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 SECOND METHOD OF the true and naturall prononciation of the French, followeth dilated in xx. chapters, by the most difficult French letters and vovvels, vvhich are set in the margine, vvith their English value iust against the familiar talke of Trades, very delectable to read. The Booke-seller. Chap. 1.

BVy some new booke sir, there are the last newes from Fraunce.

What bookes buy you?

Hold see if you can furnish me this note.

The Butterflie of Bellauius. The flie of Lucian. Ouid of the Flea and the Nut-tree. Ronsard in praise of the Ant his booke of the Frog, and of the Waspe. Phauorin of feuers quartane.

How all these great volumes together?

Want you no other bookes sir?

Shew me the description of the West Indies in Spanish. Let me see the first and second weeke of Bartas in French. The workes of Petrarque, & the Iornataes of Iohn Boccace in Italian: the Commentaries of Iulius Caesar in Latin. The historie of Heliodore in Greeke. The new Testament in the Assi∣rian tongue: the Alchoran of the Turks in the Arabian: and the Thalmud of the Iewes in Hebrew.

Will you haue them of Lyons or Paris print? im∣printed at Basill or at Venice, if you will? I go to see in the Churchyard if I can find them.

I must needs haue them against my returne to the

Vniuersitie.

Honest man vvhat booke lacke you?

I must buy a certaine booke but I cannot hit of the name of it.

Is it in verse or in prose? No no, it is a historie. Haue you not some pretie little booke to read in the chimnie corner?

There are the seuen sages of Greece, and there are the seuen wise maisters of Rome: and here are the seuen vvise men of Gotham, vvho drownded the Eele in the sea.

That is the very same that I seeke for.

It is finely bound in Calfes leather sir.

Well said brother Tibald.

What's price, how, and let vs haue but one word.

I loue not to make many words, take it for a shilling.

By my fay I will giue you a faire peece of three pence.

One halfe peny more tis yours.

Not a farthing, take monie if you vvill.

Well, vvell, come hether, come againe another time, seeing that tis to you, you shall go without it now, I tell you.

You mocke me then, Adieu.

The Mercer. Chap. 2.

WHat lacke you sir? I haue here good vvrought veluet of Geanes, Sattins of Lucques and of Cypres, Chamblet without waues, cloth of gold, cloth of siluer, damaske for damsels, Spanish taffataes, Millan fustians, Worsteds of Norwich.

I vvould see a good blacke veluet.

There is a peece of very good stuffe.

Is it three piled or two piled? Is it not gummed?

No I assure you of my faith.

Of what price is it? Of 23. shillings the yard.

I haue some that I will sell you for eighteene, but it is not so good as this.

Shew me a peece of tawnie sattin.

There is a sattin full of silke. What say you?

Is it not good and of a faire colour?

The colour is fresh and faire: yet I haue seene a better sattin.

I thinke hard and skant.

Shew me some other more liuely colour.

I will shew you of all colours, of all sorts, and of all prices that you will.

VVhat lacke you Gentlewoman? vvhat seeke you, Gentleman, sir, honest man, come hether.

Harke my friend, I would speake a word in your eare: Will you trust me the sattin of a doublet, and veluet to make me a paire of breeches?

VVhat say you? speake higher. I cannot vnderstand you now. VVill you trust me and giue me credit?

Fy-fi, trusting engendereth the Feuer.

Is then betweene vs two the loue so small?

Loue doth much, and monie doth all.

Farewell then, I commend me to you.

The Goldsmith. Chap. 3.

VVHat lacke ye faire mayden?

Shew me a gylden salt, a carued goblet, a cup finely garnished.

There is faire plate, very rich vessell: most faire stuffe well burnished, and exceeding rich.

My loue, shall I shew you a faire iewell, a ring, with a diamond enchased in it?

Is it waightie?

It vvaigheth a crowne and halfe in gold.

VVhat is the price good sir?

At few vvords eight crowns.

I dare not giue so much.

Say sir, vvhat shall I pay for this iewell to hang in the eare?

This pendent my loue is of pearle wrought in maner of a

vine: at a word two crownes.

You aske too much a great deale.

What offer you then?

That which I told you.

We are farre from bargaining.

One Swallow makes not the spring.

nor one onely marchant the market.

I had rather haue a blacke pendent of Iett after the maner of France.

Shew me a Carkenet.

Sir, I am a Goldsmith, I sell no Iewels.

Pardon me if you please, I tooke you for a distiller of milstones.

I aske for a Lapidaries shop.

Go to the signe of the Hunters horne.

God saue you sir of the Horne.

Welcome mistresse of the Cornet.

Haue ye not some faire Topase set in gold?

No but I haue a verie faire Turquois.

Is it Orientall?

I recouered it of late beyond the country of the Iapans in the Northren Asia.

Where in China?

Yea mary not farre from thence in Quinzay the imperiall State among the Chinos.

Is it possible? Let me see a touch-stone.

Lo there is a faire Emerawde.

This Diamond where was it cut?

It hath the points verie sharpe, and was cut in Cairo or in Canaria, at Venize or in Alexandria.

How sell you that chaine of gold?

For three hundred crownes.

How many linkes containeth it?

Some fiue hundred and fiftie.

Did you neuer see any of these litle rings at London, that they sell at Venice, in the Collets whereof, is set vnder a fine Christall a litle Scorpion of iron wagging the taile verie artificially.

I haue bene in Italy and haue seene many of the same making.

Will you make me such a one?

Yea: for ten crownes.

Faile not then against to morrow vvhen I shall come againe this vvay. Adue.

The Painter. Chap. 5.

GOd blesse you Painter.

Welcome my fine laddes.

What portraictûre is that thou paintest there? Of Esope the sage.

O vvhat lips and no sethrils of an Ape he hath!

He is eared like an Asse.

What say you of this figure?

I say that if it be Venus, she hath not her face vvell painted. It is an Italian Harlekin.

He is beleeue me, verie vvell counterfeited for a foole.

He is not verie vvell shadowed for a wise man.

What vvanteth there?

He is crump-shouldered and crooked, and hath a Hawkes∣nose.

The Persians adored those who had an Aquiline nose, for Cyrus sake, who they say, had his of forme like a shooing-horne.

He hath his hands very crooked and limy fingerd, For all that he is not a theefe.

What can he do?

He can hold his peace and keepe his owne counsell.

He is then wiser then many fooles.

Wherfore hath this dwarfe his face so red and fierie?

