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  • The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vnfortunate Traveller, or The Life Of
  • Jack Wilton, by Thomas Nash
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  • Title: The Vnfortunate Traveller, or The Life Of Jack Wilton
  • With An Essay On The Life And Writings Of Thomas Nash By Edmund Gosse
  • Author: Thomas Nash
  • Commentator: Edmund Gosse
  • Release Date: May 5, 2007 [EBook #21338]
  • Language: English
  • *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE VNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER ***
  • Produced by David Widger
  • [Illustration: Titlepage]
  • [Illustration: Henry Howard]
  • "The portrait of Surrey which is now at Hampton Court, and which is
  • attributed to Holbein, though probably by his imitator, Guillim Stretes,
  • apparently dates from a period when he was a very young man. It is a
  • valuable and highly interesting picture; especially in regard to the
  • dress, which, except for the white shirt, embroidered with Moresque
  • work, is entirely red, and with the flat red cap, red shoes ornamented
  • with studs of gold, the richly chased dagger and sword, is an admirable
  • example of the gorgeous style of costume prevalent at Court at the
  • latter end of the reign of Henry VIII, 'Law's History of Hampton Court
  • Palace in Tudor Times.'"
  • THE VNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER OR THE LIFE OF JACK WILTON: WITH AN ESSAY ON
  • THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS NASH BY EDMUND GOSSE
  • London Printed And Issued By Charles Whittingham & Co At The Chiswick
  • Press MDCCCXCII
  • Contents.
  • An Essay on the Life and Writings of Thomas Nash
  • The Dedication to the Earl of Southampton
  • To the Gentlemen Readers
  • The Induction to the Pages of the Court
  • The Unfortunate Traveller
  • AN ESSAY ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF THOMAS NASH.
  • It is mainly, no doubt, but I hope not exclusively, an antiquarian
  • interest which attaches to the name of Thomas Nash. It would be
  • absurd to claim for a writer so obscure a very prominent place in the
  • procession of Englishmen of letters. His works proclaim by their extreme
  • rarity the fact that three centuries of readers have existed cheerfully
  • and wholesomely without any acquaintance with their contents. At the
  • present moment, the number of those living persons who have actually
  • perused the works of Nash may probably be counted on the fingers of
  • two hands. Most of these productions are uncommon to excess, one or two
  • exist in positively unique examples. There is no use in arguing against
  • such a fact as this. If Nash had reached, or even approached, the
  • highest order of merit, he would have been placed, long ere this, within
  • the reach of all. Nevertheless, his merits, relative if not positive,
  • were great. In the violent coming of age of Elizabethan literature,
  • his voice was heard loudly, not always discordantly, and with an accent
  • eminently personal to himself. His life, though shadowy, has elements of
  • picturesqueness and pathos; his writings are a storehouse of oddity and
  • fantastic wit
  • It has been usual to class Nash with the Precursors of Shakespeare, and
  • until quite lately it was conjectured that he was older than Greene and
  • Peele, a contemporary of Lodge and Chapman. It is now known that he
  • was considerably younger than all these, and even than Marlowe and
  • Shakespeare. Thomas Nash, the fourth child of the Rev. William Nash, who
  • to have been curate of Lowestoft in Suffolk, was baptized in that
  • town in November, 1567. The Nashes continued to live in Lowestoft, where
  • the father died in 1603, probably three years after the death of his son
  • Thomas. Of the latter we hear nothing more until, in October, 1582, at
  • the age of fifteen, he matriculated as a sizar of St. John's College,
  • Cambridge. Cooper says that he was admitted a scholar on the Lady
  • Margaret's foundation in 1584. He remained at Cambridge, in unbroken
  • residence, until July, 1589, "seven year together, lacking a quarter,"
  • as he tells us positively in "Lenten Stuff."
  • Cambridge was the hotbed of all that was vivid and revolutionary in
  • literature at that moment, and Robert Greene was the centre of literary
  • Cambridge. When Nash arrived, Greene, who was seven years his senior,
  • was still in residence at his study in Clare Hall, having returned from
  • his travels in Italy and Spain, ready, in 1583, to take his degree as
  • master of arts. He was soon, however, to leave for London, and it is
  • unlikely that a boy of sixteen would be immediately admitted to
  • the society of those "lewd wags" who looked up to the already
  • distinguished Greene as to a master. But Greene, without doubt, made
  • frequent visits to his university, and on one of these was probably
  • formed that intimate friendship with Nash which lasted until near the
  • elder poet's death. Marlowe was at Corpus, then called Benet College,
  • during five years of Nash's residence, but it is by no means certain
  • that their acquaintance began so early. It is, indeed, in the highest
  • degree tantalizing that these writers, many of whom loved nothing better
  • than to talk about themselves, should have neglected to give us the
  • information which would precisely be most welcome to us. A dozen whole
  • "Anatomies of Absurdity" and "Supplications of Pierce Penniless"
  • might be eagerly exchanged for a few pages in which the literary life of
  • Cambridge from 1582 to 1589 should be frankly and definitely described.
  • It has been surmised that Nash was ejected from the university in 1587.
  • His enemy, Gabriel Harvey, who was extremely ill-informed, gives this
  • account of what occurred:--
  • "[At Cambridge], (being distracted of his wits) [Nash] fell into diverse
  • misdemeanours, which were the first steps that brought him to this
  • poor estate. As, namely, in his fresh-time, how he flourished in all
  • impudency towards scholars, and abuse to the townsmen; insomuch that to
  • this day the townsmen call every untoward scholar of whom there is great
  • hope, _a very Nash_. Then, being bachelor of arts, which by great labour
  • he got, to show afterwards that he was not unworthy of it, had a hand in
  • a show called _Terminus et non terminus_; for the which his partner in
  • it was expelled the college; but this foresaid Nash played in it (as I
  • suppose) the Varlet of Clubs.... Then suspecting himself that he should
  • be stayed for _egregie dunsus_, and not attain to the next degree, said
  • he had commenced enough, and so forsook Cambridge, being bachelor of the
  • third year."
  • But, even in this poor gossip, we find nothing about ejection. Nash's
  • extraordinary abuse of language is probably the cause of that report. In
  • 1589, in prefacing his "Anatomy of Absurdity," he remarked:--
  • "What I have written proceeded not from the pen of vainglory, but from
  • the process of that pensiveness, which two summers since overtook me;
  • whose obscured cause, best known to every name of curse, hath compelled
  • my wit to wander abroad unregarded in this satirical disguise, and
  • counselled my content to dislodge his delight from traitors' eyes."
  • That the young gentleman meant something by these sentences, it is only
  • charitable to suppose; that he could have been intelligible, even to
  • his immediate contemporaries, is hardly to be believed. This "obscured
  • cause" has been taken to be, by some, his removal from the University,
  • and, by others, his entanglement with a young woman. It is perhaps
  • simpler to understand him to say that the ensuing pamphlet was written,
  • in consequence of an intellectual crisis, in 1587, when he was twenty
  • years of age.
  • At twenty-two, at all events, we find him in London, beginning his
  • career as a man of letters. His first separate publication seems to have
  • been the small quarto in black letter from which a quotation has just
  • been made. This composition, named an "Anatomy" in imitation of several
  • then recent popular treatises of a similar title, is only to be pardoned
  • on the supposition that it was a boyish manuscript prepared at college.
  • It is vilely written, in the preposterous Euphuism of the moment;
  • the style is founded on Lyly, the manner is the manner of Greene, and
  • Whetstone in his moral "Mirrors" and "Heptamerons" has supplied the
  • matter. The "absurdity" satirized in this jejune and tedious tract is
  • extravagant living of all kinds. The author attacks women with great
  • vehemence, but only in that temper which permitted the young Juvenals
  • of the hour to preach against wine and cards and stageplays with intense
  • zeal, while practising the worship of all these with equal ardour. "The
  • Anatomy of Absurdity" is a purely academic exercise, interesting only
  • because it shows, in the praise of Sidney and the passage in defence of
  • poetry, something of the intellectual aptitude of the youthful writer.
  • In the same year, and a little earlier, Nash published an address "to
  • the gentlemen students of both universities," as a preface to a romance
  • by Greene. Bibliographers describe a supposititious "Menaphon" of 1587,
  • which nobody has ever seen; even if such an edition existed, it is
  • certain that Nash's address was not prefixed to it, for the style
  • is greatly in advance of his boyish writing of that year. It is an
  • interesting document, enthusiastic and gay in a manner hardly to be met
  • with again in its author, and diversified with graceful praise of St
  • John's College, defence of good poetry, and wholesome ridicule of those
  • who were trying to introduce the "Thrasonical huffsnuff" style of which
  • Phaer and Stanihurst were the prophets.
  • Still in 1589, but later in the year, Nash is believed to have thrown
  • himself into that extraordinary clash of theological weapons which is
  • celebrated as the Martin Marprelate Controversy. As is well known, this
  • pamphlet war grew out of the passionate resentment felt by the Puritans
  • against the tyrannical acts of Whitgift and the Bishops. The actual
  • controversy has been traced back to a defence of the establishment of
  • the Church, by the Dean of Sarum, on the one hand, and a treatise by
  • John Penry the Puritan, on the other, both published in 1587. In 1588
  • followed the violent Puritan libel, called "Martin Marprelate," secretly
  • printed, and written, perhaps, by a lawyer named Barrow. Towards the
  • close of the dispute several of the literary wits dashed in upon the
  • prelatical side, and denounced the Martinists with exuberant high
  • spirits. Among these Nash was long thought to have held a very prominent
  • place, for the two most brilliant tracts of the entire controversy,
  • "Pap with an Hatchet," 1589, and "An Almond for a Parrot," 1590, were
  • confidently attributed to him. These are now, however, clearly perceived
  • to be the work of a much riper pen, that, namely, of Lyly.
  • It is probable that the four anonymous and privately printed tracts,
  • which Dr. Grosart has finally selected, do represent Nash's share in
  • the Marprelate Controversy, although in one of them, "Martin's Month's
  • Mind," I cannot say that I recognize his manner. The "Countercuff,"
  • published in August, 1589, from Gravesend, shows a great advance in
  • power. The academic Euphuism has been laid aside; images and trains of
  • thought are taken from life and experience instead of from books. In
  • "Pasquils Return," which belongs to October of the same year, the author
  • invents the happy word "Pruritans" to annoy his enemy, and speaks,
  • probably in his own name, but perhaps in that of Pasquil, of a visit
  • to Antwerp. "Martin's Month's Mind," which is a crazy piece of fustian,
  • belongs to December, 1589, while the fourth tract, "Pasquil's Apology,"
  • appeared so late as July, 1590. The smart and active pen which
  • skirmishes in these pamphlets adds nothing serious to the consideration
  • of the tragical controversy in which it so lightly took part. It amused
  • and trained Nash to write these satires, but they left Udall none the
  • worse and the Bishops none the better. The author repeatedly promises to
  • rehearse the arguments on both sides and sum up the entire controversy
  • in a "May-Game of Martinism," of which we hear no more.
  • During the first twelve months of Nash's residence in London he
  • was pretty busily employed. It is just conceivable that six small
  • publications may have brought in money enough to support him. But after
  • this we perceive no obvious source of income for some considerable
  • time. How the son of a poor Suffolk minister contrived to live in
  • London throughout the years 1590 and 1591, it is difficult to imagine.
  • Certainly not on the proceeds of a single pamphlet. It is not credible
  • that Nash published much that has not come down to us. Perhaps a tract
  • here and there may have been lost.{1} He probably subsisted by hanging
  • on to the outskirts of education. Perhaps he taught pupils, more likely
  • still he wrote letters. We know, afterall, too little of the manners of
  • the age to venture on a reply to the question which constantly imposes
  • itself, How did the minor Elizabethan man of letters earn a livelihood?
  • In the case of Nash, I would hazard the conjecture, which is borne out,
  • I think, by several allusions in his writings, that he was a reader to
  • the press, connected, perhaps, with the Queen's printers, or with those
  • under the special protection of the Bishops.
  • 1 One long narrative poem, the very name of which is too
  • coarse to quote, was, according to Oldys, certainly
  • published; but of this no printed copy is known to exist.
  • John Davies of Hereford says that "good men tore that
  • pamphlet to pieces." I owe to the kindness of Mr. A. H.
  • Bullen the inspection of a transtript of a very corrupt
  • manuscript of this work.
  • His only production in 1591, so far as we know, was the insignificant
  • tract called "A Wonderful Astrological Prognostication," by "Adam
  • Fouleweather." This has been hastily treated as a defence of "the
  • dishonoured memory" of Nash's dead friend Greene against Gabriel
  • Harvey. But Greene did not die till the end of 1592, and in the
  • "Prognostication" there is nothing about either Greene or Harvey. The
  • pamphlet is a quizzical satire on the almanac-makers, very much in the
  • spirit of Swift's Bickerstaff "Predictions" a hundred years later.
  • Of more importance was a preface contributed in this same year to Sir
  • Philip Sidney's posthumous "Astrophel and Stella." In this short essay
  • Nash reaches a higher level of eloquence than he had yet achieved, and,
  • in spite of its otiose redundancy, this enthusiastic eulogy of Sidney is
  • pleasant reading.
  • In 1592, doubtless prior to the death of Greene, Nash published the
  • earliest of his important books, the volume entitled "Pierce Penniless
  • his Supplication to the Devil." This is a grotesque satire on the vices
  • and the eccentricities of the age. As a specimen of prose style it is
  • remarkable for its spirit and "go," qualities which may enable us to
  • forget how turbid, ungraceful, and harsh it is. Nash had now dropped
  • the mannerism of the Euphuists; he had hardly gained a style of his
  • own. "Pierce Penniless," with its chains of "letter-leaping metaphors,"
  • rattles breathlessly on, and at length abruptly ceases. Any sense of
  • the artistic fashioning of a sentence, or of the relative harmony of the
  • parts of a composition, was not yet dreamed of. But before we condemn
  • the muddy turbulence of the author, we must recollect that nothing
  • had then been published of Hooker, Raleigh, or Bacon in the pedestrian
  • manner. Genuine English prose had begun to exist indeed, but had not
  • yet been revealed to the world. Nash, as a lively portrait-painter in
  • grotesque, at this time, is seen at his best in such a caricature as
  • this, scourging "the pride of the Dane":--
  • "The most gross and senseless proud dolts are the Danes, who stand so
  • much upon their unwieldy burly-boned soldiery, that they account of
  • no man that hath not a battle-axe at his girdle to hough dogs with, or
  • wears not a cock's feather in a thrummed hat like a cavalier. Briefly,
  • he is the best fool braggart under heaven. For besides nature hath lent
  • him a flab-berkin face, like one of the four winds, and cheeks that sag
  • like a woman's dug over his chinbone, his apparel is so stuffed up with
  • bladders of taffaty, and his back like beef stuffed with parsley, so
  • drawn out with ribbands and devises, and blistered with light sarcenet
  • bastings, that you would think him nothing but a swarm of butterflies,
  • if you saw him afar off."
  • On the 3rd of September, 1592, Greene came to his miserable end, having
  • sent to the press from his deathbed those two remarkable pamphlets, the
  • "Groatsworth of Wit" and the "Repentance." For two years past, if we may
  • believe Nash, the profligate atheism of the elder poet had estranged his
  • friend, or at all events had kept him at a distance. But a feeling of
  • common loyalty, and the anger which a true man of letters feels when a
  • genuine poet is traduced by a pedant, led Nash to take up a very strong
  • position as a defender of the reputation of Greene. Gabriel Harvey,
  • although the friend of Spenser, is a personage who fills an odious place
  • in the literary history of the last years of Elizabeth. He was a scholar
  • and a university man of considerable attainments, but he was wholly
  • without taste, and he concentrated into vinegar a temper which must
  • always have had a tendency to be sour. In particular, he loathed the
  • school of young writers who had become famous in direct opposition to
  • the literary laws which he had laid down.
  • Harvey's wrath had found a definite excuse in the tract, called "A Quip
  • for an upstart Courtier, or a quaint dispute between Velvet-Breeches
  • and Cloth-Breeches," which Greene had published early in the year
  • 1592. Accordingly, when he heard of Greene's death, he hastened to his
  • lodgings, interviewed his landlady, collected scurrilous details, and,
  • with matchless bad taste, issued, before the month was over, his "Four
  • Letters," a pamphlet in which he trampled upon the memory of Greene. In
  • the latest of his public utterances, Greene had made an appeal to three
  • friends, who, though not actually named, are understood to have been
  • Marlowe, Peele, and Nash.
  • Of these, the last was the one with the readiest pen, and the task of
  • punishing Harvey fell upon him.
  • Nash's first attack on Harvey took the form of a small volume, entitled,
  • "Strange News of the Intercepting of Certain Letters," published
  • very early in 1593. It was a close confutation of the charges made in
  • Harvey's "Four Letters," the vulgarity and insolence of the pedant
  • being pressed home with an insistence which must have been particularly
  • galling to him as coming from a distinguished man of his own university,
  • twenty years his junior. Harvey retorted with the heavy artillery of his
  • "Pierce's Supererogation," which was mainly directed against Nash, whom
  • the disappearance of Peele, and the sudden death of Marlowe in June, had
  • left without any very intimate friend as a supporter. Nash retired,
  • for the moment, from the controversy, and in the prefatory epistle to a
  • remarkable work, the most bulky of all his books, "Christ's Tears over
  • Jerusalem," he waved the white flag. He bade, he declared, "a hundred
  • unfortunate farewells to fantastical satirism," and complimented his
  • late antagonist on his "abundant scholarship." Harvey took no notice of
  • this, and for four years their mutual animosity slumbered. In this same
  • year, 1593, Nash produced the only play which has come down to us
  • as wholly composed by him, the comedy of "Summer's Last Will and
  • Testament."
  • Meanwhile "Pierce Penniless" had enjoyed a remarkable success, and had
  • placed Nash in a prominent position among London men of letters. We
  • learn that in 1596, four years after its original publication, it had
  • run through six editions, besides being translated in 1594 into French,
  • and, a little later, into Macaronic Latin. In "Christ's Tears" the young
  • writer, conscious of his new importance, deals with what the critics
  • have said about his style. He tells us, and we cannot wonder at it, that
  • objections have been made to "my boisterous compound words, and ending
  • my Italianate coined verbs all in _ize_." His defence is not unlike
  • that of De Quincey; we can imagine his asking, when urged to be simple,
  • whether simplicity be in place in a description of Belshazzar's Feast He
  • says that the Saxon monosyllables that swarm in the English tongue are a
  • scandal to it, and that he is only turning this cheap silver trash into
  • fine gold coinage. Books, he says, written in plain English, "seem
  • like shopkeepers' boxes, that contain nothing else save halfpence,
  • three-farthings, and two-pences." To show what sort of doubloons he
  • proposes to mint for English pockets, we need go no further than the
  • opening phrases of his dedication of this very book to that amiable
  • poet, the Lady Elizabeth Carey:--
  • "Excellent accomplished court-glorifying Lady, give me leave, with the
  • sportive sea-porpoises, preludiately a little to play before the storm
  • of my tears, to make my prayer before I proceed to my sacrifice. Lo, for
  • an oblation to the rich burnished shrine of your virtue, a handful of
  • Jerusalem's mummianized earth, in a few sheets of waste paper enwrapped,
  • I here, humiliate, offer up at your feet."
  • These, however, in spite of the odd neologisms, are sentences formed in
  • a novel and a greatly improved manner, and the improvement is sustained
  • throughout this curious volume. Probably the intimate study of the
  • Authorized Version of the Bible, which this semi-theological tractate
  • necessitated, had much to do with the clarification of the author's
  • style. At all events, from this time forth, Nash drops, except in
  • polemical passages where his design is provocative, that irritating
  • harshness in volubility which had hitherto marked his manner of writing.
  • Here, for example, is a passage from "Christ's Tears" which is not
  • without a strangely impressive melody:--
  • "Over the Temple, at the solemn feast of the Passover, was seen a comet
  • most coruscant, streamed and tailed forth, with glistering naked swords,
  • which in his mouth, as a man in his hand all at once, he made semblance
  • as if he shaked and vambrashed. Seven days it continued; all which time,
  • the Temple was as clear and light in the night as it had been noonday.
  • In the Sanctum Sanctorum was heard clashing and hewing of armour, while
  • flocks of ravens, with a fearful croaking cry, beat, fluttered and
  • clashed against the windows. A hideous dismal owl, exceeding all her
  • kind in deformity and quantity, in the Temple-porch built her nest. From
  • under the altar there issued penetrating plangorous howlings and ghastly
  • deadmen's groans."
  • He tells us, in the preface, that he takes an autumnal air, and in truth
  • there is a melancholy refinement in this volume which we may seek for
  • in vain elsewhere in Nash's writings. The greater part of the book is
  • a "collachrimate oration" over Jerusalem, placed in the mouth of our
  • Saviour; by degrees the veil of Jerusalem grows thinner and thinner,
  • and we see more and more clearly through it the London of Elizabeth,
  • denounced by a pensive and not, this time, a turbulent satirist.
  • In 1594 Nash's pen was particularly active. It was to the Lady Elizabeth
  • Carey, again, that he dedicated "The Terrors of the Night," a discourse
  • on apparitions. He describes some very agreeable ghosts, as, for
  • instance, those which appeared to a gentleman, a friend of the author's,
  • in the guise of "an inveigling troop of naked virgins, whose odoriferous
  • breath more perfumed the air than ordnance would that is charged with
  • amomum, musk, civet and ambergreece." It was surely a mock-modesty which
  • led Nash to fear that such ghost-stories as these would appear to his
  • readers duller than Holland cheese and more tiresome than homespun. To
  • 1594, too, belongs the tragedy of "Dido," probably left incomplete by
  • Marlowe, and finished by Nash, who shows himself here an adept in
  • that swelling bombast of bragging blank verse of which he affected to
  • disapprove. A new edition of "Christ's Tears" also belongs to this busy
  • year 1594, which however is mainly interesting to us as having seen the
  • publication of the work which we are here introducing to modern readers.
  • An eminent French critic, M. Jusserand, whose knowledge of English
  • sixteenth-century literature is unsurpassed, was the first to draw
  • attention to the singular interest which attaches to "The Unfortunate
  • Traveller, or the Life of Jack Wilton," 1594. In his treatise, "Le Roman
  • au Temps de Shakespeare," 1887, M. Jusserand insisted upon the fact
  • that this neglected book was the best specimen of the _picaresque_ tale
  • written in English before the days of Defoe. He shows that expressions
  • put in the mouth of Nash's hero, which had been carelessly treated as
  • autobiographical confessions of foreign travel and the like, on the part
  • of the author, were but features of a carefully planned fiction. "Jack
  • Wilton" describes the career of an adventurer, from his early youth as
  • a page in the royal camp of Henry VIII. at the siege of Tournay, to his
  • attainment of wealth, position, and a beautiful Italian wife.
  • The first exploit of the page is an encounter with a fraudulent
  • innkeeper, which is described with great spirit, and M. Jusserand
  • has ingeniously surmised that Shakespeare, after reading these pages,
  • determined to fuse the two characters, mine host and the waggish
  • picaroon, into the single immortal figure of Falstaff. After this point
  • in the tale, it is probable that the reader may find the interest of
  • the story flag; but his attention will be reawakened when he reaches
  • the episode of the Earl of Surrey and Fair Geraldine, and that in
  • which Jack, pretending to be Surrey, runs off with his sweet Venetian
  • mistress, Diamante. It will be for the reader of the ensuing pages to
  • say whether Nash had mastered the art of narrative quite so perfectly
  • as M. Jusserand, in his just pride as a discoverer, seems to think. The
  • romance, no doubt, is incoherent and languid at times, and is easily led
  • aside into channels of gorgeous description and vain moral reflection.
  • It will doubtless be of interest, at this point, to quote the words
  • in which, in a later volume, M. Jusserand has reiterated his praise of
  • "Jack Wilton" and his belief in Nash as the founder of the British novel
  • of character:--
  • "In the works of Nash and his imitators, the different parts are badly
  • dovetailed; the novelist is incoherent and incomplete; the fault lies in
  • some degree with the picaresque form itself. Nash, however, pointed out
  • the right road, the road that was to lead to the true novel. He was
  • the first among his compatriots to endeavour to relate in prose a
  • long-sustained story, having for its chief concern: the truth.... No
  • one, Ben Jonson excepted, possessed at that epoch, in so great a degree
  • as himself, a love of the honest truth. With Nash, then, the novel of
  • real life, whose invention in England is generally attributed to Defoe,
  • begins. To connect Defoe with the past of English literature, we must
  • get over the whole of the seventeenth century, and go back to 'Jack
  • Wilton,' the worthy brother of 'Roxana,' 'Moll Flanders,' and 'Colonel
  • Jack.'"
  • It is to be regretted that Nash made no second adventure in pure
  • fiction. "Jack Wilton," now one of the rarest of his books, was never
  • reprinted in its own age.
  • How Nash was employed during the next two years, it is not easy to
  • conjecture. When we meet with him once more, the smouldering fire of his
  • quarrel with the Harveys had burst again into flame. "Have with you to
  • Saffron Walden," 1596, is devoted to the chastisement of "the reprobate
  • brace of brothers, to wit, witless Gabriel and ruffling Richard." No
  • fresh public outburst on Harvey's part seems to have led to this
  • attack; but he bragged in private that he had silenced his licentious
  • antagonists. Nash admits that his opponent's last book "has been kept
  • idle by me, in a bye-settle out of sight amongst old shoes and boots
  • almost this two year." Harvey was known to have come from Saffron
  • Walden; Nash invites his readers to accompany him to that town to see
  • what they can discover, and he retails a good deal of lively scandal
  • about the rope-maker's sons. "Have with you" is perhaps the smartest and
  • is certainly the most readable of Nash's controversial volumes. It gives
  • us, too, some interesting fragments of autobiography. Harvey had accused
  • him of "prostituting his pen like a courtisan," and Nash makes this
  • curious and not very lucid statement in selfdefence:--
  • "Neither will I deny it nor will I grant it. Only thus far I'll go with
  • you, that twice or thrice in a month, when _res est angusta domi_, the
  • bottom of my purse is turned downward, and my conduit of ink will no
  • longer flow for want of reparations, I am fain to let my plough stand
  • still in the midst of a furrow, and follow some of these newfangled
  • Galiardos and Senior Fantasticos, to whose amorous _villanellas_ and
  • _quipassas_, I prostitute my pen in hope of gain.... Many a fair day ago
  • have I proclaimed myself to the world Piers Penniless."
  • Gabriel Harvey must have felt, on reading "Have with you to Saffron
  • Walden," that his antagonist was right in saying that his pen carried
  • "the hot shot of a musket." Unfortunately, while Harvey was smarting
  • under these insulting gibes and jests, the jester himself got into
  • public trouble. Little is known of the circumstance which led the
  • Queen's Privy Council, in the summer of 1597, to throw Nash into the
  • Fleet Prison, but it was connected with the performance of a comedy
  • called "The Isle of Dogs," which gave offence to the authorities. This
  • play was not printed, and is no longer in existence. The Lord Admiral's
  • Company of actors, which produced it, had its licence withdrawn until
  • the 27th of August, when Nash was probably liberated. Gabriel Harvey was
  • not the man to allow this event to go unnoticed. He hurried into
  • print with his "Trimming of Thomas Nash," 1597, a pamphlet of the most
  • outrageous abuse addressed "to the polypragmatical, parasitupocritical
  • and pantophainoudendecontical puppy Thomas Nash," and adorned with a
  • portrait of that gentleman in irons, with heavy gyves upon his ankles.
  • According to Nash, however, the part of "The Isle of Dogs" which was
  • his composition was so trifling in extent that his imprisonment was
  • a gratuitous act of oppression. How the play with this pleasing title
  • offended has not been handed down to us.
  • Nash was now a literary celebrity, and yet it is at this precise moment
  • that his figure begins to fade out of sight For the next two years he is
  • not known to have made any public appearance. In 1599 he published the
  • best of all his books; it was unfortunately the latest "Nash's Lenten
  • Stuff; or, the Praise of the Red Herring" is an encomium on the
  • hospitable town of Yarmouth, to which, in the autumn of 1597, he had
  • fled for consolation, and in which, through six happy weeks, he had
  • found what he sought The "kind entertainment and benign hospitality"
  • of the compassionate clime of Yarmouth deserve from the poor exile a
  • cordial return, and, accordingly, he sings the praise of the Red Herring
  • as richly as if his mouth were still tingling with the delicate bloater.
  • In this book, Nash is kind enough to explain to us the cause of some of
  • the peculiarities of his style. His endeavour has been to be Italianate,
  • and "of all styles I most affect and strive to imitate Aretine's."
  • Whether he was deeply read in the works of _il divino Aretino_, we may
  • doubt; but it is easy to see that this Scourge of Princes, the very type
  • of the emancipated Italian of the sixteenth century, might have a vague
  • and dazzling attraction for his little eager English imitator.
  • Be that as it may, "Lenten Stuff" gives us evidence that Nash had now
  • arrived at a complete mastery of the fantastic and irrelevant manner
  • which he aimed at. This book is admirably composed, if we can bring
  • ourselves to admit that the _genre_ is ever admirable. The writer's
  • vocabulary has become opulent, his phrases flash and detonate, each
  • page is full of unconnected sparks and electrical discharges. A sort
  • of aurora borealis of wit streams and rustles across the dusky surface,
  • amusing to the reader, but discontinuous, and insufficient to illuminate
  • the matter in hand. It is extraordinary that a man can make so many
  • picturesque, striking, and apparently apposite remarks, and yet leave us
  • so frequently in doubt as to his meaning. If this was the result of the
  • imitation of Aretino, Nash's choice of a master was scarcely a fortunate
  • one.
  • Thomas Nash was now thirty-two years of age, and with the publication of
  • "Lenten Stuff" we lose sight of him. His old play of "Summers' Last Will
  • and Testament" was printed in 1600, and he probably died in that year.
  • The song at the close of that comedy or masque reads like the swan-song
  • of its author:--
  • Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure;
  • Gone is our sport, fled is poor [Nash's] pleasure!
  • Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace;
  • Ah! who shall hide us from the winter's face?
  • Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease,
  • And here we lie, God knows, with little ease:
  • From winter, plague and pestilence,
  • Good Lord, deliver us!
  • London doth mourn, Lambeth is quite forlorn,
  • Trades cry, Woe worth that ever they were born;
  • The want of term is town and city's harm.
  • Close chambers we do want, to keep us warm;
  • Long banished must we live from our friends:
  • This low-built house will bring us to our ends.
  • From winter, plague and pestilence,
  • Good Lord, deliver us!
  • Whether pestilence or winter slew him, we do not know. In 1601
  • Fitzgeoffrey published a short Latin elegy on Nash in his "Affaniae,"
  • alluding in happy phrase to the twin lightnings of his armed tongue
  • and his terrible pen; and Nash had six lines of tempered praise in "The
  • Return from Parnassus." But all we know of the cause or manner of Nash's
  • death has to be collected from a passage in "A Knight's Conjuring,"
  • 1607, written by the satirist on whom his mantle descended, Thomas
  • Dekker. Nash is seen advancing along the Elysian Fields:--
  • "Marlowe, Greene, and Peele had got under the shades of a large vine,
  • laughing to see Nash, that was but newly come to their college, still
  • haunted with the sharp and satirical spirit that followed him here
  • upon earth; for Nash inveighed bitterly, as he had wont to do, against
  • dry-fisted patrons, accusing them of his untimely death, because if they
  • had given his Muse that cherishment which she most worthily deserved, he
  • had fed to his dying day on fat capons, burnt sack and sugar, and not
  • so desperately have ventured his life and shortened his days by keeping
  • company with pickle herrings."
  • This looks as though Nash died of a disease attributed to coarse and
  • unwholesome cheap food. His fame proved to be singularly ephemeral. So
  • far as I am aware, no book of his was reprinted after his death, with
  • the single exception of "Christ's Tears over Jerusalem," which was
  • issued again in 1613. His name was mentioned and some interest in his
  • writings was awakened at the close of the next century by Winstanley and
  • by Langbaine, but Oldys, the celebrated antiquary, was the first person
  • who seriously endeavoured to trace the incidents of his life.
  • Dr. A. B. Grosart saved the works of Nash from all danger of destruction
  • by printing an issue of them, in six volumes, for fifty private
  • subscribers, in 1883-85. But he still remains completely inaccessible to
  • the general reader.
  • Edmund Gosse.
  • THE VNFORTVNATE TRAVELLER.
  • The Life of Iacke Wilton.
  • LONDON.
  • [Illustration: Dedication]
  • To THE RIGHT HONORABLE LORD Henrie Wriothsley,
  • Earle of sovthhampton,
  • and baron OF TICHFEELD.
