A floorish vpon fancie As gallant a glose vpon so triflinge a text, as euer was written. Compiled by N.B. Gent. To which are annexed, manie pretie pamphlets, for pleasant heads to passe away idle time withal. By the same authour.

THE FORTE of Fancie.

The Argument.

AS Fancie hath a Schoole, so hath shee too a Fort. Of which, the cheifest points, my selfe, will sumwhat make report: The ground wheron it standes, and the foundation then, How it is built, how it is kept, and by what kinde of men. What kinde of cheere shee keepes, who are her cheifest gesse. What drink she drinks, who are her cookes, that al her meat do dres. Whom most shee loues, who is her foe, and who againe her freende, And how the Forte, may soone be scalde: and there to make an ende.

The Forte of Fancie.

THe ground wheron it stands, is hauty Hare braine hill, Hard by the thick, I tolde you of, Wilde and wanton will: The fond foundacion is, false fortunes fickle Wheele, Which neuer standes, but stil eache way is ready for to réele: Now here, now there agayn, with euery blast of winde, Not as shee list, but as it most doth please dame Fortunes mynde, The house it selfe is calde, The lodge of luckles loue. Within the which, are diuers roomes, beneath and eake aboue: The name wherof anon, I meane at large to show, But first, the outside ••f this house, I must declare, I trow: The comming to the same, the walles, the gates, and then The base courts, Courts, & gardens then, & then the gards of men. The Porters to the dores, the officers within, And therfore thus, in order, I will now my tale begin. ¶The comming to the same, is by a great high way, Faire beaten plaine, with fooles foot steps, and trodden euery day The soile is pleasaunt sure, bedeckt with gallant flowers, But being gathered once, wil scarce bide swéet aboue two howers: And in this soile, there standes, a Forest large and wide, Which is well storde with thickes & woods the beastes therein to hide:

Of which great péece of ground, for to declare the name, The Forrest Sir of fooles it is, lo now you know the same: And in this Forrest now, this beaten way doth ly, Which leadeth vnto Harebraine hill the right way redely. At foote of this same hill, and round about the same, There is a diche which Deepe deceipte, is called by that name: Ouer this lies a Bridge, but trust mee, very weake, For when you are on midst therof, then sodenly twill breake: And downe into the diche of Deepe deceipte you fall, Rise againe as you can your selfe, you get small helpe at all. The bridge is calde The breache of perfect amitie, Tis made of Hollow harts, of sutch as wanted honestie▪ Which beeing rotten still, will neuer beare the waight Of any man: but sodainly, downe castes him in deceipt. Now Sir although you fall, no bones shall yet bee burst, Nor whatsoeuer hurt you take, you feele it not at furst. But being falne, if you can make a shift to swim, Though it bee but a stroke or two, yet you may get vp trim Unto the bankes therof, and so by shrubs that growe Upon the bankes, to make a shift, vp to the gate to goe: But if you cannot swim you may catch such a fall, That you may chaunce vnto your cost, to catch a bruse withall. Not swimming as in seas, for feare in deepe to drowne But swimming syr in Worldly wealth for feare of falling downe. But if that you can swim, then soone perhaps you may, By shrubs and bushes to the gates make sh••ft to finde a way. Then being at the gates, there shall you standing finde A pelting patch for Porter there, of nature very kinde: His name is Daliance, a foolish crafty knaue Who needeth not to let you in, too mutch intreatie haue. Welcome good Sir (saith hee) now trust mee by my fay, I thinke that you haue trauailed a wery péece of way, Wilt please you to go in, and take a litle rest? Thus by the Porter Daliance you go in as a guest. Now if vp to the gate you cannot finde the way, Then lustely to scale the walles you must sumwhat assay.

