Ortho-epia Gallica Eliots fruits for the French: enterlaced vvith a double nevv inuention, vvhich teacheth to speake truely, speedily and volubly the French-tongue. Pend for the practise, pleasure, and profit of all English gentlemen, who will endeuour by their owne paine, studie, and dilligence, to attaine the naturall accent, the true pronounciation, the swift and glib grace of this noble, famous, and courtly language.

The Conclusion of the Parlement of Pratlers.

Come hether ho, let vs sit downe a little in the shade vnder this tree, in the coole aire. I vvill sit vpon this blocke.

And I ouer against thee Antonie.

Where wilt thou sit Peter?

I? I will set my selfe vpon this stone.

Sit away from thence, you let me that I cannot behold the passers by.

I see a ship which sayleth toward vs.

Tis a Caracke of two thousand tuns.

See you the little boye vvith a flagge in his hand.

If he fall into the sea he will be drownd.

No I warrant you, for he can swim.

O how he slides downe the tackling.

The mast of this ship is very great and thicke.

I thinke it grew at the vvest-Indies.

How canst thou tell, hast thou bene in India vvith the Spaniards?

As if one can know nothing of a countrie, if he haue not bene there. I discerne Powles from hence.

There are me thinks some pigeons vpon the top of the steeple.

They be men, fond and foolish boy, but they seeme to them that see them so far off to be crowes, or rather lacke-dawes.

Harke some body sounds a trumpet on the steeple, vvhat an asse is that?

He sounds a point of vvar for the mistresses of London.

O vvhat fine vvether here is! tis pleasant being among these greene fields.

Geue eare to that Larke vvhich singeth. O how she mounteth on high vp to the Clowds! I remember now Bartasius the French Poet, vvho vvrot these foure most excellent verses of her note,

The pretie Larke mans angrie mood doth charme with melodie, Her Tee-ree-lee-ree Tee-ree-lee-ree chippring in the skie, Vp to the court of loue sweet bird, moūting with flickering wings, And downe againe, my Ioue adieu, sweet Ioue adieu, she sings,

O how this little pretie chippering Larke quauereth hir voice.

Where art thou Linus most harmonious musition with thine yuorie lute? vvhere art thou Amphiō the finest▪ fingrer of an harpe in all Greece? where art thou Orpheus with thy siluer sitterne? where art thou Arion with thy melody that made the fishes danse in the sea? come hether, learne new lessons. Truly these foure who haue bene so famous by report of all Latine and Greeke authours, for that they were most excellent musitions, haue neuer bene able to counterfait this little bird singing hir note.

Harke, harke, tis some other bird that sings now.

Tis a blacke-bird or a Nightingale.

The Nightingale sings not but euening and morning.

Where is she I pray thee?

Tis a Nightingale I heard her record.

Seest thou not hir sitting on a sprig?

O how sweetly she sings without any stop, and ceaseth not!

We must not maruell though she sing sweetly, for that she is of Athens, vvhere the vvaues of the sea flote also against the shores by measure.

Plinie vvriteth that she singeth before men longer, and more sweetly a great deale.

What is the reason thereof? I vvill tell it thee.

The Cookow and the Nightingale sing at one season of the yeare, to vvit, in the spring time, from the middest of Aprill to the end of May, or thereabout. These two birds contended about the sweetnesse of their song, they seeke a iudge, and bicause their dispute was of notes, there was found fit to iudge this controuersie the Asse, vvho hath aboue all other beasts his eares long. The Asse hauing put backe the Nightingale, vvhose musicke he sayd he did not vnderstand, iudged the victorie to the Cookow. The nightingale appealed before man, vvhom vvhen she saw, she pleadeth her cause and singeth sweetly, to make her cause good, and to be reuenged of the vvrong that the Asse had offered her.

I heare now a thing worthy of a poets vaine.

What then? didst thou looke for something smelling of a philosophers braine? Seeke that of these new magistri inertes of the vniuersitie.

Many of them are philosophers in their gownes, and by their wits countrie clownes.

Say then that they are doctors of Valentia, vvith long gownes and little scientia.

But harken me yet our Nightingale.

I will tell thee something of the song of the Nightingale, translated out of a good author.