The shame and horror seaseth him of the villanies, wickednesse and abhominations committed by the world, or rather to see the blind iudge of colours.

Be gone hence, for you will buy nothing, I see well, packe, packe: Gods Lord! what merchants!

But we will buy so that thou will let vs make the price at our plea∣sure.

There is a faire bargaine. Tis a long while that I am troubled with you.

Be gone hence I pray you.

We do no harme, What image is that?

Tis the image of the Virgine MARIE.

Set me downe this Table.

Is not this our Lord IESVS CHRIST?

Who is portraited and pictured so liuely here?

Tis the Romane T. Caesar of famous memorie.

The image of an exceeding passing workemanship.

We find written, that Tyberius Caesar had the ioynts of his fingers so strong, that with one finger he did pierce through a greene Apple.

So also can I.

I through a rotten Apple then.

He hath the table of his hand verie large.

Hast thou learned Chiromancie?

I haue heard it spoken of. What then?

Thou shouldest haue diuined here some thing

by the lines of his hands.

I am verie ignorant of such abuse.

See you this Mappe of the world? I see it well.

Whats this a Sea? I see but a litle water, which is not greater then the Thames.

I maruell the French King doth not make a fine bridge to passe from one country to another.

The Sea betweene France and England is it no broader then that? By my faith I will then easily shoote an arrow from Douer Castle to the white sandes of Cales.

See here the huge Ocean Sea.

Is that the Ocean Sea? That, Is this the earth?

They say that sir Francis Drake, maister Candish, and Magellanes, haue bene almost three yeares in compassing the earth and the Sea.

By my troth to win a good pinte of claret wine, in lesse then a daies iourny, in a faire afternoone, I will go round about them on foote without Horse, Asse, Mule, Ship-boat or Brygandine.

Thy feuers quartanes thou wilt not.

Looke here Cullion! See Asia. Here are Tygris and Euphrates. See here Quinzay, a Citie so fa∣mous amongst the Azians: and hath xij. thousand stonebridges, vnder which the ships passe with full saile, & neuer pull downe their masts.

See Affrick! Here is the mountayn of the Moone!

Seest thou the Fennes of Nyle? Lo here the red Sea.

Looke vpon the great Caire! On this side is Europe.

This top here all white, are the Hyperborean mountains. Here are the Alpes, ouer which we go downe into Italie. There are the Appenines: and here are the Pyrenaean hilles, by which you may go directly into Spaine.

See here where is the Citie of London. See Powles steeple, You do naught but soile and fowle my marchandize, and vvill buy nothing I see well.

Shew me some fine pretie Tablet to hang in my counting-house.

There is one vvhich is a fine peece of vvorke, painted and drawne out of the worke, long since wrought by Ph••lomela, setting foorth and shewing her sister Progne, how her brother in law Tereus had defloured her, and cut out her tongue, to the end that she should not tell.

Tis a most gallant and woonderfull sumptuous peece.

This likes me not, shew me another.

See here liuely painted the Id••es of Plato.

See here the Atomes of Epicurus.

See there Eccho after her nature represented.

Behold there the life and gests of Achilles in seuentie and eight peeces of Tapistrie with broad lists, long full foure, broad three fathoms, all of Phrygian silke, embrodered with gold and siluer.

Where is the beginning?

The Tapistrie beginneth at the mariage of Peleus and Thetis, going on with the natiuitie of Achilles, his youth written by Stacius Papinius, his gests and feats of armes celebrated by Homer: his death and buriall pend by Ouid, and Quint Calabrian, ending in the apparition of his shadow, and the sacrifice of Polixena written by Euripides.

How much? vvhat is the price I pray you?

Ten thousand crownes.

Tis too deare for me that.

Whats this?

Tis the shape of a man that lacks a maister.

He hath his face liuely painted.

He is drawne truly iust in all qualities, fit in all gesture, behauiour, lookes, gate, phisiognomie and affections.

How much shall I giue you for this same Table?

Foure Crownes.

Hold, you shall haue no more nor lesse: I will pay you in lack-an-apes pence, or in faire crownes of the Palace.

Away, away, march I say downe, you mocke me, I see well inough.

Haue you not prated and tatled inough yet? away from hence I say.

Adieu, adieu, Painter adieu.

The Armorer. Chap. 6.

WHere shall I find a two hand-sword?

What vvill you kill Iacke-a-Lent?

I kill no body, but only that I vvill stand vpon my gard.

What, haue you any secret enemies?

I cannot march betweene eleuen and twelue a clocke at night, but maister Constable of our vvard sendeth me on a message to the Counter in the Poultrie.

What to do? to buy hens?

By my fayth to pay my ransome.

I giue to the diuell, if I meet him, I will make him an honest man.

Shew me a two-edged sword, if you vvill.

Theres an old blade that hath sent many soules to God or the Dill.

This sword is truly too dangerous for a man thats all choller, as I, for it is to keene, empoysoned, and a shauer.

It hath a naughty hilt.

The sheath is worth nothing.

For how much vvould you sell it?

For foure faire crownes.

You aske too much a great deale.

If a theefe had stolne it tis worth more.

I see vvell you vvill not sell it.

I had rather sell it then giue it.

I beleeue you well.

I assure you tis a Vienna blade in Dalphine.

Let me see it▪ Ile lay a vvager tis a falcion

of Ferrara, a Tucke of Toledo, a Whineyard of Scotland or a Bilbow blade.

Thou hast hit the naile on the head, go.

How much this Turkish cem••torie?

Fiftie crownes.

Now I know the price, you aske fiftie crownes, I vvill giue you fiue.

Well tis yours then.

A man hath no sooner spoken but he is taken at his word.

My friend men take men by their vvords, and birds by a call.

Why haue you bought this Tranchant?

To feare my foes and to fend my friends.

One should not put a swoord into the hand of a child, of a foole, of a drunkard, of a theefe, or of a villaine.

The Apoticarie. Chap. 7.

POticarie, haue you made my drinke?

Who prescribed you this receipt?

Tis maister Doctor.

What Doctor?

Will you know? Know you not the hand?

No truly.

Albertus Magnus is the author, I haue translated it out of his vvorkes of the secrets of damsels.

Do you beleeue this monstrous lyar?

Is he so great a lyar?

He sayth that there is vertue in stones, in hearbs, and in vvords, to make men in loue vvith vvomen, and vvomen with men. No, no, tis another thing that I will do.