Which walles you soone may scale, if you will take the payn, Or els may quickly beat them down, with béetell of your brayne: Few are to make defence, and sutch as are, will stay There hands from dooing harm to you, but rather make you way. And shall I show in kinde, what gallants you shall sée? That for to garde this Forte are set, and what their wepons bée? It were a sporte to tell, to set them out in kinde: Well, I will show them all, as well as I can beare in minde. First lo, a Garde of Geese, and Ganders in one rancke, With doutie Duckes and Drakes harde by, vpon an other bancke: A sight of Asses then, there stood in battell ray, With Iacke an apeses on their backes: and they stoode in the way That leades vnto the Court: further you cannot passe, Except you let a Iacke a napes, to ride you like an Asse. But if you will doo so, then may you passe vp straight Into th'inner court (forsooth) where long you shall not waight. But out vnto the dore, cums out an officer, And gently Sir into the Hall, this man will you prefer. But now Sir, will you know, what meanes these Armies so That stands to garde dame Fancies fort? well marke and you shall know•• The garde of Geese, are first Vngracious graffes of youth That wallow euery wanton way, and misse the trackt of truth: The Duckes (good Syr) are Doults▪ as well both younge as olde, That in that carelesse court, are set to kéepe a foolish holde. The Asses, they are Lout••s▪ of wisdome none at all, Yet haue a certaine kinde of wit, to play the fooles with all. The Apes that rides them now, and rules them euery way, And turne their heds which way they list, a thousand times a day Are Foolish apish toyes▪ fond heds for to delite: Not voide of reason vtterly, though voyd of wisdome quite. Their Weapons are their Tongues, wherwith they make a cry, Away I say, away, stand backe, soft Syr, you come not by: But if so bée they see, one ridden like an Asse, Then will they make but small adoo, but let him gently passe. Now Syr, thus like an Asse, hée goes to the Hall doore, And there becomes a Man againe, and standes an Asse no more:

Yet though his eares grow short, hée is not altered so, But hee shall beare an Asses hed, where euer so hee go. And bee hee Man or Asse, Iacke an apes hée must beare As long as hee is in that Forte, or els hée bides not there. Now Syr, at the hall dore, the porter Pleasure standes, Hée lookes for, er hee farther go, some mony at his handes: Hee lets in none for thankes, hee must haue mony, hee, Hee goes n••t in els, I am sure, for so hée delt with mée. But if hee him rewarde, he brings him to the Hall, And there the Vsher by and by, good Syr, hee meetes withall: Hee entertaines you then, in such a pleasaunt wise, As makes you thinke, you are ariude, in place of Paradise. Not long hee bides with you, but to the Chamberlaine Hée brings you vp, where curiously hee doth you entertaine With Bezoles manos, imbrasings downe to knée: With Cap of curtesie: and a grace, the brauest that may bée. This is a gentle youth, but er I farther go, The names of these same Officers, I plainly meane to show: The Vsher of the hall, is called Vaine delight: Hée entertaineth none, except hee bee some witles wight. The Chamberlaine is called Curiositie, And fellow with this Vaine delight, and of affinitie: For at request of this, his fellow, Fond delight, Hée brings you where of Fancie faire, you soone may haue a sight And if you like him well, hée workes so in the ende, That hée will in your sute forth with, cause Fancie stande your freend. To Fancie then good Syr, hee brings you by and by, And there may you behould her, how shee sitteth gallantlie: Her chamber large and long, bed••••••e with thousand toies: Braue hanging clothes of rare deuise, pictures of naked boies, And ••irles too now and then, of sixteene yeares of age: That will within a yeare or two, grow fit for mariage. But they must haue a Lawne, a Scarfe, or some sutch toy, To shroud there shamefastnes with all: but if it be a boy, Hee standes without a Lawne, as naked as my naile: For Fancie hath a sporte sumtime, to see a naked tayle.