What man in the world (sayth he) is so gros headed, so dull spirited, so blockish or doltish, that is not astonished and rauished with an vnspeakeable delight, hearing the melodie of the nightingale, & how such a shrill & harmonious voice may issue out of so smal a trunke? beside that he perseuereth so earnestly in his song, that his life shall so soone faile him as his voice: so that it seemeth that he hath bene taught by some maister musition to sing his prick-song: for one while he faineth the base, another while he quauereth the contretenour, by and by he counterfeiteth the meane, anon he sings the treble. And being wearie with recording, changeth quickly his note, that you would gesse him to be some other bird that singeth but the plaine song. Then suddainly he chaunteth such shrill notes, that he astonieth himselfe, and remaineth as it were in a sweet traunce, charmed by an infinitie of his melodious passages, which rauish the spirits vp to the heauens, not onely of men, but also of other little fine birds, whom he inchanteth and taketh prisoners there by his voice, and maketh them through his sweet note to harken to him, and to steale away a lesson or two of his musicke. And not content with this, you shall see hir instruct her yoong ones, entising them to imitate her note, to keepe tune with her, to make the same stops, to quauer in length, one while to run vpon crochets, by & by to take a new tune by fainings, then to descant and semiquauer it with courbed minims, quickly trembleth her voice

and transformeth it into so many sorts of musicall points, that no artifice of man can tell how to coun∣terfait her note.

I am almost rauished truly.

Without doubt men haue learned Musicke of Birdes.

Democritus vvas the Nightingales scholler, witnesse Aristophanes in his Comedie of the song of Birdes. I haue caught a Grasse-hopper in one hand, and a litle Frog in the other.

Let me see them I pray thee!

I will put them into thy bosome, Anthony.

Do not, I pray thee.

Why runnest thou away? Come hether, I will do thee no harme.

Alas! the poore prisoners! let them go: let them leape.

Looke! vvhat a fine skip there is?

The poore beasts haue saued themselues in the grasse.

This banke is full of Pisse-mires.

They sting me by the buttockes.

They got in at my codpeece. I haue more then a thousand in my breeches.

Do you feele th••m sting in good faith?

I haue puld off the heads of more then twentie.

Kill them not, let them liue. Tis a pretti•• kind of vermine.

You haue troubled the Lords of their Parlement, which are assembled in this hillocke for the affaires of their common wealth. They are angry with you.

They will tickle you indeed.

Let vs go to some other place.

Let vs sit in the Sunne vnder this wall.

Sit away brother Nathanael. Why?

See you not the great Spider that hangs by a litle Spider-webbe?

O the great theefe! He is a braue hunter for Flies and Butter-flies.

Haue you neuer seene the combat fought between the

Spider and the buzzing Flie?

No: then you haue neuer seene the battaile fought betweene Caesar and Pompey.

Why are they such braue vvarriours?

Farre greater then the Rat and the Frog in Aesops Fables.

Behold this cruell Tyrant! How many Bees, Flies and Butterflies he hath kild?

See their carkasses lye dead in his nets.

Tis a straunge thing of the nature of this Animal.

Come tell vs something of him my fine pratling slaue.

Tis a thing almost monstrous in nature, of the nature of these Spiders, vnto whom women and maydens are scholers, and haue learned of them to spin, and to weaue linnen cloth, and the fishers also to make their nets: but they haue a far greater grace and expedition in their industries: The spinner the spiders wife, and her daughter the yong spidreffe they spin and make thrids & cobwebs for the toyle and the snare, whilest her husband hunteth abroad some where for his and their liuing: and is lurking secretly in some litle hole in the vvall, to vvatch and to catch some beast to en••rap him in his net. And although his bodie be litle bigger then a peaze, yet hath he for all that such spirit & liuelinesse that sometime he taketh great buzzing flies & litle lezards in his nets, and marketh so well his time to chace, that he see∣meth to be an Astrologian: he is contrary to vs that tarry for faire weather, for he chaceth when it is cloudie and darkesome, vvhich presageth vnto vs raine, according to the opinions of the two great Philosophers Aristotle and Plinie.

Hearest thou the Frogs croke?

