Marrow-boxes; Yea and a bit which Gallants, I protest, I wil not part with vnto euery guest; With that the Punies laid aside their cloaks, The glasses walke, and the Tobacco smoakes,

Til dinner comes, with which whē they are fraught To get on horseback by and by tis naught. As hauing supt'ts good to walk a mile, So after d••nner men must sit a while. But what? wil they sit idle 'twere a shame, Reach them the Tables, they must play a game: Yet set them by againe, for now I thinke They know not when to leaue, thei'le rather drink A health or two, to some especiall arrow_back friend, And then ifaith they meane to make an end, Then one calls Drawer, he cries What d' yee lack? Rogue bring vs vp a Gallon more of sack, When thats turn'd vp, Zounds one wil drinke no more, But bids the Hostler bring his horse to doore: The fellow might performe it without stay, For why? they had been bridl'd vp all day. Then like good husbands without any words. On went their cloakes, but first of all their swords, But stepping out of dore their Hostes meetes them, And with a full fil'd boule demurely greetes them. This was her pint, but thei'l giue hir the tother, Which drew the third down and the third another, Vntill these Gallants felt their heads so addle, Their bodies scarce could sit vpright it'h saddle. Then for to settle their vnsteady braine, They fell to their Tobacco once againe; At which they suckt so long, they thought no more Of the poore Iades, which they left ty'de at dore▪ Til that the Sun declinde vnto the West, Then starting vp th' one swore he thought 'twere best,

That they went thence; and to his fellow said; Come we shall be benighted I'me affraid, What if we be (quoth tother) by this light, I know the time when I haue rod all night. By twelue a clocke Ile be at home I vow, Yet Hostesse, by this kisse, I'le sup with you. And so they did, but after supper th' one, Hastens the other that they may be gone; Nay be aduised (quoth his copesmate) harke, Let's stay all night for it growes pestlence darke. I marry (quoth the Host) perswaded be, There's many Murthers now I promise ye. Ile bid my seruants to shut vp the gate, No guest shall goe out of my house so late. No surely (quoth their Hostesse) by S. Anne, You may be mischieft, stay and make a man. Well, thei'le be ruld for once, but swere thei'le goe The following morning ere the cock do crow. Introth at farthest, ere the day giues light, Then hauing kist their Hostesse ouernight, To bed againe these roystering youngsters went, Forgetting whereto they before were bent. But when the Morne her turne againe did take, And that it grew high time for them to wake; Then vp they busteld and began to lay The fault from one to t' other, of their stay. For this (the first said) we may thanke your sl••th, (But I thinke therein they were guilty both) Nay (quoth the other) might you haue your will▪ You'd drinke Tobacco, and be quaffing stildl

Who I (quoth he) I weigh it not two chips, I could not get you from my Hostestesse lips. You doe me wrong (said th' other) for I sweare, I seldome toucht them, but you still hung there. To beare the burthen he grew discontent, And swore he would not drinke before he went. But cald, Our horses Ostler quickly, and our wands, And sirra Tapster water for our hands: (Quoth t' other) youle be ruled yet I thinke? Prethee let me intreat thee for to drinke. Before th••u wash; Our fathers that were wise, Were wont to say, 'tis wholsome for the eyes. VVell he will drinke, yet but a draught at most, That must be spiced with a nut-browne tost. But then 'twere good they had a bit beside, For they considered they had farre to ride. So he that would not drinke, a late for hast, Is now content to stay and breake his fast. Which e're 'twere ended, vp their Host was got, And then the drunkard needs must haue his pot, And so he had: but I commend my cozen, The Cuckolds one Can, cost the fooles a dozen. But then perceiuing they began to stay, Quoth Guts, my bullies, harke ye, what d' ye say? Can you this morning on a rasher feed? Oh yes say they, that's Kingly meate indeed; They ask't it, and they had it; but this cheere, Quickly drew downe a dozen more of beere; Which being drunk, they had got out of Towne, But that their Hostesse was now new come downe,

With whom they spent ere they could get away In kissing and in quaffing halfe that day. And fiue times as I heard they took the paine, To get on horseback and come off againe But at the last iust as the clock strook two, They were the sixt time hors't with much adoo: But then, as 'tis the drunkards vse, they sate Tipling some howre and a halfe at gate. So that the night drew on apace and then, Thither came riding other Gentlemen. And meant to lodge there; they had friendship showne. T' other were stale Guests and their mony flowne. Their honest Host for all their large expence, And former kindnes, quickly got him thence: Yea their sweet Hostesse that so worthy deem'd thē, Slunk out of sight, as if she nought esteem'd them. And as most will, except a very few, She left her old Guls to enter league with new, Who at their parting thought for to haue kist her, But were so drunken that they euer mist her. For there they quaft so long they did not know, Which way, nor whether, nor yet when to goe. That some suppose, yea and they think so still, Their horses brought thē thence against their will. For if so bee that they had wanted wit, (To come themselues) the fooles had been there yet If you 'twas made by, read with discontent, You are too blame, none knowes by whom 'twas ment There is no cause you should dislike my Rime, That learnes you wit against another time.