I will coniure a spirit, and will go inuisible.

Let me see your Receit. Read it.

Take a Frogs tongue, and the blood of a bat.

And how must I vse them?

beat them vvell together in a morter.

Doth it bind or loose?

Yea, yea, and make a man go to the &c. lustily.

Take then a violl and stop it vvell.

Whats that vvithin that box there?

Tis pepper or Ginger.

VVhat haue you vvithin this great sacke?

They are cloues, nutmegs, saffron, cynnamon and almonds.

What fine drogues are vvithin these boxes there bepainted with shapes of Harpies, of hares, of flying horses and flying harts? There is within them, balme, ambre, amomum, muske, ciuet, perles, and other precious drugs.

Haue you no preseruatiue against the disease? you know vvhat I meane.

Lay an emplaister to it.

You neede no other Treacle for that.

I dare not purge, for the time is not good.

Haue you a hard belly?

I am alwaies bound in my bellie almost, bring me a glister to morrow morning.

I vnderstand you well now, let me alone.

Farewell till to morrow morning.

The Horseman. Chap 8.

SEE you that fine horesman there? he is a Prauncer of Ferrara.

He is an Italian gentleman, and rideth better a girle then a gelding.

He is mounted for all that on a braue nag, on a gennet, on a barded horse.

How like you his horse, is he not a fine courser.

I tell you sir that he is a Hungarian or Turkish horse.

By your leaue it is a great horse of the countrie of Frize, or of Denmarke.

I will lay a wager that it is a courser of Naples,

of Mantua or of Ferrara.

For a quart of wine tis a Barbarian horse, or a Gennet of Spaine.

He trotteth maruellous well. See, see he falleth to his amble againe. He is of a most fierce courage and proud.

He is verie yoong. He is but yet a colt. He is fat and vvell liking. He is couered vvith a faire Capparison.

That helpeth nothing to the goodnesse of the horse.

He hath great and faire eyes, and plaieth without cease vvith his bit froathing and foming.

He sheweth that the bit is not his maister.

Ah! vvhat a mincing pace he hath? He is quicke in managing. See you him go one vvhile ouerthwart, now on the left side, then on the right, and toucheth the ground but a verie litle, vvith the tip of his hoofe onely?

O that this light horse fetcheth fine friskes, he is as a light as a feather, and runneth verie swift.

O that he raineth vvell, how he frounceth his necke, carrying his head aloft and his eare vpright.

See how he moueth vvith fiercenesse and heate his browes, and trampleth vvith all his members brauely. Behold how the sitter makes him fluce in the aire, leape the ditch, skip ouer the pales, turne round in a circle as vvell to the right hand as to the left.

Here is an Irish Hobby.

Thou hast hit the naile on the head. Tis an English Hackny. But view a litle the slouen vvho rides him.

He is like an Ape on a Beares backe.

He starteth and stumbleth at euerie foote. He will shew his sitter a tumbling cast. Weehe, he kicketh: he trotteth, galloppeth, leapeth, runneth, and reareth. The poore Iade is verie leane, he hath nothing but bones, he is blind of an eye: he is lame of a legge: he hath all the hoofes of his feete spoyled.

He vvere good to runne post.

True mine host. Come, along.

The Taylor. Chap. 9.

GOd speed Taylor. Welcome sir.

How many elles of sattin must I buy to make me a dubblet?

Foure elles and a quarter sir.

And how much veluet for my breeches?

If you vvill haue them made after the Spanish fashion, you must haue three elles and a halfe.

How much broad cloath must I haue to make me a cloake after the Romane fashion, or a riding cloake after the Dutch maner?

You must haue litle lesse then fiue elles and a halfe, to make one large inough for you vvith a coxcombado of the same cloth.

Well, well take measure then.

Stand vpright and stirre not.

How like you the Italian breech?

The Venetian guise liketh me best.

What say you to the French fashion?

I vvill be of the English cut.

As pleaseth best his eies, euery one doth himselfe disguise.

Make the codpeece of the Courtisan cut, or of the Antique maner.

Ho, let Marcantony alone.

For when shall these cloathes be made?

Betweene this and Sunday, against Christmas, against Easter, against Whitsontide.

Farewell then. Stay sir, I haue not yet taken the measure of your purse.

There is a crowne to buy lace, silke, and buttons. Steale the one halfe, I pray you.

Sir I am a Taylor, I am not a theefe.

You haue two sciences for a need.

I haue but one sir.

You are a Tailor by your trade, and a theefe by your occupation. Go.

He that knoweth not the art, let him shut vp his shop and go to cart.

The Shoomaker. Chap. 10.

WHat Cobbelero, vvhere are you? What commands your signiory? Set a patch on my shoo.

It shall cost you then a peny.

Shoomaker, shew me some good two soled or three soled shooes, some pumps or pantofles of Spanish leather. Let me see some bootes.

Sit downe on this forme. Of what length is your foote?

If you will haue a shoo verie easie for your foote, take this same. Let me assaie it.

Giue me a shoing horne.

It will last you but too long.

Theres no so faire shoo, but comes to be a slipper.

How these? Halfe a crowne, I will not rebate a mite.

Now tell me in good sooth, Shoomaker, did it neuer chance vnto you after you had so well shooed any one, as at this present you haue done me, that he is gone away vvithout paying, or taking his leaue otherwise.

No truly.

And if it should chance now, vvhat would you do?

By God I would runne after. Do you speake in good earnest. In faith I speake it, and besides would thinke to do it.

Go to then, I will trie once, see here is abase: follow me as quickly as

you loue your shooes.

Hold the theefe. Stop the theefe.

Staie me not maisters, I run for a wager, for a bottle of vvine.

He is escaped from the Shoomaker, but he is not escaped from the theefe.

Why so? He shall carrie the theefe with him euerie vvhere, where he shall go.

Tis all one, if I can ouertake him, I vvill lay fellony to his charge.

The Debter. Chap. 11.

WHat! ho! Sir are you gone by thus without speaking?

I speake onely to those that I know.

Do you not know me?

I neuer saw you in my life that I can tell.

Haue you forgotten that you had vvares of me lately? Of you? what is your name? I am called Renard Wolfe.

There is more then one Wolfe and two Renards in the wood.

You cannot remember it? I haue a weake memorie.

See then your writing.

I cannot see without spectacles a whit: let me see it, soft, me thinks tis written in Syrian.

I vnderstand not a word.

You owe me three hundred fiftie crownes: pay me, or I will cause you to be arrested.

