That are wel sowed, with never a stitch amisse,
And use no crafte, in uttring of the same:
When Taylours steale no stuffe from gentlemen,
When Tanners are with Corriers wel agreede,
And both so dresse their hydes that we go dry:
When Cutlers leave to sel old rustie blades,
And hide no crackes with soder nor deceit :

When tinkers make no more holes than they founde, When thatchers thinke their wages worth their worke,

When colliers put no dust into their sacks,
When maltemen make us drink no fermentie,
When Davie Diker diggs, and dallies not,

When smithes shoo horses as they would be shod,
When millers toll not with a golden thumbe,
When bakers make not barme beare price of wheat,
When brewers put no bagage in their beere,
When butchers blowe not over al their fleshe,
When horsecorsers beguile no friendes with Jades,
When weavers weight is found in huswives web.
(But why dwel I so long among these lowts?)

When mercers make more bones to swere and lye,

When vintners mix no water with their wine,
When printers passe none errours in their bookes,
When hatters use to bye none olde cast robes,
When goldsmithes get no gains by sodred crownes,
When upholsters sel fethers without dust,
When pewterers infect no tin with leade,
When drapers draw no gaines by giving day,
When perchmentiers put in no ferret silke,
When Surgeons heale al wounds without delay.

Tush, these are toys, but yet my glas sheweth al. . . .
When al these things are ordred as they ought,
And see themselves within my glasse of steele,
Even then (my priests) may you make holyday

And pray no more but ordinarie prayers.
Behold (my lord) what monsters muster here,
With Angels face and harmefull helish harts,
With smyling lookes and depe deceitfull thoughts,
With tender skinnes and stony cruel mindes,
With stealing steppes, yet forward feete to fraude.
Behold, behold, they never stand content,
With God, with kinde, with any help of Arte,
But curle their locks with bodkins and with braids,
But dye their heare with sundry subtill sleights,
But paint and slicke, til fayrest face be foule,
But bumbast, bolster, frisle, and perfume:

They marre with muske the balm which nature made,

And dig for death in delicatest dishes.

The yonger sorte come pyping on apace,
In whistles made of fine enticing wood,

Til they have caught the birds for whom they bryded.

The elder sorte go stately stalking on,

And on their backs they beare both land and fee,
Castles and towres, revenewes and receits,

Lordships, and manours, fines, yea farmes and al.
What should these be? (Speake you, my lovely lord)
They be not men: for why? they have no beards.
They be no boyes, which weare such side long
gowns.

They be no Gods, for al their gallant glosse.

They be no divels (I trow) which seeme so saintish. What be they? women? masking in mens weedes? With dutchkin dublets, and with jerkins jaggde? With Spanish spangs, and ruffles fet out of France, With high copt hattes, and fethers flaunt a flaunt? They be so sure even Wo to Men in dede.

EDMUND SPENSER [1552-1599?].

From Mother Hubberd's Tale.'

BESIDES all this, he us'd oft to beguile

Poore suters, that in Court did haunt some while :
For he would learne their business secretly,
And then informe his Master hastely,

That he by meanes might cast them to prevent,
And beg the sute, the which the other ment.
Or otherwise false Reynold would abuse
The simple suter, and wish him to chuse
His Master, being one of great regard
In Court, to compas anie sute not hard,

In case his paines were recompenst with reason:
So would he worke the silly man by treason
To buy his Masters frivolous good will,
That had not power to doo him good or ill.
So pitifull a thing is suters state!

Most miserable man, whom wicked fate
Hath brought to Court, to sue for had-ywist,
That few have found, and manie one hath mist!
Full little knowest thou, that hast not tride,
What hell it is, in suing long to bide :

To loose good dayes, that might be better spent ;
To wast long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow;
To have thy Princes grace, yet want her Peeres;
To have thy asking, yet waite manie yeeres;
To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares;
To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires;
To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.
Unhappie wight, borne to desastrous end,
That doth his life in so long tendance spend !

Who ever leaves sweete home, where meane estate
In safe assurance, without strife or hate,
Findes all things needfull for contentment meeke;
And will to Court for shadowes vaine to seeke,
Or hope to gaine, himselfe will a daw trie:
That curse god send unto mine enemie!

96

EDWARD HAKE.

From News out of Powles Churchyarde,' Satire III. (1579).

ONCE hapt it (through a fowle mischance)
That great debate did ryse
Betweene a Doctor in the Law
(For so th' example lyes)
And Doctor (eke) of Phisick, who
Should have the upper hande
In each assembly where they met
To walk, to syt or stande.
The Lawyer layed for himselfe
And sayde well to the case,
Physition did full wisely to
And with a goodly grace:
Alledging well (even both of them)
Lyke handsome learned men.
But nought could be agreed upon.
So fell the matter then,

That they unto the Pretor would
For to decyde the same.
They made relation of the case
And finely gan it frame.

The Pretor when he heard the dolts
Contend about a straw

Was soone content to judge the same,

And askte the man of Law

Who went unto the Gallowes first,
The Hangman or the Thiefe ?
Who formost was of both them too
And which was there the chiefe ?
The Hangman, quoth the Lawyer tho,
For he doth kyll the man :

The Hangman he must go before,

The Theefe must follow.

Than

Quoth Pretor harke: This is my minde

And judgement in the case.
Phisition he must go before,

And Lawyer give him place.
Why then (quoth Bertulph) by your tale
Phisitions men do kyll,

And Lawyers live by robbing men,
And so their coffers fyll.

ROBERT GREENE [? 1560-1592].

From A Quippe for an Vpstart Courtier.'

I QUESTIONED them what they were, and the one sayd hée was a barber, the other a surgion, and the third an Apoticary. How like you of these (qd. I) shall they be of your iury? Of the iury, quoth Cloth-breeches never a one by my consent, for I challenge them all your reason qd. I, and then you shall have my verdict. Mary (qd. Cloth-breeches) first to the barber he cannot but be a partiall man on Velvet-bréeches side, sith he gets more by one time dressinge of him, than by ten times dressing of me: I come plaine to be polde, and to have my beard cut, and pay him two pence, Velvett-bréeches he sittes downe in the chaire wrapt in fine cloathes, as though the barber were about to make him a foot