Besides in pictures too, and toies of straung deuise With stories of ould Robin hood, and Walter litle wis••▪ Some showes of warre long since, and Captaines wounded sore, And souldiers slaine, at one conflict, a thousand men and more. Of hunting of wilde beastes, as Lions, Bores and Beares, To see how one an other oft, in sunder straungly teares. Of gallant Citties, Townes, of Gardens, Flowers, and trees: Of choise of pleasant herbs, and fruits, and such like toies as these These hang about the walles, the floore now is strode With plesant flowers, herbs & sweets, which in her gardē grode. But now, the names of them I purpose to descrie: In steede of Fennell Syr, the first, is Flatterie: The other herbe is Sausines, in steed of Sauorie: In steede of Basell, now there lieth Brauerie: And for sweet Sothernwood, againe is secret Slauerie: In steed of Isop, now there lies Inuencion: And in the steed of Cama••••ell, there lies Confusion: The flowers now are these, in steed of Gilliflowers, Faire iestes: that last not sweet alas, aboue two or three howres: For Roses, Rages: which will not so soone decay, For Paunseis, Pretie practises, that alter many a way: For Marigoldes, Mischiefe: for Walflowers, Wantonnes: For Penckes, Presumption: for Buttons, Busines: For Daisies, Doubtfulnes: for Violets, Viciousnes: For Primroses, Foolish pride: for Couslips, Carelesnes: With these flowers and herbs, with many mo (god wot) Doth Fancie strow her Chamber flower, which I remember not. Now Syr, in this same roome, thus brauely bedect, Sits Fancie in her brauerie: and Syr in eache respect, So serued in her kinde, with her fine Chamberlaine, That not for any thing shée hath, that shee needes too take payne. Fine Curiositie her Chamberlaine doth all The seruice in her chamber, Syr: but the Vsher in the Hall, Hee doth her seruis too, although, not all so neere Her person, as her Chamberlaine: shee houldeth him more deere.

The order h••w she sittes, is this syr, in a Chaire, Fine caru••d out with Caruers worke, and couerd very faire: With a straung kinde of stuffe, the colour is al gréen, Braue Frindge and hangde, with two fine Pearles, the like but seldom séen: Now Syr, her Chaire (in deede) is but a Youthfull braine, Whose head is very greene, in deede: the Frindge, to tell you plaine Are Heares vpon the head: the Pearles, they are the Eyes: Fast set vnto the head (good Syr:) and lo thus in this wise, I shew you Fancies seat: But if the eies did see What great dishonour tis to them, in Fancies chaire too bée: They rather would fall of, then hange in sutch a place, Where they are rulde, when they mought rule, and so to gayne disgrace. But be they as they bée, I shew you how they bée: Beléeue mee, when that you come there, then you your self shal see. Well Syr, thus Fancie sits, before whom you must stand, Till shée her selfe doo bid you come, and take her by the hand: And that shée soone will doo, for shée is curteous, And where shée takes a liking too, shée is as amorous. Now béeing come to you, these wordes first shée will say, Shée will bee asking how at first, you thither found the way? Wherto your answere made, then shee will take the paine To shew you all her roomes within, and shée will entertaine You in so braue a sorte, that you shall thinke, a while, You are in heauen: with sugred speech shée will you so beguile. Now first shée leades you in, into her Garden gay She shews you flowers, but tels you not, how soone they wil decay. Shee tels you this braue tree, a gallant fruit will beare, This is a gallant Princely Plum, and this as fine a Peare: This is a Pippen right, this is a Filberde fine: This is a Damson delicate, but few sutch fruits as mine: When God hee knowes, the tree, whose fruits shee bragges on so, Is but a plant of peeuishnes, and brings forth fruits of w••. Her Plum, is but a Pate that puffed is with pride, Which either quickly rotten growes or breakes out on some sid••. Her Peare is an olde plant that bringeth Outward ioy, To sight, at least: but eaten once, will choke you with annoy.