Of my faith you shall haue them to morrow or after.

The oath is the proper armes of a lyar.

I promise you if I misse now, to pay you double.

The paier double, doth me vex and trouble.

Will you not trust a gentleman to be trusted, vvhen he sweareth by his fayth.

Faith without worke is dead.

If you will not deale with me as I deale vvith others, do the vvorst that you can, I care not a straw for you.

Make them that owe you pay you.

You say true, and when men haue no monie what shall I do to them to get monie?

Cause them to be arrested, they will make shift.

Men should not be so rigorous, vve ought to haue compassion one of another, as God hath commaunded vs.

There was a good sermon made to day at our church.

O God, Christian men shew themselues very Iewes, farre woorser than the Turks, Moores, Arabians, Tartarians, Pagans, Sarasens, Idolaters, vvithout any knowledge or feare of God, who are not so cruell and barbarous in their kind as are these Christian nations, vvho cut one anothers throat, for a diuell of gold and siluer, which draweth all the vvorld after him.

You go from the text, vvill you pay me?

Tis a princely matter to be in debt.

He is not a good Christian who oweth nothing.

The king of France oweth me as good as ten thousand crownes, and the Focquers of Germanie little lesse.

All that is nothing to me.

I vvill be payd incontinent.

Tarry a little, God saue me from being so incontinent out of debts.

Who lendeth nothing is a filthie and vvicked creature, a

Creature of the great Hobgoblin of hell.

What! debts! O rare and ancient thing!

He is no good Christian who oweth nothing.

Leaue we these counts.

Will you pay me or not?

Geue me yet three months day.

You do nothing but mocke me from day to day.

Harke a word in your eare, lets talke together.

The Sergeant. Chap. 12.

I Arrest you in the Queenes name, in the kings name.

Maister Sergeant (for he is a gentleman by his office) I pray you do me this fauour to come with me hard by to the next streat, to the house of a Merchant my friend, vvho vvill be suertie for me.

Dispatch then, giue me halfe a crowne from you.

Hold, there is two shillings.

Come lets go then to the Tauerne to drinke a quart of wine, and we will send in the meane while for your friend.

Harke you sir, your man comes not,

My friend it is true that I can marke you prisoner.

You haue taken my monie for an hower.

I leese fortie shillings in another place,

I haue other more waightie businesse, what vvill you that I doe? Giue me fiue shillings, and I vvill bring you along the Citie till fiue of the clocke at night.

Sir, I am a poore man charged with wife and children.

Thats all one. Giue me yet for my paine or els you shall see quickly

that vvhich I vvill do.

My God vvhat shall I do?

I am deuoured aliue.

VVhat birds of pray! vvhat crowes be these?

What reason or conscience haue you to take a crowne more?

Gods Lord aske you that? Come, come, come along. By God sir you shall enter into the court to see your action, I can do no lesse by mine office and oth.

O now you are in Cappaedocia, farewell honest man adieu, you must sing there a little among the Canarie birds.

The Way. Chap. 13.

FAire mayden, vvhere is the vvay to the vvell, to the church, to the riuer?

Right before you.

Ho pesant, countriman, countrilasse, faire woman shew me the way to Rome I pray you.

By our Lady to Rome sir, it is a great vvay thither. As for me I was neuer there, but to go thither you must passe by many great cities and little villages. Go your vvaies from hence first to Paris, and then aske the high vvay to Constantinople, from thence tis fiue hundred good leagues and a halfe vnto Hierusalem. Embarke there to come for Venice or Marseilles, and you shall find company enough euery day to bring you to Rome.

Tis in mine opinion a little the farthest vvay about.

Which way must I go for the shortest and the directest way from hence to Rome?

Go from hence to Paris, from Paris to Lyons tis but ten daies iourny. From thence to Turin in

Piemont but seuen, from Turin to

Florence but twelue, and from Florence to Rome but three.

The vvay is very hard to be kept without a guide.

Enquire of sheapheards and sheapheardesses whom you shall meet in trauelling.

Is the vvay drie, sandie, faire, and easie to keepe?

It is stonie, and full of dangers by reason of theeues vvho lye in the vvoods.

Tis a good country that hath not one mile of naughtie vvay.

Do they do iustice vvell in these quarters here?

As euery vvhere els.

They hang vp the little theeues, but the great theeues escape vvell enough.

Set me in my right vvay I pray you.

See you the gallowes there on high? Come not nere it if you be wise, passe ouer the bridge, follow the pauement, hold the champaine ground, leaue the mountaine, go along the vines, crosse ouer the meddow, and you haue alwaies the high way before you.

I doubt I shall misse my way. Men misse their vvay many times in going to Rome.

O God I am wearie and cannot march any further.

Go backe to London, and get vp to the top of Pauls steeple, and from thence take your first flight to the Tower of London, from thence flie to the castell of Douer, from thence to the bastion of Calais in Fraunce, thence to the Bastillia of the great citie of Paris, thence to the fortresse on the walles of Orleans, thence to the citadell of Lyons, thence to the great castell of Millan, thence to the Arsenall of Venice, thence to the amphitheatre of Verona, thence to the Theatre of

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Pise, thence to the Castle Saint Angelo, and you shall be quickly in Rome.

How vvill you that I flie, I haue no vvings?

Go by Sea.

I vvill then embarke my selfe for the Straight of Gibraltar: then sing-lyng along the coast of Catalonia, Maiorica, Mynorica, Sardinia, and Corsica, I vvill land at Ciuita Vecchia, and from thence in one day, I will ride on a Mule or an Asse to Rome.

The Asse then shall be as soone at Rome as you.

And I as soone as mine Asse.

Go then both togither: I wish you a happie voyage.

The Theefe. Chap. 14.

KIuala? Stand. Sblood! Swoundes!

Yeeld thy purse: quicke, quicke, dispatch, yeeld, alight, or I will shoote this bullet into thy belly.

Where is thy port mantle?

You owe me three hundred fiftie crownes, and shall paie me now.

Heres nothing here? O hart I must kill this villaine.

Wilt thou not confesse where thy crownes are?

Sir, take all that I haue, but spare my life.

What is that thou carriest in thy budget?

Tis my mony, sir, saue my life, and take it hardly, I giue it you.

Thou hast more sowed in thy dubblet,

Hast thou not? Confesse villaine, I will saue thy life.

Fellow giue me the halter out of thy sleeue.