Tis signe of faire vveather or of raine, or of vvind, or of storme, or of nothing.

See you that dog there, vvho pisseth against the vvall?

He is as Plato saith, in his second booke of his Common-wealth, the most Philosophicallest beast in the world.

But did you neuer see a dog meeting with a mary-bone, if you haue seene him, you might note with vvhat deuotion he doth vvatch it: with what care he keepeth it: with what zeale he holdeth it: with what pollicie he setteth his seete on it: with what wisedome he tameth it: with what affection he bruseth it, and with what diligence he sucketh it.

What moueth him to do so? what is the hope of his studie? what good pretendeth he?

Nothing more then a litle marrow. True it is, that this litle is more delicious then a great deale of all other things.

The reason why: because that the marrow is a meate laboured to the perfection of nature.

As saith Galenus 3. lib. fac. &c.

Of all beastes there is none more sage, nor more subtil then the lack-anapes.

O the vilanous beast! He doth nothing but mocke euerie bodie: and sheweth his taile to euerie one that goeth by: he keepeth not the house as the dog: he draweth not the plough as the Oxe: he yeeldeth neither milke nor wooll as the sheepe: he carrieth not his maister as the Horse: he beareth no burden as the Asse. That vvhich he doth is but to defile and marre all: vvhich is the cause vvhy he receiueth of euerie one so manie blowes and mowes.

Can you tell what my fellow-companion Maximilian told me?

What I pray thee.

That Ieronimo Pierruche is miserably inamoured of a prettie wench, and that his brother

Iacke, he that plaied at nineholes vvith vs, is bound with a marchant, hauing quite left his learning: that is, he is promoted from the hall into the kitchin.

What is this I heare?

This Ieronimo you knew him well fat slaue, cherrie cheeked, faire and vvell liking, merry, with a slicke face, pleasant, disposed, and a tratling companion: Now he is lea••e, vvan, pale, looking like one halfe dead, vveake, vgly, dreaming, louing to be alone, and cares for no bodies company: so that none of those that had seene him before, could now know him againe.

O the poore and wretched yoong man! Of what proceeds his griefe?

Of loue. Of loue? Tell troth.

Now he is mad: he is foolish: oftentimes he vvalketh alone: but vvill neuer speake to any bodie: alwaies mumbling or recording some thing in English verse, that he hath made to his sweete-heart and minion.

O caitiffe boye!

One vvhile you shall see him faine a sea of teares, a lake of miseries, vvring his hands and vveep, accuse the heauen, curse the earth, make an anatomie of his heart, to freeze, to burne, to adore, to plaie the Idolater, to admire, to faine heauens, to forge hels, to counterfait Sisyphus, to play the Tantalus, to represent Titius Tragedie.

And by and by he exalteth in his verses that Diana whom he loueth best: her haire is nothing but goldwire, her browes arches and vautes of Ebenus: her eies twinck∣ling starres like Castor and Pollux, her lookes lightnings: her mouth Corall: her necke Orient-Pearle: her breath Baulme, Amber, and Muske: her throate of snow: her necke milke-white: her dugs that she hath on her brest, Mountains or Apples of Alablaster. All the rest of her body is but a prodigalitie & treasure of heauen & of nature, that she had reserued to work the perfectiō of his mistres & dear.

Tis great danger least he fall beside himselfe in the end.

O the poore passionate is cruelly eclipsed! One while you shall see him drownd in teares and lamentations, to make the aire eccho with his sighs, complaints, murmurings, rages, imprecations: otherwhiles if he haue got but a glaunce of his goddesse, you shall see him gay, glistering like an Emerawd, and pleasant, sometime you shall see him crosse, passe and repasse fiue or six times a day through a street that he may haue but one friendly looke of her eye that he loueth best.

What will you giue me if I shew you a letter that he wrot to his sweet-hart.

I pray thee my minion do me this fauour that I may see it.

I will read it out aloud, hearken.