  • Ingenvovs honorable Lord, I know not what blinde custome methodicall
  • antiquity hath thrust vpon vs, to dedicate such books as we publish,
  • to one great man or other; In which respect, least anie man should
  • challenge these my papers as goods vncustomd, and so, extend vpon them
  • as forfeite to contempt, to the seale of your excellent censure loe here
  • I present them to bee seene and allowed. Prize them as high or as low as
  • you list: if you set anie price on them, I hold my labor well satisfide.
  • Long haue I desired to approoue my wit vnto you. My reuerent duetifull
  • thoughts (euen from their infancie) haue been retayners to your glorie.
  • Now at last I haue enforst an opportunitie to plead my deuoted
  • minde. All that in this phantasticall Treatise I can promise, is some
  • reasonable conueyance of historie, & varietie of mirth. By diuers of my
  • good frends haue I been dealt with to employ my dul pen in this kinde,
  • it being a cleane different vaine from other my former courses of
  • writing. How wel or ill I haue done in it, I am ignorant: (the eye that
  • sees roundabout it selfe, sees not into it selfe): only your
  • Honours applauding encouragement hath power to make mee arrogant.
  • Incomprehensible is the heigth of your spirit both in heroical
  • resolution and matters of conceit. Vnrepriueably perisheth that booke
  • whatsoeuer to wast paper, which on the diamond rocke of your iudgement
  • disasterly chanceth to be shipwrackt. A dere louer and cherisher you
  • are, as well of the louers of Poets, as of Poets themselues. Amongst
  • their sacred number I dare not ascribe my selfe, though now and then
  • I speak English: that smal braine I haue, to no further vse I conuert,
  • saue to be kinde to my frends, and fatall to my enemies. A new brain, a
  • new wit, a new stile, a new soule will I get mee, to canonize your
  • name to posteritie, if in this my first attempt I be not taxed of
  • presumption. Of your gracious fauor I despaire not, for I am not
  • altogether Fames outcast. This handfull of leaues I offer to your
  • view, to the leaues on trees I compare, which as they cannot grow of
  • themselues except they haue some branches or boughes to cleaue too,
  • & with whose iuice and sap they be euermore recreated & nourisht: so
  • except these vnpolisht leaues of mine haue some braunch of Nobilitie
  • whereon to depend and cleaue, and with the vigorous nutriment of whose
  • authorized commendation they may be continually fosterd and refresht,
  • neuer wil they grow to the worlds good liking, but forthwith fade
  • and die on the first houre of their birth. Your Lordship is the large
  • spreading branch of renown, from whence these my idle leaues seeke to
  • deriue their whole nourishing: it resteth you either scornfully shake
  • them off, as wormeaten & worthies, or in pity preserue them and cherish
  • them, for some litle summer frute you hope to finde amongst them.
  • Your Honors in all humble seruice: Tho: Nashe.
  • TO THE GENTLEMEN READERS,
  • Gentlemen, in my absence (through the Printers ouersight and my bad
  • writing) in the leaues of C. and D. these errours are ouerslipt:
  • C. pag. 2. lin. 33. for sweating read sneaking. Pag. 3. li. 1. for
  • hogges read barres, lin. 7. for Calipsus, read Rhæsus. Pag. 4. lin. 34.
  • for Liue read I liue. Pag. 5. li. 14. for vpon his read vpon him his.
  • Pag. 7. lin. 13. for drild read dyu'd. lin. 22. (for colour, read collar
  • nor his hatband).
  • D. Pag. 1. lin. 2. for blacke read cape. lin. 5. for fastens read
  • thirleth. lin. 7. for badge read budge, lin. 8. for shinne read chinne.
  • lin. 11. for in this begun read thinking in. Pag. 3. lin. 33. for
  • increased then read inclosed them. Pag. 5. lin. 8. for threed button,
  • read brest like a thred bottom. Pag. 8. lin. 3. for Essa read Ossa. lin.
  • 4. for dissolution read desolation. lin. 13. betweene also, and but read
  • If you know Christianitie, you know the Fathers of the Church also. lin.
  • 18. for quocunque read qua gente.
  • Other literall faults there are which I omit
  • Yours T. N.
  • [Note.--The foregoing corrigenda are printed as part of the original
  • edition, though they have been corrected in the text.]
  • [Illustration: To Pages of the Covrt]
  • THE INDVCTION TO THE DAPPER MOVNSIER PAGES OF THE COVRT.
  • Gallant squires, haue amongst you: at mumchance I meane not, for so I
  • might chaunce come to short commons, but at _nouus, noua, nouum_, which
  • is in English, newes of the maker. A proper fellow Page of yours called
  • _Iacke Wilton_, by mee commends him vnto you, and hath bequeathed for
  • wast paper heere amongst you certaine pages of his misfortunes. In any
  • case keep them preciously as a _Priuie_ token of his good will towards
  • you. If there be some better than other, he craues you would honor them
  • in their death so much, as to drie and kindle _Tobacco_ with them: for
  • a need he permits you to wrap veluet pantofles in them also, so they be
  • not woe begone at the heeles, or weather-beaten like a blacke head with
  • graye haires, or mangie at the toes like an ape about the mouth. But
  • as you loue good fellowship and ames ace, rather turne them to stop
  • mustard-pots, than the Grocers shuld haue one patch of them to wrap mace
  • in: a strong hot costly spice it is, which aboue all things hee hates.
  • To anie vse about meate or drinke put them too and spare not, for they
  • cannot doo their Countrey better seruice. Printers are madde whoresons,
  • allow them some of them for napkins. lost a little nerer to the matter
  • and the purpose. _Memorandum_, euerie one of you after the perusing of
  • this Pamphlet, is to prouide him a case of ponyards, that if you come in
  • companie with any man which shall dispraise it or speake against it, you
  • may straight cry Sic respondeo, and giue him the stockado. It stands not
  • with your honors (I assure yee) to haue a Gentleman and a Page abusde in
  • his absence. Secondly, whereas you were wont to sweare men on a pantofle
  • to bee true to your puissaunt order, you shall sweeare them on nothing
  • but this Chronicle of the King of Pages henceforward. Thirdly, it shalbe
  • lawfull for anie whatsoeuer to play with false dice in a corner on the
  • couer of this foresaid Acts and monuments. None of the fraternitie of
  • the minorites shall refuse it for a pawne in the times of famine and
  • necessitie. Euery Stationers stall they passe by whether by day or by
  • night they shall put off their hats too, and make a low leg, in regard
  • their grand printed Capitano is there entoombd. It shalbe flat treason
  • for any of this forementioned catalogue of the point trussers, once
  • to name him within fortie foote of an ale-house. Marry the tauerne
  • is honorable. Many speciall graue articles more had I to giue you in
  • charge, which your wisdomes waiting together at the bottome of the great
  • Chamber staires, or sitting in a porch (your parlament house) may better
  • consider of than I can deliuer: onely let this suffice for a tast to the
  • text & a bit to pull on a good wit with, as a rasher on the coales is
  • to pull on a cup of wine. Heigh passe, come aloft: euery man of you take
  • your places, and heare _Iacke Wilton_ tell his owne tale.
  • [Illustration: Titlepage2]
  • [Illustration: First Page]
  • THE VNFORTVNATE TRAVELLER.
  • Abovt that time that the terror of the world, and feauer quartan of
  • the French, _Henrie_ the eight, (the onely true subiect of Chronicles)
  • aduanced his standard against the two hundred and fiftie towers of
  • _Turney_ and _Turwin_, and had the Empereur and all the nobility of
  • Flanders, Holland, and Brabant as mercenarie attendants on his fulsailed
  • fortune, I _Jacke Wilton_ (a Gentleman at lest) was a certaine kinde of
  • an appendix or page, belonging or appertaining in or vnto the confines
  • of the English court, where what my credit was, a number of my creditors
  • that I coosned can testifie, _Cælum petimus stultitia_, which of vs all
  • is not a sinner. Be it knowen to as many as will paie monie inough to
  • peruse my storie, that I followed the campe or the court, or the court &
  • the camp, when _Turwin_ lost her maidenhead, & opened her gates to more
  • than _Iane Trosse_ did. There did I (soft let me drinke before I goe
  • anie further) raigne sole king of the cans and black iackes, prince
  • of the pigmeis, countie paltaine of cleane strawe and prouant, and to
  • conclude, Lord high regent of rashers of the coles and red herring cobs.
  • _Paulo maiora canamus_: well, to the purpose. What stratagemicall actes
  • and monuments do you thinke an ingenious infant of my age might enact?
  • you will saie, it were sufficient if he slurre a die, pawne his master
  • to the vtmost pennie, & minister the oath on the pantoffle arteficially.
  • These are signes of good education, I must confesse, and arguments of
  • In grace and vertue to proceed. Oh but _Aliquid latet quod non patet_,
  • theres a farther path I must trace: examples confirme, list Lordings
  • to my proceedinges. Whosoeuer is acquainted with the state of a campe,
  • vnderstands that in it be many quarters, & yet not so many as on London
  • bridge. In those quarters are many companies: Much companie, much
  • knauerie, as true as that olde adage, Much curtesie, much subtiltie.
  • Those companies, like a great deale of corne, doe yeeld some chaffe, the
  • corne are cormorants, the chaffe are good fellowes, which are quickly
  • blowen to nothing, with bearing a light hart in a light purse. Amongst
  • this chaffe was I winnowing my wits to liue merily, and by my troth so I
  • did: the prince could but command men spend theyr bloud in his seruice,
  • I coulde make them spend all the monie they had for my pleasure. But
  • pouerty in the end parts frends, though I was prince of their purses,
  • and exacted of my vnthrift subiects, as much liquid allégeance as anie
  • keisar in the world could do, yet where it is not to be had the king
  • must loose his right, want cannot be withstood, men can doe no more than
  • they can doe, what remained then, but the foxes case must help, when the
  • lions skin is out at the elbowes.
  • There was a Lord in the campe, let him be a Lord of misrule, if you wil,
  • for he kept a plaine alehouse without welt or gard of anie Iuibush, and
  • solde syder and cheese by pint and by pound to all that came (at that
  • verie name of syder, I can but sigh, there is so much of it in renish
  • wine now a dayes). Wei, _Tendit ad sydera virtus_, thers great vertue
  • belongs (I can tell you) to a cup of syder, and verie good men haue
  • solde it, and at sea it is _Aqua colestis_, but thats neither heere
  • nor there, if it had no other patrone but this peere of quart pots to
  • authorize it, it were sufficient This great Lorde, this worthie Lord,
  • this noble Lord, thought no scorne (Lord haue mercy vpon vs) to haue his
  • great veluet breeches larded with the droppings of this daintie liquor,
  • & yet he was an olde senator, a cauelier of an ancient house, as it
  • might appeare by the armes of his ancestrie, drawen very amiably in
  • chalke, on the in side of his tent doore.
  • He and no other was the man, I chose out to damne with a lewd monylesse
  • deuice: for comming to him on a daie, as he was counting his barrels, &
  • setting the price in chalke on the head of euerie one of them, I did my
  • dutie verie deuoutly, and tolde his _alie_ honor, I had matters of
  • some secrecie to impart vnto him, if it pleased him to grant me priuate
  • audience. With me young _Wilton_ quoth he, marie and shalt: bring vs a
  • pint of syder of a fresh tap into the three cups here, wash the pot, so
  • into a backe roome he lead mee, where after hee had spit on his finger,
  • and pickt off two or three moats of his olde moth eaten veluet cap, and
  • spunged and wrong all the rumatike driuell from his ill fauoured Goates
  • beard, he badde me declare my minde, and there vpon he dranke to me on
  • the same. I vp with a long circumstance, alias, a cunning shift of the
  • seuenteenes, & discourst vnto him what entire affection I had borne him
  • time out of mind, partly for the high discent and linage from whence
  • he sprung, & partly for the tender care and prouident respect he had of
  • poore soldiers, that whereas the vastitie of that place (which afforded
  • them no indifferent supplie of drinke or of victuals) might humble them
  • to some extremity, and so weaken their hands, he vouchsafed in his own
  • person to be a victualer to the campe (a rare example of magnificence &
  • honorable curtesie) and diligently prouided, that without farre trauel,
  • euery man might for his money haue syder and cheese his bellyfull, nor
  • did he sell his cheese by the way onely, or his syder by the great, but
  • abast himselfe with his owne hands, to take a shoomakers knife (a homely
  • instrument for such a high personage to touch) and cut it out equally
  • like a true iusticiarie, in little pennyworthes, that it woulde doo a
  • man good for to looke vpon. So likewise of his syder, the pore man might
  • haue his moderate draught of it (as there is a moderation in all things)
  • as well for his doit or his dandiprat, as the rich man for his halfe
  • souse or his denier. Not so much, quoth I, but this tapsters linnen
  • apron, which you weare before you, to protect your appareil from the
  • imperfections of the spigot, most amply bewrais your lowly minde. I
  • speake it with teares, too fewe such humble spirited noble men haue we,
  • that will draw drinke in linen aprons. Why you are euerie childs felow,
  • any man that comes vnder the name of a souldier and a goodfellowe, you
  • will sitte and beare companie to the last pot, yea, and you take in
  • as good part the homely phrase of mine host heeres to you, as if one
  • saluted you by all the titles of your baronie. These considerations,
  • I saie, which the world suffers to slippe by in the channell of
  • carelesnes, haue moued me in ardent zeale of your welfare, to forewarne
  • you of some dangers that haue beset you & your barrels. At the name of
  • dangers hee start up, and bounst with his fist on the boord so hard,
  • that his Tapster ouerhearing him, cried anone anone sir, by and by, and
  • came and made a low leg and askt him what he lackt. Hee was readie to
  • haue striken his Tapster, for interrupting him in attention of this his
  • so much desired relation, but for feare of displeasing me he moderated
  • his furie, and onely sending him for the other fresh pint, wild him
  • looke to the barre, and come when hee is cald with a deuilles name.
  • Well, at his earnest importunitie, after I had moistned my lips, to make
  • my lie runne glib to his iourneies end, forward I went as followeth. It
  • chaunced me the other night, amongst other pages, to attend where the
  • king with his Lords, and many chiefe leaders sate in counsel, there
  • amongst sundrie serious matters that were debated, and intelligences
  • from the enemy giuen vp, it was priuily informed (no villains to these
  • priuie informers) that you, euen you that I now speak to, would I
  • had no tongue to tell the rest, by this drink it grieues me so I am not
  • able to repeate it. Nowe was my dronken Lord redie to hang himself for
  • the end of the ful point, and ouer my necke he throws himselfe verie
  • lubberly, and intreated me as I was a proper young Gentleman, and euer
  • lookt for pleasure at his hands, soone to rid him out of this hell of
  • suspence, & resolue him of the rest, then fell hee on his knees, wrong
  • his handes, and I thinke, on my conscience, wept out all the syder that
  • he had dronke in a weeke before, to moue me to haue pitie on him, he
  • rose and put his rustie ring on my finger, gaue me his greasie purse
  • with that single money that was in it, promised to make mee his heire,
  • & a thousand more fauours, if I would expire the miserie of his
  • vnspeakable tormenting vncertaintie. I being by nature inclined to
  • _Mercie_ (for indeed I knew two or three good wenches of that name) bad
  • him harden his eares, & not make his eyes abortiue before their time,
  • and he should haue the inside of my brest turnd outward, heare such a
  • tale as would tempt the vtmost strength of life to attend it, and not
  • die in the middest of it. Why (quoth I) my selfe, that am but a poore
  • childish welwiller of yours, with the verie thought, that a man of
  • your desert and state, by a number of pesants and varlets should be so
  • iniuriously abused in hugger mugger, haue wept al my vrine vpward. The
  • wheele vnder our Citie bridge, carries not so much water ouer the city,
  • as my braine hath welled forth gushing streames of sorow. I haue wept so
  • immoderatly and lauishly, that I thought verily my palat had bin turned
  • to pissing conduit in London. My eies haue bin dronk, outragiously
  • dronke, with giuing but ordinary entercourse through their sea-circled
  • Hands to my distilling dreariment What shal I saie? that which malice
  • hath sayde is the meere ouerthrow & murder of your daies. Change not
  • your colour, none can slander a cleere conscience to it selfe, receiue
  • all your fraught of misfortune in at once.
  • It is buzzed in the kings head that you are a secret friend to the
  • enemy, & vnder pretence of getting a license to furnish the campe with
  • syder and such like prouant, you haue furnisht the enemy, and in emptie
  • barrells sent letters of discouerie, and come innumerable, I might well
  • haue left here, for by this time his white liuer had mixt it selfe
  • with the white of his eie, & both were turned vpwardes, as if they had
  • offered themselues a fayre white for death to shoote at. The troth was,
  • I was verie loth mine hoste and I should parte to heauen with dry lips,
  • wherefore the best meanes that I could imagine to wake him out of his
  • traunce, was to crie loude in his eare, hough host, whats to pay, will
  • no man looke to the reckning heere and in plaine veritie, it tooke
  • expected effect, for with the noise he started and bustled, like a man
  • that had beene scard with fyre out of his sleepe, and ranne hastily
  • to his Tapster, and all to belaboured him about the eares, for letting
  • Gentlemen call so long and not looke in to them. Presently he remembred
  • himselfe, and had like to haue fallen into his memento againe, But that
  • I met him halfe waies, and askt his Lordship what he meant to slip
  • his necke out of the coller so sodainly, and being reuiued, strike his
  • tapster so rashly.
  • Oh, quoth he, I am bought & solde for doing my Country such good seruice
  • as I haue done. They are afraid of mee, because my good deedes haue
  • brought me into such estimation with the communalty, I see, I see it is
  • not for the lambe to liue with the wolfe.
  • The world is well amended, thought I, with your Sidership, such another
  • fortie yeeres nappe together as _Epemenides_ had, would make you a
  • perfect wise man. Answere me, quoth he, my wise young _Wilton_, is it
  • true that I am thus vnderhand dead and buried by these bad tongues?
  • Nay, quoth I, you shall pardon me, for I haue spoken too much alreadie,
  • no definitiue sentence of death shall march out of my wel meaning lips,
  • they haue but lately suckt milke, and shall they so sodainly change
  • theyr food and seeke after bloud?
  • Oh but, quoth he, a mans friend is his friend, fill the other pint
  • Tapster, what sayd the king, did hee beleeue it when hee heard it, I
  • pray thee say, I sweare to thee by my nobility, none in the worlde shall
  • euer be made priuie, that I receiued anie light of this matter from
  • thee.
  • That firme affiance, quoth I, had I in you before, or else I would neuer
  • haue gone so farre ouer the shooes, to plucke you out of the mire. Not
  • to make many wordes (since you will needs know) the king saies flatly,
  • you are a miser & a snudge, and he neuer hopt better of you. Nay then
  • (quoth he) questionlesse some planet that loues not syder hath conspired
  • against me. Moreouer, which is worse, the king hath vowed to giue
  • _Turwin_ one hot breakfast, onely with the bungs that hee will plucke
  • out of your barrells. I cannot staie at this time to reporte each
  • circumstance that passed, but the only counsell that my long cherished
  • kinde inclination can possibly contriue, is now in your olde daies to be
  • liberall, such victuals or prouisions as you haue, presently distribute
  • it frankly amongst poore souldiers, I would let them burst their bellies
  • with syder, and bathe in it, before I would runne into my Princes ill
  • opinion for a whole sea of it. The hunter pursuing the beauer for his
  • stones, hee bites them off, and leaues them behinde for him to gather
  • vp, whereby he liues quiet. If greedie hunters and hungry teltales
  • pursue you, it is for a little pelfe which you haue, cast it behind you,
  • neglect it, let them haue it, lest it breed a further inconuenience.
  • Credit my aduice, you shall finde it propheticall, and thus I haue
  • discharged the parte of a poore friend. With some few like phrases of
  • ceremonie, your honors suppliant, & so forth, and farewel my good youth,
  • I thanke thee and will remember thee, we parted. But the next daie I
  • thinke we had a dole of syder, syder in boules, in scuppets, in helmets,
  • & to conclude, if a man would haue fild his bootes full, there hee
  • might haue had it, prouant thrust it selfe into poore souldiers pockets
  • whether they would or no. We made fiue peals of shot into the towne
  • together, of nothing but spiggots and faussets of discarded emptie
  • barrels: euerie vnderfoote soildiour had a distenanted tunne, as
  • _Diogenes_ had his tub to sleepe in, I my selfe got as many confiscated
  • Tapsters aprons, as made me a Tent, as bigge as any ordinarie commanders
  • in the field. But in conclusion, my welbeloued Baron of double beere got
  • him humbly on his marybones to the king, and complained hee was olde and
  • striken in yeres, and had nere an heire to cast at a dogge, wherefore if
  • it might please his maiesty to take his lands into his hands, and allowe
  • him some reasonable pension to liue on, hee shoulde bee meruailous wel
  • pleased: as for the warres, he was wearie of them, and yet as long as
  • highnes shoulde venture his owne person, hee would not flinch a foot,
  • but make his withered bodie a buckler, to beare off anie blow that
  • should be aduanced agaynst him.
  • The king meruailing at this strange alteration of his great marchant of
  • syder (for so hee woulde often pleasantly tearme him), with a little
  • further talke bolted out the whole complotment Then was I pittifully
  • whipt for my holy day lie, although they made themselues merrie with it
  • many a faire winters euening after.
  • Yet notwithstanding his good asseheaded honor mine host, perseuered in
  • his former simple request to the king to accept of the surrender of
  • his landes, and allowe him a beadsmanry or out-brother-ship of brachet,
  • which at length, through his vehement instancie tooke effect, and the
  • king ieastingly sayd, since he would needs haue it so, he would distrain
  • on part of his land for impost of syder, which hee was behinde hande
  • with him, and neuer payd.
  • This was one of my famous atchieuements, insomuch as I neuer light vpon
  • the like famous foole, but I haue done a thousand better ieasts if they
  • had bin bookt in order as they were begotten. It is pittie posteritie
  • shoulde bee depriued of such precious recordes, and yet there is no
  • remedie, and yet there is to, for when all fayles, welfare a good
  • memorie. Gentle readers (looke you be gentle now since I haue cald you
  • so) as freely as my knauerie was mine owne, it shall be yours to vse in
  • the way of honestie.
  • Euen in this expedition of Turwin (for the king stoode not long
  • thrumming of buttons there) it happened me fall out (I would it had
  • fallen out otherwise for his sake) with an vgly mechanical Captaine. You
  • must thinke in an armie, where tronchios are in their state house, it is
  • a flat stab once to name a Captaine without cappe in hand. Well, suppose
  • hee was a Captaine, & had nere a good cap of his owne, but I was faine
  • to lend him one of my Lords cast veluet caps, and a weatherbeaten
  • feather, wherewith he threatned his souldiers a farre off, as Iupiter is
  • sayde, with the shaking of his haire to make heauen and earth to quake:
  • suppose out of the paringes of a paire of false dice, I apparelled both
  • him and my selfe many a time and oft: and surely not to slander the
  • deuill, if anie man euer deserued the golden dice, the king of the
  • Parthians sent to _Demetrius_ it was I, I had the right vaine of sucking
  • vp a die twixt the dintes of my fingers, not a creuise in my hande but
  • coulde swallowe a quater trey for a neede: in the line of life many a
  • dead lifte dyd there lurke, but it was nothing towards the maintenance
  • of a family. This Monsieur Capitano eate vp the creame of my earnings,
  • and _Crede mihi res est ingeniosa dare_, any man is a fine fellow
  • as long as he hath anie monie in his purse. That monie is like the
  • marigolde, which opens and shuts with the Sunne, if fortune smileth,
  • or one be in fauour, it floweth: if the euening of age comes on, or he
  • falleth into disgrace, it fadeth and is not to be found. I was my crafts
  • master though I was but yong, and could as soone decline _Nominatiuo hic
  • asinus_, as a greater clarke, wherefore I thought it not conuenient my
  • soldado should haue my purse anie longer for his drumme to play vppon,
  • but I woulde giue him Iacke drummes entertainment, and send him packing.
  • This was my plot, I knewe a peece of seruice of intelligence, which was
  • presently to bee done, that required a man with all his fiue senses to
  • effect it, and would ouefthrow anie foole that should vndertake it,
  • to this seruice did I animate and egge my foresayd costes and charges,
  • alias, senior veluet-cappe, whose head was not encombered with too much
  • forecast, and comming to him in his cabbin about dinner time, where I
  • found him verie deuoutly paring of his nailes for want of other repast,
  • I entertained him with this solemne oration.
  • Captaine, you perceiue how neere both of vs are driuen, the dice of late
  • are growen as melancholy as a dog, high men and low men both prosper
  • alike, langrets, fullams, and all the whole fellowshippe of them will
  • not affoord a man his dinner, some other means must be inuented to
  • preuent imminent extremitie. My state, you are not ignorant, depends on
  • trencher seruice, your aduancement must be deriued from the valour
  • of your arme. In the delayes of siege, desert hardly gets a daye of
  • hearing, tis gowns must direct and guns enact all the wars that is to
  • bee made against walls. Resteth no waie for you to climbe sodainly, but
  • by doing some straunge stratageme, that the like hath not bene heard of
  • heeretofore, and fitly at this instant occasion is ministred.
  • There is a feate the king is desirous to haue wrought on some great
  • man of the enemies side, marie it requireth not so much resolution as
  • discretion to bring it to passe, and yet resolution inough shalbe showen
  • in it to, being so full of hazardous ieopardy as it is, harke in
  • your eare, thus it is. Without more drumbling or pausing, if you will
  • vndertake it, and worke it through stitch (as you may ere the king hath
  • determined which waie to goe about it) I warrant you are made while you
  • liue, you neede not care which waie your staffe falles, if it proue not
  • so, then cut off my head.
  • Oh my auditors, had you seene him how he stretcht out his lims, scratcht
  • his scabd elbowes at this speech, how hee set his cap ouer his eie
  • browes like a polititian, and then folded his armes one in another, &
  • nodded with the head, as who should saie, let the French beware, for
  • they shall finde me a deuill, if I say, you had seen but halfe the
  • actions that he vsed of shrucking vp his shoulders, smiling scornfully,
  • playing with his fingers on his buttons, and biting the lip, you wold
  • haue laught your face and your knees together. The yron being hot, I
  • thought to lay on loade, for in anie case I would not haue his humour
  • coole. As before I layd open vnto him the briefe summe of the seruice,
  • so now I began to vrge the honorablenesse of it, and what a rare thing
  • it was to be a right polititian, how much esteemd of kings and princes,
  • and how diuerse of meane parentage haue come to be monarches by it. Then
  • I discourst of the qualities and properties of him in euerie respect,
  • how lyke the wolfe he must drawe the breath from a man before he be
  • seen, how lyke a hare he must sleepe with his eyes open, how as the
  • Eagle in flying casts dust in the eyes of crowes & other foules, for
  • to blind them, so he must cast dust in the eies of his enimies, delude
  • their sight by one meanes or other, y they diue not into his subtilties:
  • how he must be familiar with all & trust none, drinke, carouse and
  • lecher with him out of whom he hopes to wring anie matter, sweare and
  • forsweare, rather than be suspected, and in a word, haue the art of
  • dissembling at his fingers ends as perfect as anie courtier.
  • Perhaps (quoth I) you may haue some few greasie cauelliers that will
  • seeke to disswade you from it, and they will not sticke to stand on
  • theyr three halfe pennie honour, swearing and staring that a man were
  • better be an hangman than an intelligencer, and call him a sneaking
  • eausdropper, a scraping hedgecreeper, and a piperly pickthanke, but
  • you must not bee discouraged by theyr talke, for the most part of those
  • beggerly contemners of wit, are huge burlybond butchers like _Aiax_,
  • good for nothing but to strike right downe blowes on a wedge with a
  • cleauing beetle, or stande hammering all daie vppon barres of yron. The
  • whelpes of a Beare neuer grow but sleeping, and these bearewards hauing
  • big limmes shall bee preferd though they doe nothing. You haue read
  • stories, (He bee sworne he neuer lookte in booke in his life) how many
  • of the Romane worthies were there that haue gone as spies into theyr
  • enemies campe? _Vlysses, Nestor, Diomed_, went as spies together in the
  • night into the tentes of _Rhosus_ and intercepted _Dolon_ the spie
  • of the Troians: neuer anie discredited the trade of intelligencers
  • but _Iudas_, & he hanged himselfe. Danger will put wit into anie man.
  • _Architas_ made a wooden doue to flie: by which proportion I see no
  • reason that the veryest blocke in the world should despayre of anie
  • thing. Though nature be contrarie inclined, it may be altered, yet
  • vsually those whome she denies her ordinarie giftes in one thing, she
  • doubles them in another. That which the asse wants in wit, hee hath in
  • honestie, who euer sawe him kicke or winch, or vse anie iades trickes,
  • though he liue an hundred yeeres you shall never heare that he breakes
  • pasture. Amongest men, hee that hath not a good wit, lightly hath a
  • good yron memorie, and he that hath neither of both, hath some bones to
  • carrie burthens. Blinde men haue better noses than other men: the buls
  • horns serue him as well as hands to fight withall: the lions pawes are
  • as good to him as a polaxe, to knock downe anie that resists him: so the
  • Bores tushes serue him in better stead than a sword and buckler, what
  • need the snaile care for eyes, when he feeles the waie with his two
  • homes, as well as if hee were as sharpe sighted as a decypherer. There
  • is a fish that hauing no wings, supportes her selfe in the ayre with
  • her finnes. Admit that you had neither wit nor capacitie, as sure in my
  • iudgement there is none equall vnto you in idiotisme, yet if you haue
  • simplicitie and secrecie, serpents themselues will thinke you a serpent,
  • for what serpent is there but hydeth his sting: and yet whatsoeuer bee
  • wanting, a good plausible alluring tong in such a man of imployment can
  • hardly be spard, which as the forenamed serpent, with his winding tayle
  • fetcheth in those that come neere him: so with a rauishing tale, it
  • gathers all mens heartes vnto him, which if hee haue not, let him neuer
  • looke to ingender by the mouth, as rauens and doues doe, that is,
  • mount or be great by vndermining. Sir, I am assertayned that all these
  • imperfections I speake off, in you haue theyr naturall resiance, I see
  • in your face, that you were borne with the swallow, to feede flying,
  • to get much treasure and honour by trauell. None so fit as you for so
  • important an enterprise, our vulgar reputed polititians are but flyes
  • swimming on the streame of subtiltie superficially in comparison of
  • your singularitie, theyr blind narrowe eyes cannot pearce into the
  • profunditie of hypocrisie, you alone with _Palamed_, can pry into
  • _Vlysses_ madde counterfeting, you can discerne _Achilles_ from a
  • chamber maide, though he be deckt with his spindle and distaffe: as
  • _Ioue_ dining with _Licaon_ could not be beguiled with humane flesh
  • drest like meate, so no humane braine may goe beyond you, none beguile
  • you, you gull all, all feare you, loue you, stoupe to you. Therefore,
  • good sir, be rulde by mee, stoupe your fortune so lowe, as to bequeath
  • your selfe wholy to this businesse.
  • This siluer sounding tale made such sugred harmonie in his eares, that
  • with the sweete meditation, what a more than myraculous polititian
  • he should be, and what kingly promotion should come tumbling on him
  • thereby, he could haue found in his heart to haue packt vp his pipes &
  • to haue gone to heauen without a baite, yea, hee was more inflamed and
  • rauishte with it than a young man called _Tauritnontanus_ was with the
  • Phrigian melodie, who was so incensed and fyred therewith, that he would
  • needes runne presently vpon it, and set a curtizans house on fire that
  • had angered him.
  • No remedie there was but I must helpe to furnish him with monie, I did
  • so, as who wil not make his enemy a bridge of golde to flie by. Verie
  • earnestly he coniurd me to make no man liuing priuie to his departure
  • in regard of his place and charge, and on his honour assured mee his
  • returne shoulde bee verie short and succesfull, I, I, shorter by the
  • necke, thought I, in the meane time let this be thy posie, _I liue in
  • hope to scape the rope_.