Her Pippen is a Crabbe, that growes on S. Iohns wood, Which makes a shew of a faire fruit, but in taste is not 〈◊〉〈◊〉. This is a Secreat fo, that séemes a Faithfull freend, But will be sure, who trust in him, to faile them in the ende. Her Filberds haue faire shales, but Carnels all are gone: Her Damsons are deceiptfull fruits as hard as any stone: Harde: how? not hard in hand, nor very hard in taste: But béeing swallowd, very hard for to digest at last. These Trees with many mo, which I not call to minde, In Fancies gallant Garden plot, you shalbe sure to finde. Now in this Gardein more, alas, I had forgot: About the midst therof (I gesse) there standes a prety plot, Wherin is made a Maze, all bordered with Wilde breere, Set all about the bankes with Rue, that grew there many a yere. Iust in the midst wherof, a huge high Mount doth stand, Which grew by nature in y^• place, not made by Gardeners hand. The Hill on the one side, is made much like a Harte, And as like to a Hed againe vpon the other parte. And in this Mount, there dwels a number of mad men: Some mad in hart, and some in hed, and euery one his den. Upon the Harte side, stands The caue of crueltie, A currish knaue, which with his téeth, still gnashing close doth lie. By him hath foule Despight a filthy Den likewise, Which in that lothsome lodge of his, still fretting daily lyes. By him horrible Hate, hath eke a kinde of Caue, Like a foule hole: but good inough for such a filthy slaue: Upon the hedside now, lies Melancoly first, Hee beates his head with studie so, as if his braines would burste. By him vile Enuie next, foule ••••end with fiery eies Bound about hed with Serpent skinnes, in lothsome māner lies. Right ouer him doth keepe, fierce Frenzie in his caue: Hee frets, hee fumes, hee stampes and stares, & neuer lins to raue Aboue them all, vpon the top of this same hil, Dwels Madnes, Maister of them all: and with him, witles Will: His lodge is like a house, that had bin built of stone, That had bin ouerthrown, and nought left but the walles alone:

It hath a kinde of r••••fe, but all vncouered: So that the raine vpon him falles, as hee lies in his bed. And for the manner now how he lies, credit mee, It is the straungest sight me thinkes, that euer I did see. His Bedsted is of Wood, ingrauen with Vgly faces: And standes more halfe a sunder, burst in twenty sundry places: His Bed with fethers stuft, but all the Downe flowne out: And those that bide, are stubborne quilles, y^t pricke him round a∣bout. Upon an ould crackt Forme, by his bedside there lyes, Duld instruments of Musicks sound, all broke in wondrous wise. A Lute, with but three strings, and all the pinnes nere out: The belly crackt, the backe quite burst, and riuen round about: His Virginals, with neuer a iacke, and halfe the keyes. His Organes, with the bellowes burst, and battred many wayes. His Fife, three holes in one: his Harpe, with nere a stringe: Great pittie trust mee for to see, so broken euery thinge: A Pen and Inke hee hath and Paper too hard by, But paper quite in pieces torne, pen burst and Inkhorne drie. He feedes of Fancies fruites, that in her Garden growe, He drinkes of Drugges of foule Despight, a beastly broth I trow. He feares no heate nor colde, for if with heate he glow, The waues of woe will coole him streight, y^• there by Tides do flow For through this Forrest runnes, The Seas of sorrow sore: Whose Waues do beate against this Forte, that bordereth on the shore. And if with colde he quake, the heate of raging ire Will quickly warme him so, that he shall neede none other fire: In raging Franticke fittes, he passeth foorth the day In straunge perplexities, himselfe tormenting many a way. Amonge many mad toyes, I saw him play one parte, With looke full fierce I saw him holde, a Dagger to his Hart Redie to kill himselfe, and with his heare vpright, He cried, he would rather die, then bide sutche deepe dispight: At which same crie of his, me thought, that euery one Within their Caues, all sodeinly did make a piteous mone: With which amazed halfe, not knowing what to say, By helpe of God, I know not how, but straight I got away.