Mistresse your beautie is so excellent, so singular, so celestiall, that I beleeue Nature hath bestowed it on you as a sampler to shew how much she can do when she will imploy her full power and best skill. All that is in your selfe is but honie, is but sugar, is but heauenly ambrosia. It vvas to you to whom Paris should haue iudged the golden apple, not to Venus, no, nor to Iuno, nor to Minerua, for neuer was there so great magnificence in Iuno, so great wisdome in Minerua, so great beautie in Venus, as in you. O heauens, gods and goddesses, happie shall he be to whom you grant the fauour to col you, to kisse you, and to lie with you. I cannot tell whether I am predestinated by the Fairies, wherefore I commend me to your good grace, and kissing your white hands, humbly I take my leaue without Adieu.

He vnderstands alreadie the courtisane Rhethoricke, the poore boy is blind, and out of his best wit.

He will call himselfe home one day.

I shall be very glad for his sake truly.

I retire into the Citie, for we haue bene too long in this place.

Let vs to go to Powles to see the Antiquities.

Let vs go vp into the Quire.

Who is buried within this wall?

It is Seba king of Saxons, who conquered this countrie of England.

See what a goodly toombe there is truly. Who is entombed here?

Iohn of Gant duke of Lancaster, and sonne to king Henrie the third.

See there his lance and his target of horne.

What Epitaph is this?

Of sir Philip Sidney, the peerelesse paragon of letters and arms.

Let vs read it I pray you:

England, Netherland, the Heauens, and the Arts, The Souldiors, and the World, haue made six parts Of the noble Sydney: for none will suppose, That a small heape of stones can Sydney enclose. His body hath England, for she it bred, Netherland his blood, in her defence shed: The Heauens haue his soule, the Arts haue his fame, All Souldiors the greefe, the World his good name.

Tis great pitie of this yong gentlemans death.

He is dead, and it is too late to call him from the dead.

Whose new armes be these?

Of my lord Chancellour of late memorie, a man who deserued much more then I can speake of at this time.

What blacke fellow is this?

Tis maister Iohn Collet, who built the schoole in Paules-churchyard.

Truly this Church is very long.

It is longer by fiue paces then our Lady Church at Paris.

How can you tell?

I haue measured them both, but this is not so large nor built so neatly and finely.

Yet did Englishmen build them both.

Let vs go walke below in the body of the Church.

What ancient monument is this?

It is, as some say, of duke Humfrie of Glocester who is buried here.

They say that he hath commonly his Lieftenant here in Paules, to know if there be any newes from Fraunce or other strange countries.

Tis true my friend, and also he hath his Steward who inuiteth the bringers of these newes to take the paines to dine with his grace.

Keepeth he a magnificent house?

Open house from fiue a clocke in the morning till six a clocke at night.

But for strangers I meane.

For strangers as well as for those of his owne houshold and for cittizens.

See me there three companions who are asleepe in that corner vpon a blocke. I cannot tell vvhether they be footmen or trauellers without horses.

They are of the dukes traine.

They be knights of the post.

You are a skoffing companion, in matters of greene apes faces.

Harke, if you stand in need of bale or suretie: for fiue shillings these fellowes will lend you a false oath to bale you if it were ten thousand crownes.

You are a very Iew go.

And you are an eater of Serpents.

Know you that fellow who walketh there cloathed in sattin? He hath eaten his corne in thē grasse.

He hath made then fine greene-sauce. See how he squareth it like an Historiographer. He is an Alchymist by his mine, and hath multiplied all to mooneshine.

He hath then blowne faire, and liueth now as fish by the aire.

I monder much at one thing, and it is, that there are so many false coyners of mony in England, and so few Alchymists.

Alchymists, I trust, are not coyners.

No, but sophisticators of mettals are false lads.

Ile stand to it, that Chimistres are honest men.

I say neither good nor bad of them, let them multiplie till their harts ake, and their purses crake.

Haue you neuer studied Alchymistrie?

No, for it is a pure vanitie.

O the sweet science! O the rich deceit to make the folosophers stone!

How might one do to make it? I will say to find it out.

You must bestow much blowing on all kind of mettals.

Let me alone then, is it all in blowing well?

To tell you troth, this secret hath bene discouered in old time, and in our daies also, but by two or three onely: Who were God-a-mighties godsonnes.

How call you this secret?

Tis called humane blood, the water of life, the dragon, the crow, the Elixir, the mercurie of the Philosophers, the drie-water, the multiplying spirit, the tree of life, the liuing water, the seed of gold, the holy remedie of all diseases.