  • Gone he is, God send him good shipping to Wapping, & by this time, if
  • you will, let him bee a pittifull poore fellowe, and vndone for euer,
  • for mine owne part, if he had bin mine owne brother, I coulde haue done
  • no more for him than I did, for straight after his backe was turnd, I
  • went in all loue & kindnesse to the Marshall generall of the field, &
  • certefide him that such a man was lately fled to the enemie, and gotte
  • his place beggd for another immediatly. What became of him after you
  • shall heare. To the enemie he went and offered his seruice, ratling
  • egregiously on the king of England, he swore, as he was a Gentleman
  • and a souldier, hee would bee reuenged on him, and let but the king of
  • France follow his counsell, hee woulde driue him from _Turwin_ wals yet
  • ere ten dayes to an end. All these were good humours, but the tragedie
  • followeth. The French king hearing of such a prating fellow that was
  • come, was desirous to see him, but yet he feared treason, wherfore he
  • wild one of his minions to take vpon him his person, and he would stand
  • by as a priuate man whilest hee was examined. Why should I vse anie idle
  • delayes? In was Captaine Gogges wounds brought, after he was throughly
  • searched, not a louse in his doublet was let passe, but was askt
  • _Queuela_, and chargd to stand in the kings name, the mouldes of his
  • buttons they turnd out, to see if they were not bullettes couered ouer
  • with thread, the codpeece in his deuills breeches (for they were then in
  • fashion) they sayd playnly was a case for a pistoll, if hee had had euer
  • a hobnaile in his shooes it had hangde him, & he shuld neuer haue knowen
  • who had harmd him, but as lucke was, he had not a mite of anie mettal
  • about him, he tooke part with none of the foure ages, neither the golden
  • age, the siluer age, the brasen nor the yron age, onely his purse was
  • aged in emptinesse, and I thinke verily a puritane, for it kept it selfe
  • from any pollution of crosses. Standing before the supposed king, he
  • was askt what he was, and wherefore he came. To the which in a glorious
  • bragging humour he aunswered, that hee was a gentleman, a captaine
  • commander, a chiefe leacjer, that came away from the king of England
  • vppon discontentment. Questiond particular of the cause of his
  • discontentment, hee had not a word to blesse himself with, yet faine he
  • would haue patcht out a poltfoote tale, but (God he knowes) it had not
  • one true legge to stand on. Then began he to smell on the villaine so
  • rammishly, that none there but was readie to rent him in peeces, yet the
  • minion king kept in his cholar, and propounded vnto him farther, what
  • of the king of Englands secrets (so aduantageable) he was priuie to,
  • as might remoue him from the siege of Turwin in three daies. Hee sayde
  • diuerse, diuerse matters, which askt longer conference, but in good
  • honestie they were lies, which he had not yet stampt. Heereat the true
  • king stept forth, and commanded to lay handes on the lozell, and that he
  • should be tortured to confesse the truth, for he was a spie and nothing
  • else.
  • He no sooner sawe the wheele and the torments set before him, but he
  • cride out like a rascall, and sayde hee was a poore Captaine in the
  • English camp, suborned by one _Iacke Wilton_ (a noble mans page) and no
  • other, to come and kill the French king in a brauery and returne, and
  • that he had no other intention in the world.
  • This confession could not choose but moue them all to laughter, in that
  • he made it as light a matter to kill their king and come backe, as to
  • goe to Islington and eate a messe of creame, and come home againe, nay,
  • and besides hee protested that he had no other intention, as if that
  • were not inough to hang him.
  • _Adam_ neuer fell till God made fooles, all this coulde not keepe his
  • ioyntes from ransacking on the wheele, for they vowed either to make
  • him a confessor or a martir in a trice, when still he sung all one song,
  • they tolde the king he was a foole, and some shrewd head had knauishly
  • wrought on him, wherefore it should stand with his honour to whip him
  • out of the campe and send him home. That perswasion tooke place, and
  • soundly was he lasht out of theyr liberties, and sent home by a Heralde
  • with this message, that so the king his master hoped to whip home
  • all the English fooles verie shortly: answere was returned, that that
  • shortlie, was a long lie, and they were shrewde fooles that shoulde
  • driue the French man out of his kingdome, and make him glad with
  • Corinthian _Dionisius_ to play the schoole-master.
  • The Herald being dismist, our afflicted intelligencer was cald _coram
  • nobis_, how he spedde, iudge you, but something hee was adiudged to. The
  • sparowe for his lecherie liueth but a yeere, he for his trecherie was
  • turnd on the toe, _Plura dolor prohibet_.
  • Here let me triumph a while, and ruminate a line or two on the
  • excellence of my wit, but I will not breath neither til I haue
  • disfraughted all my knauerie.
  • Another Swizer Captaine that was farre gone for want of the wench, I led
  • astraie most notoriously, for he beeing a monstrous vnthrift of battle
  • axes (as one that cared not in his anger to bid flie out scuttels to
  • fiue score of them) and a notable emboweller of quart pots, I came
  • disguised vnto him in the forme of a halfe a crowne wench, my gowne and
  • attire according to the custome the in request. I wis I had my curtesies
  • in cue or in quart pot rather, for they dyu'd into the very entrailes of
  • the dust, and I simpered with my countenance lyke a porredge pot on the
  • fire when it first begins to seeth. The sobrietie of the circumstance
  • is, that after he had courted me and all, and giuen me the earnest
  • pennie of impietie, some sixe crownes at the least for an antipast to
  • iniquitie, I fained an impregnable excuse to be gone, and neuer came at
  • him after. Yet left I not here, but committed a little more scutcherie.
  • A companie of coystrell clarkes (who were in band with sathan, and not of
  • anie souldiers collar nor his hatband) pincht a number of good mindes to
  • Godward of theyr prouant. They would not let a dram of dead pay ouerslip
  • them, they would not lend a groat of the weeke to come, to him that had
  • spent his money before this weeke was done. They outfaced the greatest
  • and most magnanimious servitours in their sincere and finigraphicall
  • cleane shirts and cuffes. A lowse that was anie Gentlemans companion
  • they thought scorne of, their nere bitten beardes must in a deuils name
  • bedewdeuerie daiewith rosewater, hogges could haue nere a hayre on theyr
  • backes, for making them rubbing brushes to rouse theyr crab lice. They
  • woulde in no wise permitte that the moates in the Sunnebeames should be
  • full mouthde beholders of theyr cleane phinikde appareil, theyr shooes
  • shined as bright as a slike-stone, theyr handes troubled and soyled more
  • water with washing, than the camell doth, that nere drinkes till the
  • whole streame bee troubled. Summarily, neuer anie were so fantastical
  • the one halfe as they. My masters you may conceiue of me what you list,
  • but I thinke confidently I was ordayned Gods scourge from aboue for
  • theyr daintie finicalitie. The houre of theyr punishment could no longer
  • be proroged, but vengeance must haue at them at al a ventures. So it
  • was, that the most of these aboue named goosequil braccahadocheos were
  • meere cowards and crauens, and durst not so much as throw a penfull
  • of inke into the enimies face, if proofe were made, wherefore on the
  • experience of their pusellanimitie I thought to raise the foundation
  • of my roguerie. What did I now but one daie made a false alarum in the
  • quarter where they laie, to trie how they would stand to theyr tackling,
  • and with a pittifull outcrie warned them to flie, for there was treason
  • afoot, they were inuironed and beset. Upon the first watch worde of
  • treason that was giuen, I thinke they betooke them to theyr heeles verie
  • stoutly, left theyr penne and inke-hornes and papers behinde them for
  • spoile, resigned theyr deskes, with the mony that was in them to the
  • mercie of the vanquisher, and in fine, left mee & my fellowes (their
  • foole-catchers) Lords of the field: how wee dealt with them, their
  • disburdened deskes canne best tell, but this I am assured, we fared the
  • better for it a fortnight of fasting dayes after. I must not place
  • a volume in the precincts of a pamphlet, sleepe an houre or two, and
  • dreame that Turney and Turwin is wonne, that the king is shipt againe
  • into England, and that I am close at harde meate at Windsore or at
  • Hampton court. What will you in your indifferent opinions allow me for
  • my trauell, no more seigniorie ouer the Pages than I had before? yes,
  • whether you will parte with so much probable friendly suppose or no,
  • He haue it in spite of your heartes. For your instruction and godly
  • consolation, bee informed, that at that time I was no common squire, no
  • vndertroden torch-bearer, I had my feather in my cap as big as a flag in
  • the foretop, my French doublet gelte in the belly as though (lyke a pig
  • readie to be spitted) all my guts had beene pluckt out, a paire of side
  • paned hose that hung down like two scales filled with Holland cheeses,
  • 'my long stock that sate close to my docke, and smoothered not a scab
  • or a leacherous hairie sinew on the calfe of my legge, my rapier pendant
  • like a round sticke fastned in the tacklings for skippers the better to
  • climbe by, my cape cloake of blacke cloth, ouerspreading my backe lyke
  • a thornbacke, or an Elephantes eare, that hanges on his shoulders lyke
  • a countrie huswiues banskin, which shee thirleth her spindle on, and
  • in consummation of my curiositie, my handes without gloues, all a more
  • French, and a blacke budge edging of a beard on the vpper lip, & the
  • like sable auglet of excrements in the first rising of the anckle of my
  • chinne. I was the first that brought in the order of passing into the
  • court which I deriued from the common word _Qui passa_, and the heralds
  • phrase of armes Passant, thinking in sincerity, hee was not a Gentleman,
  • nor his armes currant, who was not first past by the pages. If anie
  • prentise or other came into the court that was not a Gentleman, I
  • thought it was an indignitie to the preheminence of the court to include
  • such a one, and could not be salud except we gaue him armes Passant, to
  • make him a Gentleman. Besides, in Spaine, none compasse anie farre waie
  • but he must be examined what he is, & giue three pence for his passe. In
  • which regard it was considered of by the common table of the cupbearers,
  • what a perilsome thing it was to let anie stranger or outdweller approch
  • so neere the precincts of the Prince, as the great chamber, without
  • examining what he was and giuing him his passe, wherevppon we
  • established the lyke order, but tooke no monie of them as they did,
  • onelie for a signe that he had not past our hands vnexamined, wee set a
  • red marke on either of his eares, and so let him walke as authenticall.
  • I must not discouer what vngodly dealing we had with the blacke iackes,
  • or how oft I was crowned king of the dronkards with a court cuppe, let
  • mee quietly descend to the waining of my youthfull dayes, and tell a
  • little of the sweating sicknesse, that made me in a cold sweate take my
  • heeles and runne out of England.
  • This sweating sicknesse, was a disease that a man then might catch and
  • neuer goe to a hothouse. Many masters desire to haue such semants as
  • would worke till they sweate againe, but in those dayes he that sweat
  • neuer wrought againe. That Scripture then was not thought so necessarie,
  • which sayes, Earne thy liuing with the sweat of thy browes, for then
  • they earnd their dying with the sweat of their browes. It was inough
  • if a fat man did but trusse his points, to turne him ouer the pearch:
  • mother _Cornelius_ tub why it was lyke hell, he that came into it neuer
  • came out of it Cookes that stande continually basting theirfaces before
  • the fire, were nowe all cashierd with this sweat into kitchinstuffe:
  • theyr hall fell in to the kings handes for want of one of the trade to
  • vpholde it. Feltmakers and furriers, what the one with the hot steame of
  • their wooll new taken out of the pan, and the other with the contagious
  • heate of their slaughter budge and connyskins, died more thicke than of
  • the pestilence: I haue seene an olde woman at that season hauing three
  • chins, wipe them all away one after another, as they melted to water,
  • and left her selfe nothing of a mouth but an vpper chap. Looke how in
  • May or the heat of Summer we lay butter in water for feare it shuld
  • melte awaie, so then were men faine to wet their clothes in water as
  • Diers doo, and hide themselues in welles from the heate of the Sunne.
  • Then happie was he that was an asse, for nothing wyll kill an asse
  • but colde, and none dide but with extreame heate. The fishes called
  • Seastarres, that burne one another by excessiue heate, were not so
  • contagious as one man that had the sweate was to another. Masons paid
  • nothing for haire to mix their lime, nor giouers to stuffe their balls
  • with, for then they had it for nothing, it dropt off mens heads and
  • beardes faster than anie Barber could shaue it. O if haire breeches had
  • then beene in fashion, what a fine world had it beene for Taylers, and
  • so it was a fine world for Tailers neuerthelesse, for hee that could
  • make a garment sleightest and thinnest, carried it awaie. Cutters I
  • can tell you, then stood vpon it, to haue their trade one of the twelue
  • Companies, for who was it then that would not haue his doublet cut to
  • the skin, and his shirt cut into it to, to make it more colde. It was
  • as much as a mans life was worth, once to name a freeze ierken, it was
  • treason for a fat grosse man to come within fiue miles of the court,
  • I heard where they dide vp all in one family, and not a mothers childe
  • escapt, insomuch as they had but an Irish rug lockt vp in a presse,
  • and not laide vpon anie bedde neither, if those that were sicke of
  • this maladie slept on it, they neuer wakt more. Phisitions with their
  • simples, in this case were simple fellowes, and knew not which way to
  • bestir them. Galen might goe shop the gander for anie good he could doe,
  • his secretatyes had so long called him diuine, that now he had lost all
  • his vertue vpon earth. _Hippocrates_ might well helpe Almanack makers,
  • but here he had not a worde to saie, a man might sooner catch the sweate
  • with plodding ouer him to no end, than cure the sweat with any of his
  • impotent principles. _Paracelsus_ with his spirit of the butterie, and
  • his spirits of minerals, could not so much as say, God amend him, to the
  • matter. _Plus erat in artifice quant arte_, there was more infection in
  • the phisition himselfe than his arte could cure. This mortalitie first
  • began amongst olde men, for they taking a pride to haue their breasts
  • loose basted with tedious beards, kept their houses so hot with these
  • hairy excrements, that not so much but their very wals sweat out salt
  • Peter, with the smoothering perplexitie, nay a number of them had
  • meruailous hot breaths, which sticking in the briers of their bushie
  • beardes, could not choose, but (as close aire long imprisoned) engender
  • corruption. Wiser was our brother _Bankes_ of these latter dais, who
  • made his iugling horse a cut, for feare if at anie time hee should
  • foist, the stinke sticking in his thicke bushie taile might be noisome
  • to his auditors. Should I tell you how many purseuants with red noses,
  • and sargeants with precious faces shrunke away in this sweat, you would
  • not beleeve me. Euen as the Salamander with his very sight blasteth
  • apples on the trees, so a purseuant or a sargeant at this present, with
  • the verie reflexe of his fine facias, was able to spoile a man a farre
  • of. In some places of the world there is no shadow of the sunne, _Diebus
  • illis_ if it had bene so in England, the generation of _Brute_ had died
  • all and some. To knit vp this description in a pursuat, so feruent
  • and scorching was the burning aire which inclosed them, that the most
  • blessed man then aliue, would haue thoght that God had done fairely by
  • him, if he had turnde him to a goat, for goates take breath not at the
  • mouth or nose only, but at y eares also.
  • Take breath how they would, I vowd to tarrie no longer amongst them. As
  • at Turwin I was a demie souldier in iest, so now I became a martiallist
  • in earnest. Ouer sea with my implements I got me, where hearing the king
  • of France and the Swizers were together by the ears, I made towards them
  • as fast as I could, thinking to thrust my selfe into that faction that
  • was strongest It was my good lucke or my ill, I know not which, to come
  • iust to ye fighting of the battel, where I sawe a wonderfull spectacle
  • of bloud shed on both sides, here the vnwildie swizers wallowing
  • in their gore, like an oxe in his doung, there the sprightly French
  • sprawling and turning on the stayned grasse, like a roach newe taken out
  • of the streame, all the ground was strewed as thicke with battle axes,
  • as the carpenters yard with chips. The plaine appeared like a quagmire,
  • ouerspread as it was with trampled dead bodies. In one place might you
  • beholde a heape of dead murthered men ouerwhelmed with a falling steed,
  • in stead of a tombe stone, in another place a bundle of bodies fettered
  • together in theyr owne bowels, and as the tyrant Romane Empereurs vsed
  • to tie condemned liuing caitifes face to face to dead corses, so were
  • the halfe liuing here mixt with squeazed carcases long putrifide. Anie
  • man might giue armes that was an actor in that battell, for there were
  • more armes and legs scattered in the field that daie, than will be
  • gathered vp till dooms daie, the French king himselfe in this conflict
  • was much distressed, the braines of his owne men sprinkled in his face,
  • thrice was his courser slaine vnder him, and thrice was hee strucke on
  • the breast with a speare, but in the end, by the helpe of the Venetians,
  • the Heluesians or Swizers were subdude, and he crowned victor, a peace
  • concluded, and the cittie of Millain surrendered vnto him, as a pledge
  • of reconciliation. That warre thus blowen ouer, and the seueral bands
  • dissolued, like a crow that still followes aloofe where there is
  • carrion, I flew me ouer to Munster in Germanie, which an Anabaptisticall
  • brother named _Iohn Leiden_ kepte at that instant against the Emperor
  • and the Duke of Saxonie. Here I was in good hope to set vp my staffe for
  • some reasonable time, deeming that no Citie would driue it to a
  • siege except they were able to holde out, and pretily well had these
  • Munsterians held out, for they kept the Emperour and the Duke of Saxonie
  • sound plaie for the space of a yeere, and longer wold haue done, but
  • that dame famine came amongst them, wherevppon they were forst by
  • messengers to agree vpon a daie of fight, when according to theyr
  • anabaptisticall errour they might be all new christned in theyr owne
  • bloud.
  • That daie come, flourishing entered _lohn Leiden_ the botcher into the
  • field, with a scarfe made of lists, like a bowcase, a crosse on his
  • brest like a thred bottom, a round twilted Tailers cushion buckled lyke
  • a tancard bearers deuice to his shoulders for a target, the pike whereof
  • was a packe needle, a tough prentises club for his speare, a great
  • brewers cow on his back for a corslet, and on his head for a helmet
  • a huge high shoo with the bottome turnd vpward, embossed as full of
  • hobnailes as euer it might sticke, his men were all base handie craftes,
  • as coblers, and curriers, and tinkers, whereof some had barres of yron,
  • some hatchets, some coole staues, some dung forks, some spades, some
  • mattockes, some wood kniues, some addsses for theyr weapons, he that was
  • best prouided, had but a peece of a rustie browne bill brauely fringed
  • with cobwebbes to fight for him: perchance here and there you might see
  • a felow that had a canker eaten seul on his head, which serued him and
  • his ancestors for a chamber pot two hundred yeeres, and another that had
  • bent a couple of yron dripping pans armourwise, to fence his backe
  • and his belly, another that had thrust a payre of dry olde bootes as a
  • breast plate before his belly of his doublet, because he would not
  • be dangerously hurt: another that had twilted all his trusse full of
  • counters, thinking if the enemie shoulde take him, he would mistake them
  • for golde, and so saue his life for his money. Very deuout asses they
  • were, for all they were so dunstically set forth, & such as thought
  • they knew as much of Gods minde as richer men, why inspiration was their
  • ordinarie familiar, and buzde in theyr eares like a Bee in a boxe euerie
  • houre what newes from heauen, hell, and the lands of whipperginnie,
  • displease them who durst, hee shoulde have his mittimus to damnation _ex
  • tempore_, they woulde vaunt there was not a pease difference twixt them
  • and the Apostles, they were as poore as they, of as base trades as they,
  • and no more inspired than they, and with God there is no respect of
  • persons, onely herein may seeme some little diuersitie to lurke, that
  • _Peter_ wore a sword, and they count it flat hel fire for anie man to
  • weare a dagger, nay so grounded and grauelled were they in this opinion,
  • that now when they should come to battel, thers nere a one of them wold
  • bring a blade (no not an onion blade) about him, to die for it It
  • was not lawfull sayde they, for anie man to draw the sworde but the
  • magistrate, and in fidelitie (which I had welnigh forgot) _Iacke Leiden_
  • theyr magistrate had the image or likenesse of a peece of a rustie sword
  • like a lusty lad by his side, now I remember me, it was but a foile
  • neither, and he wore it, to shew that he should haue the foile of his
  • enemies, which might haue bin an oracle for his twohande interpretation.
  • _Quid plura_, his battell is pitcht, by pitcht, I do not meane set in
  • order, for that was far from their order, onely as sailers do pitch
  • their appareil, to make it stormeproofe, so had most of them pitcht
  • their patcht clothes, to make them impearceable. A neerer way than to
  • be at the charges of armor by halfe: and in another sort hee might
  • bee sayde to haue pitcht y field, for he had pitcht or set vp his rest
  • whither to flie if they were discomfited. Peace, peace there in the
  • belfrie, seruice begins, vpon their knees before they ioyne, fals _Iohn
  • Leiden_ and his fraternitie verie deuoutly, they pray, they houle, they
  • expostulate with God to grant them victory, and vse such vnspeakable
  • vehemence, a man would thinke them the onely well bent men vtider
  • heauen, wherein let mee dilate a little more grauely than the nature of
  • this historie requires, or will be expected of so young a practitioner
  • in diuinitie: that not those that intermissiuely cry, Lord open vnto us,
  • Lord open vnto us, enter first into the kingdome of heauen, that not the
  • greatest professors haue the greatest portion in grace, that all is
  • not golde that glisters. When Christ sayd, the kingdome of heauen must
  • suffer violence, hee meant not the violence of long babling praiers to
  • no purpose, nor the violence of tedious inuective sermons without wit,
  • but the violence of faith, the violence of good works, the violence of
  • patient suffering. The ignorant arise and snatch the kingdome of heauen
  • to themselues with greedines, when we with all our learning sinke downe
  • into hell. Where did _Peter_ and _Iohn_ in the third of the Acts, finde
  • the lame cripple but in the gate of the temple called beautifull, in the
  • beautifullest gates of our temple, in the forefront of professors, are
  • many lame cripples, lame in lyfe, lame in good workes, lame in euerie
  • thing, yet will they alwayes sit at the gates of the temple, none be
  • more forwarde tha they to enter into matters of reformation, yet none
  • more behinde hand to enter into the true temple of the Lord by the gates
  • of good life. You may obiect, that those which I speak against, are
  • more diligent in reading the scriptures, more carefull to resort vnto
  • sermons, more sober in their lookes and modest in their attire than anie
  • else: but I praie you let me aunswere you, Doth not Christ saie, that
  • before the latter daie the Sunne shall be turned into darknes, & the
  • Moone into bloud, whereof what may the meaning be, but that the
  • glorious sun of the gospell shall be eclipsed with the dun cloude of
  • dissimulation, that that which is the brightest planet of saluation,
  • shall be a meanes of errour and darknes: and the moone shal be turned
  • into bloud, those that shine fairest, make the simplest shew, seeme most
  • to fauour religion, shall rent out the bowels of the Church, be turned
  • into bloud, and all this shall come to passe, before the notable daie
  • of the Lord, whereof this age is the eue. Let me vse a more familiar
  • example since the heate of a great number hath outraged so excessiuely.
  • Did not the deuill leade Christ to the pinacle or highest part of the
  • temple to tempt him, if he lead Christ, he wil leade a whole armie of
  • hypocrites to the toppe or highest part of the temple, the highest step
  • of religion and holines, to seduce them and subuert them. I say vnto you
  • that which this our tempted sauiour with many other words besought his
  • disciples, saue your selues from this froward generation. Verily, verily
  • the seruaunt is not greater than his master: verily, verily, sinful
  • men are not holier than holy Jesus their maker. That holy Jesus againe
  • repeats this holy sentence, Remember the wordes I sayde vnto you, the
  • seruant is not holier or greater than his master, as if he should say,
  • remember then, imprint in your memorie your pride and singularitie will
  • make you forget them, the effectes of them many yeeres hence will
  • come to passe. Whosoeuer will seeke to saue his soule shall loose it
  • Whosoeuer seekes by headlong meanes to enter into heauen, & disanull
  • Gods ordinance, shal with y gyants that thought to scale heauen in
  • contempt of Jupiter, be ouerwhelmed with mount Ossa & Pelion, & dwel
  • with the deuill in eternal desolation. Though the high priests office
  • was expired, when _Paul_ said vnto one of them, God rebuke thee thou
  • painted sepulchre, yet when a stander by reproued him saying, Reuilest
  • thou the high priest? he repented & askt forgiuenesse. That which I
  • suppose I doe not grant, the lawfulnes of the authoritie they oppose
  • themselues agaynst, is sufficiently proued, farre bee it my vnderage
  • argumentes should intrude themselues as a greene weake prop to support
  • so high a building, let it suffice, if you knowe Christ, you know his
  • father also, if you know Christianitie, you know the Fathers of the
  • Church also, but a greate number of you with _Philip_ haue bene long
  • with Christ, and haue not knowen him, haue long professed your selues
  • Christians, and not knowen his true ministers, you follow the French and
  • Scotitsh fashion and faction, and in all pointes are lyke the Swizers,
  • _Qui quorunt cum qua gente cadunt_, that seeke with what nation they may
  • first miscarrie.
  • In the dayes of _Nero_ there was an odde fellowe that had found out an
  • exquisite waie to make glasse as hammer proofe as golde: shall I saie,
  • that the like experiment he made vppon glasse, we haue practised on the
  • Gospell? I, confidently will I, we haue found out a slight to hammer it
  • to anie heresie whatsoeuer, but those furnaces of falshood and hammer
  • heads of heresie must be dissolued and broken as his was, or els I feare
  • me the false glittering glasse of innouation will bee better esteemed of
  • than the ancient gold of the gospell. The fault of faults is this, that
  • your dead borne faith is begotten by to too infant fathers. _Cato_ one
  • of the wisest men Roman histories canonized, was not borne till his
  • father was foure score yeeres olde, none can be a perfect father
  • of faith and beget men aright vnto God, but those that are aged in
  • experience, haue many yeres imprinted in their milde conuersation, and
  • haue with Zaclteus sold all their possessions of vanities, to inioy the
  • sweet fellowshippe, not of the humane but spirituall messias. Ministers
  • and pastors sell awaie your sects and schismes to the decrepite Churches
  • in contention beyond sea, they haue bene so long inured to warre both
  • about matters of religion and regiment, that now they haue no peace of
  • minde, but in troubling all other mens peace. Because the pouertie of
  • their prouinces will allow them no proportionable maintenance for higher
  • callings of ecclesiasticall magistrates, they would reduce vs to the
  • president of their rebellious persecuted beggerie: much like the sect
  • of philosophers called cinikes, who when they saw they were borne to
  • no lands or possessions, nor had anie possible meanes to support their
  • desperate estates, but they must liue despised and in miserie doe what
  • they could, they plotted and consulted with themselues howe to make
  • theyr pouertie better esteemed of than rich dominion and soueraigntie.
  • The vpshot of their plotting and consultation was this, that they would
  • liue to themselues, scorning the verie breath or conipanie of all men,
  • they profest (according to y rate of their lands) voluntarie pouerty,
  • thin fare and lying hard, contemning and inueighing against al those
  • as brute beasts whatsoeuer whom the world had giuen anie reputation for
  • riches or prosperitie. _Diogenes_ was one of the first and fonnost of
  • the ringleaders of this rustie morositie, and he for all his nice
  • dogged disposition, and blunt deriding of worldly drosse, and the grosse
  • felycitie of fooles, was taken notwithstanding a little after verie
  • fairely coining monie in his cell: so fares it vp and down with our
  • cinicall reformed forraine Churches, they will disgest no grapes of great
  • Bishoprikes forsooth, because they cannot tell how to come by them, they
  • must shape their cotes good men according to their cloth, and doe as
  • they may, not as they woulde, yet they must giue vs leaue heere in
  • England that are their honest neighbours, if wee haue more cloth than
  • they, to make our garment somewhat larger. What was the foundation or
  • groundworke of this dismall declining of Munster, but the banishing of
  • their Bishop, their confiscating and casting lots for Church liuings,
  • as the souldiers cast lots for Christes garments, and in short tearmes,
  • theyr making the house of God a den of theeues. The house of God a number
  • of hungry church robbers in these dayes haue made a den of theeues.
  • Theeues spend loosely what they haue got lightly, sacriledge is no sure
  • inheritance, _Dionisius_ was nere the richer for robbing _Iupiter_ of
  • his golden coate, he was driuen in the end to play the schoolmaster at
  • Corinth. The name of religion, be it good or bad that is ruinated, God
  • neuer suffers vnreuenged, He say of it as _Ouid_ sayd of Eunuchs:
  • _Qui primus pueris genitalia membra recidit Vulnera qua fecit deduit
  • ipse pati._
  • Who first depriude yong boies of their best part,
  • With selfe same wounds he gaue he ought to smart.
  • So would he that first gelt religion or Churchliuings had bin first gelt
  • himselfe or neuer liued, Cardinall _Wolsey_ is the man I aime at, _Qui
  • in suas ponas ingeniosus erat_, first gaue others a light to his owne
  • ouerthrow. How it prospered with him and his instruments that after
  • wrought for themselues, Chronicles largely report, though not apply, and
  • some parcel of their punishment yet vnpaid, I doe not doubt but will bee
  • required of their posteritie.
  • To go forward with my storie of the ouerthrowe of that vsurper _Iohn
  • Leiden_, he and all his armie (as I saide before) falling prostrate on
  • their faces, and ferquently giuen ouer to praier, determined neuer to
  • cease, or leaue soliciting of God, till he had shewed them from heauen
  • some manifest miracle of successe. Note that it was a general receiued
  • tradition both with _I. Leiden_ and all the crue of Cnipper-dolings and
  • Muncers, if God at anie time at their vehement outcries and clamors did
  • not condiscend to their requests, to raile on him and curse him to his
  • face, to dispute with him, and argue him of iniustice, for not being
  • so good as his word with them, and to vrge his many promises in the
  • scripture against him: so that they did not serue God simply, but that
  • hee shoulde serue their turnes, and after that tenure are many content
  • to serue as bondmen to saue the danger of hanging: but he that serues
  • God aright, whose vpright conscience hath for his mot, _Amor est miki
  • causa sequendi_, I serue because I loue: he saies, _Ego te potius domine
  • quam tua dona sequar_, He rather follow thee O Lord, for thine owne
  • sake, than for anie couetous respect of that thou canst do for me,
  • Christ would haue no folowers, but such as forsooke all and follow him,
  • such as forsake all their owne desires, such as abandon all expectations
  • of rewarde in this world, such as neglected and contemned their liues,
  • their wiues and children in comparison of him, and were content to take
  • vp their crosse and folow him. These Anabaptists had not yet forsooke
  • all and followed Christ, they had not forsooke their owne desires of
  • reuenge and innouation, they had not abandoned their expectation of the
  • spoile of their enimies, they regarded their liues, they lookt after
  • their wiues & children, they tooke not vp their crosse of humilitie and
  • followed him, but would crosse him, vpbraid him, and set him at naught,
  • if he assured not by some signe their praiers and supplications.
  • _Deteriora sequuntur_, they folowed God as daring him. God heard their
  • praiers, _Quod petitur poena est_, It was their speedie punishment
  • that they praide for. Lo according to the summe of their impudent
  • supplications, a signe in the heauens appeard the glorious signe of the
  • rainbow, which agreed iust with the signe of their ensigne that was a
  • rainbowe likewise. Wherevpon assuring themselues of victorie, (_Miseri
  • quod volunt facile credunt_) that which wretches woulde haue they easily
  • beleeue. With shoutes and clamours they presentlie ranne headlong
  • on theyr well deserued confusion. Pittifull and lamentable was their
  • vnpittied and well performed slaughter. To see euen a Beare (which
  • is the most cruellest of all beastes) to too bloudily ouermatcht, and
  • deformedly rent in peeces by an vnconscionable number of curres, it
  • woulde moue compassion against kinde, and make those that beholding him
  • at the stake yet vncoapte with, wisht him a sutable death to his vgly
  • shape, now to recall their hard hearted wishes, and moane him suffering
  • as a mild beast, in comparison of the foule mouthed mastifes his
  • butchers: euen such compassion dyd those ouermatcht vngratious
  • Munsterians obtayne of many indifferent eyes, who now thought them
  • suffering, to bee as sheepe brought innocent to the shambles, when as
  • before they deemed them as a number of wolues vp in armes agaynst the
  • shepheardes. The Emperyalles themselues that were theyr executioners
  • (lyke a Father that weepes when he beates his child, yet still weepes
  • and still beates) not without much ruth and sorrow prosecuted that
  • lamentable massacre, yet drumms and trumpets sounding nothing but
  • stearne reuenge in their eares, made them so eager, that their hands
  • had no leasure to aske counsell of theyr effeminate eyes, theyr swords,
  • theyr pikes, theyr bils, their bows, their caleeuers flew, empierced,
  • knockt downe, shot thorough, and ouerthrew as many men euerie minute of
  • the battell, as there fais eares of corne before the sithe at one blowe,
  • yet all theyr weapons so slaying, empiercing, knocking downe, shooting
  • through, ouerthrowing, dissouleioyned not halfe so many, as the hailing
  • thunder of their great ordenance so ordinary at euerie footstep was the
  • imbrument of iron in bloud, that one could hardly discerne heads from
  • bullettes, or clottered haire from mangled flesh hung with gore. This
  • tale must at one time or other giue vp the ghost, and as good now as
  • stay longer, I would gladly rid my hands of it cleanly if I could tell
  • how, for what with talking of coblers, & tinkers, & roapemakers, and
  • botchers, and durt-daubers, the marke is cleane gone out of my muses
  • mouth, and I am as it were more than dunsified twixt divinitie and
  • poetrie. What is there more as touching this tragedie that you would be
  • resolued of? saie quickly, for now my pen is got vpon his feet again:
  • how _I. Leiden_ dide, is y it? he dide like a dog, he was hanged and the
  • halter paid for. For his companions, do they trouble you? I can tel you
  • they troubled some men before, for they were all kild, and none escapt,
  • no not so much as one to tel the tale of the rainbow. Heare what it is
  • to be Anabaptists, to bee puritans, to be villaines, you may be counted
  • illuminate botchers for a while, but your end wil be Good people pray
  • for me.