Crie not villaine, for I vvill cut thy throate.

Not a vvord, till vve be gone a great way out of sight.

He is fast bound now.

Come then fellow theefe, lets mount and spurre cut, lets away amaine.

Whether vvill vve go? Into France.

Let vs hie vs to Douer then, for if we be taken, we shalbe hanged. Away.

The Marriner. Chap. 15.

HOnest men who will go for Calis, let him make hast. To Calice ho.

Aboord ho.

Doth the vvinde serue?

The vvinde is at Norde, North and

North West.

What take you for a passenger?

A French Crowne: two Crownes man and Horse.

The ship is it vvell armed: for I haue feare of those Pyrates of Donkerke.

Feare them not, for the ship is verie vvell equipped with Artillerie and Munition.

Go into the Proue. Lets hoyse saile on Gods name, it is calme, and bloweth not a whit.

We shall haue the winde by and by in Pupp: I see by the racke.

The Tide swelleth. See the waues mount.

The Sea begins to rise, and rage from the verie bottome.

See how these huge waues beate against the sides of our ship.

Here ye these terrible whirlwindes,

how they sing ouer our saile-yardes.

We shall haue by and by a storme. The tempest makes a great noyse.

The heauen begins to thunder from aboue.

It thundreth, it lightneth, it raineth, it haileth: it is best to strike saile, and to vire the cables.

To the Deck ho: to the Sterne: This waue vvill carrie vs to all the Diuels.

O God the Sauiour.

O my friends: O thrice and foure times happie are those vvho are on firme land setting of beanes?

God be mercifull vnto vs, and our Ladie of Lorretto.

Dish, dash, plash, crack, rick-rack, thwack, bounce, flounce, rounce, hizze, pizze, vvhizze, sowze, O God helpe vs and the Virgine Marie.

Paish, flish, flash, rowze, rittle, rattle, battle, rish, rash, clash, swish, swash, robble, hobble, bobble. O Saint Iames, Saint Peter, and Saint Christopher.

O Saint Michael, Saint Nicholas, now and neuer more.

O God we are now at the bottome of the Sea.

I giue eighteene hundred thousand crownes of reuenue to him who will set me a land.

Lets land here: let vs go a s••ore.

I vvill giue you all that I haue in the world to set me a shore.

Will you go a shore in the midst of the Ocean Sea?

What a horrible tempest?

By Saint Grison what meanes this?

Shall we take our sepulture here among these waues? I see neither heauen nor earth.

I must make vvater a litle. I pardon all the world. I die my friendes.

Fare you all well.

The tempest is now ended.

O that it is faire weather againe.

Truly it hath lightned and thundred lustily.

I beleeue that all the Diuels are vnchained to day, or that the good Ladie Proserpina is trauelling of childbirth.

Beleeue that all the fiue hundred thousand hundred millions of Diuels dance the morrice.

Thunder Diuels, fart, fist, fissell.

A fig for the waue. We are in the hauen of Calice.

Let vs more Ancres.

Cannonier, shoote of a peece of Artillery.

We are saued: I go to lodge with mine hostesse at the three Kinges, or at the greene Dragon.

The sicke man Chap. 16.

GOd be here. Sleepe you?

If I could sleepe, I should be halfe whole.

You grone like a Hog in loue with a Sow.

I do but raue, cough, spit, and sneeze.

Tis a good signe if you escape it.

I haue also the squirt and the bloodie flux.

What other disease haue you?

I haue also the itch, the great or small pockes which doth foxe me.

One disease commeth sildome alone.

O that my head aketh cruelly.

Tis then the disease of Naples.

O who shall deliuer me from my greefs?

Tarry, I haue a Cemitorie which shall do the office.

Who haue bene your Phisicians?

The most expert of the vvorld in vrines, for they haue brought me out of an ill weeke into an euill yeare, and haue changed me a French Shanker into a double Neapolitan Cancro.

Did you cause your selfe to be let blood?

The Barber hath drawne three ounces of blood out of the capitall vaine, and the Phisition ten out of the crumenall, and hath bid me take seuen Cock-chickens, &c.

What sayth he of your disease?

He sayth that it is the disease of Italie, of Fraunce, of Spaine, of Germanie, and of England.

What disease is that?

The Catholicke disease, the common sicknesse, the great maladie.

Know you no other name?

They call it the pox in Fraunce, I cannot tell what they call it in England.

Speake softly, see here maister Doctor.

My friend open your purse, I meane your mouth, vse your legs a little.

Faire and softly, without choller, be patient, all shall be well. Take these pilles to morrow morning and you shall do well by Gods grace.

I had rather eat a baow, than to chaw and swallow downe these pilles, they are so bitter.

You haue wrong to find fault with good receipts and medecines, be of good cheare, adieu.

Adieu maister Doctor. O that I am sicke.

Pacience, alas! that I pittie you prettie fellow.

There is no remedie now.

Couragio, couragio, you shall be well quickly.

Sicknesse comes alwaies on horsebacke, and goeth away on foot.

The Draper. Chap. 4.

GEntleman, sir, signior, honest man, vvhat cloth vvill you see? vvant you any good sorts of cloaths?

Come hether, I will vse you vvell.

Of what colour will you haue?

Shew me a faire scarlet, a vvelch frise, a good Irish rug.

Haue you a faire French tawnie? Let me see a very fine London greene. Shew me a Crimsin very fine and large.

I haue the best in London for you.

There is one of a good breadth, looke vpon it vvell in the light. Handle it, the colour is in graine.

It will not loose colour.

How sell you the yard, the elle, the whole peece, the halfe yard, a gowne-cloth, a cloake-cloth?

At a vvord I vvould sell it, ten shillings six pence the yard, fifteene shillings the elle, sixteene shillings eight pence the elle and the halfe quarter.

Well measure out fiue elles and an halfe, make good measure I pray you.

One, two, three, foure, fiue, and a halfe, good measure.

What would you haue mistresse, a stammell to make you a petticote, or a purple for a kertle? Of vvhat colour vvill you haue, of white, blacke,

gray, violet, greene, of medlie colour, of rats or ships colour, yellow, blew, orenge, purple, crimsin, skie colour, lyons haire, &c. I haue of all colours, and of all prises.

How gracious and glib are the tongues of these yoong drapers in Watling-street?

The Inne. Chap. 17.

GOd saue you mine host. Welcome sir.

Shall I be lodged here for this night?

How many are you?

Harrie, my beast, Ronsin and I.