And then I was agayne, with ••ancie by and by, Out of the Maze in her Gardeine: who led me presently, As she will you likewise, if you will: backe againe Into her house: where you will thinke, in heauen for to r••••aine. The Entrie first before you come vnto the Hall, Is set out gallantly with toyes, and that of cost not small. The Pauements are of stone, which Hard harts haue to name, They grow all in a minde of man, and thence she hath the same: Aboute the Entrie walles, do hange deuises straunge: And by the brauerie of the same, mutche like the Low exchange. From Entrie then you come, streight way vnto the Hall: And that with manie Iewels riche, is hanged round•• withall The roome it selfe is long and therwith somewhat wide, And for the fashion in my minde, not much vnlike Cheapeside: There hang great store of gaudes, of which the Vsher straight Doth offer to Dame fancies eie, and therfore there doth wayght. Chaines, Iewels, Cups & Pots: Pearls, precious stones & Kings Fine whissels, Corrals, Buttons, Beads, & such like costly things Fine Brooches for your Hat, fine Aglets for your Cap, Fine Tablets for a gallant dame, to hang before her lap. These thinges with many mo in this same Cheapeside Hall Hath Vaine delight, to please Fancie his Mistris minde withall. Now though shee sée them all, her Chamberlain must chuse What hee best thinkes wil like her minde, & what she wil refuse. That Chamberlaine (you know) is Curiositie Hée euer chooseth all the ware, that Fancie fond doth buye. Now from the Hall, vnto the Parlor straight you go Which as the Hall with Iewels riche is brauely hanged so: The roome is long, not large, I met it not with féete, But as I gesse, in fashion tis, much like to Lombarde streete: This roome the Vsher too, doth looke too with the Hall: Well, there within a litle while, you quickly will see all: Which beeing seene, you passe into the other roome, Which called is her Counting house: wherin when you be come, There shall you see her bookes, that treates of many toyes And most of them doo show, the cause of louers greifes or ioyes.

Some volumes Syr, doo treate of naught but Vanitat•• But very ••ew that speakes a worde of perfect Sanitate Some auncient authors write, De arte a mandi. Which who so studies throughly, runs mad or ere hee die. And in the steed of Tullies workes, written De officijs, There standes Tom ••atlers treatise Syr, De fine brandicijs: Among the rest are some, Belle discorce d'amore, And some doo write discourses, De graundissimo dolore: Some bookes doo make discourse of Pride and Foule disdayne, Some letters Amatorie are: some of Dispite agayne. Some Pretie pamplets are, some Posies, Satirs some: Some doo discourse of Falconrie, and some of Day of doome. And they are called Drommes: and some tell pretie tales Of Lapwings, Swallowes, Fesant cockes, & noble Nightingales Some Songes and Sonets are, and some are Louers layes, Some Poets paint The panges of loue, a thousand sundry wayes. Now with sutch bookes as these, with other such like toyes, Doth Fancie store her Counting house, for to instruct her boyes And girles too now and than: at least if they doo reede, And in sutch vaine Discourses, most her selfe delightes indeede. Now Syr, when you haue seene her fine Librarie there: Shee shews you then her other roomes, & leads you euery where. But sure her Counting house, of all that ere I see, Is built as like to Poules Church yarde, as euer it may bee. Now next shee leades you too, her Wardrope of fine cloth, Of diuers kindes of colours Syr: what laugh you Syr of trothe? Beleeue mee, when that you to Fancies fort doo go: And if you come into her court, then you shall finde it so. The colours of her cloth, are faire and very gay: White, Red, Blew, Greene, Carnation, Yealow, & Popingay. Of blackes but very few: but other colours store, Of mingled colours, or such as I tolde you of before. Now shee that keepes that roome, is a young pleasant dame And Wantonnes, I trow it bee, that Fancie calles her name Now Wantonnes againe, shee keepes a pretie knaue That euery day, deuiseth still, new fashions for to haue:

Hée hath a knaui•••• head, fine knackes for to inuent, Wherof good store of cloth, in haste in fashions may be spent: In gardes, in weltes, and iags, in laying cloth vpon cloth: And this same youth a Tailor is, for men and women both. His name is Fond deuise: hee came of Apish race, A man, for such a mistris méete, and fit for such a place. But for dame Fancie ••ine, no garments Syr hée makes But first the vew her Chamberlaine Curiositie takes: And if hee like it well, then will shee stand content, If not, his labour all is lost, and cost in vaine is spent. Now this same Wardrop Syr, is likest in my minde, To Watling streete, of any place, that euer I could finde. Now Syr, from thence you come when you haue seene all there: You go into her Gallarie, a roome that I dare sweare The like is seldome seene, for gallant setting out: If one shoulde trauaile euerie daie, almost the worlde about For choice of gallant stuffe, and fine deuises strange No place so like that ere I see, as is The high Exchange: Such purses, gloues, and pointes, of cost and fasshion rare Such cutworkes, partlets, sutes of lawne, bongraces, & such ware: Such gorgets, sléeues, and ruffes, lininges for gownes, and calles, Coiffes, crippins, cornets, billaments, muske boxes, & swéet balles Pincases, picketoothes, bearde brushes, comes, néedels, glasses, belles And manie such like toies, as these: that Gaine to fancie sels. But yet of all these toies, not one will Fancie buye, Except, they first bée looked on by Curiositie: But Follie manie times, standes at his elbow so, That makes him choose the worse sumtime, and let the better go: Well, there not longe you bide, but downe you come againe Into the hall beneath good Syr, where longe you not remaine: But to the Kitchin streight, she forthwith leadeth thee: Where, how she dresseth all hir meate, the order thou shalt sée And what kinde cookes she hath, and how they make their fyre, To reast, to séeth, to broile, to bake, and what you will desire: The roome is narow syr, in which a Harth all bare On which the Cooke, powers on his coales, & kindels thē with care,

Then layes he to the Spit, if any meate be roast, And if the fyre be once a flame, then it beginns to toast, The meate that most he roastes, for Fancies dantie tooth, Are Partridges, larkes, plouers gréene, & such fine foule (for sooth) The Coles are made of stickes, of stuborne youth (god wot) which kindle quickelie of themselues, and blowinge néedeth not: The kinde of woode is Will, drie without Sapience sappe: The lobcoke Lust, from thriftlesse thicke, doth bring thē in his lap: Which wood with lying still, is growne so very drie, That with a Sparke of Sporte, alasse, they kindle by and by. The Cooke is Carelesse calde: the fowles he roastes are these: For Larkes, are lookes: for Plouers, thoughts: for Partridge, Practises: The Larkes, are Lookes: which when they liue, doe flye: But beinge stroken deade, they serue for Fancie by and by: The Partridge, Practises: which liuing, séeme so good, That they are put vnto the fyre, to serue for Fancies ••oode: For, as the Partridge kéepes hir selfe close to the grounde, Bicause by colour of hir coate, she may not so bee founde: So Practises, that shift: to kéepe themselues vnseene, Are Foules most fit for Fancies tooth, and now for Plouers gréene Greene thoughts, that flye about: now heere, now there againe: But if by chaunce, by Cupids dart, they hap for to be slaine. Then lyinge but a while, at this same flaminge fyre, They make in déede a meate that most, Fonde Fancie doth desyre, Now hauing séene all this, then shall you sée harde by The Pastrie, Meale house, and the roome wheras the Coales do ly: The Coalehouse, is a Cau••e of care and miserie. The Pastrie is a Place of open Patcherie. The Mealehouse, is a Place with seate mischiefe fraught For sure, the Meale is made of Corne, y^• is much worse thē naught. The Corne is called Rye: and diuerse kindes there bee. Of this same Rye: as you your self, when you are there shall see: For there is one kinde, Rye, is called knauerie: An other Flat••rie, with Trecherie, and Patchreie: An other Trumperie, an other Mockerie, And Baudrie too: and yet the best is but a kinde of Rye,