  • With the tragicall catastrophe of this munsterian conflict, did I
  • cashier the new vocation of my caualiership. There was no more honorable
  • wars in christendome then towards, wherefore after I had learned to
  • be halfe an houre in bidding a man _boniure_ in germane sunonimas, I
  • trauelled along the cuntrie towards England as fast as I could. What
  • with wagons & bare tentoes hauing attained to Middleborough (good Lord
  • see the changing chances of vs knight arrant infants) I met with the
  • right honourable Lord _Henrie Howard_ Earle of Surrey my late master,
  • Jesu I was perswaded.
  • I shoulde not be more glad to see heauen than I was to see him, O it was
  • a right noble Lord, liberalitie itselfe, (if in this yron age there were
  • anie such creature as liberality left on the earth) a prince in content
  • because a Poet without peere. Destinie neuer defames her selfe but
  • when she lets an excellent poet die: if there bee anie sparke of Adams
  • paradized perfection yet emberd vp in the breastes of mortall men,
  • certainely God hath bestowed that his perfectest image on poets. None
  • come so neere to God in wit, none more contemne the world, _vatis auarus
  • non temere est animus, sayth Horace, versus amat, hoc studet vnurn_.
  • Seldom haue you seene anie Poet possessed with auarice, onely verses he
  • loues, nothing else he delights in: and as they contemne the world, so
  • contrarily of the mechanicall worlde are none more contemned. Despised
  • they are of the worlde, because they are not of the world: their
  • thoughts are exalted aboue the worlde of ignorance and all earthly
  • conceits.
  • As sweet angelicall queristers they are continually conuersant in the
  • heauen of artes, heauen it selfe is but the highest height of knowledge,
  • he that knowes himselfe & all things else, knowes the means to be
  • happie: happy, thrice happie are they whome God hath doubled his spirite
  • vppon, and giuen a double soule vnto to be Poets. My heroicall master
  • exceeded in this supernaturall kinde of wit, hee entertained no grosse
  • earthly spirite of auarice, nor weake womanly spirit of pusillanimity
  • and feare that are fained to be of the water, but admirable, airie, and
  • firie spirites, full of freedome, magnanimitie and bountihood. Let me
  • not speake anie more of his accomplishments, for feare I spend al my
  • spirits in praising him and leaue my selfe no vigor of wit, or effectes
  • of a soule to goe forward with my history. Hauing thus met him I so much
  • adored, no interpleading was there of opposite occasions, but backe I
  • must returne and beare halfe stakes with him in the lotterie of
  • trauell. I was not altogether vnwilling to walke along with such a good
  • purse-bearer, yet musing what changeable humor had so sodainly seduced
  • him from his natiue soyle to seeke out needlesse perils in these parts
  • beyond sea, one night verie boldly I demaunded of him the reason that
  • moued him thereto.
  • Ah quoth he, my little Page, full little canst thou perceiue howe farre
  • metamorphozed I am from my selfe, since I last sawe thee. There is
  • a little God called Loue, that will not bee worshipt of anie leaden
  • braines, one that proclaimes himselfe sole king and Emperour of pearcing
  • eyes and chiefe soueraigtie of softe heartes, hee it is that exercising
  • his empire in my eyes, hath exorcized and cleane coniured me from my
  • content. Thou knowest stately _Geraldine_, too stately I feare for me to
  • doe homage to her statue or shrine, she it is that is come out of Italy
  • to bewitch all the wise men of England, vpon Queene _Katherine Dowager_
  • shee waites, that hath a dowrie of beautie sufficient to make her wooed
  • of the greatest kings in christendome. Her high exalted sunne beames
  • haue set the phenix neast of my breast on fire, and I my selfe haue
  • brought Arabian spiceries of sweete passions and praises, to furnish out
  • the funerall flame of my folly. Those who were condemned to be smothered
  • to death by sinking downe into the softe bottome of an high built bedde
  • of roses, neuer dide so sweete a death as I shoulde die, if her rose
  • coloured disdaine were my deathsman. Oh thrice emperiall Hampton court,
  • _Cupids_ inchaunted castle, the place where I first sawe the perfect
  • omnipotence of the Almightie expressed in mortalitie, tis thou alone,
  • that tithing all other men solace in thy pleasant scituation, affoordest
  • mee nothing but an excellent begotten sorrowe out of the chiefe
  • treasurie of all thy recreations.
  • Deare _Wilton_, vnderstand that there it was where I first set eie on my
  • more than celestiall Geraldine. Seeing her I admired her, all the whole
  • receptacle of my sight was vnhabited with her rare worth. Long sute and
  • vncessant protestations got me the grace to be entertained. Did neuer
  • vnlouing seruant so prentiselike obey his neuer pleased mistres, as
  • I dyd her. My lyfe, my wealth, my friendes, had all theyr destinie
  • depending on her command. Uppon a time I was determined to trauell, the
  • fame of Italy, and an especiall affection I had vnto Poetrie my second
  • mistres, for which Italy was so famous, had wholy rauisht mee vnto it
  • There was no dehortment from it, but needes thether I woulde, wherefore
  • comming to my mistres as she was then walking with other Ladyes of
  • estate in paradice at Hampton court, I most humblie besought her of
  • fauour, that shee would giue me so much gracious leaue to absent my
  • selfe from her seruice, as to trauell a yeare or two in Italy. She verie
  • discreetly aunswered mee, that if my loue were so hot as I had often
  • auouched, I dyd verie well to applie the plaister of absence vnto it,
  • for absence, as they saie, causeth forgetfulnesse, yet neuerthelesse
  • since it is Italy my natiue Countrie you are so desirous to see, I am
  • the more willing to make my will yours: _I pete Italiam_, go and seeke
  • Italie with Aenoas, but bee more true than _Aenoas_, I hope that kinde
  • wit-cherishing climate will worke no change in so wittie a breast. No
  • countrie of mine shall it be more, if it conspire with thee, in anie
  • newe loue agaynst mee. One charge I will giue thee, and let it bee
  • rather a request than a charge: When thou commest to Florence (the fayre
  • Citie from whence I fetcht the pride of my birth) by an open challenge
  • defende my beautie agaynst all commers.
  • Thou hast that honourable carryage in armes, that it shall bee no
  • discredite for mee to bequeath all the glorie of my beautie to thy well
  • gouerned arme. Faine woulde I be knowen where I was borne, fayne woulde
  • I haue thee knowen where fame sits in her chiefest theater. Farewell,
  • forget mee not, continued deserts will eternize me vnto thee, thy full
  • wishes shall bee expired when thy trauell shall be once ended.
  • Heere dyd teares steppe out before wordes, and intercepted the course
  • of my kinde concerned speech, euen as winde is allayed with raine: with
  • heart scalding sighes I confirmed her parting request, and vowed my
  • selfe hers, while liuing heate allowed mee to bee mine owne, _Hinc illo
  • lachrimo_ heere hence proceedeth the whole cause of my peregrination.
  • Not a litle was I delighted with this vnexpected loue story, especially
  • from a mouth out of which was nought wont to march but sterne precepts
  • of grauitie and modestie. I sweare vnto you I thought his companie
  • the better by a thousande crownes, because he had discarded those nice
  • tearmes of chastitie and continencie. Now I beseech God loue me so well
  • as I loue a plain dealing man, earth is earth, flesh is flesh, earth
  • wil to earth, and flesh vnto flesh, fraile earth, fraile flesh, who can
  • keepe you from the worke of your creation.
  • Dismissing this fruitlesse annotation _pro et contra_, towards Venice we
  • progrest, & tooke Roterdam in our waie, that was cleane out of our waie,
  • there wee met with aged learninges chiefe ornament, that abundant and
  • superingenious clarke _Erasmus_, as also with merrie sir _Thomas Moore_
  • our Countrieman, who was come purposely ouer a little before vs, to
  • visite the sayd graue father _Erasmus_: what talk, what conference we
  • had then, it were heere superfluous to rehearse, but this I can
  • assure you, _Erasmus_ in al his speeches seemed so much to mislike the
  • indiscretion of princes in preferring of parasites & fooles, that
  • he decreed with himselfe to swim with the streame, and write a booke
  • forthwith in commendation of folly. Quick witted sir _Thomas
  • Moore_ traueld in a cleane contrarie prouince, for hee seeing most
  • commonwealths corrupted by ill custome, & that principalities were
  • nothing but great piracies, which gotten by violence and murther, were
  • maintained by priuate vndermining and bloudshed, that in the chiefest
  • flourishing kingdomes there was no equal or wel diuided weale one with
  • another, but a manifest conspiracie of rich men against poore men,
  • procuring their owne vnlawfull commodities vnder the name and interest
  • of the commonwealth: he concluded with himselfe to lay downe a perfect
  • plot of a commonwealth or gouernment, which he would intitle his
  • _Vtopia_. So lefte wee them to prosecute their discontented studies, &
  • made our next iourney to Wittenberg.
  • At the verie point of our enterance into Wittenberg, wee were spectators
  • of a verie solemne scolasticall entertainment of the Duke of Saxonie
  • thether. Whome because he was the chiefe patrone of their vniuersitie,
  • and had tooke _Luthers_ parte in banishing the masse and all lyke papall
  • Jurisdiction out of their towne, they croucht vnto extreamly. The chiefe
  • ceremonies of their entertainment were these: first, the heads of their
  • vniuersitie, (they were great heads of certaintie) met him in their
  • hooded hypocrisie and doctorly accoustrement, _secundum formam statuti_,
  • where by the Orator of the vniuersitie, whose pickerdeuant was very
  • plentifully besprinkled with rose water, a verie learned or rather
  • ruthfull Oration was deliuered (for it raind all the while) signifieng
  • thus much, that it was al by patch and by peecemeale stolne out of
  • _Tully_, & he must pardon them, though in emptying their phrase bookes,
  • the ayre emptied his intrailes, for they did it not in anie ostentation
  • of wit (which they had not) but to shewe the extraordinarie good will
  • they bare the Duke, (to haue him stand in the raine tyll he was thorough
  • wet) a thousand _quernadmodums_ and _quapropters_ he came ouer him with,
  • euery sentence he concluded with _Esse posse videatur_: through all the
  • nine worthies he ran with praising and comparing him, _Nestors_ yeares
  • hee assured him off vnder the broade seale of their supplications, and
  • with that crowe troden verse in Virgil, _Dum iuga montis aper_, hee
  • packt vp his pipes, and cride _dixi_.
  • That pageant ouerpast, there rusht vpon him a miserable rabblement of
  • iunior graduats, that all crid out vpon him mightily in their gibrige
  • lyke a companie of beggers, God saue your grace, God saue your grace,
  • Jesus preserue your highnes, though it be but for an houre.
  • Some three halfe pennyworth of Latine here also had he throwen at his
  • face, but it was choise stuffe I can tell you, as there is a choise euen
  • amongest ragges gathered vp from the dunghill. At the townes end met
  • him the burgers and dunstical incorporationers of Wittenberg in their
  • distinguished liueries, their distinguished liuerie faces I mene, for
  • they were most of them hot liuered dronkards, and had all the coate
  • coulours of sanguin, purple, crimson, copper, carnation that were to be
  • had in their countenaunces. Filthy knaues, no cost had they bestowed
  • on the town for his welcome, sauing new painted their houghs & bousing
  • houses, which commonly are built fayrer than their Churches, and ouer
  • their gates set the town armes, which sounded gulping after this sort,
  • _Vanhotten, slotten, irk bloshen glotten gelderslike_: what euer the
  • wordes were, the sense was this, Good drinke is a medicine for all
  • diseases.
  • A bursten belly inkhorne orator called _Vanderhulke_ they pickt out to
  • present him with an oration, one that had a sulpherous big swolne large
  • face, like a Saracen, eies lyke two kentish oysters, a mouth that opened
  • as wide euerie time hee spake, as one of those olde knit trap doores, a
  • beard as though it had bin made of a birds neast pluckt in peeces, which
  • consisteth of strawe, haire, and durt mixt together. Hee was apparelled
  • in blacke leather new licourd, and a short gowne without any gathering
  • in the backe, faced before and behind with a boistrous Beare skinne,
  • and a red nightcap on his head. To this purport and effecte was this
  • broccing double beere Oration.
  • Right noble Duke (_ideo nobilis quasi nobilis_) for you haue no bile or
  • cholar in you, know that our present incorporation of Wittenberg, by
  • me the tongue-man of their thankfulnes, a townesman by birth, a free
  • Germane by nature, an oratour by arte, and a scriuener by education,
  • in all obedience & chastity, most bountifully bid you welcome to
  • Wittenberg: welcome sayde I? O orificiall rethorike wipe thy euerlasting
  • mouth, and affoord me a more Indian metaphor than that, forthe braue
  • princely bloud of a Saxon. Oratorie vncaske the hard hutch of thy
  • complements, and with the triumphantest troupe in thy treasurie doe
  • trewage vnto him. What impotent speech with his eight partes may not
  • specifie this vnestimable guift holding his peace, shall as it were
  • (with teares I speake it) do wherby as it may seeme or appeare, to
  • manifest or declare & yet it is, & yet it is not, & yet it may bee a
  • diminitiue oblation meritorious to your high pusillanimitie & indignity.
  • Why shoulde I goe gadding and fisgigging after firking flantado
  • Amphibologies, wit is wit, and good will is good will. With all the wit
  • I haue, I here according to the premises, offer vp vnto you the Cities
  • generall good will, which is a guilded Canne, in manner and forme
  • following, for you and the heires of your bodie lawfully begotten, to
  • drinke healths in. The scolasticall squitter bookes clout you vp
  • cannopies & footclothes of verses. Wee that are good fellowes, and liue
  • as merrie as cup and can, will not verse vpon you as they do, but must
  • doe as we can, and entertaine you if it bee but with a playne emptie
  • Canne. He hath learning inough that hath learnd to drinke to his first
  • man.
  • Gentle Duke, without paradox be it spoken, thy horses at your owne
  • proper costs and charges shall kneed vp to the knees all the while thou
  • art here in spruce beere & lubeck licour. Not a dog thou bringst with
  • thee but shall be banketted with rhenish wine and sturgion. On our
  • shoulders we weare no lamb skin or miniuer like these academikes, yet
  • wee can drinke to the confusion of all thy enemies. Good lambes-wooll
  • haue we for their lambe skins, and for their miniuer, large minerals in
  • our coffers. Mechanicall men they call vs, and not amisse, for most of
  • vs being _Mochi_, yt is, cuckolds & whooremasters, fetch our antiquitie
  • from the temple of _Mocha_, where Mahomet is hung vp. Three parts of the
  • world, America, Affrike and Asia, are of this our mechanike religion.
  • _Nero_ when he crid _O quantus artifex pereo_, profest himselfe of our
  • freedome. Insomuch as _Artifex_ is a citizen or craftsman, as wel as
  • _Carnifex_ a scholler or hangman. Passe on by leaue into the precincts
  • of our abhomination. Bony Duke, frolike in our bowse, and perswade thy
  • selfe that euen as garlike hath three properties, to make a man winke,
  • drinke, and stinke, so wee wyll winke on thy imperfections, drinke to
  • thy fauorites, & all thy foes shall stinke before vs. So be it Farewell.
  • The Duke laught not a little at this ridiculous oration, but that verie
  • night, as great an ironicall occasion was ministred, for he was
  • bidden to one of the chiefe schoolesto a Comedie handled by scollers.
  • _Acolastus_ the prodigall childe was the name of it, which was so
  • filthily acted, so leathernly sette foorth, as woulde haue moued
  • laughter in _Heraclitus_. One as if he had beene playning a clay floore
  • stampingly troade the stage so harde with his feete, that I thought
  • verily he had resolued to doe the Carpenter that sette it vp some vtter
  • shame. Another floung his armes lyke cudgelles at a peare tree, in so
  • much as it was mightily dreaded that hee woulde strike the candles that
  • hung aboue theyr heades out of their sockets, and leaue them all darke.
  • Another did nothing but winke and make faces. There was a parasite, &
  • he with clapping his hands and thripping his fingers seemed to dance
  • an antike to and fro The onely thing they did well, was the prodigal
  • childes hunger, most of their schollers being hungerly kept, and surely
  • you would haue sayd they had ben brought vp in hogs academie to learne
  • to eate acornes, if you had seene how sedulously they fell to them. Not
  • a iest had they to keepe their auditors from sleepe but of swill and
  • draffe, yes now and then the seruant put his hand into the dish before
  • his master, and almost choakt himselfe, eating slouenly and rauenously
  • to cause sport.
  • The next daie they had solempne disputations, where _Luther_ and
  • _Carolostadius_ scolded leuell coile. A masse of words I wot well they
  • heapt vp against the masse and the Pope, but farther perticulars of
  • their disputations I remember not. I thought verily they woulde haue
  • worried one another with wordes, they were so earnest and vehement.
  • _Luther_ had the louder voice, _Carolostadius_ went beyond him in
  • beating and bounsing with his fists, _Quæ supra nos nihil ad nos_. They
  • vttered nothing to make a man laugh, therefore I wil leaue them. Mary
  • theyr outward iestures now and then would affoorde a man a morsell of
  • mirth: of those two I meane not so much, as of all the other traine of
  • opponents and respondents. One peckte like a crane with his forefinger
  • at euery halfe sillable he brought forth, and nodded with his nose like
  • an olde singing man, teaching a yong querister to keepe time. Another
  • would be sure to wipe his mouth with his handkercher at the end of
  • euerie full point And euer when he thought he had cast a figure
  • so curiously, as he diu'de ouer head and eares into his auditors
  • admiration, hee would take occasion to stroke vp his haire, and twine
  • vp his mustachios twice or thrice ouer while they might haue leasure
  • to applaud him. A third wauerd and wagled his head, like a proud horse
  • playing with his bridle, or as I haue seene some fantasticall swimmer,
  • at euerie stroke, traine his chin sidelong ouer his left shoulder. A
  • fourth swet and foamed at the mouth, for verie anger his aduersarie
  • had denied that part of his sillogisme which he was not prepared to
  • aunswere. A fifth spread his armes like an vsher that goes before to
  • make roome, and thript with his finger & his thumbe when he thought he
  • had tickled it with a conclusion. A sixt hung downe his countenance lyke
  • a sheepe, and stutted and slauered verie pittifully when his inuention
  • was stept aside out of the waie. A seuenth gaspt and gapt for winde,
  • and groned in his pronunciation as if he were hard bound in some bad
  • argument. Grosse plodders they were all, that had some learning and
  • reading, but no wit to make vse of it They imagined the Duke tooke the
  • greatest pleasure and contentment vnder heauen to heare them speak.
  • Latine, and as long as they talkt nothing but _Tully_ he was bound to
  • attend them. A most vaine thing it is in many vniuersities at this daye,
  • that they count him excellent eloquent, who stealeth not whole phrases
  • but whole pages out of _Tully_. If of a number of shreds of his
  • sentences he can shape an oration, from all the world hee carries
  • it awaie, although in truth it be no more than a fooles coat of many
  • coulours. No inuention or matter haue they of theyr owne, but tacke vp
  • a stile of his stale galimafries. The leaden headed Germanes first began
  • this, and we Englishmen haue surfetted of their absurd imitation. I
  • pittie _Nizolius_ that had nothing to doe, but picke thrids ends out of
  • an olde ouerworne garment. This is but by the waie, we must looke backe
  • to our disputants. One amongst the rest thinking to be more conceited
  • than his fellowes, seeing the Duke haue a dog hee loued well, which sate
  • by him on the tarras, conuerted all his oration to him, and not a haire
  • of his taile but he kembd out with comparisons. So to haue courted
  • him if he were a bitch had bin verie suspitious. Another commented
  • & descanted on the Dukes staffe, new tipping it with many queint
  • epithites. Some cast his natiuitie, and promised him he should not
  • die till the daie of Judgement Omitting further superfluities of this
  • stampe, in this general assembly we found intermixed that abundant
  • scholler _Cornelius Agrippa_. At that time he bare the fame to be the
  • greatest coniurer in Christendome. _Scoto_ that did the iugling trickes
  • here before the Queene, neuer came neere him one quarter in magicke
  • reputation. The Doctors of Wittenberg doting on the rumour that went
  • of him, desired him before the Duke and them to doe something
  • extraordinarie memorable.
  • One requested to see pleasant _Plautus_, & that he would shew them
  • in what habite hee went, and with what countenaunce he lookt, when he
  • ground corne in the mill. Another had halfe a moneths minde to _Ouid_
  • and his hooke nose. _Erasmus_ who was not wanting to that honourable
  • meeting, requested to see _Tully_ in that same grace and maiestie he
  • pleaded his Oration _pro Roscio Amerino_. Affirming, that til in person
  • he beheld his importunitie of pleading, he woulde not be perswaded anie
  • man coulde carrie awaie a manifest case with rethorike, so straungely.
  • To _Erasmus_ petition he easily condiscended, and willing the Doctours
  • at such an houre to holde theyr conuocation, and euerie one to keepe him
  • in his place without mouing: at the time prefixed in entered _Tully_,
  • ascended his pleading place, and declaimed verbatim the fornamed
  • Oration, but with such astonishing amazement, with such feruent
  • exaltation of spirite, with such soule-stirring iestures, that all his
  • auditours were readie to install his guiltie client for a God.
  • Greate was the concourse of glorie _Agrippa_ drewe to him with this one
  • feate. And in deede hee was so cloyed with men which came to beholde
  • him, that hee was fayne sooner than hee woulde, to returne to the
  • Emperours court from whence hee came, and leaue Wittenberg before hee
  • woulde. With him we trauelled along, hauing purchast his acquaintance a
  • little before. By the waie as wee went, my master and I agreed to change
  • names. It was concluded betwixte vs, that I shoulde bee the Earle of
  • Surrie, and hee my man, onely because in his owne person, which hee
  • woulde not haue reproched, he meant to take more libertie of behauiour.
  • As for my carryage hee knew hee was to tune it at a key, eyther high or
  • low, or as hee list.
  • To the Emperours Court wee came, where our entertainment was euerie waie
  • plentifull, carouses wee had in whole galons in stead of quart pots. Not
  • a health was giuen vs but contayned well neere a hogshead. The customes
  • of the Countrie we were eager to be instructed in, but nothing we coulde
  • learne but this, that euer at the Emperours coronation there is an Oxe
  • roasted with a stagge in the belly, and that stagge in his belly hath a
  • kidde, and that kidde is stufte full of birdes. Some courtiers to wearie
  • out time woulde tell vs further tales of _Cornelius Agrippa_, and how
  • when sir _Thomas Moore_ our countrieman was there, hee shewed him the
  • whole destruction of Troy in a dreame. How the Lorde _Cromwell_ being
  • the kings Embassador there, in lyke case, in a perspectiue glasse he set
  • before his eyes, King Henrie the eight with all his Lordes hunting in
  • his forrest at Windsore, and when he came into his studie, and was verie
  • vrgent to be partaker of some rare experiment, that he might report when
  • he came into England, he wilde him amongst two thousande great bookes to
  • take downe which he list, and begin to reade one line in anie place, and
  • without booke he woulde rehearse twentie leaues following. _Cromwell_
  • dyd so, and in manye bookes tride him, when in euerie thing hee exceeded
  • his promise and conquered his expectation. To _Charles_ the fifte
  • then Emperour, they reported how he shewed the nine worthies, _Dauid,
  • Salomon, Gedeon_, and the rest, in that similitude and lykenesse that
  • they liued vpon earth. My master and I hauing by the high waie side
  • gotten some reasonable familiarities with him, vpon this accesse of
  • myracles imputed to him, resolued to request him something in our owne
  • behalfes. I because I was his suborned Lorde and master, desired him to
  • see the liuely image of _Geraldine_ his loue in the glasse, and what at
  • that instant she did, and with whome shee was talking. Hee shewed her
  • vs without more adoe, sicke weeping on her bedde, and resolued all into
  • deuoute religion for the absence of her Lorde. At the sight thereof hee
  • coulde in no wise refrayne, though hee had tooke vppon him the condition
  • of a seruant, but hee must forthwith frame this extemporall Dittie.
  • _All soule, no earthly fleshy why dost thou fade,
  • All gold, no worthlesse drosse, why lookst thou pale,
  • Sicknesse how darst thou one so faire inuadey
  • Too base infirmitie to worke her bale,
  • Heauen be distemperd since she grieuedpines,
  • Neuer be drie these my sadplaintiue lines.
  • Pearch thou my spirit on her siluer breasts,
  • And with theirpaine redoubled musike beatings,
  • Let them tosse thee to world where all toile rests,
  • Where blisse is subiect to nofeares defeatings,
  • Her praise I tune whose tongue doth tune the sphears,
  • And gets new muses in her hearers eares.
  • Starres fall to fetch fresh light from her rich eyes,
  • Her bright brow driues the Sunne to clouds beneath,
  • Her hair es reflexe with red strokes paints the skies,
  • Sweet morne and euening deaw flowes from her breath:
  • Phoebe rules tides, she my teares tides forth drawesy
  • In her sicke bed hue sits and maketh lawes.
  • Her daintie limbes tinsel I her silke soft sheets,
  • Her rose-crownd cheekes eclipse my daze led sight,
  • O glasse with too much ioy my thoughts thou greets,
  • And yet thou shewst me day but by twielight
  • Ile kisse thee for the kindnesse I hauefelt,
  • Her lips one kisse would vnto Nectar melt._
  • Though the Emperors court, and the extraordinaire edifieng companie of
  • _Cornelius Agrippa_ might haue beene arguments of waight to haue arested
  • vs a little longer there, yet Italy stil stuck as a great moat in my
  • masters eie, he thought he had trauelled no farther tha Wales til he had
  • tooke suruey of that Countrie which was such a curious moulder of wits.
  • To cut off blinde ambages by the high way side, we made a long stride
  • & got to Venice in short time, where hauing scarce lookt about vs,
  • a precious supernaturall pandor, apparelled in all points like a
  • gentleman, and hauing halfe a dosen seuerall languages in his purse,
  • entertained vs in our owne tongue verie paraphrastically and eloquently,
  • and maugre all other pretended acquaintance, would haue vs in a violent
  • kinde of curtesie to be the guests of his appointment. His name was
  • _Petro de campo Frego_, a notable practitioner in the pollicy of
  • baudrie. The place whether he brought vs, was a pernicious curtizans
  • house named _Tabitha_ the Temptresses, a wench that could set as ciuill
  • a face on it, as chastities first martyr _Lucrecia_. What will you
  • conceit to bee in anie Saintes house that was there to seeke? Bookes,
  • pictures, beades, crucifixes, why there was a haberdashers shop of
  • them in euerie chamber. I warrant you should not see one set of her
  • neckercher peruerted or turned awrie, not a piece of a haire displast.
  • On her beddes there was not a wrinkle of anie wallowing to be founde,
  • her pillowes bare out as smooth as a groning wiues belly, & yet she was
  • a Turke and an infidell, and had more dooinges than all her neighbours
  • besides. Us for our money they vsed lyke Emperours, I was master as you
  • hearde before, and my master the Earle was but as my chiefe man whome I
  • made my companion. So it happened (as iniquitie will out at one time or
  • other) that she perceiuing my expence had no more ventes than it should
  • haue, fell in with my supposed semant my man, and gaue him halfe a
  • promise of marriage, if he woulde helpe to make me away, that she and he
  • might inioy the iewels and wealth that I had.
  • The indifficultie of the condition thus she explaind vnto him, her
  • house stood vpon vaults, which in two hundred yeeres together were
  • neuer searcht, who came into her house none tooke notice of, his fellow
  • seruants that knewe of his masters abode there, should be all dispatcht
  • by him as from his master, into sundrie partes of the citie about
  • busines, and when they returned, answere should bee made that hee lay
  • not there anie more, but had remoued to Padua since their departure, &
  • thether they must follow him. Now (quoth she) if you be disposed to make
  • him awaie in their absence, you shall haue my house at command. Stab,
  • poison, or shoote him through with a pistol all is one, into the vault
  • he shall be throwen when the deede is done. On my bare honestie it was
  • a craftie queane, for she had enacted with her selfe if he had bin
  • my legitimate seruant, as he was one that serued and supplied my
  • necessities, when hee had murthered me, to haue accused him of the
  • murther, and made all that I had hers (as I carryed all my masters
  • wealth, monie, iewels, rings, or bils of exchaunge continually about
  • me.) He verie subtilly consented to her stratageme at the first motion,
  • kill me he woulde, that heauens could not withstand, and a pistoll was
  • the predestinate engin which must deliuer the parting blow. God wot I
  • was a rawe young squier, and my master dealt iudasly with me, for he
  • tolde mee but euerie thing that she and he agreed of. Wherfore I
  • could not possibly preuent it, but as a man woulde saie auoide it. The
  • execution daie aspired to his vtmost deuolution, into my chamber came
  • my honourable attendant with his pistoll charged by his side verie
  • suspitiously and sullenly, lady _Tabitha_ and _Petro de catnpo Frego_
  • her pandor followed him at the hard heeles. At theyr enterance I saluted
  • them all verie familiarly and merily, and began to impart vnto them what
  • disquiet dreames had disturbed me the last night I dreamd, quoth I, that
  • my man _Brunquell_ heere (for no better name got he of mee) came into my
  • chamber with a pistoll charged vnder his arme to kill me, and that hee
  • was suborned by you mistres _Tabitha_, and my verie good friend
  • here _Petro de campo Frego_. God send it tourne to good, for it hath
  • afrighted mee aboue measure. As they were readie to enter into a
  • colourable common place of the deceitful friuolousnes of dreames, my
  • trustie seruant _Brunquell_ stoode quiuering and quaking euerie ioynt
  • of him, and (as it was before compacted between vs) let his pistoll drop
  • from him on the sodain, wherwith I started out of my bed, and drew my
  • rapier and cride murther, murther, which made good wife _Tabitha_ readie
  • to bepisse her.
  • My seruant, or my master, which you will, I tooke roughly by the coller,
  • and threatned to run him thorough incontinent if he confest not the
  • truth. He as it were striken with remorse of conscience (God be with
  • him, for he could counterfeit most daintily) downe on his knees, askt
  • me forgiuenes, and impeached _Tabitha_ and _Petro de catnpo Frego_ as
  • guiltie of subornation. I verie mildly and grauely gaue him audience,
  • raile on them I did not after his tale was ended, but sayd I would trie
  • what the lawe coulde doe. Conspiracie by the custome of their countrie
  • was a capitall offence, and what custome or iustice might affoord
  • they should be all sure to feele. I could (quoth I) acquite my selfe
  • otherwise, but it is not for a straunger to bee his owne caruer in
  • reuenge. Not a worde more with _Tabitha_ but die she would before God
  • or the deuill would haue her, she sounded and reuiued, and then sounded
  • againe, and after shee reuiued again sighed heauily, spoke faintly
  • and pittifully, yea and so pittifully, as if a man had not knowen the
  • prankes of harlots before, he would haue melted in comiseration. Tears,
  • sighs, and dolefull tuned wordes could not make anie forcible claime
  • to my stonie eares, it was the glistering crownes that I hungered and
  • thirsted after, and with them for all her mock holyday iestures she
  • was faine to come off, before I woulde condiscend to anie bargaine of
  • silence. So it fortuned (fie vpon that vnfortunate word of Fortune) yt
  • this whore, this quean, this curtizan, this common of ten thousand, so
  • bribing me not to bewray her, had giuen me a great deale of counterfeit
  • gold, which she had receiued of a coiner to make awaie a little before.