When others are thus vaine, could you forbeare it; And note the follies in 't, you would forsweare it; As kind's your Hostesse seemes, yet this is plaine, Shee'l flout, and vse the next as wel for gaine. Now what do you vnto these Gallants say, Were they not pretty witty ones I pray? It may be they wil frowne at this, 'twere fit, And I am very sorry for't; but yet, One humor more which I haue noted vaine, For to be told of, they must not disdaine. It may anoy them if they do not mend it, Yea notwithstanding they so much defend it, 'Tis this; they too much of their valour vaunt, And so extreamely for vaineglory haunt, That for to get themselues a valiant name, Or peraduenture halfe an howers fame Thei'l hazard life and limbe, yea soule and all, Rather then in their brauery thei'l let fall That vaine Repute: Oh silly sencelesse men! What wil the breath of fame auaile you, when You lye in dust and molded vp in clay? Perhaps you shall be spoken of a day, In some poore village where your bodies lye, To all the earth besides your fame shall dye. And it may be whereas you looke for glory, You shall but serue for to make vp the story Of hare-brain'd fooles: so how soere some deem you Men that haue vnderstanding wil esteeme you. But yet there is a crew that much anoyes The Common-weale, some call them Roaring-Boys

London doth harbour many at this time, And now I think their Orders in the Prime: And flourishing estate. Diuers are proud, To be one of that Brotherhood alow'd. And reason too, for why they are indeed No common fellowes, but they all exceed. They do; but oh! Now wherein is it think ye? In villanies; for these be they wil drink yee From morne til night, from night till more againe, Emptying themselues like Conduits, and remaine, Ready for more stil: Earth drinks not the showers, Faster then their infernal throat deuoures, Wine and strong liquors: These be they wil sweare, As if they would the veile of heauen teare, And compell God to heare their blasphemy These are the Patrons of all villany; VVhoores Champions; Deceit and trechery, With the most loathsome vice of lechery, Is all their practise. Thunder when it roares, Ioynd with the raging waues that beat the shoares, Together with the winds most rude intrusion, Make not a noyse more full of mad confusion, Then do these helhounds where they vse to houze Or make their most vnciuill rendeuouze: For a more Godlesse crew their cannot well, Be pickt out of the boundlesse pit of hell. Yet these base fellowes (whom I must confesse, I cannot find words able to expresse) Are great mens darlings, (As some vnderstand) The absolutest Gallants in this land,

And onely men of spirit of our time; But this opinion's but a vulgar crime, For they which vnderstanding haue, see plaine, That these and all their fauorites are vaine. And sure 'twere good if such were forc't to giue, A strict account by whom and how they liue. Thus haue I brought to light as wel's I can, Some of the Vanities I'ue seene in man. But I do feare in taking so much paine, I haue but showne my selfe to be most vaine; Because I haue spent time, and reprehended That which will ne're the sooner be amended, But yet there's hope it may, and therefore I Will say thus much more; that this Vanity Consisteth not alone in words and workes, It hath tane root within, and also lurkes About the heart; and if it there be sought, I know it also may be found in thought, And that it is makes one man sit and plot, What is by traffick with Virginea got. What it may cost to furnish him a fleet, That shall with all the Spainish Nauy meete, Or how he may by Art or practise find A nearer passage to the Easterne Inde. When as perhaps (poore foole) besides his coate, He is, not worth a Portsmouth passage boate, Nor neuer meanes to trauell so much sea, As from High-ferry to South-hamp on-key. Another wood-cocke is as fondly vayne, And to no purpose doth molest his braine,

To study if he were a Nobleman, What kind of carriage would befit him than: How, and in what set wordes he would complaine, Of the abuses that he now sees raigne: Where he would make his place of residence, How he would keep his house with Prouidence, And yet what plenty daily at his dore, Should be distributed vnto the poore, What certaine Sheepe, and Oxen should be slaine, And what prouision weekly to maintaine His Lordly port; How many seruing-men, He meant to keep, and peraduenture then, What pleasure he will haue, as haukes and hounds, What game he wil preserue about his grownds: Or else he falls to cast what profits cleare, His giftes and bribes wil come to in a yeare. How hee'le put off his hat, cause people than Shall say he is a courteous Noble-man. Then vpon this againe he falls to plot, How when that he the peoples loue had' got, If that the King and all his kindred dye, And if none may be found for to supply That Regall office, the respect they beare him, Vnto that Princely dignity may reare him: Then too his thoughtes, on that estate so feed, That he forgets quite what he is indeed, And if a man could hit so iust a time, To come vpon him when his thoughts in Prime: And giue him vnawares a sodaine knock; Conceit his vnderstanding so would lock,

That I suppose because it stands with reason, He would go neere hand for to call out, Treason: For oftentimes mens hearts are so anoyd, VVith those vaine thoughts whereon they are imploid, That for a time they so forgetfull grow, Nor what they are, nor where, they do not know, But now since you may see there doth remaine, Nothing in man but is in some sort vaine; And since I must be driuen to confesse, His vanities are great and number-lesse, I'le go no farther in this large Suruey, For feare Discourse should carry me away; And peraduenture so I may become, Lesse pleasing, and more tedious to some; VVhich to auoyd, though I no end espy, Yet heare I end to treat of Vanity.