You shall be vsed well. Come in if you please, they shall draw off your boots and spurs by and by.

Hostler, I pray thee rub my horse well and giue him a bottle of hay and a pecke of oates.

I will looke to him well sir, doubt not of it.

Mine host when shall we sup? I haue a good stomacke.

When it shall please you sir. The supper is redie. Well let vs wash our hands.

Come come to table maisters.

Shall not we stay for the other?

Yes we will, as the Abbot stayeth for his monks, to wit, in eating as fast as he can.

Gentlemen eat if you please, drinke round, you are not merrie.

Make good cheare of that which you haue, it is fasting day to day, it is our Ladies euen, There are egges in the shell, butterd, poched, and fride. I must eat some flesh, for I loue not egges nor fish.

There is then a very good caponet.

Tis a very daintie meat.

True, vvhen the stomacke is in good disposition.

I am of opinion that a rosted capon, is better to be eaten then a raw legge of mutton.

And I had rather drinke wine then water.

There is a fat capon, a Turkie-cocke, a fat goose, a dosen of larkes, a couple of good fat rabbets.

Begin vvhere you will.

And here is a calues head.

What is a good head with a good braine worth?

It is inestimable: but the head without the tongue, neuer made oration long.

Who will eat any good fish? There is a good Lamprey. It is the pray of a king, and here is a good side of Salmon, which is worth the hauing of Salomon.

Flesh makes flesh and fish makes fish, and good vvine makes good vvine and vinagre.

There is Frogs and snailes.

They eat them in France and in Italie.

But in England they care not for them.

Ho Frier Iohn eat you not of this good fish?

To tell you the reason, there is such a season, that fish is poison.

Tast of this trowt, sup of this Eele-broath, it will heat your guts, and wash them sweetly, to bring your belly in temper.

Of all birds I loue not the goose nor the gosling.

Of all fishes I esteeme the Eele poyson. Of all fresh fish except the tench, take the wing of a Partridge, or the buttocke of a Nunne. I loue woonderfully the vvhite of the capon. Therein are you nothing like Foxes, for of capons, hens and chickens that they take, they neuer eat the vvhite.

Why so? because they haue no cookes to dresse them.

Boy some vvine, fill to me. To you mine host To you mine hostesse. I vvill pledge you here. I beleeue it freeseth, it is so cold, let vs rise maisters, and draw neare to the fire.

The God of Paradice thats best, Bee for all these graces blest.

The going to bed. Chap. 18.

I Feele my selfe a litle ill after supper.

My stomacke greeueth me.

Mine Oast I will go to rest. I haue great desire to sleepe. The sleepe is alreadie fallen into mine eyes.

Let some bodie shew me my chamber.

When you will my daughter shall shew you the way.

God night mine Ost. God night, God-night hostesse.

God giue you good night and good rest euerie bodie.

You must mount this way sir. See your chamber.

See your bed. There are the priuies, and here is your chamber pot.

Draw these curtines. Lend me a kercheffe or a coiffe: I haue a night cap in my bosome.

Your sheetes are cleane.

Looke that they be verie drie I pray you.

I haue ayred them at the fire.

Pull of my hosen. Couer me with my gowne.

I haue too litle couering.

Giue me another pillow, I cannot lye so low.

Are you well now? will you haue yet more heling? would you nothing else?

Not now. Seepe well.

Harke Gaudinetta, kisse me once my sweet heart, before thou depart. I had rather die, then kisse a man in his bed.

Kisse me, and I will giue you your bracelets againe, that I tooke from you the other day playing with you.

Speake no more to me, I pray you of kissing nor of loue, but giue me my bracelets againe, for otherwise what will my father and my mother say to me?

They will be angrie with me.

They will not: they will not.

But they vvill I assure you: but tis no matter, I vvill say that a theefe hath stolne them from me.

Harke, I pray thee, Gaudinetta, tell me one thing, vvhich of vs two loues one another better: vvhether you me, or I you?

As for me I do not hate you: for as Gods commandes, I loue all the vvorld.

But to the purpose, are you not inamoured of me?

I haue told you so many times, that you should not vse any such speeches to me, if you speake any more to me, I shall shew you that it is not to me, that you should addresse your selfe.

You are verie obstinate, I see vvell.

Giue me my bracelets againe then if you vvill.

How now my loue your bracelets? I vvill not, I sweare a great oath: but I vvill giue you others.

Had you not rather haue a silken girdle, &c.

Harke some bodie cals me.

They do not.

Gaudinetta vvhat do you aboue so long?

I come by and by mother.

Will you not kisse me before you depart.

Another time. I am cald now. I shall be chidden. I cannot kisse men.

My father vvill be angrie. My mother comes.

What will you do? Let me go. I shall be kild by and by.

God giue you good night, Sir. God night faire mayden. God night, Gaudinetta.

The Slasher. Chap. 19.

GOd morrow to your Seignorie, Seignior Vespasian.

In faith friends meet oftener then mountaines.

By the faith of a Gentleman I am verie glad to see your magnificence lustie.

Let me giue you an accollado. What Signior Valerian my deare friend, my neere cousin. Come, cullion let me crush thy callibisters with accoling thy buttockes. Shake handes.

Loue passeth the gloue, and the water goes, cleane through the bootehose.

You make no more reckoning of pettie compagnions.

No, no, I liue with but with Princes and among great Lordes.

Whence commeth your signorie?

I come from seeing the seuenteene landes of the low countries.

You are growne too rich.

A fig for mony, I shall haue one day but too much: for I haue a Philosophers stone which fetcheth mony to me out of mens purses, as fast as the Adamant doth draw iron vnto it.

You are sicke as farre as I see by your phisiognomie, and I know your disease.

What I pray thee? you haue a flux of the purse, as well as I.

Care not you for that, I haue yet six pence halfe pen••e, vvhich neuer saw father nor mother, vvhich shall vvant you no more then the Griegoes in your necessitie.

Thy male Mules, poultron. I haue more

mony then thou vvottest of: for I haue three score and three vvaies to recouer mony alwaies at my neede.

The most honourable and common is, in robbing by the high way side.

The Canker claw thee villaine: Tell, hast thou no mony poore Diuell?

What then, Fortune will fauour me one day to haue a purse as long as mine arme, full of faire Angels or French Crownes.

You haue spoken maske. What wilt thou say to a fellow who will shew thee ten or twelue budgets full of old Rose nobles, Chikinoes, and Hungarie Ducates?