  • Amongst the grosse summe of my briberie, I silly milkesop mistrusting no
  • deceit, vnder an angell of light tooke what she gaue me, nere turnd it
  • ouer, for which (O falsehood in faire shew) my master and I had like
  • to haue bin turned ouer. Hee that is a knight arrant, exercised in the
  • affaires of Ladies and Gentlewomen, hath more places to send mony to,
  • than the diuell hath to send his spirites to. There was a delicate wench
  • called _Flauia Aemilia_ lodging in S. Markes streete at a Goldsmiths,
  • which I would faine haue had to the grand test, to trie whether she were
  • currant in alcumie or no. Aie me, shee was but a counterfeit slip, for
  • she not only gaue me the slip, but had welnie made me a slipstring. To
  • her I sent my gold to beg an hour of grace, ah gracelesse fornicatresse,
  • my hostesse & she wer confederate, who hauing gotten but one piece of my
  • ill golde into their kandes, deuised the meanes to make me immortall.
  • I could drinke for anger till my head akt, to think how I was abused.
  • Shall I shame the deuill and speake the truth, to prison was I sent as
  • principall, and my master as accessarie, nor was it to a prison neither,
  • but to the master of the mints house who though partly our iudge, and
  • a most seuere vpright iustice in his own nature, extreamly seemed to
  • condole our ignorant estate, and without all peraduenture a present
  • redresse he had ministred, if certaine of our countrie men hearing an
  • English earle was apprehended for coining, had not come to visite vs. An
  • ill planet brought them thether, for at the first glance they knew the
  • seruant of my secrecies to be the Earle of Surrey, and I (not worthie
  • to be named I) an outcast of his cup or his pantofles. Thence, thence
  • sprong the full period of our infelicitie. The master of the mint our
  • whilome refresher and consolation, now tooke part against vs, he thought
  • we had a mint in our head of mischieuous conspiracies against their
  • state. Heauens bare witnes with vs it was not so, (Heauens wyll not
  • always come to witnes when they are cald.)
  • To a straiter ward were we comitted: that which we haue imputatiuely
  • transgressed must beaunswered. O the heathen heigh passe, and the
  • intrinsecall legerdemain of our special approued good pandor _Petro de
  • Campo Frego_. Hee although he dipt in the same dish with vs euerie daie,
  • seeming to labor our cause verie importunatly, and had interpreted
  • for vs to the state from y beginning, yet was one of those trecherous
  • brother _Trulies_, and abused vs most darkly. He interpreted to vs
  • with a pestilence, for whereas we stood obstinatly vpon it, we were
  • wrongfully deteined, and that it was naught but a malicious practise of
  • sinfull _Tabitha_ our late hostesse, he by a fine conny-catching corrupt
  • translation, made vs plainely to confesse, and crie _Miserere_, ere we
  • had need of our neckverse.
  • Detestable, detestable, that the flesh and the deuill shoulde deale
  • by their factors. He stand to it, there is not a pandor but hath vowed
  • paganisme. The deuill himselfe is not such a deuill as he, so be he
  • performe his function aright. He must haue the backe of an asse, the
  • snout of an elephant, the wit of a foxe, and the teeth of a wolfe, he
  • must faune like a spaniell, crouch like a Jew, Here like a sheepbiter.
  • If he be halfe a puritan, and haue scripture continually in his mouth,
  • he speeds the better. I can tell you it is a trade of great promotion,
  • and let none euer thinke to mount by seruice in forain courts, or creep
  • neere to some magnifique Lords, if they be not seene in this science.
  • O it is the art of arts, and ten thousand times goes beyond the
  • intelligencer. None but a staid graue ciuill man is capable of it, he
  • must haue exquisite courtship in him or else he is not old who, he wants
  • the best point in his tables.
  • God be mercifull to our pandor (and that were for God to worke a
  • miracle) he was seene in all the seuen liberall deadly sciences, not a
  • sinne but he was as absolute in as sathan himselfe. Sathan could neuer
  • haue supplanted vs so as hee did. I may saie to you he planted in vs the
  • first Italionate wit that we had. During the time we lay close and toke
  • phisick in this castle of contemplation, there was a Magnificos wife
  • of good calling sent in to beare vs companie. Her husbands name was
  • _Castaldo_, she hight _Diamante_, the cause of her committing was an
  • vngrounded ielous suspition which her doating husbande had conceiued of
  • her chastitie. One _Isaac Medicus_ a bergomast was the man hee chose
  • to make him a monster, who beeing a courtier and repairing to his house
  • very often, neither for loue of him nor his wife, but onely with a drift
  • to borrowe monie of a pawne of waxe and parchment, when he sawe his
  • expectation deluded, and that _Castaldo_ was too charie for him to
  • close with, he priuily with purpose of reuenge, gaue out amongest his
  • copesmates, that hee resorted to _Castaldos_ house for no other end
  • but to cuckolde him, & doubtfully he talkt that he had and he had not
  • obtained his sute. Rings which he borrowed of a light curtizan that he
  • vsed to, hee woulde faine to bee taken from her fingers, and in summe,
  • so handled the matter, that _Castaldo_ exclaimd, Out whore, strumpet,
  • sixe penny hackster, away with her to prison.
  • As glad were we almost as if they had giuen vs libertie, that fortune
  • lent vs such a sweet puefellow. A pretie round faced wench was it, with
  • blacke cie browes, a high forehead, a litle mouth, and a sharpe nose, as
  • fat and plum euerie part of her as a plouer, a skin as slike and soft as
  • the backe of a swan, it doth me good when I remember her. Like a birde
  • she tript on the ground, and bare out her belly as maiesticall as
  • an Estrich. With a licorous rouling eie fixt percing on the earth, &
  • sometimes scornfully darted on the tone side, she figured foorth a high
  • discontented disdain, much like a prince puffing and storming at the
  • treason of some mightie subiect fled lately out of his power. Her verie
  • countenance repiningly wrathfull, and yet cleere and vnwrinkled, would
  • haue confirmed the cleernes of her conscience to the austerest iudge
  • in the world. If in any thing she were culpable, it was in being too
  • melancholy chast, and shewing her selfe as couetous of her beautie as
  • her husband was of his bags. Many are honest because they knowe not
  • how to be dishonest: she thought there was no pleasure in stolne
  • bread, because there was no pleasure in an olde mans bed. It is almost
  • impossible that anie woman should be excellently wittie, and not make
  • the vtmost pennie of her beautie. This age and this countrie of ours
  • admits of some miraculous exceptions, but former times are my constant
  • informers. Those that haue quicke motions of wit, haue quicke motions
  • in euerie thing: yron onely needes many strokes, onely yron wits are not
  • wonne without a long siege of intreatie. Golde easily bends, the most
  • ingenious mindes are easiest moued, _Ingenium nobis molle Thalia dedit_,
  • saith _Psapho_ to _Phao_. Who hath no mercifull milde mistres, I will
  • maintaine, hath no wittie but a clownish dull flegmatike puppie to his
  • mistres.
  • This Magnificos wife was a good louing soule, that had mettall inough
  • in her to make a good wit of, but being neuer remoued from vnder her
  • mothers and her husbands wing, it was not moulded and fashioned as it
  • ought. Causelesse distrust is able to driue deceite into a simple womans
  • head. I durst pawne the credit of a page, which is worth ams ase at all
  • times, that she was immaculate honest till she met with vs in prison.
  • Marie what temptations shee had then when fire and flaxe were put
  • together, conceit with your selues, but hold my master excusable.
  • Alacke he was too vertuous to make her vicious, he stoode vpon religion
  • and conscience, what a hainous thing it was to subuert Gods ordinance.
  • This was all the iniurie he woulde offer her, sometimes he woulde
  • imagine her in a melancholic humour to be his _Geraldine_, and court her
  • in tearmes correspondent, nay he would sweare shee was his _Geraldine_,
  • & take her white hand and wipe his eyes with it, as though the very
  • touch of her might stanch his anguish. Now would he kneele and kisse the
  • ground as holy grounde which she vouchsafed to blesse from barrennesse
  • by her steps. Who would haue learned to write an excellent passion,
  • might have bin a perfect tragicke poet, had he but attended halfe the
  • extremitie of his lament. Passion vpon passion would throng one on
  • anothers necke, he would praise her beyond the moone and starres, and
  • that so sweetly & rauishingly, as I perswade myself he was more in loue
  • with his owne curious forming fancie than her face, and truth it is,
  • many become passionate louers, only to win praise to theyr wits.
  • [Illustration: Page-105]
  • He praised, he praied, hee desired and besought her to pittie him that
  • perisht for her. From this his intranced mistaking extasie could no man
  • remoue him. Who loueth resolutely, will include euerie thing vnder the
  • name of his loue. From prose he would leape into verse, and with these
  • or such lyke rimes assault her.
  • _If I must die, O let me choose my death,
  • Sucke out my soule with kisses cruell maide,
  • In thy breasts christall bals enbalme my breath,
  • Dole it all out in sighs when I am laid.
  • Thy lips on mine like cupping glasses claspe,
  • Let our tongs meete and siriue as they would sting,
  • Crush out my winde with one strait girting graspe,
  • Stabs on my heart keepe time whitest thou dost sing.
  • Thy eies like searingyrons burne out mine,
  • In thy faire tresses stifle me outright,
  • Like Circes change me to a loathsome swine,
  • So I may liue for euer in thy sight
  • Into heauens ioyes can none prof oundly see,
  • Except that first they meditate on thee._
  • Sadly and verily, if my master said true, I should if I were a wench
  • make many men quickly immortall. What ist, what ist for a maide fayre
  • and freshe to spend a little lip salue on a hungrie louer. My master
  • beate the bush and kept a coile and a pratling, but I caught the birde,
  • simplicitie and plainnesse shall carrie it awaie in another world. God
  • wot he was _Petro Desperato_, when I stepping to hir with a dunstable
  • tale made vp my market A holy requiem to their soules that thinke to
  • wooe women with riddles. I had some cunning plot you must suppose, to
  • bring this about Her husband had abused her, and it was verie necessarie
  • she shoulde be reuenged. Seldome doe they proue patient martyrs who are
  • punisht vniustly. One way or other they wil cry quittance whatsoeuer it
  • cost them. No other apte meanes had this poore shee captiued _Cicely_,
  • to worke her hoddy peake husbande a proportionable plague to his
  • ielousie, but to giue his head his ful loding of infamie. She thought
  • she would make him complaine for some thing, that now was so hard bound
  • with an hereticall opinion. Howe I dealt with her, gesse gentle reader,
  • _Sub audi_ that I was in prison, and she was my Jailor.
  • Meanes there was made after a moneths or two durance by M. _Iohn
  • Russell_, a gentleman of king Henrie the eights chamber, who then lay
  • lieger at _Venice_ for England, that our cause should be fauorably
  • heard. At that time was Monsieur _Petro Aretino_ searcher and chiefe
  • Inquisiter for the colledge of curtizans. Diuerse and sundrie wayes was
  • this _Aretine_ beholding to the king of England, especially for by this
  • foresaid M. _Russell_ a little before he had sent him a pension of foure
  • hundreth crownes yerely during his life. Very forcibly was hee dealt
  • withall, to straine the vtmost of his credit for our deliuerie. Nothing
  • at his handes wee sought, but that the curtizan might be more narrowly
  • sifted and examined. Such and so extraordinarie was his care and
  • industrie heerein, that within few dayes after mistres _Tabitha_ and
  • her pandor cride _Peccaui confiteor_, and we were presently discharched,
  • they for example sake executed. Most honorably after our enlargement
  • of the state were we vsed, and had sufficient recompence for all our
  • troubles and wrongs.
  • Before I goe anie further, let me speake a word or two of this
  • _Aretine_. It was one of the wittiest knaues that euer God made. If out
  • of so base a thing as inke there may be extracted a spirite, he writ
  • with nought but the spirite of inke, and his stile was the spiritualtie
  • of artes, and nothing else, where as all others of his age were but
  • the lay temporaltie of inkhorne tearmes. For in deede they were meere
  • temporizers, & no better. His penne was sharpe pointed like ponyard. No
  • leafe he wrote on, but was like a burning glasse to sette on fire all
  • his readers. With more then musket shot did he charge his quill, where
  • he meant to inueigh. No one houre but he sent a whole legion of deuils
  • into some heard of swine or other. If _Martiall_ had ten muses (as he
  • sayth of himselfe) when hee but tasted a cup of wine, he had ten score
  • when he determined to tyranize. Nere a line of his but was able to make
  • a man dronken with admiration. His sight pearst like lightning into
  • the intrailes of al abuses. This I must needs saie, that most of his
  • learning hee gotte by hearing the lectures at Florence. It is sufficient
  • that learning he had, and a conceite exceeding all learning, to
  • quintescence euerie thing which he hard. He was no timerous seruile
  • flatterer of the commonwealth wherein he liued. His tongue and his
  • inuention were foreborne, what they thought they would confidently
  • vtter. Princes hee sparde not, that in the least point transgrest. His
  • life he contemned in comparison of the libertie of speech. Whereas some
  • dull braine maligners of his, accuse him of that treatise _de tribus
  • impostoribus Mundi_, which was neuer contriued without a generall
  • counsell of deuils, I am verily perswaded it was none of his, and of my
  • minde are a number of the most iudiciall Italians. One reason is this,
  • because it was published fortie yeeres after his death, and he neuer in
  • all his life wrote anie thing in Latine. Certainly I haue heard that one
  • of _Machiuuels_ followers and disciples was the author of that booke,
  • who to auoid discredite, filcht it forth vnder _Aretines_ name, a great
  • while after hee had sealed vp his eloquent spirit in the graue. Too much
  • gall dyd that wormwood of Gibeline wits put in his inke, who ingraued
  • that rubarbe Epitaph on this excellent Poets tombstone, Quite forsaken
  • of all good Angels was he, and vtterly giuen ouer to an artlesse
  • enuie. Foure vniuersities honored _Aretine_ with these rich titles, _Il
  • flagello de principe Il veritiero, Il deuino, & Lvnico Aretino_. The
  • French king Frances the first, he kept in such awe, that to chaine his
  • tongue, he sent him a huge chaine of golde, in the forme of tongues
  • fashioned. Singularly hath hee commented of the humanity of Christ
  • Besides, as Moses set forth his Genesis, so hath hee set forth his
  • Genesis also, including the contents of the whole Bible. A notable
  • treatise hath hee compiled, called _Il sette Psalmi ponetentiarii_.
  • All the _Thomasos_ haue cause to loue him, because he hath dilated so
  • magnificently of the life of Saint Thomas. There is a good thing that he
  • hath set forth _La vita della virgine Maria_, though it somewhat smell
  • of superstition, with a number more, which here for tediousnesse I
  • suppresse. If lasciuious he were, he may answere with _Ouid, Vita
  • verecunda est, musa iocosa mea est_, My lyfe is chast though wanton be
  • my verse. Tell mee who is most trauelled in histories, what good Poet
  • is or euer was there, who hath not had a little spice of wantonnes in
  • dayes? Euen _Beza_ himselfe by your leaue. _Aretine_ as long as the
  • worlde liues shalt thou liue. _Tully, Virgil, Ouid, Seneca_, were neuer
  • such ornaments to Italy as thou hast beene. I neuer thought of Italy
  • more religiously than England til I heard of thee. Peace to thy Ghost,
  • and yet mee thinkes so indefinite a spirite should haue no peace or
  • intermission of paines, but be penning Ditties to the Archangels in
  • another world. Puritans spue forth the venome of your dull inuentions.
  • A Toade swelles with thicke troubled poison, you swell with poisonous
  • perturbations, your mallice hath not a cleare dram of anie inspired
  • disposition.
  • My principall subiect pluckes me by the elbowe, _Diamante Castaldos_ the
  • magnificos wife, after my enlargment proued to bee with childe, at which
  • instant there grewe an vnsatiable famine in Venice, wherein, whether it
  • were for meere niggardise, or that _Castaldo_ still eate out his heart
  • with iealousie, Saint Anne be our recorde, he turnde vp the heeles verie
  • deuoutly. To master _Aretine_ after this, once more verie dutifully I
  • appeald, requested him of fauour, acknowledged former gratuities,
  • hee made no more humming or haulting, but in despite of her husbandes
  • kinsfolkes, gaue her her _Nunc dimittis_, and so establisht her free of
  • my companie.
  • Beeing out, and fully possest of her husbandes goods, she inuested mee
  • in the state of a Monarch. Because the time of childbirth drew nigh,
  • and shee coulde not remaine in Venice but discredited, she decreed to
  • trauell whether so euer I woulde conduct her. To see Italy throughout
  • was my proposed scope, and that waie if shee woulde trauell, haue with
  • her, I had wherewithall to relieue her.
  • From my master by her fulhand prouokement I parted without leaue, the
  • state of an Earle hee had thrust vppon me before, and nowe I woulde not
  • bate him an inch of it. Through all the Cities past I by no other
  • name but the yong Earle of Surrey, my pompe, my appareil, traine, and
  • expence, was nothing inferiour to his, my lookes were as loftie, my
  • wordes as magnificall. Memorandum, that Florence beeing the principall
  • scope of my masters course, missing mee, he iourneied thether without
  • interruption. By the waie as he went, he heard of another Earle of
  • Surrey besides himselfe, which caused him make more hast to fetch me in,
  • whom he little dreamed of, had such art in my budget, to separate the
  • shadowe from the bodie.
  • Ouertake me at Florence he did, where sitting in my pontificalibus with
  • my curtizan at supper, lyke _Anthonie and Cleopatra_, when they quafte
  • standing bowles of wine spiced with pearle together, he stole in ere
  • we sent for him, and bad much good it vs, and askt vs whether we wanted
  • anie guests. If he had askt me whether I would haue hanged my selfe,
  • his question had beene more acceptable. He that had then vngartered mee,
  • might haue pluckt out my heart at my hams.
  • My soule which was made to soare vpward, now sought for passage
  • downward, my blood as the blushing _Sabine_ maids surprized on the
  • sodain by the souldiers of _Romulus_, ran to the noblest of bloud
  • amongest them for succour, that were in no lesse (if not greater
  • daunger) so dyd it runne for refuge to the noblest of his bloude about
  • my heart assembled that stood in more need it selfe of comfort and
  • refuge. A trembling earthquake or shaking feauer assailed either of vs,
  • and I thinke vnfainedly, if he seeing our faint heart agonie, had not
  • soone cheered and refreshed vs, the dogs had gone together by the eares
  • vnder the table for our feare-dropped lims.
  • In stead of menacing or afrighting me with his swoord, or his frounes
  • for my superlatiue presumption, hee burst out into a laughter aboue Ela,
  • to thinke how brauely napping hee had tooke vs, and how notablie wee
  • were dampt & stroke dead in the neast, with the vnexpected view of his
  • presence.
  • Ah quoth he, my noble Lord, (after his tongue had borrowed a little
  • leaue of his laughter) is it my lucke to visite you thus vnlookt for, I
  • am sure you wil bid me welcome, if it be but for the names sake. It is
  • a wonder to see two English Earles of one house, at one time together
  • in Italy. I hearing him so pleasant, began to gather vp my spirits, and
  • replide as boldly as I durst Sir, you are welcome, your name which I
  • haue borrowed I haue not abused. Some large summes of money this my
  • sweete mistres _Diamante_ hath made me master of, which I knew not
  • how better to imploy for the honour of my country, than by spending it
  • munificently vnder your name. No Englishman would I haue renowmed for
  • bounty, magnificence and curtesie but you, vnder your colours all my
  • meritorious workes I was desirous to shroud. Deeme it no insolence to
  • adde increase to your fame. Had I basely and beggerly, wanting abilitie
  • to support anie parte of your roialtie, vndertooke the estimation of
  • this high calling, your alledgement of iniury had ben the greater, and
  • my defence lesse authorized. It will be thought but a policie of yours
  • thus to send one before you, who being a follower of yours, shall keepe
  • and vphold the estate and port of an Earle. I haue knowen many Earles my
  • selfe that in their owne persons would go verie plaine, but delighted to
  • haue one that belonged to them (being loden with iewels, apparelled in
  • cloth of golde and all the rich imbroderie that might bee) to stand bare
  • headed vnto him, arguing thus much, that if y greatest men went not more
  • sumptuous, how more great than the greatest was he that could command
  • one going so sumptuous. A noble mans glorie appeareth in nothing so much
  • as in the pompe of his attendants. What is the glorie of the Sunne, but
  • that the moone and so many millions of starres borrow their light from
  • him? If you can reprehend me of anie one illiberall licentious action I
  • haue disparaged your name with, heape shame on me prodigally, I beg no
  • pardon or pittie. _Non veniunt in idem pudor & amor_, hee was loth to
  • detract from one that he loued so. Beholding with his eies that I dipt
  • not the wings of his honor, but rather increast them with additions of
  • expence, he intreated me as if I had bin an Embassadour, he gaue me his
  • hand and swore he had no more hearts but one, and I should haue halfe of
  • it, in that I so inhanced his obscured reputation. One thing, quoth he,
  • my sweete Jacke I will intreate thee (it shalbe but one) that though
  • I am wel pleased thou shouldest be the ape of my birthright, (as what
  • noble man hath not his ape & his foole) yet that thou be an ape without
  • a clog, not carrie thy curtizan with thee. I tolde him that a king could
  • do nothing without his treasury, this curtizan was my purs-bearer, my
  • countenance and supporter. My earldome I would sooner resigne than part
  • with such a speciall benefactresse. Resigne it I will how euer, since I
  • am thus challenged of stolne goods by the true owner: Lo, into my former
  • state I returne againe, poore _Iack Wilton_ and your seruant am I, as I
  • was at the beginning, and so will I perseuer to my liues ending.
  • That theame was quickly cut off, and other talke entered in place, of
  • what I haue forgot, but talke it was, and talke let it be, and talke
  • it shall be, for I do not meane here to remember it. We supt, we got to
  • bed, we rose in the morning, on my master I waited, and the first
  • thing he did after he was vp, he went and visited the house where his
  • _Geraldine_ was borne, at sight wherof he was so impassioned, that in
  • the open street but for me, he would haue made an oration in praise
  • of it. Into it we were conducted, and shewed each seueral roome therto
  • appertaining. O but when he came to the chamber where his _Geraldines_
  • cleere Sunbeams first thrust themselues into this cloude of flesh, and
  • acquainted mortalitie with the puritie of Angels, then did his mouth
  • ouerflowe with magnificats, his tongue thrust the starres out of heauen,
  • and eclipsed the Sun and Moone with comparisons, _Geraldine_ was the
  • soule of heauen, sole daughter and heire to _primus motor_. The alcumy of
  • his eloquence, out of the incomprehensible drossie matter of clouds
  • and aire, distilled no more quintescence than woulde make his Geraldine
  • compleat faire.
  • In praise of the chamber that was so illuminatiuely honoured with her
  • radiant conception, he penned this sonet:
  • _Faire rootne the presence of sweet beauties pride,
  • The place the Sunne vpon the earth did hold,
  • When Phaton his chariot did misguide,
  • The towre where loue raind downe himselfe in gold.
  • Prostrate as holy groutid He worship thee,
  • Our Ladies chappell henceforth be thou nanid.
  • Heere first loues Queene put on mortalitie,
  • And with her beautie all the world inflamed.
  • Heatfns chambers harboring firie cherubines,
  • Are not with thee in glorie to compare,
  • Lightning it is not light which in thee shines,
  • None enter thee but straight entranced are.
  • O if Elizium be aboue the ground,
  • Then here it is where nought but ioy is found._
  • Many other Poems and Epigrams in that chambers patient alablaster
  • inclosure (which her melting eies long sithence had softned) were
  • curiously ingraued. Diamondes thought themselues _Dii mundi_, if they
  • might but carue hir name on the naked glasse. With them on it did he
  • anatomize these bodie-wanting mots, _Dulce puella malum est. Quod fugit
  • ipse sequor. Amor est teni causa sequendi. O infolix ego. Cur vidi,
  • curperii. Non patienter amo. Tantum patiatur amari_. After the viewe of
  • these veneriall monumentes, he published a proude challenge in the Duke
  • of Florence court agaynst all commers, (whether Christians, Turkes,
  • Canibals, Jewes, or Saracens), in defence of his Geraldines beautie.
  • More mildly was it accepted, in that she whom he defended, was a towne
  • borne child of that Citie, or else the pride of the Italian would
  • haue preuented him ere he should haue come to performe it. The Duke of
  • Florence neuerthelesse sent for him, and demanded him of his estate, and
  • the reason that drew him thereto, which when hee was aduertised of
  • to the full, he granted all Countries whatsoeuer, as wel enemies and
  • outlawes, as friendes and confederates, free accesse and regresse into
  • his dominions vnmolested, vntill that insolent triall were ended.
  • The right honourable and euer renowmed Lorde _Henrie Howard_ Earle of
  • Surrey my singular good Lorde and master, entered the listes after this
  • order. His armour was all intermixed with lyllies and roses, and
  • the bases therof bordered with nettles and weeds, signifieng stings,
  • crosses, and ouergrowing incumbrances in his loue, his helmet round
  • proportioned like a gardeners waterpot, from which seemed to issue forth
  • small thrids of water, like citerne stringes, that not onely did moisten
  • the lillies and roses, but did fructifie as well the nettles and weedes,
  • and made them ouergrow their liege Lordes. Whereby hee did importe thus
  • much, that the teares that issued from his braine, as those arteficiall
  • distillations issued from the well counterfeit waterpot on his head,
  • watered and gaue life as well to his mistres disdaine (resembled to
  • nettles and weedes) as increase of glorie to her care-causing beautie,
  • (comprehended vnder the lillies and roses.) The simbole thereto annexed
  • was this, _ex lachrimis lachrimæ_. The trappinges of his horse were
  • pounced and boulstered out with rough plumed siluer plush, in full
  • proportion and shape of an Estrich. On the breast of the horse were the
  • forepartes of this greedie birde aduaunced, whence as his manner is, hee
  • reacht out his long necke to the raines of the bridle, thinking they had
  • beene yron, and styll seemed to gape after the golden bit, and euer
  • as the courser dyd rayse or curuet, to haue swallowed it halfe in. His
  • winges, which hee neuer vseth but running, beeing spreaded full sayle,
  • made his lustie steede as proude vnder him as he had beene some other
  • _Pegasus_, and so quieueringly and tenderly were these his broade wings
  • bound to either side of him, that as he paced vp and downe the tilt-yard
  • in his maiestie ere the knights were entered, they seemed wantonly to
  • fan in his face and make a flickering sound, such as Eagles doe, swiftly
  • pursuing their praie in the ayre. On either of his winges, as the
  • Estrich hath a sharpe goade or pricke wherewith hee spurreth himselfe
  • forwarde in his saile-assisted race, so this artificiall Estrich, on the
  • imbent knuckle of the pinion of either wing, had embossed christall eies
  • affixed, wherein wheele wise were circularly ingrafted sharpe pointed
  • diamonds, as rayes from those eies deriued, that like the rowels of a
  • spurre ran deep into his horse sides, and made him more eager in his
  • course.
  • Such a fine dimme shine dide these christall eies and these round
  • enranked diamonds make through their bolne swelling bowres of feathers,
  • as if it had beene a candle in a paper lanterne, or a gloworme in a bush
  • by night, glistering through the leaues and briers. The taile of the
  • Estrich being short and thicke, serued verie fitly as a plume to tricke
  • vp his horse taile with, so that euerie parte of him was as naturally
  • coapted as might be. The word to this deuice was _Aculeo alatus_, I
  • spread my wings onely spurd with her eies. The morral of the whole is
  • this, that as the Estrich, the most burning sighted bird of all others,
  • insomuch as the female of them hatcheth not hir egs by couering them,
  • but by the effectual raies of hir eies as he, I saie, outstrippeth the
  • nimblest trippers of his feathered condition in footman-shippe, onely
  • spurd on with the needle quickning goade vnder his side, so hee no lesse
  • burning sighted than the Estrich, spurd on to the race of honor by the
  • sweete raies of his mistres eies, perswaded himselfe hee should outstrip
  • all other in running to the goale of glorie only animated and incited
  • by her excellence. And as the Estrich wil eat iron, swallow anie hard
  • mettall whatsoeuer, so would he refuse no iron aduenture, no hard taske
  • whatsoeuer, to sit in the grace of so fayre a commander. The order of
  • his shield was this, it was framed like a burning glasse, beset round
  • with flame colourd feathers, on the outside whereof was his mistres
  • picture adorned as beautifull as art could portrature, on the inside a
  • naked sword tied in a true loue knot, the mot, _Militat omtiis amans_.
  • Signifieng that in a true loue knot his sword was tide to defend and
  • maintaine the high features of his mistres.
  • Next him entered the blacke knight, whose beauer was pointed all torne
  • & bloudie, as though he had new come from combatting with a Beare, his
  • head piece seemed to bee a little ouen fraught full with smoothering
  • flames, for nothing but sulphure and smoake voided out at the cleftes
  • of his beauer. His bases were all imbrodered with snakes & adders,
  • ingendered of the abundance of innocent bloud that was shed. His horses
  • trappinges were throughout bespangled with hunnie spottes, which are no
  • blemishes, but ornaments. On his shield he bare the Sunne full shining
  • on a diall at his going downe, the word _sufficit tandem_.
  • After him followed the knight of the Owle, whose armor was a stubd tree
  • ouergrowen with iuie, his helmet fashioned lyke an owle sitting on the
  • top of this iuie, on his bases were wrought all kinde of birdes as on
  • the grounde wondering about him, the word, _Ideo mirum quia monstrunty_
  • his horses furniture was framed like a cart, scattering whole sheaues
  • of corne amongst hogs, the word _Liberalitas liberalitate perit_. On his
  • shield a bee intangled in sheepes wooll, the mot _Frontis nulla fides_.
  • The fourth that succeeded was a well proportioned knight in an armor
  • imitating rust, whose head piece was prefigured like flowers growing in
  • a narrowe pot, where they had not anie space to spread their roots or
  • dispearse their florishing. His bases embelisht with open armed handes
  • scattering golde amongst tranchions, the word _Cura futuri est_. His
  • horse was harnished with leaden chaines, hauing the outside guilt, or at
  • least saffrond in stead of guilt, to decypher a holie or golden pretence
  • of a couetous purpose, the sentence _Cani capilli mei compedes_, on his
  • target he had a number of crawling wormes kept vnder by a blocke, the
  • faburthen, _Speramus lucent_. The fift was the forsaken knight, whose
  • helmet was crowned with nothing but cipresse and willow garlands, ouer
  • his armor he had on _Himens_ nuptiall robe died in a duskie yelow, and
  • all to be defaced and discoloured with spots & staines. The enigma,
  • _Nosquoque floritnus_, as who shuld saie, we haue bin in fashion, his
  • stead was adorned with orenge tawnie eies, such as those haue that haue
  • the yellowe iandies, that make all things yellow they looke vpon, with
  • this briefe, _Qui inuident egent_. Those that enuie are hungrie. The
  • sixth was the knight of the stormes, whose helmet was round moulded like
  • the Moone, and all his armour like waues, whereon the shine of the Moone
  • sleightly siluerd, perfectly represented Mooneshine in the water, his
  • bases were the banks or shores that bounded in the streames. The spoke
  • was this, _Frustra picus_, as much to say, as fruitles seruice. On his
  • shield he set forth a lion driuen from his praie by a dunghill cocke.
  • The worde, _Non vi sed voce_, not by violence but by his voice.
  • The seuenth had lyke the gyants that sought to scale heauen in despight
  • of Jupiter, a mount ouerwhelming his head and whole bodie. His bases
  • outlayde with armes and legges which the skirts of that mountain left
  • vncouered. Under this did hee characterise a man desirous to climbe
  • to the heauen of honour, kept vnder with the mountaine of his princes
  • command, and yet had hee armes and legges exempted from the suppression
  • of the mountaine. The word, _Tu mihi criminis author_ (alluding to his
  • Princes commaund) thou art the occasion of my imputed cowardise. His
  • horse was trapt in the earthie stringes of tree rootes, which though
  • their increase was stubbed downe to the grounde, yet were they not
  • vtterly deaded, but hop'd for an after resurrection. The worde, _Spe
  • alor_, I hope for a spring. Uppon his shield hee bare a ball striken
  • downe with a mans hand that it might mount The worde, _Ferior vt
  • efferar_, I suffer my selfe to bee contemned because I will climbe. The
  • eighth had all his armour throughout engrayled lyke a crabbed brierie
  • hawthorne bush, out of which notwithstanding sprung (as a good Childe
  • of an ill Father) fragraunt Blossomes of delightfull Maye Flowers, that
  • made (according to the nature of Maye) a most odoriferous smell. In
  • middest of this his snowie curled top, rounde wrapped together, on the
  • ascending of his creast sate a solitarie nightingale close encaged with
  • a thorne at her breast, hauing this mot in her mouth, _Luctus monumenta
  • manebunt_. At the foote of this bush represented on his bases, lay a
  • number of blacke swolne Toades gasping for winde, and Summer liu'de
  • grashoppers gaping after deaw, both which were choakt with excessiue
  • drouth, and for want of shade. The word, _Nan sine vulnere viresco_, I
  • spring not without impediments, alluding to the Toades and such lyke,
  • that earst laye sucking at his rootes, but nowe were turnd out, and
  • neere choakt with drought His horse was suited in blacke sandie earth
  • (as adiacent to this bush) which was here and there patched with short
  • burnt grasse, and as thicke inke dropped with toyling ants & emets
  • as euer it might crall, who in the full of the summer moone, (ruddie
  • garnished on his horses forehead) hoorded vp theyr prouision of grain
  • agaynst winter. The word _Victrix fortuno sapientia_, prouidence
  • preuents misfortune. On his shield he set forth the picture of death
  • doing almes deeds to a number of poore desolate children. The word,
  • _Nemo alius explicate_ No other man takes pittie vpon vs. What his
  • meaning was heerein I cannot imagine, except death had done him and his
  • brethren some greate good turne in ridding them of some vntoward parent
  • or kinsman that woulde haue beene their confusion, for else I cannot see
  • howe death shoulde haue beene sayde to doe almes deedes, except he
  • had depriued them sodainly of their liues, to deliuer them out of some
  • further miserie, which coulde not in anie wise bee because they were yet
  • liuing.