Tell me, I pray you, what are the vertues of this stone?

This stone is of such vertue, that if men mixe one part among a thousand parts, yea ten thousand

parts of quick-siluer or of Tinne, of leade, of yron, of copper well prepared, they shalbe incontinent and in a moment tur∣ned into pure gold, fine, and of better alloy then any naturall, or myner all gold can be.

Hath it no other properties?

A thousand: for in lesse then a minute it heal••th all disea∣ses, preuenteth those that would come: prolongeth the life: and in such vvise, that vvhosoeuer shall vse of this golde, shall liue manie hundred yeares, as did the holie Patri∣arkes.

Haue you euer knowne anie that had that receit?

The Emperour keepeth a man prisoner at Prage in Bohemia, vvho could make.

What? Gold: the Philosophers Stone: the Elixir, the pouder of Proiection: the great vvorke and secret of the Chymisters.

Why is he prisoner then?

Because he hath made gold purer by Art, then it vvas by Nature.

Tis great pittie truly. But let vs prate a little more before vve go any further.

Content.

See you that man there? He is neither too little, nor too big.

No: for he is of an indifferent stature.

He is a fine man of his person, and hath none other fault but that he is a theefe, a drunkard, a cogger, a dicer, a cutter, if there vvere euer anie in London.

He hath his fingers made for the nonst as Minerua or Araohné, and bath heretofore cried Triacle, and in summe, is the finest maister-flie in England, and carrieth alwaies a picklocke in his pocket, wherewith he vvill picke open any doore. Let him not come neare your fathers Coffers if you be vvise.

He hath threescore and three vvaies to finde out mony alwaies, but he hath two hundred and foureteene vvaies to spend it.

Now let vs returne to our lodgings: we will go through Cheap-side and by the Bourse.

We shall see as we go some faire faces.

Fie villaine, that shall be dishonour to me who am a yoong Academike.

See vvhere a fine girle passeth by: she hath a smug and a glistering face.

I vvill not looke vpon her: for in my minde tis a most filthie thing for yoong Students to stand gazing after foolish and fond girles.

Seest thou this Crosse?

Tis one of the fairest monuments of the Citie of London.

It is the Ornement of the great, large, and the fairest streete of the Cittie. Tis all gilden vvithout side.

I neuer saw the like.

It cost more then ten thousand crownes the building and trimming.

Tis much that, I thinke thou liest now.

Didst thou neuer see the Pyramides which is in Saint Peters Church-yard at Rome?

No: for I vvas neuer there.

I haue bene there: and I haue seene it too: and I saie that the Crosse in Cheape bringeth more beautie and ornament to the Cittie of London, then doth Iulius Caesars Pyramides to Rome.

See the Standard of Cheap-side hard by.

I see it well: tis a Condit of vvater.

They say it hath bene suretie and pledge for many good fellowes,

vvhen they haue had small store of mony in their purses, and few friends to put in any pledge and bale for themselues.

Now we are got to the Change.

The Exchange vvas built in the yeare 1567. by the Knight sir Thomas Gressam; vvho hath also giuen large reuenues to the Cittie of London, for the maintenance of a Colledge and Schoole-maisters to read therein the seuen liberall Sciences.

London shall then be an Vniuersitie.

Thats true: but God he knowes when. Looke the Merchants vviues vvhich vvalke here. They are verie pleasant, and beautifull truly. Know you not the Pilgrimesse vvho passeth there?

She is yoong, frisking, elegant, gallant, too too gratious towards her neighbours: you neuer saw a more proper vvoman, a finer minion, more quicke at her hand and her needle then this is.

See a fine counterfait of a Cuckold who embraceth her!

Truly one may hereafter take Lions by their crags, Horses by their maines: Beares by their nosthrils: Buffes by their mussels, Wolues by their tailes: Goates by their beardes:

Birdes by their feete: Asses by their eares: men by their vvords.

And vvhere vvill you take hold of Oxen and Cuckolds then?

By the hornes.

Tis pratled, chatted, & babbled inough. Lets go this vvay: lets go that vvay: Along, along.