If thou shewest them me, I will picke out mine eyes.

See, looke here villaine. Blesse thee, make the signe of the crosse on thy nose.

I thinke thou hast more callibisters then Crownes.

For those are counters or pallace pence that thou hast there. My friend harke, thou hast no pastime at all in this world. I haue more then the King.

And if thou wouldest consort with me, we would plaie the Diuels.

No, no, by Saint Adauras, for thou shalt be hanged once.

He thats borne to be hangd, shall neuer be drownde. Ah great sheepe!

Fearest thou hanging? Thou shalt be buried, which is more honourable, the ayre or the earth?

I had rather perish in the vvater among the golden sandes of the riuer of Plata, in the West Indies.

Wilt thou come along into Flanders with me?

What to do?

To beat the pauement: we vvill make the dust flie.

Seignior good face wilt thou change me a crowne?

Beleeue me I haue no small monie.

I would haue testons or kardekews.

I vvill not change you a halfepen••e nor a farthing by God.

Lend me then six pence, I pray you.

I haue no siluer about me beleeue me.

Yet you must needs for all that lend me sixpence to pay mine ordinarie whether you will or not.

By Gogs nownes I haue it not.

Go you are no better then a rogue.

Go thou art a villaine thy selfe.

Will you say that I am a villain?

He is a villain which doth any villanie, or vvho hath no mony to spend with his friends, and if thou be noble shew thy gentilitie, pay but only a pint.

I am as blind as a beetle I tell thee.

Of vvhat liuest thou now?

Of the aire as doth the Sturgion.

If I did not feare to lie against mine honour, I would say that thou wert an honest man.

If you should say any otherwise, I would make you lie in your throat.

Giue not me the lye I pray you companion.

Take not in euill part that which I haue sayd.

By the death of my life giue not me the lie, for I will stob thee into the throat.

Say you so, here is a faire place.

Draw, I will breake thy head in nine places.

Cap de saint Arnauld, you shall passe thorow my hands now. Come rogue, come, push, push.

Ho saint Siobe cap de Gascoigne, come good fellow diuell defend your selfe.

By the flesh I renounce, by the blood I denie, by the body I refuse my part of Papimanie, if you escape my hands now, I will sticke thee like a hogge.

See that my rapier be no longer then thy sword, I hate worse then death him that fighteth vpon the aduantage of kniues.

Come, come, push, let vs fight gallant, and lustily rub our bacon.

I will not fight, let vs rather drinke on our swords.

I care not, if thou vvilt fight, lets fight, if thou vvilt drinke lets drinke.

We are well met together, one blind man leadeth another.

Tis danger least vve fall both into some Tauerne.

They vvould giue vs drinke then to be rid of vs.

Hast thou credit no vvhere?

I haue as much as the King, but it is far hence.

I thinke it is beyond the pillars of Hercules, or in the kingdome of Persia.

On this side a little, in Polonia or in Spruceland.

I, I, in Cracouia.

It is thither of mine oath more then fiue hundred leagues of France.

Lets go, vvere it as farre as the East Indies.

Go you then alone, for I will not beare you companie.

See here a drole, he will pay alwaies pint, shopin, or quart, we shall dominier by and by.

God saue you sir, I met the other

day your capitall ennemie, and gaue him the fig vnder his cappuche brauely, I gaue him also a stoccado thorow his right arme, which ran cleane thorow his doublet into his left elbow, and had almost slaine him outright. I did it by God in your quarrell, and for the loue of you, for otherwise vnderstand, I had not hazarded my selfe for an hundred crownes.

Lets go drinke, lets go drinke at the Sunne on this side Criplegate.

Mistres let some body draw vs a shopine.

Sir I drinke to you.

Seignior to your good grace. Thanks my good captayne, I will pledge you here.

Ha monsieur my friend, you know vvell that I haue alwaies loued you, and taken you for a very honest man.

We are friends by God, and vvill be as long as vve liue in despight of the great diuell of hell.

I sweare vnto you by Styx and Acheron in your presence, that there is a blade, to the purpose, if you stand in need, it is at your gentle commandement, my carkase and goods, tripes and bowels, and all.

You haue truly a very fine sword.

Looke vvell vpon that same toole, looke on it well, I sweare vnto you that it vvas the very tucke of the prince of Parma, and from his own proper side he gaue it me into mine owne proper hands.

For some peece of seruice that you had done him peraduenture.

Well doth it please you to command me any thing that I may do for you? for I am going sir.

Your seigniorie will be content to do me this fauour to lend me an hundred crownes till my returne from Venice.

By my beard, if I had them you should haue them vvillingly.

Your seigniory lend me then a horse.

I haue, beleeue me, neither mu••e nor mare, neither man, boy, nor beast.

O pacience of pennilesse mates! then adieu till we meet againe.

I pray the god Mercurie, with Dis the father of crownes, in saunty long time to conserue your seigniorie.

The Bragger. Chap. 20.

SAint George, come, some body bring me my launce, my two-hand sword, and my cuirasse, I vvill be armed from top to toe.

Truly here is faire vvorke cut out for martiall men, now vve should march against that Thracian dog, Mahound God of Turkes and of Arabians, we are called away into France to aide the French king against those Saracine leaguers. Oh would to God that Carolus quintus vvere aliue.

O what a marciall head! O what a mad Rowland! I should be sufficiently instructed in militarie affaires, hauing commaunded twentie fiue yeares captaine generall among the Hungarians and Poles, and hasarded my proper person in more then thirtie bloodie battailes.

Come, come, mine armes of malice, I say of maile.

The braue soldior ought to be armed no lesse vvith aduise then with armour.

Where I cannot preuaile vvith the skin of the Lyon, I will vse the cace of Renard the Fox.

Consider vvisely the chaunses of hasard: one must neuer prosecute them to their period: for it behooueth all Caualiers, reuerently to entreat their good fortune, vvithout racking

or tormenting it at all.

I take aduise alwaies before I march, of that which is to be done, to the end that I be not like to the Athenians, who did neuer go into counsell til•• after the deed was past.

I am wise. You are so.

I am full of chiualrie and a spruce souldier. You are so.

I am couragious, vertuous, and magnanimious.

You are so.

I am resolute, noble, generous and magnificent.

You are so.

I am loyall, honourable, well armed, high mounted, well disposed, hasardous, audacious, heroicall, craftie, and cawtelous as the Serpent which tempted Eue.