  • The ninth was the infant knight, who on his armour had ennameld a poore
  • young infant, put into a shippe without tackling, masts, furniture, or
  • any thing. This weather beaten and ill apparelled shippe was shaddowed
  • on his bases, and the slender compasse of his body set forth the right
  • picture of an infant The waues wherein the ship was tossed were fretted
  • on his steads trappings so mouingly, that euer as he offered to bounde
  • or stirre, they seemed to bounse, and tosse, and sparkle brine out of
  • theyr hoarie siluer billowes. Theyr mot, _Inopem me copia fecit_, as
  • much to saie, as the rich praye makes the theefe.
  • On his shielde hee expressed an olde Goate that made a young tree to
  • wither onely with biting it. The worde thereto _Primo extinguor in ouo_,
  • I am frostbitten ere I come out of the blade.
  • It were here too tedious to manifest all the discontented or amorous
  • deuises yt were vsed in that turnament. The shieldes onely of some few
  • I wil touch to make short worke. One bare for his impresse the eies of
  • yong swallowes comming againe after they were pluckt out, with this mot,
  • _Et addit et addimit_, your beautie both bereaues and restores my sight.
  • Another a siren smiling when the sea rageth and ships are ouerwhelmed,
  • including a cruell woman, that laughs, singes and scornes at her louers
  • tears, and the tempests of his despaire, the word _Cuncta pereunt_,
  • all my labor is ill imploid. A third being troubled with a curst, a
  • trecherous and wanton wanton wife, vsed this similitude. On his shild he
  • caused to be limmed _Pompeies_ ordinance for paracides, as namely a man
  • put into a sack with a cocke, a serpent and an ape, interpreting that
  • his wife was a cocke for her crowing, a serpent for her stinging, and an
  • ape for her vnconstant wantonnesse, with which ill qualities hee was
  • so beset, that thereby hee was throwen into a sea of grief. The worde
  • _Extremum malorum mulier_, The vtmost of euils is a woman. A fourth,
  • who being a person of suspected religion, was continually hanted with
  • intelligencers and spies that thought to praie vppon him for that hee
  • had, he could not deuise which waie to shape them off, but by making
  • away that he had. To obscure this, hee vsed no other fansie but a number
  • of blinde flies, whose eies the colde had closed, the word _Aurum reddit
  • acutissimum_, Gold is the onely phisicke for the eiesight A fifth, whose
  • mistres was fallen into a consumption, and yet would condiscend to no
  • treatie of loue, emblazond for his complaint, grapes that witherd for
  • want of pressing. The dittie to the mot, _Quid regna sine vsu_. I will
  • rehearse no more, but I haue an hundred other, let this be the vpshot
  • of these shewes, they were the admirablest that euer Florence yelded. To
  • particularize their maner of encounter, were to describe the whol art of
  • tilting. Some had like to haue falle ouer their horse neck and so breake
  • their neckes in breaking their staues. Others ranne at a buckle in stead
  • of a button, & peraduenture whetted their spears pointes, idlely gliding
  • on their enemies sides, but did no other harme. Others ranne a crosse at
  • theyr aduersaries left elbow, yea, and by your leaue sometimes let not
  • the lists scape scot-free they were so eager. Others because they
  • would be sure not to be vnsadled with the shocke, when they came to the
  • speares vtmost proofe, they threw it ouer the right shoulder, and so
  • tilted backward, for forwarde they durst not Another had a monstrous
  • spite at the pommell of his riuals saddle, and thought to haue thrust
  • his speare twixt his legges without rasing anie skinne, and carried
  • him cleane awaie on it as a coolestaffe. Another held his speare to
  • his nose, or his nose to his speare, as though he had ben discharging a
  • caliuer, and ranne at the right foote of his fellowes stead. Onely the
  • earle of Surry my master obserued y true measures of honor, and made all
  • his encounterers new scoure their armor in the dust. So great was his
  • glorie y daie, as _Geraldine_ was therby etemally glorifide. Neuersuch
  • a bountifull master came amongst the heralds (not that he did inrich the
  • with anie plentifull purse largesse) but that by his sterne assaultes
  • hee tithed them more rich offals of bases, of helmets, of armour, than
  • the rent of their offices came to in ten yeres before. What would you
  • haue more, the trumpets proclaimed him master of the field, the trumpets
  • proclaimed _Geraldine_ the exceptionlesse fayrest of women. Euerie one
  • striued to magnifie him more than other. The Duke of Florence, whose
  • name (as my memorie serueth me) was _Paschal de Medices_, offered him
  • such large proffers to staie with him as it were vncredible to report
  • He would not, his desire was as hee had done in Florence, so to proceede
  • throughout all the chiefe cities in Italy. If you aske why he began not
  • this at Venice first. It was because he would let Florence his mistres
  • natiue citie haue the maidenhead of his chiualrie. As hee came backe
  • againe hee thought to haue enacted something there worthie the Annals
  • of posteritie, but he was debard both of that and all his other
  • determinations, for continuing in feasting and banketting with the Duke
  • of Florence and the Princes of Italy there assembled, posthast letters
  • came to him from the king his master, to returne as speedily as he could
  • possible into England, wherby his fame was quite cut off by the shins,
  • and there was no repriue but _Bazelus manus_, hee must into England, and
  • I with my curtizan trauelled forward in Italy.
  • What aduentures happened him after we parted, I am ignorant, but
  • Florence we both forsooke, and I hauing a wonderful ardent inclination
  • to see Rome the Queen of the world, & metrapolitane mistres of all other
  • cities, made thether with my bag and baggage as fast as I could.
  • Attained thether, I was lodged at the house of one _Iohannes de Imola_ a
  • Roman caualiero. Who being acquainted with my curtisans deceased doting
  • husband, for his sake vsd vs with all the familiaritie that might be. He
  • shewed vs all the monuments that were to be seene, which are as many
  • as ther haue beene Emperours, Consuls, Orators, Conquerours, famous
  • painters or plaiers in Rome. Till this daie not a Romane (if he be a
  • right Romane in deed) will kill a rat, but he will haue some registred
  • remembrance of it There was a poore fellowe during my remainder ther,
  • that for a new trick he had inuented of killing _Cymess_ & scorpions,
  • had his mountebank banner hung vp on a high piller, with an inscription
  • about it longer than the king of Spaines stile. I thought these
  • _Cymesses_ like the Cimbrians had bene some strange nation hee had
  • brought vnder, & they were no more but things like sheepelice, which
  • aliue haue the venomost sting that may be, and being dead do stinke out
  • of measure. Saint Austen compareth heretiques vnto them. The chiefest
  • thing that my eyes delighted in, was the church of the 7. Sibels, which
  • is a most miraculous thing. All their prophesies and oracles being there
  • enroulde, as also the beginning and ending of their whole catalogue of
  • the heathen Gods, with their manner of worship. There are a number of
  • other shrines and statues also dedicated to their Emperors, and withal
  • some statues of idolatrie reserued for detestation. I was at _Pontius
  • Pilates_ house and pist against it There is the prison yet packt vp
  • together (an old rotten thing) where the man that was condemned to
  • death, and could haue no bodie come to him and succour him but was
  • searcht, was kept aliue a long space by sucking his daughters breasts.
  • These are but the shop dust of the sights that I saw, and in truth I dyd
  • not beholde with anie care hereafter to report, but contented my eie for
  • the present, and so let them passe. Should I memorize halfe the myracles
  • which they there tolde me had beene done about martyres tombes, or the
  • operations of the earth of the sepulchre, and other reliques brought
  • from Jerusalem, I should bee counted the monstrous Her that euer came in
  • print.
  • The mines of _Pompeies_ theater, reputed one of the nine wonders of the
  • worlde, _Gregory_ the sixths Tombe, _Priscillas_ Grate, or the thousands
  • of Piliers arreared amongst the raced foundations of old _Rome_, it were
  • heere friuolous to specifie: since he that hath but once drunke with
  • a traueller talkes of them. Let mee bee a Historiographer of my owne
  • misfortunes, and not meddle with the continued Trophees of so olde a
  • triumphing Citie.
  • At my first comming to _Rome_, I being a youth of the English cut, ware
  • my haire long, went apparailed in light coulours, and imitated foure or
  • fiue sundrie Nations in my attyre at once: which no sooner was noated,
  • but I had all the boyes of the Citie in a swarme wondering about mee. I
  • had not gone a little farther, but certaine Officers crost the waie of
  • me, and demanded to see my rapier: which when they found (as also my
  • dagger) with his poynt vnblunted, they would haue hal'd me headlong to
  • the Strappado, but that with money I appeased them: and my fault was
  • more pardonable in that I was a stranger, altogether ignorant of their
  • customes.
  • Note by the waye, that it is the vse in _Rome_, for all men whatsoeuer
  • to weafe their haire short: which they doo not so much for conscience
  • sake, or anie religion they place in it, but because the extremitie of
  • the heate is such there, that if they should not doo so, they should not
  • haue a haire left on their heads to stand vpright, when they were scard
  • with sprights. And hee is counted no Gentleman amongst them that goes
  • not in black: they dresse their iesters and fooles onely in fresh
  • colours, and say variable garments doo argue vnstayednes and
  • vnconstancie of affections.
  • The reason of their straight ordinaunce of carrying weapons without
  • points is this. The _Bandettos_ which are certaine outlawes that lye
  • betwixt _Rome & Naples_, and besiege the passage that none can trauell
  • that way without robbing: Now and then hired for some few crownes, they
  • wil steale to Rome and doe a murther, and betake them to their heeles
  • againe. Disguised as they go, they are not knowen from strangers,
  • sometimes they will shroude themselues vnder the habite of graue
  • citizens. In this consideration neither citizen nor stranger, gentleman,
  • knight, marques, or any may weare anie weapon endamageable vppon paine
  • of the strappado. I bought it out, let others buy experience of me
  • better cheape.
  • To tell you of the rare pleasures of their gardens, theyr baths, their
  • vineyards, their galleries, were to write a second part of the gorgeous
  • Gallerie of gallant deuices. Why, you should not come into anie mans
  • house of account, but hee had fishponds and litle orchards on the top of
  • his leads. If by rain or anie other meanes those ponds were so full they
  • need to bee fluste or let out, euen of their superfluities they made
  • melodious vse, for they had great winde instruments in stead of leaden
  • spoutes, that went duely in consort, onely with this waters rumbling
  • discent I saw a summer banketting house belonging to a marchant, that
  • was the meruaile of the worlde, & could not be matcht except God should
  • make another paradise. It was builte rounde of greene marble, like a
  • Theater without, within there was a heauen and earth comprehended both
  • vnder one roofe, the heauen was a cleere ouerhanging vault of christall,
  • wherein the Sunne and Moone, and each visible Starre had his true
  • similitude, shine, scituation, and motion, and by what enwrapped arte
  • I cannot conceiue, these spheares in their proper orbes obserued
  • their circular wheelings and turnings, making a certaine kinde of soft
  • angelical murmering musicke in their often windings & going about, which
  • musick the philosophers say in the true heauen by reason of the grosenes
  • of our senses we are not capable of. For the earth it was counterfeited
  • in that likenes that Adam lorded out it before his fall. A wide vast
  • spacious roome it was, such as we would conceit prince Arthurs hall to
  • be, where he feasted all his knightes of the round table together euerie
  • penticost The floore was painted with y beautifullest floures that euer
  • mans eie admired, which so lineally wer delineated, that he that viewd
  • them a farre off, and had not directly stood poaringly ouer them, would
  • haue sworne they had liued in deede. The wals round about were hedgde
  • with Oliues and palme trees, and all other odoriferous fruit-bearing
  • plants, which at anie solemne intertainment dropt mirrhe and
  • frankensence. Other trees y bare no fruit, were set in iust order one
  • against another, and diuided the roome into a number of shadie lanes,
  • leauing but one ouer-spreading pine tree arbour, where wee sate and
  • banketted. On the well clothed boughes of this conspiracie of pine
  • trees against the resembled Sunne beames, were pearcht as many sortes
  • of shrill breasted birdes, as the Summer hath allowed for singing men
  • in her siluane chappels. Who though there were bodies without soules,
  • & sweete resembled substances without sense, yet by the mathemeticall
  • experimentes of long siluer pipes secretly inrinded in the intrailes of
  • the boughs whereon they sate, and vndiscerneablie conuaid vnder their
  • bellies into their small throats sloaping, they whistled and freely
  • carold theyr naturall field note. Neyther went those siluer pipes
  • straight, but by many edged vnsundred writhings, & crankled wandrings
  • aside strayed from bough to bough into an hundred throates. But into
  • this siluer pipe so writhed and wandering aside, if anie demand how the
  • wind was breathed. Forsoth ye tail of the siluer pipe stretcht it
  • selfe into the mouth of a great paire of bellowes, where it was close
  • soldered, and bailde about with yron, it coulde not stirre or haue
  • anie vent betwixt. Those bellowes with the rising and falling of leaden
  • plummets wounde vp on a wheele, dyd beate vp and downe vncessantly, and
  • so gathered in wind, seruing with one blast all the snarled pipes to
  • and fro of one tree at once. But so closely were all those organizing
  • implements obscured in the corpulent trunks of the trees, that euerie
  • man there present renounst coniectures of art, and sayd it was done by
  • inchantment.
  • One tree for his fruit bare nothing but inchained chiriping birdes,
  • whose throates beeing conduit pipt with squared narrow shels, & charged
  • siring-wise with searching sweet water, driuen in by a little wheele for
  • the nonce, and fed it afarre of, made a spirting sound, such as chirping
  • is, in bubling vpwards through the rough crannies of their closed bils.
  • Under tuition of the shade of euerie tree that I haue signified to be in
  • this round hedge, on delightfull leauie cloysters, lay a wylde tyrannous
  • beast asleepe all prostrate: vnder some two together, as the Dogge
  • nusling his nose vnder the necks of the Deare, the Wolfe glad to let the
  • Lambe lye vpon hym to keepe him warme, the Lyon suffering the Asse to
  • cast hys legge ouer him: preferring one honest vnmannerly frend, before
  • a number of croutching picke-thankes. No poysonous beast there reposed,
  • (poyson was not before our parent _Adam_ transgressed). There were no
  • sweete-breathing Panthers, that would hyde their terrifying heads to
  • betraye: no men imitating _Hyonaes_. that chaunged their sexe to seeke
  • after bloud. Wolues as now when they are hungrie eate earth, so then
  • did they feede on earth onely, and abstained from innocent flesh. The
  • Unicorne did not put his home into the streame to chase away venome
  • before he drunke, for there was no such thing as venome extant in the
  • water or on the earth. Serpents were as harmlesse to mankinde, as
  • they are still one to another: the rose had no cankers, the leaues no
  • caterpillers, the sea no _Syrens_, the earth no vsurers. Goates then
  • bare wooll, as it is recorded in _Sicily_ they doo yet. The torride
  • Zone was habitable; onely Jayes loued to steale gold and siluer to build
  • their nests withall, and none cared for couetous clientrie, or running
  • to the Indies. As the Elephant vnderstands his countrey speach, so
  • euerie beast vnderstood what men spoke. The ant did not hoord vp against
  • winter, for there was no winter but a perpetuall spring, as _Ouid_
  • sayth. No frosts to make the greene almond tree counted rash and
  • improuident, in budding soonest of all other: or the mulberie tree a
  • strange polititian, in blooming late and ripening early. The peach tree
  • at the first planting was frutefull and wholesome, wheras now til it be
  • transplanted, it is poysonous and hatefull. Yong plants for their sap
  • had balme, for their yeolow gumme glistering amber. The euening deawd
  • not water on flowers, but honnie. Such a golden age, such a good age,
  • such an honest age was set foorth in this banquetting house.
  • O _Rome_, if thou hast in thee such soule-exalting obiects: what a
  • thing is heauen in comparison of thee, of which _Mercators_ globe is a
  • perfecter modell than thou art? Yet this I must say to the shame of vs
  • Protestants, if good workes may merit heauen, they doo them, we talke of
  • them. Whether superstition or no makes the vnprofitable seruants,
  • that let pulpets decide: but there, you shall haue the brauest Ladies in
  • gownes of beaten gold, washing pilgrimes and poore souldiours feete
  • and dooing nothing they and their wayting mayds all the yeare long, but
  • making shirts and bandes for them against they come by in distresse.
  • Their hospitalls are more like noblemens houses than otherwise: so
  • richly furnished, cleane kept, and hot perfumed, that a souldiour would
  • thinke it a sufficient recompence for his trauell and his wounds, to
  • haue such a heauenly retyring place. For the Pope and his pontificalibus
  • I will not deale with, onely I will dilate vnto you what hapned whiles I
  • was in _Rome_.
  • So it fell out, that it being a vehement hot summer when I was a
  • soiourner there, there entred such a hotspurd plague as hath not been
  • heard of: why it was but a word and a blow, Lord haue mercie vpon vs,
  • and he was gone. Within three quarters of a yere in that one citie there
  • dyed of it a hundred thousand: Looke in _Lanquets_ Chronicle and you
  • shall finde it. To smell of a nosegay, that was poysond: and turne your
  • nose to a house, that had the plague, it was all one. The clouds like
  • a number of cormorants, that keepe their corne till it stinke and is
  • mustie, kept in their stinking exhalations, till they had almost stifled
  • all _Romes_ inhabitants. Phisitions, greedines of golde made them
  • greedie of their destinie. They would come to visite those, with whose
  • infirmities their arte had no affinitie: and euen as a man with a fee
  • should bee hyred to hang himselfe, so would they quietly goe home and
  • dye presently after they had been with their patients. All day and all
  • night long carremen did nothing but goe vp and downe the streetes with
  • their carts and crye, Haue you anie dead to burie, haue you anie dead
  • to burie: and had manie times out of one house their whole loading: one
  • graue was the sepulcher of seuenscore, one bed was the altar whereon
  • whole families were offered.
  • The wals were hoard and furd with the moist scorching steam of their
  • desolation. Euen as before a gun is shot off, a stinking smoake funnels
  • out, and prepares the waie for him, so before anie gaue vp the ghost,
  • death araied in a stinking smoke stopt his nostrils, and cramd it selfe
  • full into his mouth, that closed vp his fellowes eyes, to giue him
  • warning to prepare for his funeral. Some dide sitting at their meate,
  • others as they were asking counsell of the phisition for their friendes.
  • I saw at the house where I was hosted, a maide bring her master warme
  • broth for to comfort him, and she sinke downe dead her self ere he had
  • halfe eate it vp.
  • During this time of visitation, there was a Spaniard, one _Esdras_ of
  • Granado, a notable Bandetto, authorized by ye pope, because he assisted
  • him in some murthers. This villain colleagued with one _Bartol_ a
  • desperate Italian, practised to breake into those rich mens houses in
  • the night where the plague had most rained, and if there were none but
  • the mistres and maid left aliue, to rauish them both, and bring awaie
  • all the wealth they could fasten on. In a hundred chief citizens houses
  • where the hand of God had bin, they put this outrage in vse. Thogh the
  • women so rauished cride out, none durst come nere them, for feare of
  • catching their deaths by them, & some thought they cried out onely with
  • the tyrannie of the maladie. Amongst the rest the house where I lay he
  • inuaded, where all being snatcht vp by the sicknesse but the good wife
  • of the house, a noble and chast matrone called _Heraclide_ and her
  • _Zanie_, and I & my curtizan, he knocking at the dore late in the night,
  • ranne in to the matrone, & left me and my loue to the mercie of his
  • companion. Who finding me in bed (as the time requird) ranne at me full
  • with his rapier, thinking I would resist him, but as good lucke was
  • I escapt him & betooke me to my pistoll in the window vncharged. He
  • fearing it had bene charged, threatned to run her through if I once
  • offered but to aime at him, Foorth ye chamber he dragd her, holding his
  • rapier at hir hart, whilest I stil crid out, Saue her, kil me, & Ile
  • ransome her with a thousand duckets: but lust preuailed, no praiers
  • would be heard. Into my chamber I was lockt, and watchmen charged (as he
  • made semblance when there was none there) to knocke me downe with their
  • halberdes, if I stirde but a foote downe the staires. So threw I my
  • selfe pensiue againe on my pallat, and dard all the deuils in hell now I
  • was alone to come and fight with me one after another in defence of that
  • detestable rape. I beat my head against the wals and cald them bauds,
  • because they wold see such a wrong committed, and not fall vpon him.
  • To returne to _Heraclide_ below, whom the vgliest of all bloud suckers
  • _Esdras of Granado_ had vnder shrift. First he assayled her with rough
  • meanes, and slew her _Zanie_ at her foote, that stept before her in
  • rescue. Then when al armed resist was put to flight, he assaied her with
  • honie speech, & promised her more iewells and giftes than hee was able
  • to pilfer in an hundred yeres after. He discourst vnto her how he was
  • countenanced and borne out by the pope, and how many execrable murthers
  • with impunitie he had executed on them that displeasde him. This is the
  • eight score house (quoth he) that hath done homage vnto me, and here I
  • will preuaile, or I will bee torne in pieces. Ah quoth _Heraclide_ (with
  • a hart renting sigh) art thou ordaind to be a worse plague to me than ye
  • plague it selfe? Haue I escapt the hands of God to fal into the hands of
  • man? Heare me _Iehouah_, & be merciful in ending my miserie. Dispatch
  • me incontinent dissolute homicide deaths vsurper. Here lies my husband
  • stone colde on the dewie floore. If thou beest of more power than God,
  • to strike me speedily, strike home, strike deep, send me to heauen
  • with my husband. Aie me, it is the spoyl of my honor thou seekest in my
  • soules troubled departure, thou art some deuill sent to tempt me. Auoide
  • from me sathan, my soule is my sauiours, to him I haue bequeathed it,
  • from him can no man take it. Jesu, Jesu spare mee vndefiled for thy
  • spouse, Jesu, Jesu neuer faile those that put their trust in thee. With
  • that she fell in a sowne, and her eies in their closing seemed to spaune
  • forth in their outward sharpe corners new created seed pearle, which the
  • world before neuer set eie on. Soone he rigorously reuiued her, & tolde
  • her yt he had a charter aboue scripture, she must yeld, she should yeld,
  • see who durst remoue her out of his hands. Twixt life and death thus she
  • faintly replied. How thinkest thou, is there a power aboue thy power,
  • if there be, he is here present in punishment, and on thee will take
  • present punishment if thou persistest in thy enterprise. In the tyme of
  • securitie euerie man sinneth, but when death substitutes one frend his
  • special bayly to arrest another by infection, and dispearseth his quiuer
  • into ten thousand hands at once, who is it but lookes about him? A man
  • that hath an vneuitable huge stone hanging only by a haire ouer his
  • head, which he lookes euerie Pater noster while to fall and pash him in
  • peeces, will not he be submissiuely sorrowfull for his transgressions,
  • refraine himselfe from the least thought of folly, and purifie his
  • spirit with contrition and penitence? Gods hand like a huge stone hangs
  • vneuitably ouer thy head: what is the plague, but death playing the
  • prouost marshall, to execute all those that wil not be called home
  • by anie other meanes. This my deare knights body is a quiuer of his
  • arrowes, which alreadie are shot into thee inuisible. Euen as the age of
  • goates is knowen by the knots on their homes, so think the anger of God
  • apparently visioned or showne vnto thee in the knitting of my browes.
  • A hundred haue I buried out of my house, at all whose departures I haue
  • been present: a hundreds infection is mixed with my breath, loe, now
  • I breath vpon thee, a hundred deaths come vpon thee. Repent betimes,
  • imagine there is a hell though not a heauen: that hell thy conscience is
  • throughly acquainted with, if thou hast murdred halfe so manie, as thou
  • vnblushingly braggest. As _Mocenas_ in the latter end of his dayes
  • was seuen yeres without sleepe, so these seuen weekes haue I took
  • no slumber, my eyes haue kept continuall watch against the diuell my
  • enemie: death I deemed my frend (frends flie from vs in aduersitie),
  • death, the diuell & al the ministring spirits of temptation are watching
  • about thee to intrap thy soule by my abuse to eternall damnation. It is
  • thy soule only thou maist saue by sauing mine honor.
  • Death will haue thy bodie infallibly for breaking into my house, that he
  • had selected for his priuate habitation. If thou euer camst of a woman,
  • or hop'st to be sau'd by the seed of a woman, spare a woman. Deares
  • oppressed with dogs, when they cannot take soyle, runne to men for
  • succor: to whom should women in their disconsolate and desperate estate
  • run, but to men like the Deare for succour and sanctuarie. If thou bee
  • a man thou wilt succour me, but if thou be a dog & a brute beast, thou
  • wilt spoile me, defile me & teare me: either renounce Gods image, or
  • renounce the wicked minde that thou bearest.
  • These words might haue moou'd a compound hart of yron and adamant, but
  • in his hart they obtained no impression: for he sitting in his chaire
  • of state against the doore all the while that she pleaded, leaning his
  • ouerhanging gloomie eybrowes on the pommell of his vnsheathed sword, hee
  • neuer lookt vp or gaue her a word: but when he perceiued shee expected
  • his answere of grace or vtter perdition, he start vp and took her
  • currishly by the neck, and askt her how long he should stay for her
  • Ladiship.
  • Thoutelst me (quoth he) of the plague, and the heauie hand of God, and
  • thy hundred infected breaths in one: I tel thee I haue cast the dice an
  • hundred times for the galleyes in _Spaine_, and yet still mist the
  • ill chance. Our order of casting is this, If there bee a generall
  • or captaine new come home from the warres, & hath some foure or fiue
  • hundred crownes ouerplus of the kings in his hand, & his souldiors al
  • paid, he makes proclamation, that whatsoeuer two resolute men will goe
  • to dice for it, and win the bridle or lose the saddle, to such a place
  • let them repaire, and it shall be ready for them. Thither go I & finde
  • another such needie squire resident. The dice runne, I win, he is
  • vndone. I winning haue the crownes, he loosing is carried to the
  • galleys. This is our custome, which a hundred times and more hath paid
  • mee custome of crownes, when the poore fellowes haue gone to _Gehenna_,
  • had course bread and whipping chere all their life after. Now thinkest
  • thou that I who so oft haue escapd such a number of hellish dangers,
  • only depending on the turning of a few pricks, can be scarebugd with
  • the plague? what plague canst thou name worse than I haue had? whether
  • diseases, imprisonment, pouertie, banishment, I haue past through them
  • all. My owne mother gaue I a box of the eare to, and brake her neck down
  • a pair of stairs, because she would not go in to a gentleman, when I bad
  • her: my sister I solde to an olde Leno, to make his best of her: anie
  • kinswoman that I haue, knew I shee were not a whore, my selfe would make
  • her one: thou art a whore, thou shalt bee a whore in spite of religion
  • or precise ceremonies.
  • Therewith he flew vpon her, and threatned her with his sword, but it
  • was not that he meant to wounde her with. Hee graspt her by the iuorie
  • throate, and shooke her as a mastiffe would shake a yong beare, swearing
  • & flaring he would teare out her wesand if she refused. Not content with
  • that sauage constraint, he slipt his sacriligious hand from her lilly
  • lawne skinned necke, and inscarfte it in her long siluer lockes, which
  • with strugling were vnrould. Backward hee dragd her, euen as a man
  • backward would plucke a tree downe by the twigs, and then like a traitor
  • that is drawen to execution on a hurdle, he traileth her vp and downe
  • the chamber by those tender vntwisted braids, and setting his barbarous
  • foote on her bare snowie breast, bad her yeeld or haue her wind stampt
  • out She crid, stamp, stifle me in my hair, hang me vp by it on a beame,
  • and so let mee die rather than I shoulde go to heauen wyth a beame in
  • my eie. No (quoth he) nor stampt, nor stifled, nor hanged, nor to heauen
  • shalt thou go til I haue had my wil of thee, thy busie armes in these
  • silken fetters Ile infold. Dismissing her haire from his fingers, and
  • pinnioning her elbowes therwithal, she strugled, she wrested, but al was
  • in vain. So strugling & so resisting, her iewels did sweate, signifieng
  • there was poison comming towards her. On the hard boords hee threw her,
  • and vsed his knee as an yron ram to beate ope the two leaude gate of her
  • chastitie. Her husbands dead bodie he made a pillow to his abhomination.
  • Coniecture the rest, my words sticke fast in the mire and are cleane
  • tyred, would I had neuer vndertooke this tragicall tale. Whatsoeuer is
  • borne is borne to haue end. Thus endeth my tale, his boorish lust was
  • glutted, his beastly desire satisfied, what in the house of any worth
  • was carriageable, he put vp and went his way.
  • Let not your sorow die, you that haue read the proeme and narration of
  • this elegiacal history. Shew you haue quick wits in sharpe conceit of
  • compassion. A woman that hath viewd all her children sacrificed before
  • her eies, & after the first was slaine wipt the sword with her apron to
  • prepare it for the clenly murther of the second, and so on forwarde till
  • came to the empiercing of the seuenteenth of her loines, will you not
  • giue her great allowance of anguish. This woman, this matrone, this
  • forsaken _Heraclide_, hauing buried fourteene children in fiue dayes,
  • whose eyes she howlingly closed, and caught many wrinckles with funerall
  • kisses: besides, hauing her husband within a day after layd forth as
  • a comfortlesse corse, a carrionly blocke, that could neither eate with
  • her, speak with her, nor weepe with her, is she not to be borne withall
  • though her bodie swells wyth a tympanie of teares, though her speach be
  • as impatient as vnhappy _Hecubaes_, though her head raues and her braine
  • doates? Deuise with your selues that you see a corse rising from
  • his heirce after hee is carried to Church, and such another suppose
  • _Heraclide_ to bee, rising from the couch of enforced adulterie.
  • Her eyes were dimme, her cheekes bloudlesse, her breath smelt earthie,
  • her countenance was ghastly. Up she rose after she was deflowred, but
  • loath she arose, as a reprobate soule rising to the day of iudgement.
  • Looking on the tone side as she rose, she spide her husbands bodie lying
  • vnder her head: Ah then she bewayled as _Cephaius_ when hee had kild
  • _Procris_ vnwittingly, or _Oedipus_ when ignorant he had slaine his owne
  • father, and knowen his mother incestuously. This was her subdued reasons
  • discourse.
  • Haue I liu'd to make my husbands bodie the beere to carry me to hell,
  • had filthie pleasure no other pillowe to leane vpon but his spreaded
  • limmes? On thy flesh my fault shall bee imprinted at the day of
  • resurrection. O beauty, the bait ordained to insnare the irreligious:
  • rich men are robd for theyr welth, women are dishonested for being too
  • faire. No blessing is beautie but a curse: curst bee the time that euer
  • I was begotten: curst be the time that my mother brought me forth to
  • tempt. The serpent in paradice did no more, the serpent in paradice
  • is damned sempiternally: why should not I hold my selfe damned (if
  • predestinations opinions be true) that am predestinate to this horrible
  • abuse. The hogge dieth presently if he loseth an eye: with the hogge
  • haue I wallowed in the myre, I haue lost my eye of honestie, it is
  • cleane pluckt out with a strong hand of vnchastitie: what remaineth but
  • I dye? Die I will, though life be vnwilling: no recompence is there
  • for mee to redeeme my compelled offence, but with a rigorous compelled
  • death. Husband, He be thy wife in heauen: let not thy pure deceasing
  • spirite despise me when we meete, because I am tyrannously polluted.