Whereof the Meale is made, that maketh Fancies breede: And that is baked in the braine, of a hot foolish head: The Graine is sowne by sondrie slaues: of which one Beastlinesse, The other Secrete sausinesse: an other Traiterousnesse, An other Piuishnes, and an other Wilfulnesse, With Loutishnesse, and many mo, which I cannot expresse: And reaped by such slaues, too Fancie, slaues, in déede Which bringe the Corne, into The Barne of beggerie, with spéede: They now that thresh the Corne, are two stronge sturdie knaues, Who haue great béetels in their hands, in sted of Threshing staues Of whome to tell the names, first, Lobcocke litle wit, And Waywarde will: a good tough knaue, hee stands, his fellow sit, They with their Betels in their handes, or heades at least, Doo make it readie for the Mill: then he that grindes the gréest, Is, Manie better Syr, an arrante craftie knaue, Who with his toulinge, wilbe sure, a good rounde gaine to haue. Now Syr, this Mill doth stande, vpon an Hill on hie, Whose sailes are driuen by blasts of winde, and so grinde merely. Now Syr, the Corne thus grounde, to Fancies Forte streight way The Miller comes and: in the house there down his Meale doth lay Now Syr, when you haue bene, in all these offices, And that at Fancies handes, you finde such loue and gentlenesse, To shewe you all hir house: but soft, I had forgot, To speake of hir Bed Chamber fine, which now Syr, I will not Let slippe for any thinge: the Roome it selfe is rounde, And in the night doth stand hir Bed, with Curtens brauely bound. The Walles hangde all with Hope, on thone side verie faire: Upon the other side againe, darke hangings of dispaire. Strange pictures by hir Bed: on thone side, sites of greefe, On thother side, to euerie pange, a present sweet releefe. Upon the one side, sweet accorde, on thother Dire debate, Upon the one side, Naked loue: on thother, Couerde hate. On ••hone side, Prodigies, with pleasaunt Dames in Ioye, On thother side, Chauing Peascods: in greefe and greate anoye. These diuers contraries, with manie thousandes mo, When Fancie gazeth on a while, she is amazed so,

That musinge so a while, she slumbreth at the last, And being in a slumber so, she sléepeth, but not fast: Her Bed is all of Downe, whereon she lies so soft, As any Ladie in this land: and at her Bed a loft, Are written in faire hande, and easie for to reede: (Although I seeme a louelie dame, I lothsome am in deede) This solempne sentence, who euer so doth see, And doth consider the contentes, will neuer like of me. Her bedde is thus bedeckte: the curteynes are of Saye, Not gréene, nor yealow, red, nor blew, nor white, nor popingaye No Silke nor (Cruell saye, what then maie be the same? This Say is calde, saye for thy selfe, lo nowe ye knowe the name. Her Couering, curious cost: her Blankets, Louers blisse: Her Sheetes, are shiftes: to shroud her self. Her quiltes, are quidities. Her Pillowes, they are poyntes: that louers lea••e vpon. Her Bolster, is a beggars bagge: when coine and goods are gone. Her Bed she lies vpon is a younge mellowe braine: where Fancie softlie lies and sleepes, and neuer féelith paine. And of such beds, she hath such stoare of choise (by roode) That (if so be) she like not one, an other is as good. Of which, some are so softe, that she doth like them so, That with her liynge in them long, they more halfe rotten growe: And if they be not turned, or ere they go to farre, In time, both braine, and hedde, and all, she wilbe sure to marre. Thus shall you sée her bed, and chamber brauely deckte: And euery roome within her house, set out in eche respect, So gallantlie: that as I saide, I saie againe, You sure will thinke (at first) a while, in heauen for to remaine. Thus, when that Fancie fine, hath led you rounde about. Her statelie house, in euerie roome: then shall you sée a loute, Come with a napkin fine, about his bodie bounde, Into the chamber, there where first dame fancie fine you founde: He comes to laie a cloth, vpon Dame fancies bourde: And then to bringe in all hir cates: and trust me (at a worde) It is so strange a sighte, to sée her serued so, As I shall neuer see the like, where euer so I go.