You are so.

I am come of a noble race: For marke me well: There was a certaine Chalbrot who engendred Sarabrot, the father in law of Nymbrot, not of him who built the Tower of Babell: but of another of the race of Gallafre, the cousin of Brulefer, who was brother to Maschefain, grandsire of Sortibrand of Conymbria, the Nephew of Atlas, who with his shoulders held vp the heauen from falling. The same A••las being bred and borne in Marocco in Barbary. (You Gentlemen knew him well) was cousin german to Gogmagog, who with his two hands set, it is long since, the two hils of chalke neere Cambridge a most famous Vniuersitie in England, to the end that the schollers should walke thether some times to passe their times about them.

The same was gossip to Fierabras, of whom Merlinus Coccaius writeth in his booke of the country of diuels, that he was the first in this world that plaied at dice with spectacles on his nose, of whom descended after∣wards the great Giant Oromedon, father of Bria∣reus, who had a hundred hands, & Offot the god sonne of Coryneus, of whom you may see the image in the Yeeld-hall of London: who is my kinsman a far of:

for of his noble linage am I descended.

I haue read of your ancestors in the Iestes of the foure sonnes of Aymon.

Finde you not that they haue bene verie famous for their horrible feates of Armes?

They haue shewed their singular prowesse truly against the Sarasins.

I rage, Diuels I rage, hold me Diuels, hold me.

Ho Caetzo great Diuel of hell, awake thy sleepie Cyclopes: Thou Vulcan vvho limpest vvith thy cosins Asteropes, Brontes, Steropes, Polyphemus and Pyracmon. I vvill set you a vvorke. I giue my selfe to an hundred pipes of old Diuels, in case that if you vvill not fight, if I do not make you eate the two egges of Proserpina.

Truly Hercules is nothing to you, vvho being in the cradle, kild the two Serpents: for the said Serpents vvere verie litle and vveake things.

Where is this so furious Hercules? I vvould fight vvith him for a litle quarter of an houre.

He vvould make you pisse vinegre before all the vvorld.

Where is Hector that Troian Lad? I haue a great desire to breake a Lance against his Cuirace.

Where is Alexander, the great drunka••d of Greece?

I vvill make him drinke a carouse. To marciall men vve must not spare good vvine.

Where is Achilles the Grig, Captaine of the Mirmidons, I vvould send his soule by and by into hell.

Where is this pettie companion Vlysses? He should do me a message vnto Pluto.

Where is this quaking-quiuering coward Iulius Caesar? that I might horse him on the end of my Pike and Lance.

You count without your host.

I am affraid that before it be night, you will be firked with Musket and Harquebus shot.

Ho! that I am not a king of France for foure score and ten or a hundred yeares: by God I would make curtald curres of you Gentlem••n that ranne away from Pauy.

I hate him more then poyson, who runneth away when tis come to slashing with kniues.

I feare death no more then a butterflie, or the tickling of a flea in mine eare: and as for me, I feare not to fight with a whole Army, if it be not of these mescreant Tartarians, Canniballes, Indians, and Moscouites who shoot forward, backward, sideling, this vvay, that vvay, euery vvay, at long, at large, ouer, vnder.

Of a troth the prouesse of Camillus, Scipio, Pompey▪ Caesar, and Themistocles, are nothing comparable to yours.

I kill men, as Diomedes kild the Thracians, and as Vlyxes, I tye their carkasses to my horse heeles, as Homere recounteth.

I vvish you for all that, if the enemies yeeld themselues, that you take them to mercie and ransome, for clemency is a verie royall vertue.

Ho death of a louse, blood of a bat, by the vertue, my friend if I put not all to fire and sworde, I renounce my life.

You affright me vvith swearing so much.

Thou art a beast of the mountaine.

These are but heroicall vvords, and colours of martiall Rhetoricke to adorne my language.

To put them all to the edge of the sword, tis too cruell a thing that.

I am a martiall man, vvhat vvould you haue? Sassassa, how many are these quistrell-scummes?

By the death of a Calfe, I esteeme them lesse then a rosted Capon, for

They are but bragging fooles of France, Hardie at the bottle, and cowards at the Lance.

My friend, I shock so rudely vpon the enemies, that I ouerthrow them like hogs: to some by and by I spatter their braine, to others I breake their armes, to others I cut off their noses, picke out their eyes, cleaue their iawes, strike their teeth into their head, and if any vvill saue himselfe in running away, I make his head flie in fiue hundred foure score and nine peeces.

If any one crie Saint George, I set my foote vpon his gorge: If he crie Saint Barbara, I pull off his beard: If our Ladie of Loretto, I cut off his head.

Make you readie, the enemies are at hand.

I am armed at aduantage, the Lance in rest, mounted as a S. George.

See the Camp of the enemies: they are incamped on a mole-hill. O tis but a microcosme of flies or vvaspes!

They are not in so great number, as had Xerxes, are they?

He had, if you credit Herodotus and Trogus Pompeius, thirtie hundred thousand fighting men, and neuerthe∣lesse Themistocles with a handfull of men discomfited them.

It is inough, I will bring you them to rost or to boile, to frie or to put in paste. But heare the Drumme: the enemies Camp is not farre hence.

The battailes are ranged. The martiall combat begins pel-mell.

The Artillerie begins to plaie against the walles.

There is a Cannon shot which hath carried away quite the vangard to the Diuel.

The alarum begins to be verie hote. The Trumpets sounde the retraict.

The Infanterie is almost all ouerthrowne.

The cornets of light horse retire.

They fetch their carrier towards me. O what raine of lead! what a smoke of lightening and fire! By God I will runne away. Demosthenes sayth that the man that runneth away will fight againe. I am afeard to be slaine and murdered.

What run-away is this? vvhat coward is this?

Courage, courage, vvhy tremble you?

I am affeard to die.

Sassassa, kill, kill.

O masters saue my life. I haue the word.

I am of your side, a friend.

Who are you? vvhence are you?

vvhat do you here?

I am the seignior Crocodill.

Ha what sayst thou?

Masters I am a poore diuell, I beseech you haue pittie on me, I haue yet a crowne to pay my bienvenu.

You are a spie, I will cut your throat.

O monsieur my friend, I yeeld me to you.

Thou shalt be faine to yeeld villaine, for thou shalt also yeeld thy soule to all the deuils.

Alas, I am cruelly vvounded.

I am dead, slaine, massacred. I go to take the way of the first hospitall.

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.