  • The diuell, the belier of our frayltie, and common accuser of mankinde,
  • cannot accuse me though he would of vnconstrained submitting. If anie
  • guilt be mine, this is my fault, that I did not deforme my face, ere it
  • shuld so impiously allure. Hauing passioned thus a while, she hastely
  • ranne and lookt her selfe in her glasse to see if her sinne were not
  • written on her forhead: with looking shee blusht though none lookt vpon
  • her but her owne reflected image.
  • Then began she againe. _Heu quam difficile est crimen non prodere
  • vultu_; How hard is it not to bewray a mans fault by his forhead. My
  • selfe doo but behold my selfe, and yet I blush: then God beholding me,
  • shall not I bee ten times more ashamed? The Angells shall hisse at mee,
  • the Saints and Martyrs flye from me: yea, God himselfe shall adde to
  • the diuels damnation, because he suffred such a wicked creature to come
  • before him. _Agamemnon_ thou wert an infidell, yet when thou wentst to
  • the Troian warre, thou leftst a Musitian at home with thy wife, who
  • by playing the foote _Spondous_ tyll thy returne, might keepe her in
  • chastitie. My husband going to warre with the diuell and his enticements
  • when hee surrendred, left no musition with me but mourning and
  • melancholy: had he left anie, as _Aegistus_ kild _Agamemnons_ musition
  • ere he could be succesfull, so surely would he haue been kild ere this
  • _Aegistus_ surceased. My distressed heart as the Hart when he looseth
  • his homes is astonied, and sorrowfullie runneth to hide himselfe, so bee
  • thou afflicted and distressed, hide thy selfe vnder the Almighties wings
  • of mercie: sve, plead, intreate, grace is neuer denyed to them that
  • aske. It may be denied, I may be a vessell ordained to dishonor. The
  • onely repeale we haue from Gods vndefinite chastisement, is to chastise
  • our selues in this world: and so I will, nought but death bee my
  • pennance, gracious and acceptable may it bee: my hand and my knife shall
  • manumit me out of the horror of minde I endure. Farewell life that hast
  • lent me nothing but sorrow: farewell sinne sowed flesh, that hast more
  • weeds than flowers, more woes than ioyes.
  • Point pierce, edge enwyden, I patiently affoord thee a sheath: spurre
  • foorth my soule to mount poast to heauen. Jesu forgiue me, Jesu receiue
  • me.
  • So throughly stabd fell she downe, and knockt her head against her
  • husbands bodie: wherewith, hee not hauing beene ayred his full foure and
  • twentie houres, start as out of a dreame: whiles I through a crannie of
  • my vpper chamber vnseeled, had beheld all this sad spectacle. Awaking,
  • hee rubd his head too and fro, and wyping his eyes with his hand began
  • to looke about him. Feeling some thing lye heauie on his breast, he
  • turnd it off, and getting vpon his legges lighted a candle.
  • Heere beginneth my purgatorie. For he good man comming into the hall
  • with the candle, and spying his wife wyth her haire about her eares
  • defiled and massacred, and his simple _Zanie Capestrano_ run thorough,
  • tooke a halberde in hys hand, and running from chamber to chamber to
  • search who in his house was likely to doo it, at length found me
  • lying on my bed, the doore lockt to me on the outside, and my rapier
  • vnsheathed on the windowe: wherewith hee straight coniectured it was I.
  • And calling the neighbours harde by, sayd I had caused my selfe to bee
  • lockt into my chamber after that sort, sent awaye my curtizane whome
  • I called my wife, and made cleane my rapier, because I would not bee
  • suspected. Uppon this was I laide in prison, should haue been hanged,
  • was brought to the ladder, had made a ballet for my farewell in a
  • readines called _Wiltons wantonnes_, and yet for all that scap'd dancing
  • in a hempen circle. He that hath gone through manie perils and returned
  • safe from them, makes but a merriment to dilate them. I had the knot
  • vnder my eare, there was faire playe, the hangman had one halter, and
  • another about my necke, which was fastned to the gallowes, the riding
  • deuice was almost thrust home, and his foote on my shoulder to presse
  • me downe, when I made my saint-like confession as you haue heard before,
  • that such & such men at such an houre brake into the house, slew the
  • Zanie, tooke my curtizan, lockt me into my chamber, rauisht _Heraclide_,
  • and finally how shee slew her selfe.
  • Present at the execution was there a banisht English Earle, who hearing
  • that a countreyman of his was to suffer for such a notable murder, came
  • to heare his confession, and see if hee knew him. He had not heard me
  • tell halfe of that I haue recited, but hee craued audience, and desired
  • the execution might be staid.
  • Not two dayes since it is Gentlemen and noble _Romanes_ (said he) since
  • going to be let bloud in a barbars shop agaynst the infection, all on
  • a suddaine in a great tumult and vproare was there brought in one
  • _Bartoll_ an _Italian_ greeuously wounded and bloudie. I seeming to
  • commiserate his harmes, courteously questiond him with what ill debters
  • he had met, or how or by what casualtie he came to be so arraid. O quoth
  • he long I haue liu'd sworne brothers in sensualitie with one _Esdras of
  • Granado_, fiue hundred rapes and murders haue wee committed betwixt vs.
  • When our iniquities were growen to the height, and God had determined to
  • counterchecke our amitie, wee came to the house of _Iohannes de Imola_
  • (whom this yong gentleman hath named) there did he iustifie al those
  • rapes in manner and forme as the prisoner here hath confest. But loe
  • an accident after, which neither he nor this audience is priuie too.
  • _Esdras of Granado_ not content to haue rauisht the matrone _Heraclide_
  • and robd her, after he had betooke hym from thence to his heeles, light
  • on his companion _Bartol_ with his curtizan: whose pleasing face hee had
  • scarce winkingly glaunc'd on, but hee pickt a quarrell with _Bartoll_ to
  • haue her from him. On this quarrell they fought _Bartoll_ was wounded
  • to the death, _Esdras_ fled, and the faire dame left to go whither she
  • would. This _Bartoll_ in the barbars shoppe freely acknowledged, as
  • both the barbar and his man, and other heere present can amply depose.
  • Deposed they were, their oathes went for currant, I was quit by
  • proclamation, to the banisht Earle I came to render thankes: when thus
  • he examind me and schoold me.
  • Countriman, tell mee what is the occasion of thy straying so farre out
  • of _England_ to visit this strange Nation. If it bee languages, thou
  • maist learne them at home, nought but lasciuiousnes is to be learned
  • here. Perhaps to be better accounted of than other of thy condition,
  • thou ambitiously vndertakest this voyage: these insolent fancies are but
  • _Icarus_ fethers, whose wanton wax melted against the sunne, will betray
  • thee into a sea of confusion. The first traueller was _Cayn_, and hee
  • was called a vagabond runnagate on the face of the earth. Trauaile like
  • the trauaile wherein smithes put wilde horses when they shoo them, is
  • good for nothing but to tame and bring men vnder. God had no greater
  • curse to lay vppon the _Israelites_, than by leading them out of their
  • owne countrey to liue as slaues in a strange land. That which was their
  • curse, we Englishmen count our chief blessednes; he is no body that hath
  • not traueld: wee had rather liue as slaues in another land, croutch and
  • cap, and bee seruile to euerie iealous Italians and proude Spaniards
  • humor, where wee may neyther speake looke nor doo anie thing, but what
  • pleaseth them, than liue as freemen and Lords in our owne countrey. He
  • that is a traueller must haue the backe of an asse to beare all, a tung
  • like the tayle of a dog to flatter all, the mouth of a hog to eate what
  • is set before him, the eare of a merchant to heare all and say nothing:
  • and if this be not the highest step of thraldome, there is no libertie
  • or freedome. It is but a milde kind of subiection to be the seruant of
  • one master at once, but when thou hast a thousand thousand masters,
  • as the veriest botcher, tinker or cobler freeborne wil dominere ouer a
  • forreiner, & think to bee his better or master in company: then shalt
  • thou finde theres no such hell, as to leaue thy fathers house (thy
  • natural habitation) to liue in the land of bondage. If thou doest but
  • lend halfe a looke to a Romans or Italians wife, thy porredge shall bee
  • prepared for thee, and cost thee nothing but thy life. Chance some of
  • them breake a bitter iest on thee, and thou retortst it seuerly, or
  • seemest discontented: goe to thy chamber, & prouide a great banquet,
  • for thou shalt bee sure to bee visited with guests in a maske the next
  • night, when in kindnes and courtship thy throate shalbe cut, and the
  • doers returne vndiscouered. Nothing so long of memorie as a dog,
  • these Italians are old dogs, and will carrie an iniurie a whole age
  • in memorie: I haue heard of a box on the eare that hath been reuenged
  • thirtie yeare after. The Neopolitane carrieth the bloudiest wreakfull
  • minde, and is the most secrete flearing murderer. Whereupon it is growne
  • to a common prouerb, He giue him the Neapolitan shrug, when one meanes
  • to play the villaine, and makes no boast of it.
  • The onely precept that a traueller hath most vse of, and shall finde
  • most ease in, is that of _Epicharchusy Vigila & memor sis ne quid
  • credos_; Beleeue nothing, trust no man: yet seeme thou as thou
  • swallowedst all, suspectedst none, but wert easie to be gulled by euery
  • one. _Multi fallere docuerunt_ (as _Seneca_ saith) _dum timent falli_;
  • Many by showing their iealous suspect of deceit, haue made men seek more
  • subtill meanes to deceiue them.
  • Alas, our Englishmen are the plainest dealing soules that euer God put
  • life in: they are greedie of newes, and loue to be fed in their humors
  • and heare themselues flattered the best that may be. Euen as _Philemon_
  • a Comick Poet dyde with extreame laughter at the conceit of seeing an
  • Asse eate fygges: so haue the Italians no such sport, as to see poore
  • English asses how soberly they swallow Spanish figges deuour any hooke
  • baited for them. He is not fit to trauell, that cannot with the Candians
  • liue on serpents, make nourishing foode euen of poyson. Rats and mice
  • engender by licking one another, he must licke, he must croutch, he must
  • cogge, lye and prate, that either in the Court or a forraine Countrey
  • will engender and come to preferment. Bee his feature what it will,
  • if he be faire spoken he winneth frends: _Nonformosus erat, sed erat
  • facundus Vlysses; Vlysses_ the long traueller was not amiable, but
  • eloquent. Some alleadge, they trauell to learne wit, but I am of this
  • opinion, that as it is not possible for anie man to learne the Arte of
  • Memorie, whereof _Tully, Quintillian, Seneca, and Hermannus Buschius_
  • haue written so manie bookes, except he haue a naturall memorie before:
  • so is it not possible for anie man to attaine anie great wit by trauell,
  • except he haue the grounds of it rooted in him before. That wit which is
  • thereby to be perfected or made stayd, is nothing but _Experientia longa
  • malorum_; The experience of manie euills: the experience that such a
  • man lost his life by this folly, another by that: such a young Gallant
  • consumed his substance on such a Curtizan: these courses of reuenge a
  • Merchant of _Venice_ tooke against a Merchant of _Ferrara_: and this
  • poynt of iustice was shewed by the Duke vppon the murtherer. What is
  • heere but wee maye read in bookes and a great deale more too, without
  • stirring our feete out of a warme studie.
  • _Vobis alii ventorum prolia narrent,_ (saith Ouid) _Quasq; Scilla
  • infestat, quasue Charybdis aquas_. Let others tell you wonders of the
  • winde, How _Scalla_ or _Charybdis_ is enclinde.
  • --_vos quod quisque loquetur Credite_
  • --Beleeue you what they say, but neuer trie.
  • So let others tell you straunge accidents, treasons, poysonings, close
  • packings in _Frounce, Spaine and Italy_: it is no harme for you to
  • heare of them, but come not neere them. What is there in _Fraunce_ to
  • be learnd more than in _England_, but falshood in fellowship, perfect
  • slouenrie, to loue no man but for my pleasure, to sweare _Ah par la mort
  • Dieu_ when a mans hammes are scabd. For the idle Traueller, (I meane not
  • for the Souldiour) I haue knowen some that haue continued there by the
  • space of halfe a dozen yeare, and when they come home, they haue hyd
  • a little weerish leane face vnder a broad French hat, kept a terrible
  • coyle with the dust in the streete in their long cloakes of gray paper,
  • and spoke English strangely. Nought else haue they profited by their
  • trauell, saue learnt to distinguish of the true _Burdeaux_ Grape, and
  • knowe a cup of neate _Gascoygne_ wine, from wine of _Orleance _: yea and
  • peraduenture this also, to esteeme of the poxe as a pimple, to weare
  • a veluet patch on their face, and walke melancholy with their armes
  • folded.
  • From _Spaine_ what bringeth our Traueller? a scull cround hat of the
  • fashion of an olde deepe poringer, a diminutiue Aldermans ruffe with
  • shorte strings like the droppings of a mans nose, a close-bellied dublet
  • comming downe with a peake behinde as farre as the crupper, and cut off
  • before by the breast-boane like a partlet or neckercher, a wyde payre of
  • gascoynes which vngatherd would make a couple of womens ryding kyrtles,
  • huge hangers that haue halfe a Cowe hyde in them, a Rapyer that is
  • lineally descended from halfe a dozen Dukes at the least. Let his cloake
  • be as long or as short as you will: if long, it is fac'd with Turkey
  • grogeran raueld; if short, it hath a cape like a calues tung, and is
  • not so deep in his whole length, nor hath so much cloth in it I will
  • iustifie, as onely the standing cape of a Dutchmans cloake. I haue not
  • yet toucht all, for hee hath in eyther shoo as much taffaty for his
  • tyings, as would serue for an ancient: which serueth him (if you will
  • haue the mysterie of it) of the owne accord for a shoo-rag. A souldior
  • and a braggart he is (thats concluded) he ietteth strouting, dancing
  • on his toes with his hands vnder his sides. If you talke with him, hee
  • makes a dish-cloath of his owne Countrey in comparison of _Spaine_; but
  • if you vrge him more particularly wherein it exceeds, hee can giue no
  • instance, but in _Spaine_ they haue better bread than any we haue: when
  • (poore hungry slaues) they may crumble it into water wel enough and make
  • misons with it, for they haue not a good morsell of meate except it bee
  • salt pilchers to eate with it al the yere long: and which is more, they
  • are poore beggers, and lye in foule straw euery night.
  • _Italy_ the paradice of the earth, and the Epicures heauen, how doth
  • it forme our yong master? It makes him to kisse his hand like an ape,
  • cringe his neck like a starueling, and play at hey passe repasse come
  • aloft when hee salutes a man. From thence he brings the art of atheisme,
  • the art of epicurising, the art of whoring, the art of poysoning, the
  • art of Sodomitrie. The onely probable good thing they haue to keepe
  • vs from vtterly condemning it, is, that it maketh a man an excellent
  • Courtier, a curious carpet knight; which is by interpretation, a fine
  • close leacher, a glorious hypocrite. It is now a priuie note amongst the
  • better sort of men, when they would set a singular marke or brand on a
  • notorious villaine, to say, he hath been in _Italy_.
  • With the Dane and the Dutchman I will not encounter, for they are simple
  • honest men, that with _Danaus_ daughters do nothing but fill bottomles
  • tubs, & wil be drunk & snort in the midst of dinner: he hurts himselfe
  • onely that goes thether, hee cannot lightly be damnd, for the vintners,
  • the brewers, the malt-men and alewiues praye for him. Pitch and pay,
  • they will play all day: score and borrow, they will wysh him much
  • sorrowe. But lightly a man is nere the better for their praiers, for
  • they commit al deadly sinne for the most part of them in mingling their
  • drinke, the vintners in the highest degree.
  • Why iest I in such a necessary perswasiue discourse? I am a banisht
  • exile from my countrie, though nere linkt in consanguinitie to the best:
  • an Earle borne by birth, but a begger now as thou seest. These many
  • yeres in _Italy_ haue I liu'd an outlaw. A while I had a liberall
  • pension of the Pope, but that lasted not, for he continued not: one
  • succeeded him in his chaire, that car'd neither for Englishmen nor his
  • owne countrimen. Then was I driu'n to picke vp my crums amongst the
  • Cardinals, to implore the beneuolence & charitie of al the Dukes of
  • Italy whereby I haue since made a poore shift to liue, but so liue, as I
  • wish my selfe a thousand times dead.
  • _Cumpatriam amisi, tunc me periisse putato_. When I was banisht, thinke
  • I caught my bane.
  • The sea is the natiue soyle to fishes, take fishes from the sea, they
  • take no ioy nor thriue, but perish straight. So likewise the birds
  • remoued from the aire (the abode wherto they were borne) the beasts from
  • the earth, and I from _England_. Can a lambe take delight to be suckled
  • at the brests of a she-wolfe? I am a lambe nourisht with the milke of
  • wolues, one that with the Ethiopians inhabiting ouer against _Meroe_,
  • feede on nothing but scorpions: vse is another nature, yet ten times
  • more contentiue, were nature restored to her kingdome from whence shee
  • is excluded. Beleeue mee, no aire, no bread, no fire, no water agree
  • with a man, or dooth him anye good out of his owne countrey. Colde
  • frutes neuer prosper in a hot soile, nor hot in a cold. Let no man for
  • any transitorie pleasure sell away the inheritance of breathing he hath
  • in the place where he was born. Get thee home my yong lad, lay thy bones
  • peaceably in the sepulcher of thy fathers, waxe old in ouerlooking thy
  • grounds, bee at hand to close the eyes of thy kinred. The diuell and I
  • am desperate, he of being restored to heauen, I of being recalled home.
  • Here he held his peace and wept. I glad of any opportunitie of a full
  • poynt to part from him, told him I tooke his counsaile in worth, what
  • laye in mee to requite in loue should not bee lacking. Some businesse
  • that concerned mee highly cald mee away verie hastely, but another time
  • I hop'd wee should meete. Verie hardly he let me goe, but I earnestly
  • ouerpleading my occasions, at length he dismist mee, told mee where his
  • lodging was, and charged mee to visite him without excuse very often.
  • Heeres a stirre thought I to my selfe after I was set at libertie, that
  • is worse than an vpbrayding lesson after a britching: certainly if I had
  • bethought mee like a rascall as I was, hee should haue had an auemarie
  • of mee for his cynicke exhortation. God plagud mee for deriding such a
  • graue fatherly aduertiser. List the worst throw of ill luckes.
  • Tracing vp and downe the City to seeke my Curtizan till the euening
  • began to growe well in age, it fortuned, the Element as if it had dronke
  • too much in the afternoone, powrde downe so profoundly, that I was forst
  • to creepe like one afraid of the Watch close vnder the pentises, where
  • the cellar doore of a Jewes house called _Zadoch_ (ouer which in my
  • direct waye I did passe) beeing vnbard on the inside, ouer head and
  • eares I fell into it as a man falls in a ship from the oreloope into the
  • holde: or as in an earthquake the ground should open, and a blinde man
  • come feeling pad pad ouer the open Gulph with his staffe, should stumble
  • on sodaine into hell. Hauing worne out the anguish of my fall a little
  • with wallowing vp and downe, I cast vp myne eyes to see vnder what
  • Continent I was: and loe, (O destenie) I sawe my Curtizane kissing verie
  • louingly with a prentise. My backe and my sides I had hurt with my fall,
  • but now my head sweld & akt worse than both. I was euen gathering winde
  • to come vpon her with a full blast of contumely, when the Jewe (awakde
  • with the noyse of my fall) came bustling downe the staires, and raysing
  • his other semants, attached both the Curtizane and mee for breaking his
  • house, and conspiring with his prentise to rob him.
  • It was then the lawe in _Rome_, that if anie man had a fellon falne into
  • his hands, eyther by breaking into his house, or robbing him by the high
  • way, hee might choose whether he would make him his bondman, or hang
  • him. _Zadoch_ (as all Jewes are couetous) casting with himselfe hee
  • should haue no benefite by casting mee off the ladder, had another
  • policie in his head: hee went to one Doctour _Zacharie_ the popes
  • phisition, that was a Jewe and his Countreyman likewise, and tolde him
  • hee had the finest bargaine for him that might bee. It is not concealed
  • from mee (sayth he) that the time of your accustomed yearely Anatomie
  • is at hand, which it behooues you vnder forfeiture of the foundation of
  • your Colledge verie carefully to prouide for. The infection is great,
  • and hardly will you get a sound bodie to deale vpon: you are my
  • Countreyman, therefore I come to you first. Bee it knowen vnto you,
  • I haue a young man at home falne to me for my bondman, of the age of
  • eighteene, of stature tall, streight limm'd, of as cleere a complection
  • as anie painters fancie can imagine: goe too, you are an honest man, and
  • one of the scattered Children of _Abraham_ you shall haue him for fiue
  • hundred crownes. Let mee see him quoth Doctour _Zacharie_, and I
  • will giue you as much as another. Home hee sent for mee, pinniond and
  • shackeld I was transported alongst the streete: where passing vnder
  • _Iulianaes_ the Marques of _Mantuaes_ wiues window, that was a lustie
  • _Bona Roba_ one of the popes concubines, as she had her casement halfe
  • open, she lookt out and spide me. At the first sight she was enamored
  • with my age and beardles face, that had in it no ill signe of
  • phisiognomie fatall to fetters: after me shee sent to know what I was,
  • wherein I had offended, and whether I was going? My conducts
  • resolued them all. She hauing receiued this answere, with a lustfull
  • collachrimation lamenting my Jewish Premunire, that bodie and goods I
  • should lyght into the hands of such a cursed generation, inuented the
  • meanes of my release.
  • But first Ile tel you what betided me after I was brought to Doctour
  • _Zacharies_.
  • The purblinde Doctour put on his spectacles and lookt vppon mee: and
  • when he had throughly viewd my face, he caused mee to bee stript
  • naked, to feele and grope whether each lim were sound, and my skin
  • not infected. Then hee pierst my arme to see how my bloud ranne: which
  • assayes and searchings ended, he gaue _Zadoch_ hys full price and sent
  • him away, then lockt mee vp in a darke chamber till the day of anatomie.
  • O the cold sweating cares which I conceiued after I knew I should be cut
  • like a French summer dublet. Me thought already the bloud began to
  • gush out at my nose: if a flea on the arme had but bit me, I deemed the
  • instrument had prickt me. Well, well, I maye scofle at a shrowde turne,
  • but theres no such readye waye to make a man a true Christian, as to
  • perswade himselfe he is taken vp for an anatomie. Ile depose I praid
  • then more than I did in seauen yeare before. Not a drop of sweate
  • trickeled downe my breast and my sides, but I dreamd it was a smooth
  • edgde razor tenderly slicing down my breast and my sides. If any knockt
  • at doore.
  • I supposed it was the beadle of Surgeons Hall come for mee. In the night
  • I dreamd of nothing but Phlebotomie, bloudy fluxes, incamatiues, running
  • vlcers. I durst not let out a wheale for feare through it I should bleed
  • to death. For meate in this distance I had plum-porredge of purgations
  • ministred mee one after another to clarifie my bloud, that it should
  • not lye doddered in the flesh. Nor did he it so much for clarifying
  • phisicke, as to saue charges. Miserable is that mouse that liues in a
  • Phisitions house, _Tantalus_ liues not so hunger-starud in hell, as shee
  • doth there. Not the very crams that fall from his table, but Zachary
  • sweepes together, and of them mouldes vp a Manna. Of the ashie parings
  • of his bread, he would make conserue of chippings. Out of boanes after
  • the meate was eaten off, hee would alchumize an oyle, that he sold for a
  • shilling a dramme. His snot and spittle a hundred tymes he hath put
  • ouer to hys Apothecarie for snowe water. Any Spider he would temper to
  • perfect Mithridate. His rheumatique eyes when he went in the winde,
  • or rose early in a morning, dropt as coole allom water as you would
  • request. He was dame Niggardize sole heyre and executor.
  • A number of olde bookes had he eaten with the moathes and wormes, now
  • all daye would not hee studye a dodkin, but picke those wormes and
  • moathes out of his Librarie, and of their mixture make a preseruatiue
  • against the plague. The licour out of his shooes he would wring to make
  • a sacred balsamum against barrennes. Spare we him a line or two, &
  • looke backe to _Iuliana_, who conflicted in hir thoughts about me verie
  • debatefully, aduentured to send a messenger to Doctour _Zacharie_ in her
  • name, verie boldly to beg me of him, and if shee might not beg me,
  • to buy me with what summes of monie soeuer he would aske. _Zacharie_
  • iewishly and churlishly withstood both her sutes, and sayde if there
  • were no more Christians on the earth, he would thrust his incision knife
  • into his throate-boule immediatly. Which replie she taking at his hands
  • most despitefully, thought to crosse him ouer the shins with as sore
  • an ouertwhart blow yet ere a moneth to an end. The pope (I knowe not
  • whether at her intreatie or no) within two dayes after fell sicke,
  • Doctor _Zacharie_ was sent for to minister vnto him, who seeing a little
  • danger in his water, gaue him a gentle confortatiue for the stomack, and
  • desired those neere about him to perswade his holynes to take some rest,
  • and hee doubted not but he would be forthwith well. Who should receiue
  • this mild phisicke of him but the concubine _Iuliana_ his vtter enimie,
  • shee beeing not vnprouided of strong poison at that instant, in the
  • popes outward chamber so mingled it, that when his grande sublimitie
  • taster came to relish it, he sunke downe starke dead on the pauement.
  • Herewith the pope cald _Iuliana_, and askt her what strong concocted
  • broth she had brought him. She kneeled downe on her knees, and sayd it
  • was such as _Zacliarie_ the Jew had deliuered her with his owne hands,
  • and therefore if it misliked his holines she craued pardon. The Pope
  • without further sifting into the matter, woulde haue had _Zacharie_ and
  • all Jewes in Rome put to death, but shee hung about his knees, & with
  • crocodile teares desired him the sentence might bee lenified, and they
  • bee all but banisht at most. For doctor _Zacliary_ quoth she, your ten
  • times vngrateful phisition, since notwithstanding his trecherous intent,
  • he hath much art, and many soueraigne simples, oiles, gargarismes and
  • sirups in his closet and house that may stand your mightines in stead,
  • I begge all his goods onely for your beatitudes preseruation and good.
  • This request at the first was seald with a kisse, and the popes edict
  • without delaye proclaimed throughout Rome, namely, that all foreskinne
  • clippers whether male or female belonging to the old Jurie, should
  • depart and auoyde vpon payne of hanging within twentie dayes after the
  • date thereof.
  • _Iuliana_ two dayes before the proclamation came out, sent her seruants
  • to extend vppon _Zacharies_ territories, his goods, his mooueables, his
  • chattels and his seruants: who perfourmed their commission to the vtmost
  • title, and left him not so much as master of an vrinall case or a candle
  • boxe. It was about sixe a clocke in the euening, when those boot-halers
  • entred: into my chamber they rusht, when I sate leaning on my elbow, and
  • my left hand vnder my side, deuising what a kinde of death it might be
  • to be let bloud till a man dye. I cald to minde the assertion of some
  • Philosophers, who said the soule was nothing but bloud: then thought I,
  • what a filthie thing were this, if I should let my soule fall and breake
  • his necke into a bason. I had but a pimple rose with heate in that part
  • of the veyne where they vse to pricke, and I fearfully misdeemed it was
  • my soule searching for passage. Fie vppon it, a mans breath to bee let
  • out a backe-doore, what a villanie it is? To dye bleeding is all one as
  • if a man should dye pissing. Good drink makes good bloud, so that pisse
  • is nothing but bloud vnder age. _Seneca_ and _Lucan_ were lobcockes to
  • choose that death of all other: a pigge or a hogge or anie edible brute
  • beast a cooke or a butcher deales vpon, dyes bleeding. To dye with a
  • pricke, wherewith the faintest hearted woman vnder heauen would not be
  • kild, O God it is infamous.
  • In this meditation did they seaze vpon mee, in my cloake they muffeld
  • mee that no man might knowe mee, nor I see which waye I was carried.
  • The first ground I toucht after I was out of _Zacharies_ house, was
  • the Countesse _Iulianaes_ chamber: little did I surmise that fortune
  • reserued mee to so faire a death. I made no other reckoning all the
  • while they had mee on their shoulders, but that I was on horse-backe to
  • heauen, and carried to Church on a beere, excluded for euer for drinking
  • anie more ale or beere. _Iuliana_ scornfully questiond them thus (as if
  • I had falne into her hands beyond expectation), what proper apple-squire
  • is this you bring so suspitiously into my chamber? what hath he done?
  • where had you him? They aunswered likewise a farre of, that in one
  • of _Zacharies_ chambers they found him close prisoner, and thought
  • themselues guiltie of the breach of her Ladiships commaundement if
  • they should haue left him behinde. O quoth she, ye loue to bee double
  • diligent, or thought peraduenture that I being a lone woman stood in
  • neede of a loue. Bring you me a princockes beardlesse boy (I knowe not
  • whence hee is, nor whether he would) to call my name in suspense? I tell
  • you, you haue abused me, and I can hardly brook it at your hands. You
  • should haue lead him to the Magistrate, no commission receiued you of
  • me but for his goods and his seruants. They besought her to excuse their
  • ouerweening errour, it proceeded from a zealous care of their duetie,
  • and no negligent default But why should not I coniecture the worst quoth
  • she? I tell you troth, I am halfe in a iealozie hee is some fantasticall
  • amorous yonckster, who to dishonor me hath hyr'd you to this stratagem.
  • It is a likely matter that such a man as _Zacharie_ should make a prison
  • of his house, and deale in matters of state. By your leaue sir gallant,
  • vnder locke and key shal you stay with me, till I haue enquirde further
  • of you, you shall be sifted thoroughly ere you and I part Goe maide shew
  • him to the further chamber at the ende of the gallerie that lookes into
  • the garden: you my trim pandars I pray garde him thether as you tooke
  • paines to bring him hether. When you haue so done, see the dores be made
  • fast, and come your way. Heere was a wily wench had her liripoop without
  • book, she was not to seeke in her knackes and shifts: such are all
  • women, not one of them but hath a cloak for the raine, and can bleare
  • her husbands eyes as she list. Not too much of this madam Marques at
  • once: wele step a little backe, and dilate what _Zadoch_ the Jew did
  • with my curtizan, after he had sold me to _Zacharie_. Of an ill tree I
  • hope you are not so ill sighted in grafting to expect good frute: he was
  • a Jew, & intreated her like a Jew. Under shadow of enforcing her to tell
  • how much money she had of his prentice so to bee trayned to his cellar,
  • hee stript her, and scourgd her from top to toe tantara. Day by day
  • hee disgested his meate with leading her the measures. A diamond
  • Delphinicall drye leachour it was.
  • The ballet of the whipper of late dayes here in England, was but a
  • scoffe in comparison of him. All the colliers of Romford, who hold
  • their corporation by yarking the blind beare at Paris garden, were but
  • bunglers to him, he had the right agility of the lash, there were none
  • of them could made the cord come aloft with a twange halfe like him.
  • Marke the ending, marke the ending. The tribe of Juda is adiudged
  • from Rome to bee trudging, they may no longer be lodged there, all
  • the Albumazers, Rabisacks, Gedeons, Tebiths, Benhadads, Benrodans,
  • Zedechiahs, Halies of them were banquerouts and turnd out of house
  • and home. _Zacharie_ came running to _Zadochs_ in sack cloth and ashes
  • presently after his goods were confiscated and tolde him how he was
  • serued, and what decree was comming out against them all. Descriptions
  • stand by, heere is to be expressed the furie of Lucifer when he was
  • turnd ouer heauen barre for a wrangler. There is a toad fish, which
  • taken out of the water swels more than one would thinke his skin could
  • holde, and bursts in his face that toucheth him. So swelled _Zadoch_,
  • and was readie to burst out of his skinne, and shoote his bowels like
  • chaine-shot full at _Zacharies_ face for bringing him such balefull
  • tidings, his eies glared and burnt bliewe like brimstone and _aqua vito_
  • set on fire in an egshell, his verie nose lightned glow-wormes, his
  • teeth crasht and grated together, like the ioynts of a high building
  • cracking and rocking like a cradle, when as a tempest takes her full but
  • against his broad side. He swore, he curst, and said, these be they
  • that worshippe that crucifide God of Nazareth, heres the fruits of their
  • newfound gospell, sulphur and gunpouder carry them all quick to Gehenna.
  • I would spend my soule willingly, to haue this triple headed Pope with
  • all his sin-absolued whores, and oile-greased priests borne with a
  • blacke sant on the deuills backes in procession to the pit of perdition.