Her Table is a Forme, that stands without a frame. And none but she and her compeeres, can ••it vpon the same: Her Stooles, stande without feete, I cannot shew you how, Though I haue séene them (credite me) I haue forgot them now. But you shall sée them there, if thither you will go. Now Sir, when you are there, and see this order soo, Then vnto dinner streight, she goeth by and by: There shall you sée her fine Compeeres, that beare her companie. First, vpper most she sittes, in a great maiestie: Then sits there downe by her a dame, called Ladie vanitie. Then downe sits her Compeeres, Follie and Fransie both: Such companie, as for to kéepe, a wiseman woulde be loth. Her Waitors at her borde, are Curiositie Her Chamberline: and next to him stands Carelesnesse harde by: The Cooke that drest the meate: then Nodcoke naturall, Then Iacke an apes, and busie bee, worst manered of them all: Thus furnishist is this borde, with waitors in such sorte: The meates whereof she féedeth most, I néede not make report, I spake of them before: but for her kinde of drinke, No béere, nor ale, nor wine it is: and what then doe you thincke: It is a drincke composde, of drugges of diuers sortes. Discourtesie, Disdaine, Dispight: and mingled with Disportes, Sappe of faire Semblaunce, with secret simulation. With Ioice of herbes of hollow hartes, and faithfull protestation: These drugges with manie mo, puts Fancie in her drinke, Which though they sumwhat please the tast, yet make the bosome stinke: And workes so in their heads, that are not vsed thertoo, That maks thē more half mad: for greif, they know not what to do Now syr, this is her drincke, her meate before you konw, Her seruauntes I haue shewne you too, that do attende her so. Now Syr, when you haue fed, of Fancies fare one daie: I doe beleeue that you will wishe, your selfe, next day away. I promise you (of troth) I did when I was there, And I woulde not be there againe, for twentie pounde I sweare. And more then wishinge too, at borde a loude I cride: I woulde I were awaie, this fare, I cannot I abide.

Which when that Fancie sawe, she tooke me from the boorde, And thrust me out of dores, in hast, not speakinge any worde. And flonge me downe the steares, wherewith I caught a fall. That greeued me sore: but yet (me thought) I stood cōtent with al. The vsher of the Hall, he tooke mee by and by, And out of doores too in like sorte, he thrust me presently. Then euery Iacke an apes that rid vpon an Asse, Was readie for to ride me still, as I the Courte did passe. The Geese and Ganders hist, the Duckes cride quack at mee: Thus euerie one woulde haue a flyrt, ere I coulde get out frée. The Porter Daliaunce, hee draue me out in hast, And thrust me down so harde the Hill, my neck was almost brast. And vp I rose againe, though brused verie sore, And ment, if once I gat awaie, for to come there no more. Well, limpinge as I coulde, I hit the beaten waie, Of fooles foote stepps: through Forrest back, that led me so astraie. And backe againe I came, to Learninges narrow lane, And there I hit The trackt of Truth, that I should first haue tane, That leaues the Forrest quite: which when I had hit on, I staide a while, and there my walke I gan to thincke vpon: And thincking so, I saw a scholler comming by, That came from learned Vertues Schoole: and sighing heauely, I calde him vnto me, and tolde him of my wo, Of my sore fall, from Fancies Forte, and how I caught it so. Which when that he had harde, he tooke me by the hande, And béeing verie weake (in d••eacute;ede) scarse able for to stande. Hee led me to a house of Wisdome, an olde man, His Father (as he saide) he was: and there I rested than. This Ientle youth, if I doe not forget the same, Is Honest Reason: so I thincke, his Father cald his name. Where, beeing but a while, my tale I gan to tell, To him, of this my gentle walke: whereat he laughed well. And laughinge so, (quod hée) go youth, here take a booke, And write now for remēbrance thine, y^t when thou chance to looke Upon the same againe, then thou mayest take heede still. Of leauinge Wisdoms narow Lane, and follow wanton Will.

Lo thus at his commaunde, I wrot it by and by, And this it was, beleeue me now, or els (at least) I lye.

FINIS.