  • Would I might sinke presently into ye earth, so I might blow vp this
  • Rome, this whore of _Babylon_ into the aire with my breath. If I must
  • be banisht, if those heathen dogs will needes rob me of my goods, I wyll
  • poyson their springs and conduit heades, whence they receiue all their
  • water round about the citie, He tice all the yong children into my house
  • that I can get, and cutting their throates barrell them vp in poudring
  • beefe tubbes, and so send them to victuall the popes galleyes. Ere
  • the officers come to extend, Ile bestowe a hundred pound on a doale of
  • bread, which Ile cause to bee kneaded with Scorpions oy le that may
  • kill more than the plague. Ile hire them that make their wafers or
  • sacramentarie gods to minge them after the same sort, so in the zeale
  • of their superstitious religion, shall they languish and droup like
  • carrion. If there be euer a blasphemous coniurer, that can call the
  • windes from their brazen caues, and make the cloudes trauell before
  • their time, Ile giue him the other hundred pounds to disturbe the
  • heauens a whole weeke together with thunder and lightning, if it bee for
  • nothing but to sowre all the wines in _Rome_, and turne them to vinegar.
  • As long as they haue either oyle or wine, this plague feedes but
  • pinglingly vpon them.
  • _Zadoch, Zadoch_ said Doctor _Zacharie_, (cutting him off) thou
  • threatenest the aire, whiles wee perish heere on earth. It is the
  • Countesse _Iuliana_ the Marquesse of _Mantuaes_ wife and no other, that
  • hath complotted our confusion. Aske not how, but insist in my words, and
  • assist in reuenge.
  • As how, as how, said _Zadoch_, shrugging and shrubbing. More happie than
  • the Patriarches were I, if crusht to death with the greatest torments
  • _Romes_ tyrants haue tride, there might be quintessenst out of me one
  • quart of precious poyson. I haue a leg with an issue, shall I cut it
  • off, and from his fount of corruption extract a venome worse than anie
  • serpents? If thou wilt, Ile goe to a house that is infected, where
  • catching the plague, and hauing got a running sore vpon me, Ile come
  • and deliuer her a supplication, and breathe vpon her. I know my breath
  • stinkes so alreadie, that it is within halfe a degree of poyson. Ile pay
  • her home if I perfect it with any more putrifaction.
  • No, no brother _Zadoch_ answered _Zacharie_, that is not the way.
  • Canst thou prouide mee ere a bondmaide, indued with singular & diuine
  • qualified beautie, whome as a present from our synagogue thou maist
  • commend vnto her, desiring her to be good and gracious vnto vs.
  • I haue, I am for you quoth _Zadoch_: _Diamante_ come forth. Heeres a
  • wench (said he) of as cleare a skin as _Susanna_, shee hath not a wemme
  • on her flesh from the soale of the foote to the crowne of the head: how
  • thinke you master doctor, will shee not serue the turne?
  • She will, said _Zacharie_: and therefore Ile tell you what charge I
  • would haue committed to her. But I care not if I disclose it onely to
  • her. Maid, (if thou beest a maid) come hether to mee, thou must be sent
  • to the countesse of _Mantuaes_ about a small peece of seruice, whereby
  • being now a bond woman thou shalt purchase freedome, and gaine a large
  • dowrie to thy marriage. I know thy master loues thee derely though hee
  • will not let thee perceiue so much, hee intends after hee is dead to
  • make thee his heire, for he hath no children: please him in that I shall
  • instruct thee, and thou art made for euer. So it is, that the pope is
  • farre out of liking with the countesse of _Mantua_ his concubine,
  • and hath put his trust in me his phisition to haue her quietly and
  • charitably made away. Now I cannot intend it, for I haue manie cures in
  • hand which call vpon me hourely: thou if thou beest plac'd with her as
  • her waiting maid or cup-bearer, maist temper poyson with her broth, her
  • meate, her drinke, her oyles, her sirrups, and neuer bee bewraid. I will
  • not say whether the pope hath heard of thee, and thou maist come to bee
  • his lemman in her place, if thou behaue thy selfe wisely. What, hast
  • thou the heart to go thorough with it or no? _Diamante_ deliberating
  • with her selfe in what hellish seruitude she liu'd with the Jew, and
  • that she had no likelihood to be releast of it, but fall from euill to
  • worse if she omitted this opportunitie, resigned her selfe ouer wholly
  • to be disposed and emploid as seemed best vnto them. Therevpon, without
  • further consultation, her wardrop was richly rigd, her tongue smooth
  • fil'd & new edg'd on the whetstone, her drugs deliuerd her, and
  • presented she was by _Zadoch_ her master to the countesse, together with
  • some other slight new-fangles, as from the whole congregation, desiring
  • her to stand their merciful mistresse, and sollicite the Pope for them,
  • that through one mans ignorant offence were all generally in disgrace
  • with him, and had incurred the cruell sentence of losse of goods and of
  • banishment.
  • _Iuliana_ liking wel the pretie round face of my black browe _Diamante_,
  • gaue the Jew better countenance than otherwise she would haue done,
  • and told him for her owne part shee was but a priuate woman, and could
  • promise nothing confidently of his holines: for though he had suffred
  • himselfe to bee ouerruled by her in some humors, yet in this that tutcht
  • him so nerely, she knew not how he would be enclind: but what lay in her
  • either to pacifie or perswade him they should be sure of, and so crau'd
  • his absence.
  • His backe turnd, shee askt _Diamante_ what countrey woman she was,
  • what frends she had, and how shee fell into the hands of that Jew? She
  • answered, that she was a _Magnificoes_ daughter of _Venice_, stolne when
  • she was yong from her frends, and sold to this Jew for a bondwoman, who
  • (quoth she) hath vsde me so iewishly and tyrannously, that for euer I
  • must celebrate the memorie of this day, wherein I am deliuered from his
  • Jurisdiction. Alas (quoth she deep sighing) why did I enter into anie
  • mention of my owne misusage? It will be thought that that which I am now
  • to reueale, proceeds of mallice not truth. Madam, your life is sought by
  • these Jewes that sue to you. Blush not, nor be troubled in your minde,
  • for with warning I shall arme you against all their intentions. Thus
  • and thus (quoth she) said doctor _Zacharie_ vnto me, this poyson he
  • deliuered me. Before I was cald in to them, such and such consultation
  • through the creuise of the dore fast lockt did I heare betwixt them.
  • Denie it if they can, I will iustifie it: onely I beseech you to be
  • fauorable Ladie vnto me, and let me not fall againe into the hands of
  • those vipers.
  • _Iuliana_ said little but thought vnhappely, onely she thankt her for
  • detecting it, and vowed though she were her bond woman to be a mother
  • vnto her. The poyson she tooke of her, and set it vp charily on a shelfe
  • in her closet, thinking to keepe it for some good purposes: as for
  • example, when I was consumed and worne to the bones through her abuse,
  • she would giue me but a dram too much, and pop mee into a priuie. So
  • shee had seru'd some of her paramours ere that, and if God had not sent
  • _Diamante_ to be my redeemer, vndoubtedly I had drunke of the same cup.
  • In a leafe or two before was I lockt vp: heere in this page the foresaid
  • goodwife Countesse comes to me, shee is no longer a iudge but a client.
  • How she came, in what manner of attyre, with what immodest and vncomely
  • words shee courted me, if I should take vpon me to enlarge, all modest
  • eares would abhorre me. Some inconuenience she brought me too by her
  • harlot-like behauiour, of which inough I can neuer repent me.
  • Let that bee forgiu'n and forgotten, fleshly delights could not make her
  • slothfull or slumbring in reuenge against _Zadoch_. Shee set men about
  • him to incense and egge him on in courses of discontentment, and
  • other supervising espialls, to plye followe and spurre for-warde those
  • suborning incensers. Both which playd their parts so, that _Zadoch_ of
  • his own nature violent, swore by the arke of _Iehoua_ to set the whole
  • citie on fire ere he went out of it. _Zacharie_ after he had furnisht
  • the wench with the poyson, and giu'n her instructions to goe to the
  • diuell, durst not staye one houre for feare of disclosing, but fled to
  • the Duke of _Burbon_ that after sackt Rome, & there practised with his
  • bastardship all the mischief against the pope and _Rome_ that enuie
  • could put into his minde. _Zadoch_ was left behinde for the hangman.
  • According to his oath, he prouided balls of wilde fire in a readines,
  • and laid traines of gunpouder in a hundred seuerall places of the citie
  • to blow it vp, which hee had set fire too, as also bandied his balls
  • abroad, if his attendant spies had not taken him with ye manner. To the
  • straightest prison in _Rome_ he was dragged, where from top to toe he
  • was clogd with fetters and manacles. _Iuliana_ informed the pope of
  • _Zacharies_ and his practise, _Zachary_ was sought for, but _non est
  • inuentus_, he was packing long before. Commaundement was giu'n, that
  • _Zadoch_ whom they had vnder hand and seale of locke and key, should be
  • executed with all the fiery torments that could be found out.
  • He make short worke, for I am sure I haue wearied all my readers. To the
  • execution place was he brought, where first and formost he was stript,
  • then on a sharpe yron stake fastened in the ground, had he his fundament
  • pitcht, which stake ran vp along into his bodie like a spit, vnder his
  • arme-hoales two of like sort, a great bonfire they made round about him,
  • wherewith his flesh rosted not burnd: and euer as with the heate his
  • skinne blistered, the fire was drawne aside, and they basted him with
  • a mixture of Aqua fortis, allam water, and Mercury sublimatum, which
  • smarted to the very soule of him, and searcht him to the marrowe. Then
  • did they scourge hys backe parts so blistered and basted, with burning
  • whips of red hot wire: his head they noynted ouer with pitch and
  • tarre, and so enflamed it. To his priuie members they tied streaming
  • fierworkes, the skinne from the crest of his shoulder, as also from his
  • elbowes, his huckle bones, his knees, his ankles they pluckt and gnawd
  • off with sparkling pincers: hys breast and his belly with seale skins
  • they grated ouer, which as fast as they grated & rawed, one stoode ouer
  • and lau'd with smithes cindry water and _aqua vito_: his nayles they
  • halfe raised vp, and then vnderpropt them with Sharpe prickes like a
  • taylers shop windowe halfe open on a holiday: euerie one of his fingers
  • they rent vp to the wrist: his toes they brake off by the rootes, and
  • let them still hang by a little skinne. In conclusion, they had a small
  • oyle fire, such as men blow light bubbles of glasse with, and beginning
  • at his feet, they let him lingringly burne vp limme by limme, till his
  • hart was consumed, and then he died. Triumph women, this was the end
  • of the whipping Jew, contriued by a woman, in reuenge of two women, her
  • selfe and her maid.
  • I haue told you or should tell you in what credit _Diamante_ grew with
  • her mistres. _Iuliana_ neuer dreamed but she was an authenticall maide:
  • she made her the chiefe of her bed chamber, she appointed none but her
  • to looke into me, and serue me of such necessaries as I lacked. You must
  • suppose when wee met there was no small reioycing on either part, much
  • like the three Brothers that went three seuerall wayes to seeke their
  • fortunes, and at the yeres end at those three crosse waies met againe,
  • and told one another how they sped: so after we had been long asunder
  • seeking our fortunes, wee commented one to another most kindly, what
  • crosse haps had encountred vs. Nere a six houres but the Countesse cloyd
  • mee with her companie. It grew to this passe, that either I must finde
  • out some miraculous meanes of escape, or drop away in a consumption, as
  • one pin'd for lacke of meate: I was cleane spent and done, there was no
  • hope of me.
  • The yere held on his course to domes day, when Saint _Peters_ day
  • dawned. That day is a day of supreme solemnitie in _Rome_, when the
  • Embassador of _Spaine_ comes and presents a milke white iennet to the
  • pope, that kneeles downe vppon his owne accord in token of obeisaunce
  • and humilitie before him, and lets him stride on his backe as easie as
  • one strides ouer a blocke: with this iennet is offered a rich purse of
  • a yard length, full of Peter-pence. No musique that hath the gift of
  • vtterance, but sounds all the while: coapes and costly vestments decke
  • the hoarsest and beggerliest singing man, not a clarke or sexten is
  • absent, no nor a mule nor a foote-cloth belonging to anie cardinall, but
  • attends on the taile of the triumph. The pope himselfe is borne in his
  • pontificalibus thorough the _Burgo_ (which is the cheefe streete in
  • _Rome_) to the Embassadors house to dinner, and thether resorts all the
  • assembly: where if a Poet should spend all his life time in describing a
  • banquet, he could not feast his auditors halfe so wel with words, as he
  • doth his guests with iunkets.
  • To this feast _Iuliana_ addressed her selfe like an Angell: in a littour
  • of greene needle-worke wrought like an arbor, and open on euerie side
  • was she borne by foure men, hidden vnder cloth rough plushed and wouen
  • like eglantine and wood-bine. At the foure corners it was topt with
  • foure round christall cages of Nightingales. For foote men, on either
  • side of her went foure virgins clad in lawne, with lutes in their hands
  • playing. Next before her two and two in order, a hundred pages in sutes
  • of white cipresse, and long horsemens coates of cloth of siluer: who
  • being all in white, aduanced euery one of them her picture, enclosed
  • in a white round screene of feathers, such as is carried ouer great
  • Princesses heads when they ride in summer, to keepe them from the heate
  • of the sun. Before the went a foure-score bead women she maintaind in
  • greene gownes, scattring strowing hearbs and floures, After her followed
  • the blinde, the halt and the lame sumptuously apparailed like Lords: and
  • thus past she on to Saint _Peters_.
  • _Interea quid agitur donti_, how ist at home all this while. My curtizan
  • is left my keeper, the keyes are committed vnto her, she is mistres _fac
  • totunt_. Against our countesse we conspire, packe vp all her iewels,
  • plate, money that was extant, and to the water side send them: to
  • conclude, couragiously rob her, and run away. _Quid non auri sacra
  • fames_? What defame will not golde salue. Hee mistooke himselfe that
  • inuented the prouerbe, _Dimicandum est pro aris & fama_: for it should
  • haue been _pro auro & fama_: not for altares and fires we must contend,
  • but for gold and fame.
  • Oares nor winde could not stirre nor blow faster, than we toyld out of
  • _Tiber_; a number of good fellowes would giue size ace and the dice that
  • with as little toyle they could leaue Tyburne behinde them. Out of ken
  • we were ere the Countesse came from the feast When she returned and
  • found her house not so much pestred as it was wont, her chests her
  • closets and her cupbords broke open to take aire, and that both I and my
  • keeper was missing: O then shee fared like a franticke Bacchinall, she
  • stampt, she star'd, shee beate her head against the walls, scratcht her
  • face, bit her fingers, and strewd all the chamber with her haire.
  • None of her seuants durst stay in her sight, but she beate them out
  • in heapes, and bad them goe seeke search they knew not where, and hang
  • themselues, and neuer looke her in the face more, if they did not hunt
  • vs out. After her furie had reasonably spent it selfe, her breast began
  • to swell with the mother, caused by her former fretting & chafing, and
  • she grew verie ill at ease. Whereuppon shee knockt for one of her maids,
  • and had her run into her closet, and fetch her a little glasse that
  • stood on the vpper shelfe, wherein there was _spiritus vini_. The maid
  • went, & mistaking tooke the glasse of poyson which _Diamante_ had giu'n
  • her, and she kept in store for me. Comming with it as fast as her legs
  • could carrie her, her mistres at her returne was in a swound, and lay
  • for dead on the floore, wherat she shrikt out, and fel a rubbing &
  • chafing her very busily. When that would not serue, she tooke a keye and
  • opened her mouth, and hauing heard that _spiritus vini_ was a thing of
  • mightie operation, able to call a man from death to life, shee tooke the
  • poyson, and verely thinking it to be _spiritus vini_ (such as she was
  • sent for) powrd a large quantitie of it into her throate, and iogd on
  • her backe to disgest it. It reuiu'd her with a merrie vengeance, for it
  • kilde her outright: only she awakend and lift vp her hands, but spake
  • nere a word. Then was the maid in her grandames beanes, and knew not
  • what should become of her: I heard the Pope tooke pitie on her, and
  • because her trespasse was not voluntary but chancemedly, he assigned her
  • no other punishment but this, to drinke out the rest of the poyson in
  • the glasse that was left, and so goe scot-free. We carelesse of these
  • mischances, helde on our flight, and saw no man come after vs but we
  • thought had pursued vs. A theefe they say mistakes euerie bush for a
  • true man, thewinde ratled not in anie bush by the way as I rode, but I
  • straight drew my rapier. To _Bolognia_ with a merrie gale wee posted,
  • where wee lodged our selues in a blinde streete out of the way, and kept
  • secret manie dayes: but when we perceiued we saild in the hauen, that
  • the winde was layd, and no alarum made after vs, we boldly came abroad:
  • & one day hearing of a more desperat murdrer than _Cayn_ that was to
  • be executed, we followed the multitude, and grutcht not to lend him our
  • eyes at his last parting.
  • Who should it bee but one _Cutwolfe_, a wearish dwarfish writhen fac'd
  • cobler, brother to _Bartoll_ the Italian, that was confederate with
  • _Esdras_ of _Granado_, and at that time stole away my curtizan, when he
  • rauisht _Heraclide_.
  • It is not so naturall for me to epitomize his impietie, as to heare him
  • in his owne person speake vppon the wheele where he was to suffer.
  • Prepare your eares and your teares, for neuer till this thrust I anie
  • tragicall matter vpon you. Strange and wonderfull are Gods iudgements,
  • heere shine they in their glory. Chast _Heraclide_ thy bloud is laid
  • vp in heauens treasurie, not one drop of it was lost, but lent out to
  • vsurie: water powred forth sinkes downe quietly into the earth, but
  • bloud spilt on the ground sprinkles vp to the firmament. Murder is
  • wide-mouthd, and will not let God rest till he grant reuenge. Not onely
  • the bloud of the slaughtred innocent but the soule ascendeth to his
  • throne, and there cries out & exclaimes for iustice and recompence.
  • Guiltles soules that liue euerie houre subiect to violence, and with
  • your despairing feares doo much empaire Gods prouidence: fasten your
  • eyes on this spectacle that will adde to your faith. Referre all your
  • oppressions afflictions and iniuries to the euen ballanced eye of the
  • Almightie, hee it is, that when your patience sleepeth, will bee most
  • exceeding mindfull of you.
  • This is but a glose vpon the text: thus _Cutwolfe_ begins his insulting
  • oration.
  • Men and people that haue made holy-daie to behold my pained flesh toile
  • on the wheele. Expect not of me a whining penitent slaue, that shal do
  • nothing but crie and saie his praiers, and so be crusht in peeces. My
  • bodie is little, but my minde is as great as a Giants: the soule which
  • is in mee, is the verie soul of _Iulius Cosar_ by reuersion. My name is
  • _Cutwolfe_, neither better nor worse by occupation, than a poore cobler
  • of _Verona_, coblers are men and kings are no more. The occasion of my
  • comming hether at this present, is to haue a fewe of my bones broken
  • (as we are all borne to die) for being the death of the Emperour of
  • homicides _Esdras of Granado_. About two yeares since in the streetes
  • of _Rome_ he slew the onely and eldest brother I had named _Bartoll_, in
  • quarrelling about a curtizan. The newes brought to me as I was sitting
  • in my shop vnder a stall knocking in of tackes, I think I raisd vp my
  • bristles, solde pritchaule, spunge, blacking tub, and punching yron,
  • bought mee rapier and pistoll, and to goe I went. Twentie months
  • together I pursued him, from _Rome to Naples, from Naples to Caiete
  • passing ouer the riuer, from Caiete to Syenna, from Syenna to Florence,
  • from Florence to Parma, from Parma to Pauia, from Pauia to Syon, from
  • Syon to Geneua, from Geneua backe againe towards Rome_: where in the way
  • it was my chance to meet him in the nicke here at _Bolognia_, as I will
  • tell you how. I saw a great fray in the streetes as I past along, and
  • manie swords walking, wherevpon drawing neerer, and enquiring who they
  • were, answer was returned mee it was that notable Bandetto _Esdras of
  • Granado_. O so I was tickled in the spleene with that word, my heart
  • hopt & daunst, my elbowes itcht, my fingers friskt, I wist not what
  • should become of my feete, nor knew what I did for ioy. The fray parted.
  • I thought it not conuenient to single him out (being a sturdie knaue)
  • in the street, but to stay till I had got him at more aduantage. To
  • his lodging I dogd him, lay at the dore all night where hee entred, for
  • feare hee should giue me the slip anie way. Betimes in the morning I
  • rung the bell and crau'd to speake with him: vp to his chamber dore I
  • was brought, where knocking, hee rose in his shirt and let me in, and
  • when I was entred, bad me lock the dore and declare my arrant, and so he
  • slipt to bed againe.
  • Marrie this quoth I is my arrant Thy name is _Esdras of Granado_, is it
  • not? Most treacherously thou slewst my brother _Bartoll_ about two yeres
  • agoe in the streetes of _Rome_: his death am I come to reuenge. In quest
  • of thee euer since aboue three thousand miles haue I trauaild. I haue
  • begd to maintaine me the better part of the waye, onely because I would
  • intermit no time from my pursute in going backe for monie. Now haue
  • I got thee naked in my power, die thou shalt, though my mother and my
  • grandmother dying did intreate for thee. I haue promist the diuell thy
  • soule within this houre, breake my word I will not, in thy breast I
  • intend to burie a bullet. Stirre not, quinch not, make no noyse: for if
  • thou dost it will be worse for thee. Quoth _Esdras_, what euer thou bee
  • at whose mercie I lye, spare me, and I wil giue thee as much gold as
  • thou wilt aske. Put me to anie paines my life reserued, and I willingly
  • will sustaine them: cut off my armes and legs, and leaue me as a lazer
  • to some loathsome spittle, where I may but liue a yeare to pray and
  • repent me. For thy brothers death the despayre of minde that hath euer
  • since haunted mee, the guiltie gnawing worme of conscience I feele
  • may bee sufficient penaunce. Thou canst not send me to such a hell, as
  • alreadie there is in my hart. To dispatch me presently is no reuenge,
  • it wil soone be forgotten: let me dye a lingring death, it will be
  • remembred a great deale longer. A lingring death maye auaile my soule,
  • but it is the illest of ills that can befortune my bodie. For my soules
  • health I beg my bodies torment: bee not thou a diuell to torment my
  • soule, and send me to eternall damnation. Thy ouer-hanging sword
  • hides heauen from my sight, I dare not looke vp, least I embrace my
  • deaths-wound vnawares: I cannot pray to God, and plead to thee both
  • at once. Ay mee, alreadie I see my life buried in the wrinckles of thy
  • browes: say but I shall liue, though thou meanest to kill me. Nothing
  • confounds like to suddaine terror, it thrusts euerie sense out of
  • office. Poyson wrapt vp in sugred pills is but halfe a poyson: the feare
  • of deaths lookes are more terrible than his stroake. The whilest I viewe
  • death, my faith is deaded: where a mans feare is, there his heart is.
  • Feare neuer engenders hope: how can I hope that heauens father will saue
  • mee from the hell euerlasting, when he giues me ouer to the hell of thy
  • furie.
  • _Heraclide_, now thinke I on thy teares sowen in the dust (thy teares,
  • that my bloudie minde made barraine). In reuenge of thee, God hardens
  • this mans heart against mee: yet I did not slaughter thee, though
  • hundreds else my hand hath brought to the shambles. Gentle sir, learne
  • of mee what it is to clog your conscience with murder, to haue your
  • dreames, your sleepes, your solitarie walkes troubled and disquieted
  • with murther. Your shaddowe by daye will affright you, you will not see
  • a weapon vnsheathd, but immediately you will imagine it is predestinate
  • for your destruction.
  • This murder is a house diuided within it selfe: it subornes a mans
  • owne soule to informe against him: his soule (being his accuser) brings
  • foorth his two eyes as witnesses agaynst him: and the least eye
  • witnesse is vnrefutable. Plucke out my eyes if thou wilt, and depriue
  • my trayterous soule of her two best witnesses. Digge out my blasphemous
  • tongue with thy dagger, both tongue and eyes will I gladly forgoe, to
  • haue a little more time to thinke on my iourney to heauen.
  • Deferre a while thy resolution. I am not at peace with the world,
  • for euen but yesterdaye I fought, and in my furie threatened further
  • vengeaunce: had I face to face askt forgiuenesse, I should thinke
  • halfe my sinnes were forgiuen. A hundred Diuells haunt mee daily for my
  • horrible murders: the diuells when I dye will be loath to goe to hell
  • with mee, for they desir'd of Christ he would not send them to hell
  • before their time; if they goe not to hell, into thee they will goe, and
  • hideously vexe thee for turning them out of their habitation. Wounds I
  • contemne, life I prize light, it is another worlds tranquilitie which
  • makes me so timerous: euerlasting damnation, euerlasting howling and
  • lamentation. It is not from death I request thee to deliuer me, but from
  • this terror of torments eternitie. Thy brothers bodie onely I pierst
  • vnaduisedly, his soule meant I no harme too at all: my bodie & soule
  • both shalt thou cast awaye quite, if thou doost at this instant what
  • thou maist Spare me, spare me I beseech thee: by thy owne soules
  • saluation I desire thee, seeke not my soules vtter perdition: in
  • destroying me, thou destroyest thy selfe and me.
  • Eagerly I replide after his long suppliant oration; Though I knewe God
  • would neuer haue mercie on mee except I had mercie on thee, yet of thee
  • no mercie would I haue. Reuenge in our tragedies continually is raised
  • from hell: of hell doo I esteeme better than heauen, if it affoord me
  • reuenge. There is no heauen but reuenge. I tell thee, I would not haue
  • vndertooke so much toyle to gaine heauen, as I haue done in pursuing
  • thee for reuenge. Diuine reuenge, of which (as of the ioyes aboue)
  • there is no fulnes or satietie. Looke how my feete are blistered
  • with following thee from place to place. I haue riuen my throat
  • withouerstraining it to curse thee. I haue grownd my teeth to pouder
  • with grating and grinding them together for anger, when anie hath nam'd
  • thee. My tongue with vaine threates is bolne, and waxen too big for
  • my mouth. My eies haue broken their strings with staring and looking
  • ghastly, as I stood deuising how to frame or set my countenance when I
  • met thee. I haue nere spent my strength in imaginarie acting on stone
  • wals, what I determined to execute on thee. Entreate not, a miracle maye
  • not repriue thee: villaine, thus march I with my blade into thy bowels.
  • Stay, stay exclaimed _Esdras_, and heare mee but one word further.
  • Though neither for God nor man thou carest, but placeth thy whole
  • felicitie in murder, yet of thy felicitie learne how to make a greater
  • felicitie. Respite me a little from thy swords poynt, and set mee
  • about some execrable enterprise, that may subuert the whole state of
  • Christendome, and make all mens eares tingle that heare of it. Commaund
  • me to cut all my kindreds throates, to burne men women and children in
  • their beds in millions, by firing their Cities at midnight. Be it Pope,
  • Emperour or Turke that displeaseth thee, he shal not breath on the
  • earth. For thy sake will I sweare and forsweare, renounce my baptisme,
  • and all the interest I haue in any other sacrament. Onely let me liue
  • how miserable soeuer, be it in a dungeon amongst toades, serpents and
  • adders, or set vp to the necke in dung. No paines I will refuse how euer
  • proroged, to haue a little respite to purifie my spirit: oh heare me,
  • heare me, and thou canst not be hardned against me.
  • At this his importunitie paused a little, not as retyring from my
  • wreakful resolution, but going back to gather more forces of vengeance.
  • With my selfe I deuised how to plague him double for his base minde.
  • My thoughts traueld in quest of some notable newe Italionisme, whose
  • murdrous platforme might not onely extend on his bodie, but his soule
  • also. The ground worke of it was this. That whereas he had promised for
  • my sake to sweare and forsweare, and commit _Iulian_-like violence on
  • the highest seales of religion: if he would but thus farre satisfie
  • me he should bee dismist from my furie. First and formost he should
  • renounce God and his lawes, and vtterly disclaime the whole title or
  • interest he had in anie couenaunt of saluation. Next he should curse
  • him to his face, as _Iob_ was willed by his wife, and write an absolute
  • firme obligation of his soule to the diuell, without condition or
  • exception. Thirdly and lastly (hauing done this), hee should praye to
  • God feruently neuer to haue mercie vppon him, or pardon him. Scarce
  • had I propounded these articles vnto him, but he was beginning his
  • blasphemous abiurations. I wonder the earth opened not and swallowed
  • vs both hearing the bold tearmes he blasted forth in contempt of
  • Christianitie: Heauen hath thundred when halfe lesse contumelies against
  • it haue been vttered. Able they were to raise Saints and Martirs from
  • their graues, and plucke Christ himselfe from the right hand of his
  • father. My ioints trembled & quakt with attending them, my haire stood
  • vpright, & my hart was turned wholly to fire. So affectionately and
  • zealously did hee giue himselfe ouer to infidelitie, as if sathan had
  • gotten the vpper hand of our high Maker. The veyne in his left hand that
  • is deriued from his heart with no faint blow he pierst, & with the bloud
  • that flowd from it, writ a ful obligation of his soule to the diuell:
  • yea, more earnestly he praid vnto God neuer to forgiue it his soule,
  • than manie Christians doo to saue theyr soules. These fearfull
  • ceremonies brought to an end, I bad him ope his mouth and gape wide. He
  • did so (as what wil not slaues doo for feare). Therwith made I no more
  • adoo, but shot him ful into the throat with my pistol: no more spake he
  • after, so did I shoote him that hee might neuer speak after, or repent
  • him.
  • His body being dead lookd as blacke as a toad: the diuell presently
  • branded it for his owne. This is the fault that hath called me hether.
  • No true _Italian_ but will honor me for it Reuenge is the glory of
  • Armes, and the highest performance of valure: reuenge is whatsoeuer wee
  • call law or iustice. The farther we wade in reuenge, the nerer come we
  • to the throne of the Almightie. To his scepter it is properly ascribed,
  • his scepter he lends vnto man, when he lets one man scourge another.
  • All true _Italians_ imitate mee, in reuenging constantly, and dying
  • valiantly. Hangman to thy taske, for I am readie for the vtmost of
  • thy rigor. Herewith all the people (outragiously incensed) with
  • one conioyned outcrye yelled mainely, Away with him, away with him,
  • Executioner torture him, teare him, or we will teare thee in peeces if
  • thou spare him.
  • The executioner needed no exhortation herevnto, for of his owne nature
  • was he hackster good enough: olde excellent hee was at a bone-ache. At
  • the first chop with his wood-knife would he fish for a mans heart, and
  • fetch it out as easily as a plum from the bottome of a porredge pot. Hee
  • would cracke neckes as fast as a cooke crackes egges: a fidler cannot
  • turne his pin so soone, as he would turn a man of the ladder. Brauely
  • did hee drum on this _Cutwolfes_ bones, not breaking them outright, but
  • like a sadler knocking in of tackes, iarring on them quaueringly with
  • his hammer a great while together. No ioynt about him but with a hatchet
  • he had for the nonce, he disioynted halfe, and then with boyling lead
  • souldred vp the wounds from bleeding. His tongue he puld out, least he
  • should blaspheme in his torment: venomous stinging wormes hee thrust
  • into his eares, to keep his head rauingly occupied: with cankers
  • scruzed to peeces hee rubd his mouth and his gums. No lim of his but
  • was lingringly splinterd in shiuers. In this horror left they him on the
  • wheele as in hel: where yet liuing, hee might behold his flesh legacied
  • amongst the foules of the aire. Unsearchable is the booke of our
  • destenies. One murder begetteth another: was neuer yet bloud-shed
  • barrain from the beginning of the world to this day. Mortifiedly
  • abiected and danted was I with this truculent tragedie of _Cutwolfe_ and
  • _Esdras_. To such straight life did it thence forward incite me, that
  • ere I went out of _Bolognia_ I married my curtizane, performed manie
  • aimes deedes; and hasted so fast out of the _Sodom_ of _Italy_, that
  • within fortie daies I arriued at the King of _Englands_ Campe twixt
  • _Ardes_ and _Guines_ in _France_: where he with great triumphes met and
  • entertained the Emperour and the French King, and feasted manie dayes.
  • And so as my Storie began with the King at _Turnay_ and _Turwin_, I
  • thinke meete heere to end it with the King at _Ardes & Guines_. All the
  • conclusiue Epilogue I will make is this; that if herein I haue pleased
  • any, it shall animate me to more paynes in this kinde. Otherwise I will
  • sweare vpon an English Chronicle, neuer to bee outlandish Chronicler
  • more while I liue. Farewell as manie as wish me well. _Iune_ 27. 1593.
  • Finis.
  • Chiswick Press:--Charles Whittingham And Co., Tooks Court, Chancery
  • Lane.
  • End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vnfortunate Traveller, or The Life
  • Of Jack Wilton, by Thomas Nash
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